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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/588-0.txt b/588-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f2586d5 --- /dev/null +++ b/588-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5309 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Master Humphrey's Clock, by Charles Dickens + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Master Humphrey's Clock + + +Author: Charles Dickens + + + +Release Date: March 20, 2013 [eBook #588] +[This file was first posted on May 15, 1996] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK*** + + +Transcribed from the 1914 Chapman & Hall edition of “The Mystery of Edwin +Drood and Master Humphrey’s Clock” by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + MASTER HUMPHREY’S CLOCK + + + [Picture: Charles Dickens] + + + + +DEDICATION OF +“MASTER HUMPHREY’S CLOCK” + + + TO + SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQUIRE. + +MY DEAR SIR, + +Let me have _my_ Pleasures of Memory in connection with this book, by +dedicating it to a Poet whose writings (as all the world knows) are +replete with generous and earnest feeling; and to a man whose daily life +(as all the world does not know) is one of active sympathy with the +poorest and humblest of his kind. + + Your faithful friend, + CHARLES DICKENS. + + + + +ADDRESS BY CHARLES DICKENS. + + + 4_th_ _April_, 1840. + +Master Humphrey earnestly hopes, (and is almost tempted to believe,) that +all degrees of readers, young or old, rich or poor, sad or merry, easy of +amusement or difficult to entertain, may find something agreeable in the +face of his old clock. That, when they have made its acquaintance, its +voice may sound cheerfully in their ears, and be suggestive of none but +pleasant thoughts. That they may come to have favourite and familiar +associations connected with its name, and to look for it as for a welcome +friend. + +From week to week, then, Master Humphrey will set his clock, trusting +that while it counts the hours, it will sometimes cheat them of their +heaviness, and that while it marks the thread of Time, it will scatter a +few slight flowers in the Old Mower’s path. + +Until the specified period arrives, and he can enter freely upon that +confidence with his readers which he is impatient to maintain, he may +only bid them a short farewell, and look forward to their next meeting. + + + + +PREFACE TO THE FIRST VOLUME + + +WHEN the Author commenced this Work, he proposed to himself three +objects— + +First. To establish a periodical, which should enable him to present, +under one general head, and not as separate and distinct publications, +certain fictions that he had it in contemplation to write. + +Secondly. To produce these Tales in weekly numbers, hoping that to +shorten the intervals of communication between himself and his readers, +would be to knit more closely the pleasant relations they had held, for +Forty Months. + +Thirdly. In the execution of this weekly task, to have as much regard as +its exigencies would permit, to each story as a whole, and to the +possibility of its publication at some distant day, apart from the +machinery in which it had its origin. + +The characters of Master Humphrey and his three friends, and the little +fancy of the clock, were the results of these considerations. When he +sought to interest his readers in those who talked, and read, and +listened, he revived Mr. Pickwick and his humble friends; not with any +intention of re-opening an exhausted and abandoned mine, but to connect +them in the thoughts of those whose favourites they had been, with the +tranquil enjoyments of Master Humphrey. + +It was never the intention of the Author to make the Members of Master +Humphrey’s clock, active agents in the stories they are supposed to +relate. Having brought himself in the commencement of his undertaking to +feel an interest in these quiet creatures, and to imagine them in their +chamber of meeting, eager listeners to all he had to tell, the Author +hoped—as authors will—to succeed in awakening some of his own emotion in +the bosoms of his readers. Imagining Master Humphrey in his chimney +corner, resuming night after night the narrative,—say, of the _Old +Curiosity Shop_—picturing to himself the various sensations of his +hearers—thinking how Jack Redburn might incline to poor Kit, and perhaps +lean too favourably even towards the lighter vices of Mr. Richard +Swiveller—how the deaf gentleman would have his favourite and Mr. Miles +his—and how all these gentle spirits would trace some faint reflexion in +their past lives in the varying currents of the tale—he has insensibly +fallen into the belief that they are present to his readers as they are +to him, and has forgotten that, like one whose vision is disordered, he +may be conjuring up bright figures when there is nothing but empty space. + +The short papers which are to be found at the beginning of the volume +were indispensable to the form of publication and the limited extent of +each number, as no story of length or interest could be begun until “The +Clock was wound up and fairly going.” + +The Author would fain hope that there are not many who would disturb +Master Humphrey and his friends in their seclusion; who would have them +forego their present enjoyments, to exchange those confidences with each +other, the absence of which is the foundation of their mutual trust. For +when their occupation is gone, when their tales are ended, and but their +personal histories remain, the chimney corner will be growing cold, and +the clock will be about to stop for ever. + +One other word in his own person, and he returns to the more grateful +task of speaking for those imaginary people whose little world lies +within these pages. + +It may be some consolation to those well-disposed ladies and gentlemen +who, in the interval between the conclusion of his last work and the +commencement of this, originated a report that he had gone raving mad, to +know that it spread as rapidly as could be desired, and was made the +subject of considerable dispute; not as regarded the fact, for that was +as thoroughly established as the duel between Sir Peter Teazle and +Charles Surface in the _School for Scandal_; but with reference to the +unfortunate lunatic’s place of confinement; one party insisting +positively on Bedlam, another inclining favourably towards St. Luke’s, +and a third swearing strongly by the asylum at Hanwell; while each backed +its case by circumstantial evidence of the same excellent nature as that +brought to bear by Sir Benjamin Backbite on the pistol shot which struck +against the little bronze bust of Shakespeare over the fireplace, grazed +out of the window at a right angle, and wounded the postman, who was +coming to the door with a double letter from Northamptonshire. + +It will be a great affliction to these ladies and gentlemen to learn—and +he is so unwilling to give pain, that he would not whisper the +circumstance on any account, did he not feel in a manner bound to do so, +in gratitude to those amongst his friends who were at the trouble of +being angry at the absurdity that their inventions made the Author’s home +unusually merry, and gave rise to an extraordinary number of jests, of +which he will only add, in the words of the good Vicar of Wakefield, “I +cannot say whether we had more wit among us than usual; but I am sure we +had more laughing.” + +DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, YORK GATE, _September_, 1840. + + + + +PREFACE TO THE SECOND VOLUME + + +“AN author,” says Fielding, in his introduction to _Tom Jones_, “ought to +consider himself, not as the gentleman who gives a private or +eleemosynary treat, but rather as one who keeps a public ordinary, to +which all persons are welcome for their money. Men who pay for what they +eat, will insist on gratifying their palates, however nice and whimsical +these may prove; and if everything is not agreeable to their taste, will +challenge a right to censure, to abuse, and to damn their dinner without +control. + +“To prevent, therefore, giving offence to their customers by any such +disappointment, it hath been usual with the honest and well-meaning host +to provide a bill of fare, which all persons may peruse at their first +entrance into the house; and having thence acquainted themselves with the +entertainment which they may expect, may either stay and regale with what +is provided for them, or may depart to some other ordinary better +accommodated to their taste.” + +In the present instance, the host or author, in opening his new +establishment, provided no bill of fare. Sensible of the difficulties of +such an undertaking in its infancy, he preferred that it should make its +own way, silently and gradually, or make no way at all. It _has_ made +its way, and is doing such a thriving business that nothing remains for +him but to add, in the words of the good old civic ceremony, now that one +dish has been discussed and finished, and another smokes upon the board, +that he drinks to his guests in a loving-cup, and bids them a hearty +welcome. + +DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, LONDON, _March_, 1841. + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + PAGE +MASTER HUMPHREY’S CHAMBER _George Cattermole_ 215 +FRIENDLY RECOGNITIONS _Phiz_ 217 +GOG AND MAGOG ,, 228 +A GALLANT CAVALIER _George Cattermole_ 232 +DEATH OF MASTER GRAHAM ,, 237 +A CHARMING FELLOW _Phiz_ 240 +THE TWO FRIENDS ,, 246 +HUNTED DOWN _George Cattermole_ 254 +MR. PICKWICK INTRODUCES HIMSELF TO _Phiz_ 259 +MASTER HUMPHREY +WILL MARKS READING THE NEWS _George Cattermole_ 266 +CONCERNING WITCHES +WILL MARKS TAKES UP HIS POSITION _Phiz_ 270 +FOR THE NIGHT +WILL MARKS ARRIVES AT THE CHURCH _George Cattermole_ 277 +TONY WELLER AND HIS GRANDSON _Phiz_ 282 +PROCEEDINGS OF THE CLUB „ 288 +THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF ,, 292 +WILLIAM BLINDER +A RIVAL CLUB ,, 297 +A CHIP OF THE OLD BLOCK ,, 302 +MASTER HUMPHREY’S VISIONARY ,, 311 +FRIENDS +THE DESERTED CHAMBER _George Cattermole_ 318 + +I + + +MASTER HUMPHREY, FROM HIS CLOCK-SIDE IN THE CHIMNEY CORNER + + [Picture: Master Humphrey’s Chamber] + +THE reader must not expect to know where I live. At present, it is true, +my abode may be a question of little or no import to anybody; but if I +should carry my readers with me, as I hope to do, and there should spring +up between them and me feelings of homely affection and regard attaching +something of interest to matters ever so slightly connected with my +fortunes or my speculations, even my place of residence might one day +have a kind of charm for them. Bearing this possible contingency in +mind, I wish them to understand, in the outset, that they must never +expect to know it. + +I am not a churlish old man. Friendless I can never be, for all mankind +are my kindred, and I am on ill terms with no one member of my great +family. But for many years I have led a lonely, solitary life;—what +wound I sought to heal, what sorrow to forget, originally, matters not +now; it is sufficient that retirement has become a habit with me, and +that I am unwilling to break the spell which for so long a time has shed +its quiet influence upon my home and heart. + +I live in a venerable suburb of London, in an old house which in bygone +days was a famous resort for merry roysterers and peerless ladies, long +since departed. It is a silent, shady place, with a paved courtyard so +full of echoes, that sometimes I am tempted to believe that faint +responses to the noises of old times linger there yet, and that these +ghosts of sound haunt my footsteps as I pace it up and down. I am the +more confirmed in this belief, because, of late years, the echoes that +attend my walks have been less loud and marked than they were wont to be; +and it is pleasanter to imagine in them the rustling of silk brocade, and +the light step of some lovely girl, than to recognise in their altered +note the failing tread of an old man. + +Those who like to read of brilliant rooms and gorgeous furniture would +derive but little pleasure from a minute description of my simple +dwelling. It is dear to me for the same reason that they would hold it +in slight regard. Its worm-eaten doors, and low ceilings crossed by +clumsy beams; its walls of wainscot, dark stairs, and gaping closets; its +small chambers, communicating with each other by winding passages or +narrow steps; its many nooks, scarce larger than its corner-cupboards; +its very dust and dulness, are all dear to me. The moth and spider are +my constant tenants; for in my house the one basks in his long sleep, and +the other plies his busy loom secure and undisturbed. I have a pleasure +in thinking on a summer’s day how many butterflies have sprung for the +first time into light and sunshine from some dark corner of these old +walls. + +When I first came to live here, which was many years ago, the neighbours +were curious to know who I was, and whence I came, and why I lived so +much alone. As time went on, and they still remained unsatisfied on +these points, I became the centre of a popular ferment, extending for +half a mile round, and in one direction for a full mile. Various rumours +were circulated to my prejudice. I was a spy, an infidel, a conjurer, a +kidnapper of children, a refugee, a priest, a monster. Mothers caught up +their infants and ran into their houses as I passed; men eyed me +spitefully, and muttered threats and curses. I was the object of +suspicion and distrust—ay, of downright hatred too. + +But when in course of time they found I did no harm, but, on the +contrary, inclined towards them despite their unjust usage, they began to +relent. I found my footsteps no longer dogged, as they had often been +before, and observed that the women and children no longer retreated, but +would stand and gaze at me as I passed their doors. I took this for a +good omen, and waited patiently for better times. By degrees I began to +make friends among these humble folks; and though they were yet shy of +speaking, would give them ‘good day,’ and so pass on. In a little time, +those whom I had thus accosted would make a point of coming to their +doors and windows at the usual hour, and nod or courtesy to me; children, +too, came timidly within my reach, and ran away quite scared when I +patted their heads and bade them be good at school. These little people +soon grew more familiar. From exchanging mere words of course with my +older neighbours, I gradually became their friend and adviser, the +depositary of their cares and sorrows, and sometimes, it may be, the +reliever, in my small way, of their distresses. And now I never walk +abroad but pleasant recognitions and smiling faces wait on Master +Humphrey. + + [Picture: Friendly recognitions] + +It was a whim of mine, perhaps as a whet to the curiosity of my +neighbours, and a kind of retaliation upon them for their suspicions—it +was, I say, a whim of mine, when I first took up my abode in this place, +to acknowledge no other name than Humphrey. With my detractors, I was +Ugly Humphrey. When I began to convert them into friends, I was Mr. +Humphrey and Old Mr. Humphrey. At length I settled down into plain +Master Humphrey, which was understood to be the title most pleasant to my +ear; and so completely a matter of course has it become, that sometimes +when I am taking my morning walk in my little courtyard, I overhear my +barber—who has a profound respect for me, and would not, I am sure, +abridge my honours for the world—holding forth on the other side of the +wall, touching the state of ‘Master Humphrey’s’ health, and communicating +to some friend the substance of the conversation that he and Master +Humphrey have had together in the course of the shaving which he has just +concluded. + +That I may not make acquaintance with my readers under false pretences, +or give them cause to complain hereafter that I have withheld any matter +which it was essential for them to have learnt at first, I wish them to +know—and I smile sorrowfully to think that the time has been when the +confession would have given me pain—that I am a misshapen, deformed old +man. + +I have never been made a misanthrope by this cause. I have never been +stung by any insult, nor wounded by any jest upon my crooked figure. As +a child I was melancholy and timid, but that was because the gentle +consideration paid to my misfortune sunk deep into my spirit and made me +sad, even in those early days. I was but a very young creature when my +poor mother died, and yet I remember that often when I hung around her +neck, and oftener still when I played about the room before her, she +would catch me to her bosom, and bursting into tears, would soothe me +with every term of fondness and affection. God knows I was a happy child +at those times,—happy to nestle in her breast,—happy to weep when she +did,—happy in not knowing why. + +These occasions are so strongly impressed upon my memory, that they seem +to have occupied whole years. I had numbered very, very few when they +ceased for ever, but before then their meaning had been revealed to me. + +I do not know whether all children are imbued with a quick perception of +childish grace and beauty, and a strong love for it, but I was. I had no +thought that I remember, either that I possessed it myself or that I +lacked it, but I admired it with an intensity that I cannot describe. A +little knot of playmates—they must have been beautiful, for I see them +now—were clustered one day round my mother’s knee in eager admiration of +some picture representing a group of infant angels, which she held in her +hand. Whose the picture was, whether it was familiar to me or otherwise, +or how all the children came to be there, I forget; I have some dim +thought it was my birthday, but the beginning of my recollection is that +we were all together in a garden, and it was summer weather,—I am sure of +that, for one of the little girls had roses in her sash. There were many +lovely angels in this picture, and I remember the fancy coming upon me to +point out which of them represented each child there, and that when I had +gone through my companions, I stopped and hesitated, wondering which was +most like me. I remember the children looking at each other, and my +turning red and hot, and their crowding round to kiss me, saying that +they loved me all the same; and then, and when the old sorrow came into +my dear mother’s mild and tender look, the truth broke upon me for the +first time, and I knew, while watching my awkward and ungainly sports, +how keenly she had felt for her poor crippled boy. + +I used frequently to dream of it afterwards, and now my heart aches for +that child as if I had never been he, when I think how often he awoke +from some fairy change to his own old form, and sobbed himself to sleep +again. + +Well, well,—all these sorrows are past. My glancing at them may not be +without its use, for it may help in some measure to explain why I have +all my life been attached to the inanimate objects that people my +chamber, and how I have come to look upon them rather in the light of old +and constant friends, than as mere chairs and tables which a little money +could replace at will. + +Chief and first among all these is my Clock,—my old, cheerful, +companionable Clock. How can I ever convey to others an idea of the +comfort and consolation that this old Clock has been for years to me! + +It is associated with my earliest recollections. It stood upon the +staircase at home (I call it home still mechanically), nigh sixty years +ago. I like it for that; but it is not on that account, nor because it +is a quaint old thing in a huge oaken case curiously and richly carved, +that I prize it as I do. I incline to it as if it were alive, and could +understand and give me back the love I bear it. + +And what other thing that has not life could cheer me as it does? what +other thing that has not life (I will not say how few things that have) +could have proved the same patient, true, untiring friend? How often +have I sat in the long winter evenings feeling such society in its +cricket-voice, that raising my eyes from my book and looking gratefully +towards it, the face reddened by the glow of the shining fire has seemed +to relax from its staid expression and to regard me kindly! how often in +the summer twilight, when my thoughts have wandered back to a melancholy +past, have its regular whisperings recalled them to the calm and peaceful +present! how often in the dead tranquillity of night has its bell broken +the oppressive silence, and seemed to give me assurance that the old +clock was still a faithful watcher at my chamber-door! My easy-chair, my +desk, my ancient furniture, my very books, I can scarcely bring myself to +love even these last like my old clock. + +It stands in a snug corner, midway between the fireside and a low arched +door leading to my bedroom. Its fame is diffused so extensively +throughout the neighbourhood, that I have often the satisfaction of +hearing the publican, or the baker, and sometimes even the parish-clerk, +petitioning my housekeeper (of whom I shall have much to say by-and-by) +to inform him the exact time by Master Humphrey’s clock. My barber, to +whom I have referred, would sooner believe it than the sun. Nor are +these its only distinctions. It has acquired, I am happy to say, +another, inseparably connecting it not only with my enjoyments and +reflections, but with those of other men; as I shall now relate. + +I lived alone here for a long time without any friend or acquaintance. +In the course of my wanderings by night and day, at all hours and +seasons, in city streets and quiet country parts, I came to be familiar +with certain faces, and to take it to heart as quite a heavy +disappointment if they failed to present themselves each at its +accustomed spot. But these were the only friends I knew, and beyond them +I had none. + +It happened, however, when I had gone on thus for a long time, that I +formed an acquaintance with a deaf gentleman, which ripened into intimacy +and close companionship. To this hour, I am ignorant of his name. It is +his humour to conceal it, or he has a reason and purpose for so doing. +In either case, I feel that he has a right to require a return of the +trust he has reposed; and as he has never sought to discover my secret, I +have never sought to penetrate his. There may have been something in +this tacit confidence in each other flattering and pleasant to us both, +and it may have imparted in the beginning an additional zest, perhaps, to +our friendship. Be this as it may, we have grown to be like brothers, +and still I only know him as the deaf gentleman. + +I have said that retirement has become a habit with me. When I add, that +the deaf gentleman and I have two friends, I communicate nothing which is +inconsistent with that declaration. I spend many hours of every day in +solitude and study, have no friends or change of friends but these, only +see them at stated periods, and am supposed to be of a retired spirit by +the very nature and object of our association. + +We are men of secluded habits, with something of a cloud upon our early +fortunes, whose enthusiasm, nevertheless, has not cooled with age, whose +spirit of romance is not yet quenched, who are content to ramble through +the world in a pleasant dream, rather than ever waken again to its harsh +realities. We are alchemists who would extract the essence of perpetual +youth from dust and ashes, tempt coy Truth in many light and airy forms +from the bottom of her well, and discover one crumb of comfort or one +grain of good in the commonest and least-regarded matter that passes +through our crucible. Spirits of past times, creatures of imagination, +and people of to-day are alike the objects of our seeking, and, unlike +the objects of search with most philosophers, we can insure their coming +at our command. + +The deaf gentleman and I first began to beguile our days with these +fancies, and our nights in communicating them to each other. We are now +four. But in my room there are six old chairs, and we have decided that +the two empty seats shall always be placed at our table when we meet, to +remind us that we may yet increase our company by that number, if we +should find two men to our mind. When one among us dies, his chair will +always be set in its usual place, but never occupied again; and I have +caused my will to be so drawn out, that when we are all dead the house +shall be shut up, and the vacant chairs still left in their accustomed +places. It is pleasant to think that even then our shades may, perhaps, +assemble together as of yore we did, and join in ghostly converse. + +One night in every week, as the clock strikes ten, we meet. At the +second stroke of two, I am alone. + +And now shall I tell how that my old servant, besides giving us note of +time, and ticking cheerful encouragement of our proceedings, lends its +name to our society, which for its punctuality and my love is christened +‘Master Humphrey’s Clock’? Now shall I tell how that in the bottom of +the old dark closet, where the steady pendulum throbs and beats with +healthy action, though the pulse of him who made it stood still long ago, +and never moved again, there are piles of dusty papers constantly placed +there by our hands, that we may link our enjoyments with my old friend, +and draw means to beguile time from the heart of time itself? Shall I, +or can I, tell with what a secret pride I open this repository when we +meet at night, and still find new store of pleasure in my dear old Clock? + +Friend and companion of my solitude! mine is not a selfish love; I would +not keep your merits to myself, but disperse something of pleasant +association with your image through the whole wide world; I would have +men couple with your name cheerful and healthy thoughts; I would have +them believe that you keep true and honest time; and how it would gladden +me to know that they recognised some hearty English work in Master +Humphrey’s clock! + + + +THE CLOCK-CASE + + +It is my intention constantly to address my readers from the +chimney-corner, and I would fain hope that such accounts as I shall give +them of our histories and proceedings, our quiet speculations or more +busy adventures, will never be unwelcome. Lest, however, I should grow +prolix in the outset by lingering too long upon our little association, +confounding the enthusiasm with which I regard this chief happiness of my +life with that minor degree of interest which those to whom I address +myself may be supposed to feel for it, I have deemed it expedient to +break off as they have seen. + +But, still clinging to my old friend, and naturally desirous that all its +merits should be known, I am tempted to open (somewhat irregularly and +against our laws, I must admit) the clock-case. The first roll of paper +on which I lay my hand is in the writing of the deaf gentleman. I shall +have to speak of him in my next paper; and how can I better approach that +welcome task than by prefacing it with a production of his own pen, +consigned to the safe keeping of my honest Clock by his own hand? + +The manuscript runs thus + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE GIANT CHRONICLES + + +Once upon a time, that is to say, in this our time,—the exact year, +month, and day are of no matter,—there dwelt in the city of London a +substantial citizen, who united in his single person the dignities of +wholesale fruiterer, alderman, common-councilman, and member of the +worshipful Company of Patten-makers; who had superadded to these +extraordinary distinctions the important post and title of Sheriff, and +who at length, and to crown all, stood next in rotation for the high and +honourable office of Lord Mayor. + +He was a very substantial citizen indeed. His face was like the full +moon in a fog, with two little holes punched out for his eyes, a very +ripe pear stuck on for his nose, and a wide gash to serve for a mouth. +The girth of his waistcoat was hung up and lettered in his tailor’s shop +as an extraordinary curiosity. He breathed like a heavy snorer, and his +voice in speaking came thickly forth, as if it were oppressed and stifled +by feather-beds. He trod the ground like an elephant, and eat and drank +like—like nothing but an alderman, as he was. + +This worthy citizen had risen to his great eminence from small +beginnings. He had once been a very lean, weazen little boy, never +dreaming of carrying such a weight of flesh upon his bones or of money in +his pockets, and glad enough to take his dinner at a baker’s door, and +his tea at a pump. But he had long ago forgotten all this, as it was +proper that a wholesale fruiterer, alderman, common-councilman, member of +the worshipful Company of Patten-makers, past sheriff, and, above all, a +Lord Mayor that was to be, should; and he never forgot it more completely +in all his life than on the eighth of November in the year of his +election to the great golden civic chair, which was the day before his +grand dinner at Guildhall. + +It happened that as he sat that evening all alone in his counting-house, +looking over the bill of fare for next day, and checking off the fat +capons in fifties, and the turtle-soup by the hundred quarts, for his +private amusement,—it happened that as he sat alone occupied in these +pleasant calculations, a strange man came in and asked him how he did, +adding, ‘If I am half as much changed as you, sir, you have no +recollection of me, I am sure.’ + +The strange man was not over and above well dressed, and was very far +from being fat or rich-looking in any sense of the word, yet he spoke +with a kind of modest confidence, and assumed an easy, gentlemanly sort +of an air, to which nobody but a rich man can lawfully presume. Besides +this, he interrupted the good citizen just as he had reckoned three +hundred and seventy-two fat capons, and was carrying them over to the +next column; and as if that were not aggravation enough, the learned +recorder for the city of London had only ten minutes previously gone out +at that very same door, and had turned round and said, ‘Good night, my +lord.’ Yes, he had said, ‘my lord;’—he, a man of birth and education, of +the Honourable Society of the Middle Temple, Barrister-at-Law,—he who had +an uncle in the House of Commons, and an aunt almost but not quite in the +House of Lords (for she had married a feeble peer, and made him vote as +she liked),—he, this man, this learned recorder, had said, ‘my lord.’ +‘I’ll not wait till to-morrow to give you your title, my Lord Mayor,’ +says he, with a bow and a smile; ‘you are Lord Mayor _de facto_, if not +_de jure_. Good night, my lord.’ + +The Lord Mayor elect thought of this, and turning to the stranger, and +sternly bidding him ‘go out of his private counting-house,’ brought +forward the three hundred and seventy-two fat capons, and went on with +his account. + +‘Do you remember,’ said the other, stepping forward,—‘_do_ you remember +little Joe Toddyhigh?’ + +The port wine fled for a moment from the fruiterer’s nose as he muttered, +‘Joe Toddyhigh! What about Joe Toddyhigh?’ + +‘_I_ am Joe Toddyhigh,’ cried the visitor. ‘Look at me, look hard at +me,—harder, harder. You know me now? You know little Joe again? What a +happiness to us both, to meet the very night before your grandeur! O! +give me your hand, Jack,—both hands,—both, for the sake of old times.’ + +‘You pinch me, sir. You’re a-hurting of me,’ said the Lord Mayor elect +pettishly. ‘Don’t,—suppose anybody should come,—Mr. Toddyhigh, sir.’ + +‘Mr. Toddyhigh!’ repeated the other ruefully. + +‘O, don’t bother,’ said the Lord Mayor elect, scratching his head. ‘Dear +me! Why, I thought you was dead. What a fellow you are!’ + +Indeed, it was a pretty state of things, and worthy the tone of vexation +and disappointment in which the Lord Mayor spoke. Joe Toddyhigh had been +a poor boy with him at Hull, and had oftentimes divided his last penny +and parted his last crust to relieve his wants; for though Joe was a +destitute child in those times, he was as faithful and affectionate in +his friendship as ever man of might could be. They parted one day to +seek their fortunes in different directions. Joe went to sea, and the +now wealthy citizen begged his way to London, They separated with many +tears, like foolish fellows as they were, and agreed to remain fast +friends, and if they lived, soon to communicate again. + +When he was an errand-boy, and even in the early days of his +apprenticeship, the citizen had many a time trudged to the Post-office to +ask if there were any letter from poor little Joe, and had gone home +again with tears in his eyes, when he found no news of his only friend. +The world is a wide place, and it was a long time before the letter came; +when it did, the writer was forgotten. It turned from white to yellow +from lying in the Post-office with nobody to claim it, and in course of +time was torn up with five hundred others, and sold for waste-paper. And +now at last, and when it might least have been expected, here was this +Joe Toddyhigh turning up and claiming acquaintance with a great public +character, who on the morrow would be cracking jokes with the Prime +Minister of England, and who had only, at any time during the next twelve +months, to say the word, and he could shut up Temple Bar, and make it no +thoroughfare for the king himself! + +‘I am sure I don’t know what to say, Mr. Toddyhigh,’ said the Lord Mayor +elect; ‘I really don’t. It’s very inconvenient. I’d sooner have given +twenty pound,—it’s very inconvenient, really.’—A thought had come into +his mind, that perhaps his old friend might say something passionate +which would give him an excuse for being angry himself. No such thing. +Joe looked at him steadily, but very mildly, and did not open his lips. + +‘Of course I shall pay you what I owe you,’ said the Lord Mayor elect, +fidgeting in his chair. ‘You lent me—I think it was a shilling or some +small coin—when we parted company, and that of course I shall pay with +good interest. I can pay my way with any man, and always have done. If +you look into the Mansion House the day after to-morrow,—some time after +dusk,—and ask for my private clerk, you’ll find he has a draft for you. +I haven’t got time to say anything more just now, unless,’—he hesitated, +for, coupled with a strong desire to glitter for once in all his glory in +the eyes of his former companion, was a distrust of his appearance, which +might be more shabby than he could tell by that feeble light,—‘unless +you’d like to come to the dinner to-morrow. I don’t mind your having +this ticket, if you like to take it. A great many people would give +their ears for it, I can tell you.’ + +His old friend took the card without speaking a word, and instantly +departed. His sunburnt face and gray hair were present to the citizen’s +mind for a moment; but by the time he reached three hundred and +eighty-one fat capons, he had quite forgotten him. + +Joe Toddyhigh had never been in the capital of Europe before, and he +wandered up and down the streets that night amazed at the number of +churches and other public buildings, the splendour of the shops, the +riches that were heaped up on every side, the glare of light in which +they were displayed, and the concourse of people who hurried to and fro, +indifferent, apparently, to all the wonders that surrounded them. But in +all the long streets and broad squares, there were none but strangers; it +was quite a relief to turn down a by-way and hear his own footsteps on +the pavement. He went home to his inn, thought that London was a dreary, +desolate place, and felt disposed to doubt the existence of one +true-hearted man in the whole worshipful Company of Patten-makers. +Finally, he went to bed, and dreamed that he and the Lord Mayor elect +were boys again. + +He went next day to the dinner; and when in a burst of light and music, +and in the midst of splendid decorations and surrounded by brilliant +company, his former friend appeared at the head of the Hall, and was +hailed with shouts and cheering, he cheered and shouted with the best, +and for the moment could have cried. The next moment he cursed his +weakness in behalf of a man so changed and selfish, and quite hated a +jolly-looking old gentleman opposite for declaring himself in the pride +of his heart a Patten-maker. + +As the banquet proceeded, he took more and more to heart the rich +citizen’s unkindness; and that, not from any envy, but because he felt +that a man of his state and fortune could all the better afford to +recognise an old friend, even if he were poor and obscure. The more he +thought of this, the more lonely and sad he felt. When the company +dispersed and adjourned to the ball-room, he paced the hall and passages +alone, ruminating in a very melancholy condition upon the disappointment +he had experienced. + +It chanced, while he was lounging about in this moody state, that he +stumbled upon a flight of stairs, dark, steep, and narrow, which he +ascended without any thought about the matter, and so came into a little +music-gallery, empty and deserted. From this elevated post, which +commanded the whole hall, he amused himself in looking down upon the +attendants who were clearing away the fragments of the feast very lazily, +and drinking out of all the bottles and glasses with most commendable +perseverance. + +His attention gradually relaxed, and he fell fast asleep. + +When he awoke, he thought there must be something the matter with his +eyes; but, rubbing them a little, he soon found that the moonlight was +really streaming through the east window, that the lamps were all +extinguished, and that he was alone. He listened, but no distant murmur +in the echoing passages, not even the shutting of a door, broke the deep +silence; he groped his way down the stairs, and found that the door at +the bottom was locked on the other side. He began now to comprehend that +he must have slept a long time, that he had been overlooked, and was shut +up there for the night. + +His first sensation, perhaps, was not altogether a comfortable one, for +it was a dark, chilly, earthy-smelling place, and something too large, +for a man so situated, to feel at home in. However, when the momentary +consternation of his surprise was over, he made light of the accident, +and resolved to feel his way up the stairs again, and make himself as +comfortable as he could in the gallery until morning. As he turned to +execute this purpose, he heard the clocks strike three. + +Any such invasion of a dead stillness as the striking of distant clocks, +causes it to appear the more intense and insupportable when the sound has +ceased. He listened with strained attention in the hope that some clock, +lagging behind its fellows, had yet to strike,—looking all the time into +the profound darkness before him, until it seemed to weave itself into a +black tissue, patterned with a hundred reflections of his own eyes. But +the bells had all pealed out their warning for that once, and the gust of +wind that moaned through the place seemed cold and heavy with their iron +breath. + +The time and circumstances were favourable to reflection. He tried to +keep his thoughts to the current, unpleasant though it was, in which they +had moved all day, and to think with what a romantic feeling he had +looked forward to shaking his old friend by the hand before he died, and +what a wide and cruel difference there was between the meeting they had +had, and that which he had so often and so long anticipated. Still, he +was disordered by waking to such sudden loneliness, and could not prevent +his mind from running upon odd tales of people of undoubted courage, who, +being shut up by night in vaults or churches, or other dismal places, had +scaled great heights to get out, and fled from silence as they had never +done from danger. This brought to his mind the moonlight through the +window, and bethinking himself of it, he groped his way back up the +crooked stairs,—but very stealthily, as though he were fearful of being +overheard. + +He was very much astonished when he approached the gallery again, to see +a light in the building: still more so, on advancing hastily and looking +round, to observe no visible source from which it could proceed. But how +much greater yet was his astonishment at the spectacle which this light +revealed. + +The statues of the two giants, Gog and Magog, each above fourteen feet in +height, those which succeeded to still older and more barbarous figures, +after the Great Fire of London, and which stand in the Guildhall to this +day, were endowed with life and motion. These guardian genii of the City +had quitted their pedestals, and reclined in easy attitudes in the great +stained glass window. Between them was an ancient cask, which seemed to +be full of wine; for the younger Giant, clapping his huge hand upon it, +and throwing up his mighty leg, burst into an exulting laugh, which +reverberated through the hall like thunder. + +Joe Toddyhigh instinctively stooped down, and, more dead than alive, felt +his hair stand on end, his knees knock together, and a cold damp break +out upon his forehead. But even at that minute curiosity prevailed over +every other feeling, and somewhat reassured by the good-humour of the +Giants and their apparent unconsciousness of his presence, he crouched in +a corner of the gallery, in as small a space as he could, and, peeping +between the rails, observed them closely. + +It was then that the elder Giant, who had a flowing gray beard, raised +his thoughtful eyes to his companion’s face, and in a grave and solemn +voice addressed him thus: + + + +FIRST NIGHT OF THE GIANT CHRONICLES + + +Turning towards his companion the elder Giant uttered these words in a +grave, majestic tone: + +‘Magog, does boisterous mirth beseem the Giant Warder of this ancient +city? Is this becoming demeanour for a watchful spirit over whose +bodiless head so many years have rolled, so many changes swept like empty +air—in whose impalpable nostrils the scent of blood and crime, +pestilence, cruelty, and horror, has been familiar as breath to +mortals—in whose sight Time has gathered in the harvest of centuries, and +garnered so many crops of human pride, affections, hopes, and sorrows? +Bethink you of our compact. The night wanes; feasting, revelry, and +music have encroached upon our usual hours of solitude, and morning will +be here apace. Ere we are stricken mute again, bethink you of our +compact.’ + +Pronouncing these latter words with more of impatience than quite +accorded with his apparent age and gravity, the Giant raised a long pole +(which he still bears in his hand) and tapped his brother Giant rather +smartly on the head; indeed, the blow was so smartly administered, that +the latter quickly withdrew his lips from the cask, to which they had +been applied, and, catching up his shield and halberd, assumed an +attitude of defence. His irritation was but momentary, for he laid these +weapons aside as hastily as he had assumed them, and said as he did so: + +‘You know, Gog, old friend, that when we animate these shapes which the +Londoners of old assigned (and not unworthily) to the guardian genii of +their city, we are susceptible of some of the sensations which belong to +human kind. Thus when I taste wine, I feel blows; when I relish the one, +I disrelish the other. Therefore, Gog, the more especially as your arm +is none of the lightest, keep your good staff by your side, else we may +chance to differ. Peace be between us!’ + +‘Amen!’ said the other, leaning his staff in the window-corner. ‘Why did +you laugh just now?’ + +‘To think,’ replied the Giant Magog, laying his hand upon the cask, ‘of +him who owned this wine, and kept it in a cellar hoarded from the light +of day, for thirty years,—“till it should be fit to drink,” quoth he. He +was twoscore and ten years old when he buried it beneath his house, and +yet never thought that he might be scarcely “fit to drink” when the wine +became so. I wonder it never occurred to him to make himself unfit to be +eaten. There is very little of him left by this time.’ + + [Picture: Gog and Magog] + +‘The night is waning,’ said Gog mournfully. + +‘I know it,’ replied his companion, ‘and I see you are impatient. But +look. Through the eastern window—placed opposite to us, that the first +beams of the rising sun may every morning gild our giant faces—the +moon-rays fall upon the pavement in a stream of light that to my fancy +sinks through the cold stone and gushes into the old crypt below. The +night is scarcely past its noon, and our great charge is sleeping +heavily.’ + +They ceased to speak, and looked upward at the moon. The sight of their +large, black, rolling eyes filled Joe Toddyhigh with such horror that he +could scarcely draw his breath. Still they took no note of him, and +appeared to believe themselves quite alone. + +‘Our compact,’ said Magog after a pause, ‘is, if I understand it, that, +instead of watching here in silence through the dreary nights, we +entertain each other with stories of our past experience; with tales of +the past, the present, and the future; with legends of London and her +sturdy citizens from the old simple times. That every night at midnight, +when St. Paul’s bell tolls out one, and we may move and speak, we thus +discourse, nor leave such themes till the first gray gleam of day shall +strike us dumb. Is that our bargain, brother?’ + +‘Yes,’ said the Giant Gog, ‘that is the league between us who guard this +city, by day in spirit, and by night in body also; and never on ancient +holidays have its conduits run wine more merrily than we will pour forth +our legendary lore. We are old chroniclers from this time hence. The +crumbled walls encircle us once more, the postern-gates are closed, the +drawbridge is up, and pent in its narrow den beneath, the water foams and +struggles with the sunken starlings. Jerkins and quarter-staves are in +the streets again, the nightly watch is set, the rebel, sad and lonely in +his Tower dungeon, tries to sleep and weeps for home and children. Aloft +upon the gates and walls are noble heads glaring fiercely down upon the +dreaming city, and vexing the hungry dogs that scent them in the air, and +tear the ground beneath with dismal howlings. The axe, the block, the +rack, in their dark chambers give signs of recent use. The Thames, +floating past long lines of cheerful windows whence come a burst of music +and a stream of light, bears suddenly to the Palace wall the last red +stain brought on the tide from Traitor’s Gate. But your pardon, brother. +The night wears, and I am talking idly.’ + +The other Giant appeared to be entirely of this opinion, for during the +foregoing rhapsody of his fellow-sentinel he had been scratching his head +with an air of comical uneasiness, or rather with an air that would have +been very comical if he had been a dwarf or an ordinary-sized man. He +winked too, and though it could not be doubted for a moment that he +winked to himself, still he certainly cocked his enormous eye towards the +gallery where the listener was concealed. Nor was this all, for he +gaped; and when he gaped, Joe was horribly reminded of the popular +prejudice on the subject of giants, and of their fabled power of smelling +out Englishmen, however closely concealed. + +His alarm was such that he nearly swooned, and it was some little time +before his power of sight or hearing was restored. When he recovered he +found that the elder Giant was pressing the younger to commence the +Chronicles, and that the latter was endeavouring to excuse himself on the +ground that the night was far spent, and it would be better to wait until +the next. Well assured by this that he was certainly about to begin +directly, the listener collected his faculties by a great effort, and +distinctly heard Magog express himself to the following effect: + + * * * * * + +In the sixteenth century and in the reign of Queen Elizabeth of glorious +memory (albeit her golden days are sadly rusted with blood), there lived +in the city of London a bold young ’prentice who loved his master’s +daughter. There were no doubt within the walls a great many ’prentices +in this condition, but I speak of only one, and his name was Hugh Graham. + +This Hugh was apprenticed to an honest Bowyer who dwelt in the ward of +Cheype, and was rumoured to possess great wealth. Rumour was quite as +infallible in those days as at the present time, but it happened then as +now to be sometimes right by accident. It stumbled upon the truth when +it gave the old Bowyer a mint of money. His trade had been a profitable +one in the time of King Henry the Eighth, who encouraged English archery +to the utmost, and he had been prudent and discreet. Thus it came to +pass that Mistress Alice, his only daughter, was the richest heiress in +all his wealthy ward. Young Hugh had often maintained with staff and +cudgel that she was the handsomest. To do him justice, I believe she +was. + +If he could have gained the heart of pretty Mistress Alice by knocking +this conviction into stubborn people’s heads, Hugh would have had no +cause to fear. But though the Bowyer’s daughter smiled in secret to hear +of his doughty deeds for her sake, and though her little waiting-woman +reported all her smiles (and many more) to Hugh, and though he was at a +vast expense in kisses and small coin to recompense her fidelity, he made +no progress in his love. He durst not whisper it to Mistress Alice save +on sure encouragement, and that she never gave him. A glance of her dark +eye as she sat at the door on a summer’s evening after prayer-time, while +he and the neighbouring ’prentices exercised themselves in the street +with blunted sword and buckler, would fire Hugh’s blood so that none +could stand before him; but then she glanced at others quite as kindly as +on him, and where was the use of cracking crowns if Mistress Alice smiled +upon the cracked as well as on the cracker? + +Still Hugh went on, and loved her more and more. He thought of her all +day, and dreamed of her all night long. He treasured up her every word +and gesture, and had a palpitation of the heart whenever he heard her +footstep on the stairs or her voice in an adjoining room. To him, the +old Bowyer’s house was haunted by an angel; there was enchantment in the +air and space in which she moved. It would have been no miracle to Hugh +if flowers had sprung from the rush-strewn floors beneath the tread of +lovely Mistress Alice. + +Never did ’prentice long to distinguish himself in the eyes of his +lady-love so ardently as Hugh. Sometimes he pictured to himself the +house taking fire by night, and he, when all drew back in fear, rushing +through flame and smoke, and bearing her from the ruins in his arms. At +other times he thought of a rising of fierce rebels, an attack upon the +city, a strong assault upon the Bowyer’s house in particular, and he +falling on the threshold pierced with numberless wounds in defence of +Mistress Alice. If he could only enact some prodigy of valour, do some +wonderful deed, and let her know that she had inspired it, he thought he +could die contented. + +Sometimes the Bowyer and his daughter would go out to supper with a +worthy citizen at the fashionable hour of six o’clock, and on such +occasions Hugh, wearing his blue ’prentice cloak as gallantly as +’prentice might, would attend with a lantern and his trusty club to +escort them home. These were the brightest moments of his life. To hold +the light while Mistress Alice picked her steps, to touch her hand as he +helped her over broken ways, to have her leaning on his arm,—it sometimes +even came to that,—this was happiness indeed! + +When the nights were fair, Hugh followed in the rear, his eyes riveted on +the graceful figure of the Bowyer’s daughter as she and the old man moved +on before him. So they threaded the narrow winding streets of the city, +now passing beneath the overhanging gables of old wooden houses whence +creaking signs projected into the street, and now emerging from some dark +and frowning gateway into the clear moonlight. At such times, or when +the shouts of straggling brawlers met her ear, the Bowyer’s daughter +would look timidly back at Hugh, beseeching him to draw nearer; and then +how he grasped his club and longed to do battle with a dozen rufflers, +for the love of Mistress Alice! + +The old Bowyer was in the habit of lending money on interest to the +gallants of the Court, and thus it happened that many a richly-dressed +gentleman dismounted at his door. More waving plumes and gallant steeds, +indeed, were seen at the Bowyer’s house, and more embroidered silks and +velvets sparkled in his dark shop and darker private closet, than at any +merchants in the city. In those times no less than in the present it +would seem that the richest-looking cavaliers often wanted money the +most. + + [Picture: A Gallant Cavalier] + +Of these glittering clients there was one who always came alone. He was +nobly mounted, and, having no attendant, gave his horse in charge to Hugh +while he and the Bowyer were closeted within. Once as he sprung into the +saddle Mistress Alice was seated at an upper window, and before she could +withdraw he had doffed his jewelled cap and kissed his hand. Hugh +watched him caracoling down the street, and burnt with indignation. But +how much deeper was the glow that reddened in his cheeks when, raising +his eyes to the casement, he saw that Alice watched the stranger too! + +He came again and often, each time arrayed more gaily than before, and +still the little casement showed him Mistress Alice. At length one heavy +day, she fled from home. It had cost her a hard struggle, for all her +old father’s gifts were strewn about her chamber as if she had parted +from them one by one, and knew that the time must come when these tokens +of his love would wring her heart,—yet she was gone. + +She left a letter commanding her poor father to the care of Hugh, and +wishing he might be happier than ever he could have been with her, for he +deserved the love of a better and a purer heart than she had to bestow. +The old man’s forgiveness (she said) she had no power to ask, but she +prayed God to bless him,—and so ended with a blot upon the paper where +her tears had fallen. + +At first the old man’s wrath was kindled, and he carried his wrong to the +Queen’s throne itself; but there was no redress he learnt at Court, for +his daughter had been conveyed abroad. This afterwards appeared to be +the truth, as there came from France, after an interval of several years, +a letter in her hand. It was written in trembling characters, and almost +illegible. Little could be made out save that she often thought of home +and her old dear pleasant room,—and that she had dreamt her father was +dead and had not blessed her,—and that her heart was breaking. + +The poor old Bowyer lingered on, never suffering Hugh to quit his sight, +for he knew now that he had loved his daughter, and that was the only +link that bound him to earth. It broke at length and he +died,—bequeathing his old ’prentice his trade and all his wealth, and +solemnly charging him with his last breath to revenge his child if ever +he who had worked her misery crossed his path in life again. + +From the time of Alice’s flight, the tilting-ground, the fields, the +fencing-school, the summer-evening sports, knew Hugh no more. His spirit +was dead within him. He rose to great eminence and repute among the +citizens, but was seldom seen to smile, and never mingled in their +revelries or rejoicings. Brave, humane, and generous, he was beloved by +all. He was pitied too by those who knew his story, and these were so +many that when he walked along the streets alone at dusk, even the rude +common people doffed their caps and mingled a rough air of sympathy with +their respect. + +One night in May—it was her birthnight, and twenty years since she had +left her home—Hugh Graham sat in the room she had hallowed in his boyish +days. He was now a gray-haired man, though still in the prime of life. +Old thoughts had borne him company for many hours, and the chamber had +gradually grown quite dark, when he was roused by a low knocking at the +outer door. + +He hastened down, and opening it saw by the light of a lamp which he had +seized upon the way, a female figure crouching in the portal. It hurried +swiftly past him and glided up the stairs. He looked for pursuers. +There were none in sight. No, not one. + +He was inclined to think it a vision of his own brain, when suddenly a +vague suspicion of the truth flashed upon his mind. He barred the door, +and hastened wildly back. Yes, there she was,—there, in the chamber he +had quitted,—there in her old innocent, happy home, so changed that none +but he could trace one gleam of what she had been,—there upon her +knees,—with her hands clasped in agony and shame before her burning face. + +‘My God, my God!’ she cried, ‘now strike me dead! Though I have brought +death and shame and sorrow on this roof, O, let me die at home in mercy!’ + +There was no tear upon her face then, but she trembled and glanced round +the chamber. Everything was in its old place. Her bed looked as if she +had risen from it but that morning. The sight of these familiar objects, +marking the dear remembrance in which she had been held, and the blight +she had brought upon herself, was more than the woman’s better nature +that had carried her there could bear. She wept and fell upon the +ground. + +A rumour was spread about, in a few days’ time, that the Bowyer’s cruel +daughter had come home, and that Master Graham had given her lodging in +his house. It was rumoured too that he had resigned her fortune, in +order that she might bestow it in acts of charity, and that he had vowed +to guard her in her solitude, but that they were never to see each other +more. These rumours greatly incensed all virtuous wives and daughters in +the ward, especially when they appeared to receive some corroboration +from the circumstance of Master Graham taking up his abode in another +tenement hard by. The estimation in which he was held, however, forbade +any questioning on the subject; and as the Bowyer’s house was close shut +up, and nobody came forth when public shows and festivities were in +progress, or to flaunt in the public walks, or to buy new fashions at the +mercers’ booths, all the well-conducted females agreed among themselves +that there could be no woman there. + +These reports had scarcely died away when the wonder of every good +citizen, male and female, was utterly absorbed and swallowed up by a +Royal Proclamation, in which her Majesty, strongly censuring the practice +of wearing long Spanish rapiers of preposterous length (as being a +bullying and swaggering custom, tending to bloodshed and public +disorder), commanded that on a particular day therein named, certain +grave citizens should repair to the city gates, and there, in public, +break all rapiers worn or carried by persons claiming admission, that +exceeded, though it were only by a quarter of an inch, three standard +feet in length. + +Royal Proclamations usually take their course, let the public wonder +never so much. On the appointed day two citizens of high repute took up +their stations at each of the gates, attended by a party of the city +guard, the main body to enforce the Queen’s will, and take custody of all +such rebels (if any) as might have the temerity to dispute it: and a few +to bear the standard measures and instruments for reducing all unlawful +sword-blades to the prescribed dimensions. In pursuance of these +arrangements, Master Graham and another were posted at Lud Gate, on the +hill before St. Paul’s. + +A pretty numerous company were gathered together at this spot, for, +besides the officers in attendance to enforce the proclamation, there was +a motley crowd of lookers-on of various degrees, who raised from time to +time such shouts and cries as the circumstances called forth. A spruce +young courtier was the first who approached: he unsheathed a weapon of +burnished steel that shone and glistened in the sun, and handed it with +the newest air to the officer, who, finding it exactly three feet long, +returned it with a bow. Thereupon the gallant raised his hat and crying, +‘God save the Queen!’ passed on amidst the plaudits of the mob. Then +came another—a better courtier still—who wore a blade but two feet long, +whereat the people laughed, much to the disparagement of his honour’s +dignity. Then came a third, a sturdy old officer of the army, girded +with a rapier at least a foot and a half beyond her Majesty’s pleasure; +at him they raised a great shout, and most of the spectators (but +especially those who were armourers or cutlers) laughed very heartily at +the breakage which would ensue. But they were disappointed; for the old +campaigner, coolly unbuckling his sword and bidding his servant carry it +home again, passed through unarmed, to the great indignation of all the +beholders. They relieved themselves in some degree by hooting a tall +blustering fellow with a prodigious weapon, who stopped short on coming +in sight of the preparations, and after a little consideration turned +back again. But all this time no rapier had been broken, although it was +high noon, and all cavaliers of any quality or appearance were taking +their way towards Saint Paul’s churchyard. + +During these proceedings, Master Graham had stood apart, strictly +confining himself to the duty imposed upon him, and taking little heed of +anything beyond. He stepped forward now as a richly-dressed gentleman on +foot, followed by a single attendant, was seen advancing up the hill. + +As this person drew nearer, the crowd stopped their clamour, and bent +forward with eager looks. Master Graham standing alone in the gateway, +and the stranger coming slowly towards him, they seemed, as it were, set +face to face. The nobleman (for he looked one) had a haughty and +disdainful air, which bespoke the slight estimation in which he held the +citizen. The citizen, on the other hand, preserved the resolute bearing +of one who was not to be frowned down or daunted, and who cared very +little for any nobility but that of worth and manhood. It was perhaps +some consciousness on the part of each, of these feelings in the other, +that infused a more stern expression into their regards as they came +closer together. + +‘Your rapier, worthy sir!’ + +At the instant that he pronounced these words Graham started, and falling +back some paces, laid his hand upon the dagger in his belt. + +‘You are the man whose horse I used to hold before the Bowyer’s door? +You are that man? Speak!’ + +‘Out, you ’prentice hound!’ said the other. + +‘You are he! I know you well now!’ cried Graham. ‘Let no man step +between us two, or I shall be his murderer.’ With that he drew his +dagger, and rushed in upon him. + +The stranger had drawn his weapon from the scabbard ready for the +scrutiny, before a word was spoken. He made a thrust at his assailant, +but the dagger which Graham clutched in his left hand being the dirk in +use at that time for parrying such blows, promptly turned the point +aside. They closed. The dagger fell rattling on the ground, and Graham, +wresting his adversary’s sword from his grasp, plunged it through his +heart. As he drew it out it snapped in two, leaving a fragment in the +dead man’s body. + +All this passed so swiftly that the bystanders looked on without an +effort to interfere; but the man was no sooner down than an uproar broke +forth which rent the air. The attendant rushing through the gate +proclaimed that his master, a nobleman, had been set upon and slain by a +citizen; the word quickly spread from mouth to mouth; Saint Paul’s +Cathedral, and every book-shop, ordinary, and smoking-house in the +churchyard poured out its stream of cavaliers and their followers, who +mingling together in a dense tumultuous body, struggled, sword in hand, +towards the spot. + +With equal impetuosity, and stimulating each other by loud cries and +shouts, the citizens and common people took up the quarrel on their side, +and encircling Master Graham a hundred deep, forced him from the gate. +In vain he waved the broken sword above his head, crying that he would +die on London’s threshold for their sacred homes. They bore him on, and +ever keeping him in the midst, so that no man could attack him, fought +their way into the city. + +The clash of swords and roar of voices, the dust and heat and pressure, +the trampling under foot of men, the distracted looks and shrieks of +women at the windows above as they recognised their relatives or lovers +in the crowd, the rapid tolling of alarm-bells, the furious rage and +passion of the scene, were fearful. Those who, being on the outskirts of +each crowd, could use their weapons with effect, fought desperately, +while those behind, maddened with baffled rage, struck at each other over +the heads of those before them, and crushed their own fellows. Wherever +the broken sword was seen above the people’s heads, towards that spot the +cavaliers made a new rush. Every one of these charges was marked by +sudden gaps in the throng where men were trodden down, but as fast as +they were made, the tide swept over them, and still the multitude pressed +on again, a confused mass of swords, clubs, staves, broken plumes, +fragments of rich cloaks and doublets, and angry, bleeding faces, all +mixed up together in inextricable disorder. + +The design of the people was to force Master Graham to take refuge in his +dwelling, and to defend it until the authorities could interfere, or they +could gain time for parley. But either from ignorance or in the +confusion of the moment they stopped at his old house, which was closely +shut. Some time was lost in beating the doors open and passing him to +the front. About a score of the boldest of the other party threw +themselves into the torrent while this was being done, and reaching the +door at the same moment with himself cut him off from his defenders. + +‘I never will turn in such a righteous cause, so help me Heaven!’ cried +Graham, in a voice that at last made itself heard, and confronting them +as he spoke. ‘Least of all will I turn upon this threshold which owes +its desolation to such men as ye. I give no quarter, and I will have +none! Strike!’ + +For a moment they stood at bay. At that moment a shot from an unseen +hand, apparently fired by some person who had gained access to one of the +opposite houses, struck Graham in the brain, and he fell dead. A low +wail was heard in the air,—many people in the concourse cried that they +had seen a spirit glide across the little casement window of the Bowyer’s +house— + +A dead silence succeeded. After a short time some of the flushed and +heated throng laid down their arms and softly carried the body within +doors. Others fell off or slunk away in knots of two or three, others +whispered together in groups, and before a numerous guard which then rode +up could muster in the street, it was nearly empty. + + [Picture: Death of Master Graham] + +Those who carried Master Graham to the bed up-stairs were shocked to see +a woman lying beneath the window with her hands clasped together. After +trying to recover her in vain, they laid her near the citizen, who still +retained, tightly grasped in his right hand, the first and last sword +that was broken that day at Lud Gate. + + * * * * * + +The Giant uttered these concluding words with sudden precipitation; and +on the instant the strange light which had filled the hall faded away. +Joe Toddyhigh glanced involuntarily at the eastern window, and saw the +first pale gleam of morning. He turned his head again towards the other +window in which the Giants had been seated. It was empty. The cask of +wine was gone, and he could dimly make out that the two great figures +stood mute and motionless upon their pedestals. + +After rubbing his eyes and wondering for full half an hour, during which +time he observed morning come creeping on apace, he yielded to the +drowsiness which overpowered him and fell into a refreshing slumber. +When he awoke it was broad day; the building was open, and workmen were +busily engaged in removing the vestiges of last night’s feast. + +Stealing gently down the little stairs, and assuming the air of some +early lounger who had dropped in from the street, he walked up to the +foot of each pedestal in turn, and attentively examined the figure it +supported. There could be no doubt about the features of either; he +recollected the exact expression they had worn at different passages of +their conversation, and recognised in every line and lineament the Giants +of the night. Assured that it was no vision, but that he had heard and +seen with his own proper senses, he walked forth, determining at all +hazards to conceal himself in the Guildhall again that evening. He +further resolved to sleep all day, so that he might be very wakeful and +vigilant, and above all that he might take notice of the figures at the +precise moment of their becoming animated and subsiding into their old +state, which he greatly reproached himself for not having done already. + + + +CORRESPONDENCE +TO MASTER HUMPHREY + + +‘SIR,—Before you proceed any further in your account of your friends and +what you say and do when you meet together, excuse me if I proffer my +claim to be elected to one of the vacant chairs in that old room of +yours. Don’t reject me without full consideration; for if you do, you +will be sorry for it afterwards—you will, upon my life. + +‘I enclose my card, sir, in this letter. I never was ashamed of my name, +and I never shall be. I am considered a devilish gentlemanly fellow, and +I act up to the character. If you want a reference, ask any of the men +at our club. Ask any fellow who goes there to write his letters, what +sort of conversation mine is. Ask him if he thinks I have the sort of +voice that will suit your deaf friend and make him hear, if he can hear +anything at all. Ask the servants what they think of me. There’s not a +rascal among ’em, sir, but will tremble to hear my name. That reminds +me—don’t you say too much about that housekeeper of yours; it’s a low +subject, damned low. + +‘I tell you what, sir. If you vote me into one of those empty chairs, +you’ll have among you a man with a fund of gentlemanly information +that’ll rather astonish you. I can let you into a few anecdotes about +some fine women of title, that are quite high life, sir—the tiptop sort +of thing. I know the name of every man who has been out on an affair of +honour within the last five-and-twenty years; I know the private +particulars of every cross and squabble that has taken place upon the +turf, at the gaming-table, or elsewhere, during the whole of that time. +I have been called the gentlemanly chronicle. You may consider yourself +a lucky dog; upon my soul, you may congratulate yourself, though I say +so. + +‘It’s an uncommon good notion that of yours, not letting anybody know +where you live. I have tried it, but there has always been an anxiety +respecting me, which has found me out. Your deaf friend is a cunning +fellow to keep his name so close. I have tried that too, but have always +failed. I shall be proud to make his acquaintance—tell him so, with my +compliments. + +‘You must have been a queer fellow when you were a child, confounded +queer. It’s odd, all that about the picture in your first paper—prosy, +but told in a devilish gentlemanly sort of way. In places like that I +could come in with great effect with a touch of life—don’t you feel that? + + [Picture: A Charming Fellow] + +‘I am anxiously waiting for your next paper to know whether your friends +live upon the premises, and at your expense, which I take it for granted +is the case. If I am right in this impression, I know a charming fellow +(an excellent companion and most delightful company) who will be proud to +join you. Some years ago he seconded a great many prize-fighters, and +once fought an amateur match himself; since then he has driven several +mails, broken at different periods all the lamps on the right-hand side +of Oxford-street, and six times carried away every bell-handle in +Bloomsbury-square, besides turning off the gas in various thoroughfares. +In point of gentlemanliness he is unrivalled, and I should say that next +to myself he is of all men the best suited to your purpose. + + ‘Expecting your reply, + ‘I am, + ‘&c. &c.’ + + * * * * * + +Master Humphrey informs this gentleman that his application, both as it +concerns himself and his friend, is rejected. + + + + +II + + +MASTER HUMPHREY, FROM HIS CLOCK-SIDE IN THE CHIMNEY-CORNER + +MY old companion tells me it is midnight. The fire glows brightly, +crackling with a sharp and cheerful sound, as if it loved to burn. The +merry cricket on the hearth (my constant visitor), this ruddy blaze, my +clock, and I, seem to share the world among us, and to be the only things +awake. The wind, high and boisterous but now, has died away and hoarsely +mutters in its sleep. I love all times and seasons each in its turn, and +am apt, perhaps, to think the present one the best; but past or coming I +always love this peaceful time of night, when long-buried thoughts, +favoured by the gloom and silence, steal from their graves, and haunt the +scenes of faded happiness and hope. + +The popular faith in ghosts has a remarkable affinity with the whole +current of our thoughts at such an hour as this, and seems to be their +necessary and natural consequence. For who can wonder that man should +feel a vague belief in tales of disembodied spirits wandering through +those places which they once dearly affected, when he himself, scarcely +less separated from his old world than they, is for ever lingering upon +past emotions and bygone times, and hovering, the ghost of his former +self, about the places and people that warmed his heart of old? It is +thus that at this quiet hour I haunt the house where I was born, the +rooms I used to tread, the scenes of my infancy, my boyhood, and my +youth; it is thus that I prowl around my buried treasure (though not of +gold or silver), and mourn my loss; it is thus that I revisit the ashes +of extinguished fires, and take my silent stand at old bedsides. If my +spirit should ever glide back to this chamber when my body is mingled +with the dust, it will but follow the course it often took in the old +man’s lifetime, and add but one more change to the subjects of its +contemplation. + +In all my idle speculations I am greatly assisted by various legends +connected with my venerable house, which are current in the +neighbourhood, and are so numerous that there is scarce a cupboard or +corner that has not some dismal story of its own. When I first +entertained thoughts of becoming its tenant, I was assured that it was +haunted from roof to cellar, and I believe that the bad opinion in which +my neighbours once held me, had its rise in my not being torn to pieces, +or at least distracted with terror, on the night I took possession; in +either of which cases I should doubtless have arrived by a short cut at +the very summit of popularity. + +But traditions and rumours all taken into account, who so abets me in +every fancy and chimes with my every thought, as my dear deaf friend? and +how often have I cause to bless the day that brought us two together! Of +all days in the year I rejoice to think that it should have been +Christmas Day, with which from childhood we associate something friendly, +hearty, and sincere. + +I had walked out to cheer myself with the happiness of others, and, in +the little tokens of festivity and rejoicing, of which the streets and +houses present so many upon that day, had lost some hours. Now I stopped +to look at a merry party hurrying through the snow on foot to their place +of meeting, and now turned back to see a whole coachful of children +safely deposited at the welcome house. At one time, I admired how +carefully the working man carried the baby in its gaudy hat and feathers, +and how his wife, trudging patiently on behind, forgot even her care of +her gay clothes, in exchanging greeting with the child as it crowed and +laughed over the father’s shoulder; at another, I pleased myself with +some passing scene of gallantry or courtship, and was glad to believe +that for a season half the world of poverty was gay. + +As the day closed in, I still rambled through the streets, feeling a +companionship in the bright fires that cast their warm reflection on the +windows as I passed, and losing all sense of my own loneliness in +imagining the sociality and kind-fellowship that everywhere prevailed. +At length I happened to stop before a Tavern, and, encountering a Bill of +Fare in the window, it all at once brought it into my head to wonder what +kind of people dined alone in Taverns upon Christmas Day. + +Solitary men are accustomed, I suppose, unconsciously to look upon +solitude as their own peculiar property. I had sat alone in my room on +many, many anniversaries of this great holiday, and had never regarded it +but as one of universal assemblage and rejoicing. I had excepted, and +with an aching heart, a crowd of prisoners and beggars; but _these_ were +not the men for whom the Tavern doors were open. Had they any customers, +or was it a mere form?—a form, no doubt. + +Trying to feel quite sure of this, I walked away; but before I had gone +many paces, I stopped and looked back. There was a provoking air of +business in the lamp above the door which I could not overcome. I began +to be afraid there might be many customers—young men, perhaps, struggling +with the world, utter strangers in this great place, whose friends lived +at a long distance off, and whose means were too slender to enable them +to make the journey. The supposition gave rise to so many distressing +little pictures, that in preference to carrying them home with me, I +determined to encounter the realities. So I turned and walked in. + +I was at once glad and sorry to find that there was only one person in +the dining-room; glad to know that there were not more, and sorry that he +should be there by himself. He did not look so old as I, but like me he +was advanced in life, and his hair was nearly white. Though I made more +noise in entering and seating myself than was quite necessary, with the +view of attracting his attention and saluting him in the good old form of +that time of year, he did not raise his head, but sat with it resting on +his hand, musing over his half-finished meal. + +I called for something which would give me an excuse for remaining in the +room (I had dined early, as my housekeeper was engaged at night to +partake of some friend’s good cheer), and sat where I could observe +without intruding on him. After a time he looked up. He was aware that +somebody had entered, but could see very little of me, as I sat in the +shade and he in the light. He was sad and thoughtful, and I forbore to +trouble him by speaking. + +Let me believe it was something better than curiosity which riveted my +attention and impelled me strongly towards this gentleman. I never saw +so patient and kind a face. He should have been surrounded by friends, +and yet here he sat dejected and alone when all men had their friends +about them. As often as he roused himself from his reverie he would fall +into it again, and it was plain that, whatever were the subject of his +thoughts, they were of a melancholy kind, and would not be controlled. + +He was not used to solitude. I was sure of that; for I know by myself +that if he had been, his manner would have been different, and he would +have taken some slight interest in the arrival of another. I could not +fail to mark that he had no appetite; that he tried to eat in vain; that +time after time the plate was pushed away, and he relapsed into his +former posture. + +His mind was wandering among old Christmas days, I thought. Many of them +sprung up together, not with a long gap between each, but in unbroken +succession like days of the week. It was a great change to find himself +for the first time (I quite settled that it _was_ the first) in an empty +silent room with no soul to care for. I could not help following him in +imagination through crowds of pleasant faces, and then coming back to +that dull place with its bough of mistletoe sickening in the gas, and +sprigs of holly parched up already by a Simoom of roast and boiled. The +very waiter had gone home; and his representative, a poor, lean, hungry +man, was keeping Christmas in his jacket. + +I grew still more interested in my friend. His dinner done, a decanter +of wine was placed before him. It remained untouched for a long time, +but at length with a quivering hand he filled a glass and raised it to +his lips. Some tender wish to which he had been accustomed to give +utterance on that day, or some beloved name that he had been used to +pledge, trembled upon them at the moment. He put it down very +hastily—took it up once more—again put it down—pressed his hand upon his +face—yes—and tears stole down his cheeks, I am certain. + +Without pausing to consider whether I did right or wrong, I stepped +across the room, and sitting down beside him laid my hand gently on his +arm. + +‘My friend,’ I said, ‘forgive me if I beseech you to take comfort and +consolation from the lips of an old man. I will not preach to you what I +have not practised, indeed. Whatever be your grief, be of a good +heart—be of a good heart, pray!’ + +‘I see that you speak earnestly,’ he replied, ‘and kindly I am very sure, +but—’ + +I nodded my head to show that I understood what he would say; for I had +already gathered, from a certain fixed expression in his face, and from +the attention with which he watched me while I spoke, that his sense of +hearing was destroyed. ‘There should be a freemasonry between us,’ said +I, pointing from himself to me to explain my meaning; ‘if not in our gray +hairs, at least in our misfortunes. You see that I am but a poor +cripple.’ + +I never felt so happy under my affliction since the trying moment of my +first becoming conscious of it, as when he took my hand in his with a +smile that has lighted my path in life from that day, and we sat down +side by side. + +This was the beginning of my friendship with the deaf gentleman; and when +was ever the slight and easy service of a kind word in season repaid by +such attachment and devotion as he has shown to me! + +He produced a little set of tablets and a pencil to facilitate our +conversation, on that our first acquaintance; and I well remember how +awkward and constrained I was in writing down my share of the dialogue, +and how easily he guessed my meaning before I had written half of what I +had to say. He told me in a faltering voice that he had not been +accustomed to be alone on that day—that it had always been a little +festival with him; and seeing that I glanced at his dress in the +expectation that he wore mourning, he added hastily that it was not that; +if it had been he thought he could have borne it better. From that time +to the present we have never touched upon this theme. Upon every return +of the same day we have been together; and although we make it our annual +custom to drink to each other hand in hand after dinner, and to recall +with affectionate garrulity every circumstance of our first meeting, we +always avoid this one as if by mutual consent. + +Meantime we have gone on strengthening in our friendship and regard and +forming an attachment which, I trust and believe, will only be +interrupted by death, to be renewed in another existence. I scarcely +know how we communicate as we do; but he has long since ceased to be deaf +to me. He is frequently my companion in my walks, and even in crowded +streets replies to my slightest look or gesture, as though he could read +my thoughts. From the vast number of objects which pass in rapid +succession before our eyes, we frequently select the same for some +particular notice or remark; and when one of these little coincidences +occurs, I cannot describe the pleasure which animates my friend, or the +beaming countenance he will preserve for half-an-hour afterwards at +least. + +He is a great thinker from living so much within himself, and, having a +lively imagination, has a facility of conceiving and enlarging upon odd +ideas, which renders him invaluable to our little body, and greatly +astonishes our two friends. His powers in this respect are much assisted +by a large pipe, which he assures us once belonged to a German Student. +Be this as it may, it has undoubtedly a very ancient and mysterious +appearance, and is of such capacity that it takes three hours and a half +to smoke it out. I have reason to believe that my barber, who is the +chief authority of a knot of gossips, who congregate every evening at a +small tobacconist’s hard by, has related anecdotes of this pipe and the +grim figures that are carved upon its bowl, at which all the smokers in +the neighbourhood have stood aghast; and I know that my housekeeper, +while she holds it in high veneration, has a superstitious feeling +connected with it which would render her exceedingly unwilling to be left +alone in its company after dark. + +Whatever sorrow my dear friend has known, and whatever grief may linger +in some secret corner of his heart, he is now a cheerful, placid, happy +creature. Misfortune can never have fallen upon such a man but for some +good purpose; and when I see its traces in his gentle nature and his +earnest feeling, I am the less disposed to murmur at such trials as I may +have undergone myself. With regard to the pipe, I have a theory of my +own; I cannot help thinking that it is in some manner connected with the +event that brought us together; for I remember that it was a long time +before he even talked about it; that when he did, he grew reserved and +melancholy; and that it was a long time yet before he brought it forth. +I have no curiosity, however, upon this subject; for I know that it +promotes his tranquillity and comfort, and I need no other inducement to +regard it with my utmost favour. + +Such is the deaf gentleman. I can call up his figure now, clad in sober +gray, and seated in the chimney-corner. As he puffs out the smoke from +his favourite pipe, he casts a look on me brimful of cordiality and +friendship, and says all manner of kind and genial things in a cheerful +smile; then he raises his eyes to my clock, which is just about to +strike, and, glancing from it to me and back again, seems to divide his +heart between us. For myself, it is not too much to say that I would +gladly part with one of my poor limbs, could he but hear the old clock’s +voice. + + [Picture: The Two Friends] + +Of our two friends, the first has been all his life one of that easy, +wayward, truant class whom the world is accustomed to designate as +nobody’s enemies but their own. Bred to a profession for which he never +qualified himself, and reared in the expectation of a fortune he has +never inherited, he has undergone every vicissitude of which such an +existence is capable. He and his younger brother, both orphans from +their childhood, were educated by a wealthy relative, who taught them to +expect an equal division of his property; but too indolent to court, and +too honest to flatter, the elder gradually lost ground in the affections +of a capricious old man, and the younger, who did not fail to improve his +opportunity, now triumphs in the possession of enormous wealth. His +triumph is to hoard it in solitary wretchedness, and probably to feel +with the expenditure of every shilling a greater pang than the loss of +his whole inheritance ever cost his brother. + +Jack Redburn—he was Jack Redburn at the first little school he went to, +where every other child was mastered and surnamed, and he has been Jack +Redburn all his life, or he would perhaps have been a richer man by this +time—has been an inmate of my house these eight years past. He is my +librarian, secretary, steward, and first minister; director of all my +affairs, and inspector-general of my household. He is something of a +musician, something of an author, something of an actor, something of a +painter, very much of a carpenter, and an extraordinary gardener, having +had all his life a wonderful aptitude for learning everything that was of +no use to him. He is remarkably fond of children, and is the best and +kindest nurse in sickness that ever drew the breath of life. He has +mixed with every grade of society, and known the utmost distress; but +there never was a less selfish, a more tender-hearted, a more +enthusiastic, or a more guileless man; and I dare say, if few have done +less good, fewer still have done less harm in the world than he. By what +chance Nature forms such whimsical jumbles I don’t know; but I do know +that she sends them among us very often, and that the king of the whole +race is Jack Redburn. + +I should be puzzled to say how old he is. His health is none of the +best, and he wears a quantity of iron-gray hair, which shades his face +and gives it rather a worn appearance; but we consider him quite a young +fellow notwithstanding; and if a youthful spirit, surviving the roughest +contact with the world, confers upon its possessor any title to be +considered young, then he is a mere child. The only interruptions to his +careless cheerfulness are on a wet Sunday, when he is apt to be unusually +religious and solemn, and sometimes of an evening, when he has been +blowing a very slow tune on the flute. On these last-named occasions he +is apt to incline towards the mysterious, or the terrible. As a specimen +of his powers in this mood, I refer my readers to the extract from the +clock-case which follows this paper: he brought it to me not long ago at +midnight, and informed me that the main incident had been suggested by a +dream of the night before. + +His apartments are two cheerful rooms looking towards the garden, and one +of his great delights is to arrange and rearrange the furniture in these +chambers, and put it in every possible variety of position. During the +whole time he has been here, I do not think he has slept for two nights +running with the head of his bed in the same place; and every time he +moves it, is to be the last. My housekeeper was at first well-nigh +distracted by these frequent changes; but she has become quite reconciled +to them by degrees, and has so fallen in with his humour, that they often +consult together with great gravity upon the next final alteration. +Whatever his arrangements are, however, they are always a pattern of +neatness; and every one of the manifold articles connected with his +manifold occupations is to be found in its own particular place. Until +within the last two or three years he was subject to an occasional fit +(which usually came upon him in very fine weather), under the influence +of which he would dress himself with peculiar care, and, going out under +pretence of taking a walk, disappeared for several days together. At +length, after the interval between each outbreak of this disorder had +gradually grown longer and longer, it wholly disappeared; and now he +seldom stirs abroad, except to stroll out a little way on a summer’s +evening. Whether he yet mistrusts his own constancy in this respect, and +is therefore afraid to wear a coat, I know not; but we seldom see him in +any other upper garment than an old spectral-looking dressing-gown, with +very disproportionate pockets, full of a miscellaneous collection of odd +matters, which he picks up wherever he can lay his hands upon them. + +Everything that is a favourite with our friend is a favourite with us; +and thus it happens that the fourth among us is Mr. Owen Miles, a most +worthy gentleman, who had treated Jack with great kindness before my deaf +friend and I encountered him by an accident, to which I may refer on some +future occasion. Mr. Miles was once a very rich merchant; but receiving +a severe shock in the death of his wife, he retired from business, and +devoted himself to a quiet, unostentatious life. He is an excellent man, +of thoroughly sterling character: not of quick apprehension, and not +without some amusing prejudices, which I shall leave to their own +development. He holds us all in profound veneration; but Jack Redburn he +esteems as a kind of pleasant wonder, that he may venture to approach +familiarly. He believes, not only that no man ever lived who could do so +many things as Jack, but that no man ever lived who could do anything so +well; and he never calls my attention to any of his ingenious +proceedings, but he whispers in my ear, nudging me at the same time with +his elbow: ‘If he had only made it his trade, sir—if he had only made it +his trade!’ + +They are inseparable companions; one would almost suppose that, although +Mr. Miles never by any chance does anything in the way of assistance, +Jack could do nothing without him. Whether he is reading, writing, +painting, carpentering, gardening, flute-playing, or what not, there is +Mr. Miles beside him, buttoned up to the chin in his blue coat, and +looking on with a face of incredulous delight, as though he could not +credit the testimony of his own senses, and had a misgiving that no man +could be so clever but in a dream. + +These are my friends; I have now introduced myself and them. + + + +THE CLOCK-CASE + + +A CONFESSION FOUND IN A PRISON IN THE TIME OF CHARLES THE SECOND + +I held a lieutenant’s commission in his Majesty’s army, and served abroad +in the campaigns of 1677 and 1678. The treaty of Nimeguen being +concluded, I returned home, and retiring from the service, withdrew to a +small estate lying a few miles east of London, which I had recently +acquired in right of my wife. + +This is the last night I have to live, and I will set down the naked +truth without disguise. I was never a brave man, and had always been +from my childhood of a secret, sullen, distrustful nature. I speak of +myself as if I had passed from the world; for while I write this, my +grave is digging, and my name is written in the black-book of death. + +Soon after my return to England, my only brother was seized with mortal +illness. This circumstance gave me slight or no pain; for since we had +been men, we had associated but very little together. He was +open-hearted and generous, handsomer than I, more accomplished, and +generally beloved. Those who sought my acquaintance abroad or at home, +because they were friends of his, seldom attached themselves to me long, +and would usually say, in our first conversation, that they were +surprised to find two brothers so unlike in their manners and appearance. +It was my habit to lead them on to this avowal; for I knew what +comparisons they must draw between us; and having a rankling envy in my +heart, I sought to justify it to myself. + +We had married two sisters. This additional tie between us, as it may +appear to some, only estranged us the more. His wife knew me well. I +never struggled with any secret jealousy or gall when she was present but +that woman knew it as well as I did. I never raised my eyes at such +times but I found hers fixed upon me; I never bent them on the ground or +looked another way but I felt that she overlooked me always. It was an +inexpressible relief to me when we quarrelled, and a greater relief still +when I heard abroad that she was dead. It seems to me now as if some +strange and terrible foreshadowing of what has happened since must have +hung over us then. I was afraid of her; she haunted me; her fixed and +steady look comes back upon me now, like the memory of a dark dream, and +makes my blood run cold. + +She died shortly after giving birth to a child—a boy. When my brother +knew that all hope of his own recovery was past, he called my wife to his +bedside, and confided this orphan, a child of four years old, to her +protection. He bequeathed to him all the property he had, and willed +that, in case of his child’s death, it should pass to my wife, as the +only acknowledgment he could make her for her care and love. He +exchanged a few brotherly words with me, deploring our long separation; +and being exhausted, fell into a slumber, from which he never awoke. + +We had no children; and as there had been a strong affection between the +sisters, and my wife had almost supplied the place of a mother to this +boy, she loved him as if he had been her own. The child was ardently +attached to her; but he was his mother’s image in face and spirit, and +always mistrusted me. + +I can scarcely fix the date when the feeling first came upon me; but I +soon began to be uneasy when this child was by. I never roused myself +from some moody train of thought but I marked him looking at me; not with +mere childish wonder, but with something of the purpose and meaning that +I had so often noted in his mother. It was no effort of my fancy, +founded on close resemblance of feature and expression. I never could +look the boy down. He feared me, but seemed by some instinct to despise +me while he did so; and even when he drew back beneath my gaze—as he +would when we were alone, to get nearer to the door—he would keep his +bright eyes upon me still. + +Perhaps I hide the truth from myself, but I do not think that, when this +began, I meditated to do him any wrong. I may have thought how +serviceable his inheritance would be to us, and may have wished him dead; +but I believe I had no thought of compassing his death. Neither did the +idea come upon me at once, but by very slow degrees, presenting itself at +first in dim shapes at a very great distance, as men may think of an +earthquake or the last day; then drawing nearer and nearer, and losing +something of its horror and improbability; then coming to be part and +parcel—nay nearly the whole sum and substance—of my daily thoughts, and +resolving itself into a question of means and safety; not of doing or +abstaining from the deed. + +While this was going on within me, I never could bear that the child +should see me looking at him, and yet I was under a fascination which +made it a kind of business with me to contemplate his slight and fragile +figure and think how easily it might be done. Sometimes I would steal +up-stairs and watch him as he slept; but usually I hovered in the garden +near the window of the room in which he learnt his little tasks; and +there, as he sat upon a low seat beside my wife, I would peer at him for +hours together from behind a tree; starting, like the guilty wretch I +was, at every rustling of a leaf, and still gliding back to look and +start again. + +Hard by our cottage, but quite out of sight, and (if there were any wind +astir) of hearing too, was a deep sheet of water. I spent days in +shaping with my pocket-knife a rough model of a boat, which I finished at +last and dropped in the child’s way. Then I withdrew to a secret place, +which he must pass if he stole away alone to swim this bauble, and lurked +there for his coming. He came neither that day nor the next, though I +waited from noon till nightfall. I was sure that I had him in my net, +for I had heard him prattling of the toy, and knew that in his infant +pleasure he kept it by his side in bed. I felt no weariness or fatigue, +but waited patiently, and on the third day he passed me, running joyously +along, with his silken hair streaming in the wind, and he singing—God +have mercy upon me!—singing a merry ballad,—who could hardly lisp the +words. + +I stole down after him, creeping under certain shrubs which grow in that +place, and none but devils know with what terror I, a strong, full-grown +man, tracked the footsteps of that baby as he approached the water’s +brink. I was close upon him, had sunk upon my knee and raised my hand to +thrust him in, when he saw my shadow in the stream and turned him round. + +His mother’s ghost was looking from his eyes. The sun burst forth from +behind a cloud; it shone in the bright sky, the glistening earth, the +clear water, the sparkling drops of rain upon the leaves. There were +eyes in everything. The whole great universe of light was there to see +the murder done. I know not what he said; he came of bold and manly +blood, and, child as he was, he did not crouch or fawn upon me. I heard +him cry that he would try to love me,—not that he did,—and then I saw him +running back towards the house. The next I saw was my own sword naked in +my hand, and he lying at my feet stark dead,—dabbled here and there with +blood, but otherwise no different from what I had seen him in his +sleep—in the same attitude too, with his cheek resting upon his little +hand. + +I took him in my arms and laid him—very gently now that he was dead—in a +thicket. My wife was from home that day, and would not return until the +next. Our bedroom window, the only sleeping-room on that side of the +house, was but a few feet from the ground, and I resolved to descend from +it at night and bury him in the garden. I had no thought that I had +failed in my design, no thought that the water would be dragged and +nothing found, that the money must now lie waste, since I must encourage +the idea that the child was lost or stolen. All my thoughts were bound +up and knotted together in the one absorbing necessity of hiding what I +had done. + +How I felt when they came to tell me that the child was missing, when I +ordered scouts in all directions, when I gasped and trembled at every +one’s approach, no tongue can tell or mind of man conceive. I buried him +that night. When I parted the boughs and looked into the dark thicket, +there was a glow-worm shining like the visible spirit of God upon the +murdered child. I glanced down into his grave when I had placed him +there, and still it gleamed upon his breast; an eye of fire looking up to +Heaven in supplication to the stars that watched me at my work. + +I had to meet my wife, and break the news, and give her hope that the +child would soon be found. All this I did,—with some appearance, I +suppose, of being sincere, for I was the object of no suspicion. This +done, I sat at the bedroom window all day long, and watched the spot +where the dreadful secret lay. + +It was in a piece of ground which had been dug up to be newly turfed, and +which I had chosen on that account, as the traces of my spade were less +likely to attract attention. The men who laid down the grass must have +thought me mad. I called to them continually to expedite their work, ran +out and worked beside them, trod down the earth with my feet, and hurried +them with frantic eagerness. They had finished their task before night, +and then I thought myself comparatively safe. + +I slept,—not as men do who awake refreshed and cheerful, but I did sleep, +passing from vague and shadowy dreams of being hunted down, to visions of +the plot of grass, through which now a hand, and now a foot, and now the +head itself was starting out. At this point I always woke and stole to +the window, to make sure that it was not really so. That done, I crept +to bed again; and thus I spent the night in fits and starts, getting up +and lying down full twenty times, and dreaming the same dream over and +over again,—which was far worse than lying awake, for every dream had a +whole night’s suffering of its own. Once I thought the child was alive, +and that I had never tried to kill him. To wake from that dream was the +most dreadful agony of all. + +The next day I sat at the window again, never once taking my eyes from +the place, which, although it was covered by the grass, was as plain to +me—its shape, its size, its depth, its jagged sides, and all—as if it had +been open to the light of day. When a servant walked across it, I felt +as if he must sink in; when he had passed, I looked to see that his feet +had not worn the edges. If a bird lighted there, I was in terror lest by +some tremendous interposition it should be instrumental in the discovery; +if a breath of air sighed across it, to me it whispered murder. There +was not a sight or a sound—how ordinary, mean, or unimportant soever—but +was fraught with fear. And in this state of ceaseless watching I spent +three days. + +On the fourth there came to the gate one who had served with me abroad, +accompanied by a brother officer of his whom I had never seen. I felt +that I could not bear to be out of sight of the place. It was a summer +evening, and I bade my people take a table and a flask of wine into the +garden. Then I sat down _with my chair upon the grave_, and being +assured that nobody could disturb it now without my knowledge, tried to +drink and talk. + +They hoped that my wife was well,—that she was not obliged to keep her +chamber,—that they had not frightened her away. What could I do but tell +them with a faltering tongue about the child? The officer whom I did not +know was a down-looking man, and kept his eyes upon the ground while I +was speaking. Even that terrified me. I could not divest myself of the +idea that he saw something there which caused him to suspect the truth. +I asked him hurriedly if he supposed that—and stopped. ‘That the child +has been murdered?’ said he, looking mildly at me: ‘O no! what could a +man gain by murdering a poor child?’ _I_ could have told him what a man +gained by such a deed, no one better: but I held my peace and shivered as +with an ague. + +Mistaking my emotion, they were endeavouring to cheer me with the hope +that the boy would certainly be found,—great cheer that was for me!—when +we heard a low deep howl, and presently there sprung over the wall two +great dogs, who, bounding into the garden, repeated the baying sound we +had heard before. + +‘Bloodhounds!’ cried my visitors. + +What need to tell me that! I had never seen one of that kind in all my +life, but I knew what they were and for what purpose they had come. I +grasped the elbows of my chair, and neither spoke nor moved. + +‘They are of the genuine breed,’ said the man whom I had known abroad, +‘and being out for exercise have no doubt escaped from their keeper.’ + +Both he and his friend turned to look at the dogs, who with their noses +to the ground moved restlessly about, running to and fro, and up and +down, and across, and round in circles, careering about like wild things, +and all this time taking no notice of us, but ever and again repeating +the yell we had heard already, then dropping their noses to the ground +again and tracking earnestly here and there. They now began to snuff the +earth more eagerly than they had done yet, and although they were still +very restless, no longer beat about in such wide circuits, but kept near +to one spot, and constantly diminished the distance between themselves +and me. + +At last they came up close to the great chair on which I sat, and raising +their frightful howl once more, tried to tear away the wooden rails that +kept them from the ground beneath. I saw how I looked, in the faces of +the two who were with me. + + ‘They scent some prey,’ said they, both together. + +‘They scent no prey!’ cried I. + +‘In Heaven’s name, move!’ said the one I knew, very earnestly, ‘or you +will be torn to pieces.’ + +‘Let them tear me from limb to limb, I’ll never leave this place!’ cried +I. ‘Are dogs to hurry men to shameful deaths? Hew them down, cut them +in pieces.’ + +‘There is some foul mystery here!’ said the officer whom I did not know, +drawing his sword. ‘In King Charles’s name, assist me to secure this +man.’ + + [Picture: Hunted down] + +They both set upon me and forced me away, though I fought and bit and +caught at them like a madman. After a struggle, they got me quietly +between them; and then, my God! I saw the angry dogs tearing at the +earth and throwing it up into the air like water. + +What more have I to tell? That I fell upon my knees, and with chattering +teeth confessed the truth, and prayed to be forgiven. That I have since +denied, and now confess to it again. That I have been tried for the +crime, found guilty, and sentenced. That I have not the courage to +anticipate my doom, or to bear up manfully against it. That I have no +compassion, no consolation, no hope, no friend. That my wife has happily +lost for the time those faculties which would enable her to know my +misery or hers. That I am alone in this stone dungeon with my evil +spirit, and that I die to-morrow. {255} + + + +CORRESPONDENCE + + +Master Humphrey has been favoured with the following letter written on +strongly-scented paper, and sealed in light-blue wax with the +representation of two very plump doves interchanging beaks. It does not +commence with any of the usual forms of address, but begins as is here +set forth. + + Bath, Wednesday night. + +Heavens! into what an indiscretion do I suffer myself to be betrayed! To +address these faltering lines to a total stranger, and that stranger one +of a conflicting sex!—and yet I am precipitated into the abyss, and have +no power of self-snatchation (forgive me if I coin that phrase) from the +yawning gulf before me. + +Yes, I am writing to a man; but let me not think of that, for madness is +in the thought. You will understand my feelings? O yes, I am sure you +will; and you will respect them too, and not despise them,—will you? + +Let me be calm. That portrait,—smiling as once he smiled on me; that +cane,—dangling as I have seen it dangle from his hand I know not how oft; +those legs that have glided through my nightly dreams and never stopped +to speak; the perfectly gentlemanly, though false original,—can I be +mistaken? O no, no. + +Let me be calmer yet; I would be calm as coffins. You have published a +letter from one whose likeness is engraved, but whose name (and +wherefore?) is suppressed. Shall _I_ breathe that name! Is it—but why +ask when my heart tells me too truly that it is! + +I would not upbraid him with his treachery; I would not remind him of +those times when he plighted the most eloquent of vows, and procured from +me a small pecuniary accommodation; and yet I would see him—see him did I +say—_him_—alas! such is woman’s nature. For as the poet beautifully +says—but you will already have anticipated the sentiment. Is it not +sweet? O yes! + +It was in this city (hallowed by the recollection) that I met him first; +and assuredly if mortal happiness be recorded anywhere, then those +rubbers with their three-and-sixpenny points are scored on tablets of +celestial brass. He always held an honour—generally two. On that +eventful night we stood at eight. He raised his eyes (luminous in their +seductive sweetness) to my agitated face. ‘_Can_ you?’ said he, with +peculiar meaning. I felt the gentle pressure of his foot on mine; our +corns throbbed in unison. ‘_Can_ you?’ he said again; and every +lineament of his expressive countenance added the words ‘resist me?’ I +murmured ‘No,’ and fainted. + +They said, when I recovered, it was the weather. _I_ said it was the +nutmeg in the negus. How little did they suspect the truth! How little +did they guess the deep mysterious meaning of that inquiry! He called +next morning on his knees; I do not mean to say that he actually came in +that position to the house-door, but that he went down upon those joints +directly the servant had retired. He brought some verses in his hat, +which he said were original, but which I have since found were Milton’s; +likewise a little bottle labelled laudanum; also a pistol and a +sword-stick. He drew the latter, uncorked the former, and clicked the +trigger of the pocket fire-arm. He had come, he said, to conquer or to +die. He did not die. He wrested from me an avowal of my love, and let +off the pistol out of a back window previous to partaking of a slight +repast. + +Faithless, inconstant man! How many ages seem to have elapsed since his +unaccountable and perfidious disappearance! Could I still forgive him +both that and the borrowed lucre that he promised to pay next week! +Could I spurn him from my feet if he approached in penitence, and with a +matrimonial object! Would the blandishing enchanter still weave his +spells around me, or should I burst them all and turn away in coldness! +I dare not trust my weakness with the thought. + +My brain is in a whirl again. You know his address, his occupations, his +mode of life,—are acquainted, perhaps, with his inmost thoughts. You are +a humane and philanthropic character; reveal all you know—all; but +especially the street and number of his lodgings. The post is departing, +the bellman rings,—pray Heaven it be not the knell of love and hope to + + BELINDA. + +P.S. Pardon the wanderings of a bad pen and a distracted mind. Address +to the Post-office. The bellman, rendered impatient by delay, is ringing +dreadfully in the passage. + +P.P.S. I open this to say that the bellman is gone, and that you must not +expect it till the next post; so don’t be surprised when you don’t get +it. + + * * * * * + +Master Humphrey does not feel himself at liberty to furnish his fair +correspondent with the address of the gentleman in question, but he +publishes her letter as a public appeal to his faith and gallantry. + + + + +III + + +MASTER HUMPHREY’S VISITOR + +WHEN I am in a thoughtful mood, I often succeed in diverting the current +of some mournful reflections, by conjuring up a number of fanciful +associations with the objects that surround me, and dwelling upon the +scenes and characters they suggest. + +I have been led by this habit to assign to every room in my house and +every old staring portrait on its walls a separate interest of its own. +Thus, I am persuaded that a stately dame, terrible to behold in her rigid +modesty, who hangs above the chimney-piece of my bedroom, is the former +lady of the mansion. In the courtyard below is a stone face of +surpassing ugliness, which I have somehow—in a kind of jealousy, I am +afraid—associated with her husband. Above my study is a little room with +ivy peeping through the lattice, from which I bring their daughter, a +lovely girl of eighteen or nineteen years of age, and dutiful in all +respects save one, that one being her devoted attachment to a young +gentleman on the stairs, whose grandmother (degraded to a disused laundry +in the garden) piques herself upon an old family quarrel, and is the +implacable enemy of their love. With such materials as these I work out +many a little drama, whose chief merit is, that I can bring it to a happy +end at will. I have so many of them on hand, that if on my return home +one of these evenings I were to find some bluff old wight of two +centuries ago comfortably seated in my easy chair, and a lovelorn damsel +vainly appealing to his heart, and leaning her white arm upon my clock +itself, I verily believe I should only express my surprise that they had +kept me waiting so long, and never honoured me with a call before. + +I was in such a mood as this, sitting in my garden yesterday morning +under the shade of a favourite tree, revelling in all the bloom and +brightness about me, and feeling every sense of hope and enjoyment +quickened by this most beautiful season of Spring, when my meditations +were interrupted by the unexpected appearance of my barber at the end of +the walk, who I immediately saw was coming towards me with a hasty step +that betokened something remarkable. + +My barber is at all times a very brisk, bustling, active little man,—for +he is, as it were, chubby all over, without being stout or unwieldy,—but +yesterday his alacrity was so very uncommon that it quite took me by +surprise. For could I fail to observe when he came up to me that his +gray eyes were twinkling in a most extraordinary manner, that his little +red nose was in an unusual glow, that every line in his round bright face +was twisted and curved into an expression of pleased surprise, and that +his whole countenance was radiant with glee? I was still more surprised +to see my housekeeper, who usually preserves a very staid air, and stands +somewhat upon her dignity, peeping round the hedge at the bottom of the +walk, and exchanging nods and smiles with the barber, who twice or thrice +looked over his shoulder for that purpose. I could conceive no +announcement to which these appearances could be the prelude, unless it +were that they had married each other that morning. + +I was, consequently, a little disappointed when it only came out that +there was a gentleman in the house who wished to speak with me. + +‘And who is it?’ said I. + +The barber, with his face screwed up still tighter than before, replied +that the gentleman would not send his name, but wished to see me. I +pondered for a moment, wondering who this visitor might be, and I +remarked that he embraced the opportunity of exchanging another nod with +the housekeeper, who still lingered in the distance. + +‘Well!’ said I, ‘bid the gentleman come here.’ + +This seemed to be the consummation of the barber’s hopes, for he turned +sharp round, and actually ran away. + +Now, my sight is not very good at a distance, and therefore when the +gentleman first appeared in the walk, I was not quite clear whether he +was a stranger to me or otherwise. He was an elderly gentleman, but came +tripping along in the pleasantest manner conceivable, avoiding the +garden-roller and the borders of the beds with inimitable dexterity, +picking his way among the flower-pots, and smiling with unspeakable good +humour. Before he was half-way up the walk he began to salute me; then I +thought I knew him; but when he came towards me with his hat in his hand, +the sun shining on his bald head, his bland face, his bright spectacles, +his fawn-coloured tights, and his black gaiters,—then my heart warmed +towards him, and I felt quite certain that it was Mr. Pickwick. + +‘My dear sir,’ said that gentleman as I rose to receive him, ‘pray be +seated. Pray sit down. Now, do not stand on my account. I must insist +upon it, really.’ With these words Mr. Pickwick gently pressed me down +into my seat, and taking my hand in his, shook it again and again with a +warmth of manner perfectly irresistible. I endeavoured to express in my +welcome something of that heartiness and pleasure which the sight of him +awakened, and made him sit down beside me. All this time he kept +alternately releasing my hand and grasping it again, and surveying me +through his spectacles with such a beaming countenance as I never till +then beheld. + + [Picture: Mr. Pickwick introduces himself to Master Humphrey] + +‘You knew me directly!’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘What a pleasure it is to +think that you knew me directly!’ + +I remarked that I had read his adventures very often, and his features +were quite familiar to me from the published portraits. As I thought it +a good opportunity of adverting to the circumstance, I condoled with him +upon the various libels on his character which had found their way into +print. Mr. Pickwick shook his head, and for a moment looked very +indignant, but smiling again directly, added that no doubt I was +acquainted with Cervantes’s introduction to the second part of Don +Quixote, and that it fully expressed his sentiments on the subject. + +‘But now,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘don’t you wonder how I found you out?’ + +‘I shall never wonder, and, with your good leave, never know,’ said I, +smiling in my turn. ‘It is enough for me that you give me this +gratification. I have not the least desire that you should tell me by +what means I have obtained it.’ + +‘You are very kind,’ returned Mr. Pickwick, shaking me by the hand again; +‘you are so exactly what I expected! But for what particular purpose do +you think I have sought you, my dear sir? Now what _do_ you think I have +come for?’ + +Mr. Pickwick put this question as though he were persuaded that it was +morally impossible that I could by any means divine the deep purpose of +his visit, and that it must be hidden from all human ken. Therefore, +although I was rejoiced to think that I had anticipated his drift, I +feigned to be quite ignorant of it, and after a brief consideration shook +my head despairingly. + +‘What should you say,’ said Mr. Pickwick, laying the forefinger of his +left hand upon my coat-sleeve, and looking at me with his head thrown +back, and a little on one side,—‘what should you say if I confessed that +after reading your account of yourself and your little society, I had +come here, a humble candidate for one of those empty chairs?’ + +‘I should say,’ I returned, ‘that I know of only one circumstance which +could still further endear that little society to me, and that would be +the associating with it my old friend,—for you must let me call you +so,—my old friend, Mr. Pickwick.’ + +As I made him this answer every feature of Mr. Pickwick’s face fused +itself into one all-pervading expression of delight. After shaking me +heartily by both hands at once, he patted me gently on the back, and +then—I well understood why—coloured up to the eyes, and hoped with great +earnestness of manner that he had not hurt me. + +If he had, I would have been content that he should have repeated the +offence a hundred times rather than suppose so; but as he had not, I had +no difficulty in changing the subject by making an inquiry which had been +upon my lips twenty times already. + +‘You have not told me,’ said I, ‘anything about Sam Weller.’ + +‘O! Sam,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, ‘is the same as ever. The same true, +faithful fellow that he ever was. What should I tell you about Sam, my +dear sir, except that he is more indispensable to my happiness and +comfort every day of my life?’ + +‘And Mr. Weller senior?’ said I. + +‘Old Mr. Weller,’ returned Mr. Pickwick, ‘is in no respect more altered +than Sam, unless it be that he is a little more opinionated than he was +formerly, and perhaps at times more talkative. He spends a good deal of +his time now in our neighbourhood, and has so constituted himself a part +of my bodyguard, that when I ask permission for Sam to have a seat in +your kitchen on clock nights (supposing your three friends think me +worthy to fill one of the chairs), I am afraid I must often include Mr. +Weller too.’ + +I very readily pledged myself to give both Sam and his father a free +admission to my house at all hours and seasons, and this point settled, +we fell into a lengthy conversation which was carried on with as little +reserve on both sides as if we had been intimate friends from our youth, +and which conveyed to me the comfortable assurance that Mr. Pickwick’s +buoyancy of spirit, and indeed all his old cheerful characteristics, were +wholly unimpaired. As he had spoken of the consent of my friends as +being yet in abeyance, I repeatedly assured him that his proposal was +certain to receive their most joyful sanction, and several times +entreated that he would give me leave to introduce him to Jack Redburn +and Mr. Miles (who were near at hand) without further ceremony. + +To this proposal, however, Mr. Pickwick’s delicacy would by no means +allow him to accede, for he urged that his eligibility must be formally +discussed, and that, until this had been done, he could not think of +obtruding himself further. The utmost I could obtain from him was a +promise that he would attend upon our next night of meeting, that I might +have the pleasure of presenting him immediately on his election. + +Mr. Pickwick, having with many blushes placed in my hands a small roll of +paper, which he termed his ‘qualification,’ put a great many questions to +me touching my friends, and particularly Jack Redburn, whom he repeatedly +termed ‘a fine fellow,’ and in whose favour I could see he was strongly +predisposed. When I had satisfied him on these points, I took him up +into my room, that he might make acquaintance with the old chamber which +is our place of meeting. + +‘And this,’ said Mr. Pickwick, stopping short, ‘is the clock! Dear me! +And this is really the old clock!’ + +I thought he would never have come away from it. After advancing towards +it softly, and laying his hand upon it with as much respect and as many +smiling looks as if it were alive, he set himself to consider it in every +possible direction, now mounting on a chair to look at the top, now going +down upon his knees to examine the bottom, now surveying the sides with +his spectacles almost touching the case, and now trying to peep between +it and the wall to get a slight view of the back. Then he would retire a +pace or two and look up at the dial to see it go, and then draw near +again and stand with his head on one side to hear it tick: never failing +to glance towards me at intervals of a few seconds each, and nod his head +with such complacent gratification as I am quite unable to describe. His +admiration was not confined to the clock either, but extended itself to +every article in the room; and really, when he had gone through them +every one, and at last sat himself down in all the six chairs, one after +another, to try how they felt, I never saw such a picture of good-humour +and happiness as he presented, from the top of his shining head down to +the very last button of his gaiters. + +I should have been well pleased, and should have had the utmost enjoyment +of his company, if he had remained with me all day, but my favourite, +striking the hour, reminded him that he must take his leave. I could not +forbear telling him once more how glad he had made me, and we shook hands +all the way down-stairs. + +We had no sooner arrived in the Hall than my housekeeper, gliding out of +her little room (she had changed her gown and cap, I observed), greeted +Mr. Pickwick with her best smile and courtesy; and the barber, feigning +to be accidentally passing on his way out, made him a vast number of +bows. When the housekeeper courtesied, Mr. Pickwick bowed with the +utmost politeness, and when he bowed, the housekeeper courtesied again; +between the housekeeper and the barber, I should say that Mr. Pickwick +faced about and bowed with undiminished affability fifty times at least. + +I saw him to the door; an omnibus was at the moment passing the corner of +the lane, which Mr. Pickwick hailed and ran after with extraordinary +nimbleness. When he had got about half-way, he turned his head, and +seeing that I was still looking after him and that I waved my hand, +stopped, evidently irresolute whether to come back and shake hands again, +or to go on. The man behind the omnibus shouted, and Mr. Pickwick ran a +little way towards him: then he looked round at me, and ran a little way +back again. Then there was another shout, and he turned round once more +and ran the other way. After several of these vibrations, the man +settled the question by taking Mr. Pickwick by the arm and putting him +into the carriage; but his last action was to let down the window and +wave his hat to me as it drove off. + +I lost no time in opening the parcel he had left with me. The following +were its contents:— + + + +MR. PICKWICK’S TALE + + +A good many years have passed away since old John Podgers lived in the +town of Windsor, where he was born, and where, in course of time, he came +to be comfortably and snugly buried. You may be sure that in the time of +King James the First, Windsor was a very quaint queer old town, and you +may take it upon my authority that John Podgers was a very quaint queer +old fellow; consequently he and Windsor fitted each other to a nicety, +and seldom parted company even for half a day. + +John Podgers was broad, sturdy, Dutch-built, short, and a very hard +eater, as men of his figure often are. Being a hard sleeper likewise, he +divided his time pretty equally between these two recreations, always +falling asleep when he had done eating, and always taking another turn at +the trencher when he had done sleeping, by which means he grew more +corpulent and more drowsy every day of his life. Indeed it used to be +currently reported that when he sauntered up and down the sunny side of +the street before dinner (as he never failed to do in fair weather), he +enjoyed his soundest nap; but many people held this to be a fiction, as +he had several times been seen to look after fat oxen on market-days, and +had even been heard, by persons of good credit and reputation, to chuckle +at the sight, and say to himself with great glee, ‘Live beef, live beef!’ +It was upon this evidence that the wisest people in Windsor (beginning +with the local authorities of course) held that John Podgers was a man of +strong, sound sense, not what is called smart, perhaps, and it might be +of a rather lazy and apoplectic turn, but still a man of solid parts, and +one who meant much more than he cared to show. This impression was +confirmed by a very dignified way he had of shaking his head and +imparting, at the same time, a pendulous motion to his double chin; in +short, he passed for one of those people who, being plunged into the +Thames, would make no vain efforts to set it afire, but would straightway +flop down to the bottom with a deal of gravity, and be highly respected +in consequence by all good men. + +Being well to do in the world, and a peaceful widower,—having a great +appetite, which, as he could afford to gratify it, was a luxury and no +inconvenience, and a power of going to sleep, which, as he had no +occasion to keep awake, was a most enviable faculty,—you will readily +suppose that John Podgers was a happy man. But appearances are often +deceptive when they least seem so, and the truth is that, notwithstanding +his extreme sleekness, he was rendered uneasy in his mind and exceedingly +uncomfortable by a constant apprehension that beset him night and day. + +You know very well that in those times there flourished divers evil old +women who, under the name of Witches, spread great disorder through the +land, and inflicted various dismal tortures upon Christian men; sticking +pins and needles into them when they least expected it, and causing them +to walk in the air with their feet upwards, to the great terror of their +wives and families, who were naturally very much disconcerted when the +master of the house unexpectedly came home, knocking at the door with his +heels and combing his hair on the scraper. These were their commonest +pranks, but they every day played a hundred others, of which none were +less objectionable, and many were much more so, being improper besides; +the result was that vengeance was denounced against all old women, with +whom even the king himself had no sympathy (as he certainly ought to have +had), for with his own most Gracious hand he penned a most Gracious +consignment of them to everlasting wrath, and devised most Gracious means +for their confusion and slaughter, in virtue whereof scarcely a day +passed but one witch at the least was most graciously hanged, drowned, or +roasted in some part of his dominions. Still the press teemed with +strange and terrible news from the North or the South, or the East or the +West, relative to witches and their unhappy victims in some corner of the +country, and the Public’s hair stood on end to that degree that it lifted +its hat off its head, and made its face pale with terror. + +You may believe that the little town of Windsor did not escape the +general contagion. The inhabitants boiled a witch on the king’s birthday +and sent a bottle of the broth to court, with a dutiful address +expressive of their loyalty. The king, being rather frightened by the +present, piously bestowed it upon the Archbishop of Canterbury, and +returned an answer to the address, wherein he gave them golden rules for +discovering witches, and laid great stress upon certain protecting +charms, and especially horseshoes. Immediately the towns-people went to +work nailing up horseshoes over every door, and so many anxious parents +apprenticed their children to farriers to keep them out of harm’s way, +that it became quite a genteel trade, and flourished exceedingly. + +In the midst of all this bustle John Podgers ate and slept as usual, but +shook his head a great deal oftener than was his custom, and was observed +to look at the oxen less, and at the old women more. He had a little +shelf put up in his sitting-room, whereon was displayed, in a row which +grew longer every week, all the witchcraft literature of the time; he +grew learned in charms and exorcisms, hinted at certain questionable +females on broomsticks whom he had seen from his chamber window, riding +in the air at night, and was in constant terror of being bewitched. At +length, from perpetually dwelling upon this one idea, which, being alone +in his head, had all its own way, the fear of witches became the single +passion of his life. He, who up to that time had never known what it was +to dream, began to have visions of witches whenever he fell asleep; +waking, they were incessantly present to his imagination likewise; and, +sleeping or waking, he had not a moment’s peace. He began to set +witch-traps in the highway, and was often seen lying in wait round the +corner for hours together, to watch their effect. These engines were of +simple construction, usually consisting of two straws disposed in the +form of a cross, or a piece of a Bible cover with a pinch of salt upon +it; but they were infallible, and if an old woman chanced to stumble over +them (as not unfrequently happened, the chosen spot being a broken and +stony place), John started from a doze, pounced out upon her, and hung +round her neck till assistance arrived, when she was immediately carried +away and drowned. By dint of constantly inveigling old ladies and +disposing of them in this summary manner, he acquired the reputation of a +great public character; and as he received no harm in these pursuits +beyond a scratched face or so, he came, in the course of time, to be +considered witch-proof. + +There was but one person who entertained the least doubt of John +Podgers’s gifts, and that person was his own nephew, a wild, roving young +fellow of twenty who had been brought up in his uncle’s house and lived +there still,—that is to say, when he was at home, which was not as often +as it might have been. As he was an apt scholar, it was he who read +aloud every fresh piece of strange and terrible intelligence that John +Podgers bought; and this he always did of an evening in the little porch +in front of the house, round which the neighbours would flock in crowds +to hear the direful news,—for people like to be frightened, and when they +can be frightened for nothing and at another man’s expense, they like it +all the better. + +One fine midsummer evening, a group of persons were gathered in this +place, listening intently to Will Marks (that was the nephew’s name), as +with his cap very much on one side, his arm coiled slyly round the waist +of a pretty girl who sat beside him, and his face screwed into a comical +expression intended to represent extreme gravity, he read—with Heaven +knows how many embellishments of his own—a dismal account of a gentleman +down in Northamptonshire under the influence of witchcraft and taken +forcible possession of by the Devil, who was playing his very self with +him. John Podgers, in a high sugar-loaf hat and short cloak, filled the +opposite seat, and surveyed the auditory with a look of mingled pride and +horror very edifying to see; while the hearers, with their heads thrust +forward and their mouths open, listened and trembled, and hoped there was +a great deal more to come. Sometimes Will stopped for an instant to look +round upon his eager audience, and then, with a more comical expression +of face than before and a settling of himself comfortably, which included +a squeeze of the young lady before mentioned, he launched into some new +wonder surpassing all the others. + +The setting sun shed his last golden rays upon this little party, who, +absorbed in their present occupation, took no heed of the approach of +night, or the glory in which the day went down, when the sound of a +horse, approaching at a good round trot, invading the silence of the +hour, caused the reader to make a sudden stop, and the listeners to raise +their heads in wonder. Nor was their wonder diminished when a horseman +dashed up to the porch, and abruptly checking his steed, inquired where +one John Podgers dwelt. + +‘Here!’ cried a dozen voices, while a dozen hands pointed out sturdy +John, still basking in the terrors of the pamphlet. + +The rider, giving his bridle to one of those who surrounded him, +dismounted, and approached John, hat in hand, but with great haste. + +‘Whence come ye?’ said John. + +‘From Kingston, master.’ + +‘And wherefore?’ + +‘On most pressing business.’ + +‘Of what nature?’ + +‘Witchcraft.’ + +Witchcraft! Everybody looked aghast at the breathless messenger, and the +breathless messenger looked equally aghast at everybody—except Will +Marks, who, finding himself unobserved, not only squeezed the young lady +again, but kissed her twice. Surely he must have been bewitched himself, +or he never could have done it—and the young lady too, or she never would +have let him. + +‘Witchcraft!’ cried Will, drowning the sound of his last kiss, which was +rather a loud one. + +The messenger turned towards him, and with a frown repeated the word more +solemnly than before; then told his errand, which was, in brief, that the +people of Kingston had been greatly terrified for some nights past by +hideous revels, held by witches beneath the gibbet within a mile of the +town, and related and deposed to by chance wayfarers who had passed +within ear-shot of the spot; that the sound of their voices in their wild +orgies had been plainly heard by many persons; that three old women +laboured under strong suspicion, and that precedents had been consulted +and solemn council had, and it was found that to identify the hags some +single person must watch upon the spot alone; that no single person had +the courage to perform the task; and that he had been despatched express +to solicit John Podgers to undertake it that very night, as being a man +of great renown, who bore a charmed life, and was proof against unholy +spells. + + [Picture: Will Marks reading the News concerning Witches] + +John received this communication with much composure, and said in a few +words, that it would have afforded him inexpressible pleasure to do the +Kingston people so slight a service, if it were not for his unfortunate +propensity to fall asleep, which no man regretted more than himself upon +the present occasion, but which quite settled the question. +Nevertheless, he said, there _was_ a gentleman present (and here he +looked very hard at a tall farrier), who, having been engaged all his +life in the manufacture of horseshoes, must be quite invulnerable to the +power of witches, and who, he had no doubt, from his own reputation for +bravery and good-nature, would readily accept the commission. The +farrier politely thanked him for his good opinion, which it would always +be his study to deserve, but added that, with regard to the present +little matter, he couldn’t think of it on any account, as his departing +on such an errand would certainly occasion the instant death of his wife, +to whom, as they all knew, he was tenderly attached. Now, so far from +this circumstance being notorious, everybody had suspected the reverse, +as the farrier was in the habit of beating his lady rather more than +tender husbands usually do; all the married men present, however, +applauded his resolution with great vehemence, and one and all declared +that they would stop at home and die if needful (which happily it was +not) in defence of their lawful partners. + +This burst of enthusiasm over, they began to look, as by one consent, +toward Will Marks, who, with his cap more on one side than ever, sat +watching the proceedings with extraordinary unconcern. He had never been +heard openly to express his disbelief in witches, but had often cut such +jokes at their expense as left it to be inferred; publicly stating on +several occasions that he considered a broomstick an inconvenient +charger, and one especially unsuited to the dignity of the female +character, and indulging in other free remarks of the same tendency, to +the great amusement of his wild companions. + +As they looked at Will they began to whisper and murmur among themselves, +and at length one man cried, ‘Why don’t you ask Will Marks?’ + +As this was what everybody had been thinking of, they all took up the +word, and cried in concert, ‘Ah! why don’t you ask Will?’ + +‘_He_ don’t care,’ said the farrier. + +‘Not he,’ added another voice in the crowd. + +‘He don’t believe in it, you know,’ sneered a little man with a yellow +face and a taunting nose and chin, which he thrust out from under the arm +of a long man before him. + +‘Besides,’ said a red-faced gentleman with a gruff voice, ‘he’s a single +man.’ + +‘That’s the point!’ said the farrier; and all the married men murmured, +ah! that was it, and they only wished they were single themselves; they +would show him what spirit was, very soon. + +The messenger looked towards Will Marks beseechingly. + +‘It will be a wet night, friend, and my gray nag is tired after +yesterday’s work—’ + +Here there was a general titter. + +‘But,’ resumed Will, looking about him with a smile, ‘if nobody else puts +in a better claim to go, for the credit of the town I am your man, and I +would be, if I had to go afoot. In five minutes I shall be in the +saddle, unless I am depriving any worthy gentleman here of the honour of +the adventure, which I wouldn’t do for the world.’ + +But here arose a double difficulty, for not only did John Podgers combat +the resolution with all the words he had, which were not many, but the +young lady combated it too with all the tears she had, which were very +many indeed. Will, however, being inflexible, parried his uncle’s +objections with a joke, and coaxed the young lady into a smile in three +short whispers. As it was plain that he set his mind upon it, and would +go, John Podgers offered him a few first-rate charms out of his own +pocket, which he dutifully declined to accept; and the young lady gave +him a kiss, which he also returned. + +‘You see what a rare thing it is to be married,’ said Will, ‘and how +careful and considerate all these husbands are. There’s not a man among +them but his heart is leaping to forestall me in this adventure, and yet +a strong sense of duty keeps him back. The husbands in this one little +town are a pattern to the world, and so must the wives be too, for that +matter, or they could never boast half the influence they have!’ + +Waiting for no reply to this sarcasm, he snapped his fingers and withdrew +into the house, and thence into the stable, while some busied themselves +in refreshing the messenger, and others in baiting his steed. In less +than the specified time he returned by another way, with a good cloak +hanging over his arm, a good sword girded by his side, and leading his +good horse caparisoned for the journey. + +‘Now,’ said Will, leaping into the saddle at a bound, ‘up and away. Upon +your mettle, friend, and push on. Good night!’ + +He kissed his hand to the girl, nodded to his drowsy uncle, waved his cap +to the rest—and off they flew pell-mell, as if all the witches in England +were in their horses’ legs. They were out of sight in a minute. + +The men who were left behind shook their heads doubtfully, stroked their +chins, and shook their heads again. The farrier said that certainly Will +Marks was a good horseman, nobody should ever say he denied that: but he +was rash, very rash, and there was no telling what the end of it might +be; what did he go for, that was what he wanted to know? He wished the +young fellow no harm, but why did he go? Everybody echoed these words, +and shook their heads again, having done which they wished John Podgers +good night, and straggled home to bed. + +The Kingston people were in their first sleep when Will Marks and his +conductor rode through the town and up to the door of a house where +sundry grave functionaries were assembled, anxiously expecting the +arrival of the renowned Podgers. They were a little disappointed to find +a gay young man in his place; but they put the best face upon the matter, +and gave him full instructions how he was to conceal himself behind the +gibbet, and watch and listen to the witches, and how at a certain time he +was to burst forth and cut and slash among them vigorously, so that the +suspected parties might be found bleeding in their beds next day, and +thoroughly confounded. They gave him a great quantity of wholesome +advice besides, and—which was more to the purpose with Will—a good +supper. All these things being done, and midnight nearly come, they +sallied forth to show him the spot where he was to keep his dreary vigil. + +The night was by this time dark and threatening. There was a rumbling of +distant thunder, and a low sighing of wind among the trees, which was +very dismal. The potentates of the town kept so uncommonly close to Will +that they trod upon his toes, or stumbled against his ankles, or nearly +tripped up his heels at every step he took, and, besides these +annoyances, their teeth chattered so with fear, that he seemed to be +accompanied by a dirge of castanets. + +At last they made a halt at the opening of a lonely, desolate space, and, +pointing to a black object at some distance, asked Will if he saw that, +yonder. + +‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘What then?’ + +Informing him abruptly that it was the gibbet where he was to watch, they +wished him good night in an extremely friendly manner, and ran back as +fast as their feet would carry them. + +Will walked boldly to the gibbet, and, glancing upwards when he came +under it, saw—certainly with satisfaction—that it was empty, and that +nothing dangled from the top but some iron chains, which swung mournfully +to and fro as they were moved by the breeze. After a careful survey of +every quarter he determined to take his station with his face towards the +town; both because that would place him with his back to the wind, and +because, if any trick or surprise were attempted, it would probably come +from that direction in the first instance. Having taken these +precautions, he wrapped his cloak about him so that it left the handle of +his sword free, and ready to his hand, and leaning against the +gallows-tree with his cap not quite so much on one side as it had been +before, took up his position for the night. + + [Picture: Will Marks takes up his position for the night] + + + +SECOND CHAPTER OF MR. PICKWICK’S TALE + + +We left Will Marks leaning under the gibbet with his face towards the +town, scanning the distance with a keen eye, which sought to pierce the +darkness and catch the earliest glimpse of any person or persons that +might approach towards him. But all was quiet, and, save the howling of +the wind as it swept across the heath in gusts, and the creaking of the +chains that dangled above his head, there was no sound to break the +sullen stillness of the night. After half an hour or so this monotony +became more disconcerting to Will than the most furious uproar would have +been, and he heartily wished for some one antagonist with whom he might +have a fair stand-up fight, if it were only to warm himself. + +Truth to tell, it was a bitter wind, and seemed to blow to the very heart +of a man whose blood, heated but now with rapid riding, was the more +sensitive to the chilling blast. Will was a daring fellow, and cared not +a jot for hard knocks or sharp blades; but he could not persuade himself +to move or walk about, having just that vague expectation of a sudden +assault which made it a comfortable thing to have something at his back, +even though that something were a gallows-tree. He had no great faith in +the superstitions of the age, still such of them as occurred to him did +not serve to lighten the time, or to render his situation the more +endurable. He remembered how witches were said to repair at that ghostly +hour to churchyards and gibbets, and such-like dismal spots, to pluck the +bleeding mandrake or scrape the flesh from dead men’s bones, as choice +ingredients for their spells; how, stealing by night to lonely places, +they dug graves with their finger-nails, or anointed themselves before +riding in the air, with a delicate pomatum made of the fat of infants +newly boiled. These, and many other fabled practices of a no less +agreeable nature, and all having some reference to the circumstances in +which he was placed, passed and repassed in quick succession through the +mind of Will Marks, and adding a shadowy dread to that distrust and +watchfulness which his situation inspired, rendered it, upon the whole, +sufficiently uncomfortable. As he had foreseen, too, the rain began to +descend heavily, and driving before the wind in a thick mist, obscured +even those few objects which the darkness of the night had before +imperfectly revealed. + +‘Look!’ shrieked a voice. ‘Great Heaven, it has fallen down, and stands +erect as if it lived!’ + +The speaker was close behind him; the voice was almost at his ear. Will +threw off his cloak, drew his sword, and darting swiftly round, seized a +woman by the wrist, who, recoiling from him with a dreadful shriek, fell +struggling upon her knees. Another woman, clad, like her whom he had +grasped, in mourning garments, stood rooted to the spot on which they +were, gazing upon his face with wild and glaring eyes that quite appalled +him. + +‘Say,’ cried Will, when they had confronted each other thus for some +time, ‘what are ye?’ + +‘Say what are _you_,’ returned the woman, ‘who trouble even this obscene +resting-place of the dead, and strip the gibbet of its honoured burden? +Where is the body?’ + +He looked in wonder and affright from the woman who questioned him to the +other whose arm he clutched. + +‘Where is the body?’ repeated the questioner more firmly than before. +‘You wear no livery which marks you for the hireling of the government. +You are no friend to us, or I should recognise you, for the friends of +such as we are few in number. What are you then, and wherefore are you +here?’ + +‘I am no foe to the distressed and helpless,’ said Will. ‘Are ye among +that number? ye should be by your looks.’ + +‘We are!’ was the answer. + +‘Is it ye who have been wailing and weeping here under cover of the +night?’ said Will. + +‘It is,’ replied the woman sternly; and pointing, as she spoke, towards +her companion, ‘she mourns a husband, and I a brother. Even the bloody +law that wreaks its vengeance on the dead does not make that a crime, and +if it did ’twould be alike to us who are past its fear or favour.’ + +Will glanced at the two females, and could barely discern that the one +whom he addressed was much the elder, and that the other was young and of +a slight figure. Both were deadly pale, their garments wet and worn, +their hair dishevelled and streaming in the wind, themselves bowed down +with grief and misery; their whole appearance most dejected, wretched, +and forlorn. A sight so different from any he had expected to encounter +touched him to the quick, and all idea of anything but their pitiable +condition vanished before it. + +‘I am a rough, blunt yeoman,’ said Will. ‘Why I came here is told in a +word; you have been overheard at a distance in the silence of the night, +and I have undertaken a watch for hags or spirits. I came here expecting +an adventure, and prepared to go through with any. If there be aught +that I can do to help or aid you, name it, and on the faith of a man who +can be secret and trusty, I will stand by you to the death.’ + +‘How comes this gibbet to be empty?’ asked the elder female. + +‘I swear to you,’ replied Will, ‘that I know as little as yourself. But +this I know, that when I came here an hour ago or so, it was as it is +now; and if, as I gather from your question, it was not so last night, +sure I am that it has been secretly disturbed without the knowledge of +the folks in yonder town. Bethink you, therefore, whether you have no +friends in league with you or with him on whom the law has done its +worst, by whom these sad remains have been removed for burial.’ + +The women spoke together, and Will retired a pace or two while they +conversed apart. He could hear them sob and moan, and saw that they +wrung their hands in fruitless agony. He could make out little that they +said, but between whiles he gathered enough to assure him that his +suggestion was not very wide of the mark, and that they not only +suspected by whom the body had been removed, but also whither it had been +conveyed. When they had been in conversation a long time, they turned +towards him once more. This time the younger female spoke. + +‘You have offered us your help?’ + +‘I have.’ + +‘And given a pledge that you are still willing to redeem?’ + +‘Yes. So far as I may, keeping all plots and conspiracies at arm’s +length.’ + +‘Follow us, friend.’ + +Will, whose self-possession was now quite restored, needed no second +bidding, but with his drawn sword in his hand, and his cloak so muffled +over his left arm as to serve for a kind of shield without offering any +impediment to its free action, suffered them to lead the way. Through +mud and mire, and wind and rain, they walked in silence a full mile. At +length they turned into a dark lane, where, suddenly starting out from +beneath some trees where he had taken shelter, a man appeared, having in +his charge three saddled horses. One of these (his own apparently), in +obedience to a whisper from the women, he consigned to Will, who, seeing +that they mounted, mounted also. Then, without a word spoken, they rode +on together, leaving the attendant behind. + +They made no halt nor slackened their pace until they arrived near +Putney. At a large wooden house which stood apart from any other they +alighted, and giving their horses to one who was already waiting, passed +in by a side door, and so up some narrow creaking stairs into a small +panelled chamber, where Will was left alone. He had not been here very +long, when the door was softly opened, and there entered to him a +cavalier whose face was concealed beneath a black mask. + +Will stood upon his guard, and scrutinised this figure from head to foot. +The form was that of a man pretty far advanced in life, but of a firm and +stately carriage. His dress was of a rich and costly kind, but so soiled +and disordered that it was scarcely to be recognised for one of those +gorgeous suits which the expensive taste and fashion of the time +prescribed for men of any rank or station. + +He was booted and spurred, and bore about him even as many tokens of the +state of the roads as Will himself. All this he noted, while the eyes +behind the mask regarded him with equal attention. This survey over, the +cavalier broke silence. + +‘Thou’rt young and bold, and wouldst be richer than thou art?’ + +‘The two first I am,’ returned Will. ‘The last I have scarcely thought +of. But be it so. Say that I would be richer than I am; what then?’ + +‘The way lies before thee now,’ replied the Mask. + +‘Show it me.’ + +‘First let me inform thee, that thou wert brought here to-night lest thou +shouldst too soon have told thy tale to those who placed thee on the +watch.’ + +‘I thought as much when I followed,’ said Will. ‘But I am no blab, not +I.’ + +‘Good,’ returned the Mask. ‘Now listen. He who was to have executed the +enterprise of burying that body, which, as thou hast suspected, was taken +down to-night, has left us in our need.’ + +Will nodded, and thought within himself that if the Mask were to attempt +to play any tricks, the first eyelet-hole on the left-hand side of his +doublet, counting from the buttons up the front, would be a very good +place in which to pink him neatly. + +‘Thou art here, and the emergency is desperate. I propose his task to +thee. Convey the body (now coffined in this house), by means that I +shall show, to the Church of St. Dunstan in London to-morrow night, and +thy service shall be richly paid. Thou’rt about to ask whose corpse it +is. Seek not to know. I warn thee, seek not to know. Felons hang in +chains on every moor and heath. Believe, as others do, that this was +one, and ask no further. The murders of state policy, its victims or +avengers, had best remain unknown to such as thee.’ + +‘The mystery of this service,’ said Will, ‘bespeaks its danger. What is +the reward?’ + +‘One hundred golden unities,’ replied the cavalier. ‘The danger to one +who cannot be recognised as the friend of a fallen cause is not great, +but there is some hazard to be run. Decide between that and the reward.’ + +‘What if I refuse?’ said Will. + +‘Depart in peace, in God’s name,’ returned the Mask in a melancholy tone, +‘and keep our secret, remembering that those who brought thee here were +crushed and stricken women, and that those who bade thee go free could +have had thy life with one word, and no man the wiser.’ + +Men were readier to undertake desperate adventures in those times than +they are now. In this case the temptation was great, and the punishment, +even in case of detection, was not likely to be very severe, as Will came +of a loyal stock, and his uncle was in good repute, and a passable tale +to account for his possession of the body and his ignorance of the +identity might be easily devised. + +The cavalier explained that a coveted cart had been prepared for the +purpose; that the time of departure could be arranged so that he should +reach London Bridge at dusk, and proceed through the City after the day +had closed in; that people would be ready at his journey’s end to place +the coffin in a vault without a minute’s delay; that officious inquirers +in the streets would be easily repelled by the tale that he was carrying +for interment the corpse of one who had died of the plague; and in short +showed him every reason why he should succeed, and none why he should +fail. After a time they were joined by another gentleman, masked like +the first, who added new arguments to those which had been already urged; +the wretched wife, too, added her tears and prayers to their calmer +representations; and in the end, Will, moved by compassion and +good-nature, by a love of the marvellous, by a mischievous anticipation +of the terrors of the Kingston people when he should be missing next day, +and finally, by the prospect of gain, took upon himself the task, and +devoted all his energies to its successful execution. + +The following night, when it was quite dark, the hollow echoes of old +London Bridge responded to the rumbling of the cart which contained the +ghastly load, the object of Will Marks’ care. Sufficiently disguised to +attract no attention by his garb, Will walked at the horse’s head, as +unconcerned as a man could be who was sensible that he had now arrived at +the most dangerous part of his undertaking, but full of boldness and +confidence. + +It was now eight o’clock. After nine, none could walk the streets +without danger of their lives, and even at this hour, robberies and +murder were of no uncommon occurrence. The shops upon the bridge were +all closed; the low wooden arches thrown across the way were like so many +black pits, in every one of which ill-favoured fellows lurked in knots of +three or four; some standing upright against the wall, lying in wait; +others skulking in gateways, and thrusting out their uncombed heads and +scowling eyes: others crossing and recrossing, and constantly jostling +both horse and man to provoke a quarrel; others stealing away and +summoning their companions in a low whistle. Once, even in that short +passage, there was the noise of scuffling and the clash of swords behind +him, but Will, who knew the City and its ways, kept straight on and +scarcely turned his head. + +The streets being unpaved, the rain of the night before had converted +them into a perfect quagmire, which the splashing water-spouts from the +gables, and the filth and offal cast from the different houses, swelled +in no small degree. These odious matters being left to putrefy in the +close and heavy air, emitted an insupportable stench, to which every +court and passage poured forth a contribution of its own. Many parts, +even of the main streets, with their projecting stories tottering +overhead and nearly shutting out the sky, were more like huge chimneys +than open ways. At the corners of some of these, great bonfires were +burning to prevent infection from the plague, of which it was rumoured +that some citizens had lately died; and few, who availing themselves of +the light thus afforded paused for a moment to look around them, would +have been disposed to doubt the existence of the disease, or wonder at +its dreadful visitations. + +But it was not in such scenes as these, or even in the deep and miry +road, that Will Marks found the chief obstacles to his progress. There +were kites and ravens feeding in the streets (the only scavengers the +City kept), who, scenting what he carried, followed the cart or fluttered +on its top, and croaked their knowledge of its burden and their ravenous +appetite for prey. There were distant fires, where the poor wood and +plaster tenements wasted fiercely, and whither crowds made their way, +clamouring eagerly for plunder, beating down all who came within their +reach, and yelling like devils let loose. There were single-handed men +flying from bands of ruffians, who pursued them with naked weapons, and +hunted them savagely; there were drunken, desperate robbers issuing from +their dens and staggering through the open streets where no man dared +molest them; there were vagabond servitors returning from the Bear +Garden, where had been good sport that day, dragging after them their +torn and bleeding dogs, or leaving them to die and rot upon the road. +Nothing was abroad but cruelty, violence, and disorder. + +Many were the interruptions which Will Marks encountered from these +stragglers, and many the narrow escapes he made. Now some stout bully +would take his seat upon the cart, insisting to be driven to his own +home, and now two or three men would come down upon him together, and +demand that on peril of his life he showed them what he had inside. Then +a party of the city watch, upon their rounds, would draw across the road, +and not satisfied with his tale, question him closely, and revenge +themselves by a little cuffing and hustling for maltreatment sustained at +other hands that night. All these assailants had to be rebutted, some by +fair words, some by foul, and some by blows. But Will Marks was not the +man to be stopped or turned back now he had penetrated so far, and though +he got on slowly, still he made his way down Fleet-street and reached the +church at last. + +As he had been forewarned, all was in readiness. Directly he stopped, +the coffin was removed by four men, who appeared so suddenly that they +seemed to have started from the earth. A fifth mounted the cart, and +scarcely allowing Will time to snatch from it a little bundle containing +such of his own clothes as he had thrown off on assuming his disguise, +drove briskly away. Will never saw cart or man again. + +He followed the body into the church, and it was well he lost no time in +doing so, for the door was immediately closed. There was no light in the +building save that which came from a couple of torches borne by two men +in cloaks, who stood upon the brink of a vault. Each supported a female +figure, and all observed a profound silence. + +By this dim and solemn glare, which made Will feel as though light itself +were dead, and its tomb the dreary arches that frowned above, they placed +the coffin in the vault, with uncovered heads, and closed it up. One of +the torch-bearers then turned to Will, and stretched forth his hand, in +which was a purse of gold. Something told him directly that those were +the same eyes which he had seen beneath the mask. + + [Picture: Will Marks arrives at the Church] + +‘Take it,’ said the cavalier in a low voice, ‘and be happy. Though these +have been hasty obsequies, and no priest has blessed the work, there will +not be the less peace with thee thereafter, for having laid his bones +beside those of his little children. Keep thy own counsel, for thy sake +no less than ours, and God be with thee!’ + +‘The blessing of a widowed mother on thy head, good friend!’ cried the +younger lady through her tears; ‘the blessing of one who has now no hope +or rest but in this grave!’ + +Will stood with the purse in his hand, and involuntarily made a gesture +as though he would return it, for though a thoughtless fellow, he was of +a frank and generous nature. But the two gentlemen, extinguishing their +torches, cautioned him to be gone, as their common safety would be +endangered by a longer delay; and at the same time their retreating +footsteps sounded through the church. He turned, therefore, towards the +point at which he had entered, and seeing by a faint gleam in the +distance that the door was again partially open, groped his way towards +it and so passed into the street. + +Meantime the local authorities of Kingston had kept watch and ward all +the previous night, fancying every now and then that dismal shrieks were +borne towards them on the wind, and frequently winking to each other, and +drawing closer to the fire as they drank the health of the lonely +sentinel, upon whom a clerical gentleman present was especially severe by +reason of his levity and youthful folly. Two or three of the gravest in +company, who were of a theological turn, propounded to him the question, +whether such a character was not but poorly armed for single combat with +the Devil, and whether he himself would not have been a stronger +opponent; but the clerical gentleman, sharply reproving them for their +presumption in discussing such questions, clearly showed that a fitter +champion than Will could scarcely have been selected, not only for that +being a child of Satan, he was the less likely to be alarmed by the +appearance of his own father, but because Satan himself would be at his +ease in such company, and would not scruple to kick up his heels to an +extent which it was quite certain he would never venture before clerical +eyes, under whose influence (as was notorious) he became quite a tame and +milk-and-water character. + +But when next morning arrived, and with it no Will Marks, and when a +strong party repairing to the spot, as a strong party ventured to do in +broad day, found Will gone and the gibbet empty, matters grew serious +indeed. The day passing away and no news arriving, and the night going +on also without any intelligence, the thing grew more tremendous still; +in short, the neighbourhood worked itself up to such a comfortable pitch +of mystery and horror, that it is a great question whether the general +feeling was not one of excessive disappointment, when, on the second +morning, Will Marks returned. + +However this may be, back Will came in a very cool and collected state, +and appearing not to trouble himself much about anybody except old John +Podgers, who, having been sent for, was sitting in the Town Hall crying +slowly, and dozing between whiles. Having embraced his uncle and assured +him of his safety, Will mounted on a table and told his story to the +crowd. + +And surely they would have been the most unreasonable crowd that ever +assembled together, if they had been in the least respect disappointed +with the tale he told them; for besides describing the Witches’ Dance to +the minutest motion of their legs, and performing it in character on the +table, with the assistance of a broomstick, he related how they had +carried off the body in a copper caldron, and so bewitched him, that he +lost his senses until he found himself lying under a hedge at least ten +miles off, whence he had straightway returned as they then beheld. The +story gained such universal applause that it soon afterwards brought down +express from London the great witch-finder of the age, the Heaven-born +Hopkins, who having examined Will closely on several points, pronounced +it the most extraordinary and the best accredited witch-story ever known, +under which title it was published at the Three Bibles on London Bridge, +in small quarto, with a view of the caldron from an original drawing, and +a portrait of the clerical gentleman as he sat by the fire. + +On one point Will was particularly careful: and that was to describe for +the witches he had seen, three impossible old females, whose likenesses +never were or will be. Thus he saved the lives of the suspected parties, +and of all other old women who were dragged before him to be identified. + +This circumstance occasioned John Podgers much grief and sorrow, until +happening one day to cast his eyes upon his housekeeper, and observing +her to be plainly afflicted with rheumatism, he procured her to be burnt +as an undoubted witch. For this service to the state he was immediately +knighted, and became from that time Sir John Podgers. + +Will Marks never gained any clue to the mystery in which he had been an +actor, nor did any inscription in the church, which he often visited +afterwards, nor any of the limited inquiries that he dared to make, yield +him the least assistance. As he kept his own secret, he was compelled to +spend the gold discreetly and sparingly. In the course of time he +married the young lady of whom I have already told you, whose maiden name +is not recorded, with whom he led a prosperous and happy life. Years and +years after this adventure, it was his wont to tell her upon a stormy +night that it was a great comfort to him to think those bones, to +whomsoever they might have once belonged, were not bleaching in the +troubled air, but were mouldering away with the dust of their own kith +and kindred in a quiet grave. + + + +FURTHER PARTICULARS OF MASTER HUMPHREY’S VISITOR + + +Being very full of Mr. Pickwick’s application, and highly pleased with +the compliment he had paid me, it will be readily supposed that long +before our next night of meeting I communicated it to my three friends, +who unanimously voted his admission into our body. We all looked forward +with some impatience to the occasion which would enroll him among us, but +I am greatly mistaken if Jack Redburn and myself were not by many degrees +the most impatient of the party. + +At length the night came, and a few minutes after ten Mr. Pickwick’s +knock was heard at the street-door. He was shown into a lower room, and +I directly took my crooked stick and went to accompany him up-stairs, in +order that he might be presented with all honour and formality. + +‘Mr. Pickwick,’ said I, on entering the room, ‘I am rejoiced to see +you,—rejoiced to believe that this is but the opening of a long series of +visits to this house, and but the beginning of a close and lasting +friendship.’ + +That gentleman made a suitable reply with a cordiality and frankness +peculiarly his own, and glanced with a smile towards two persons behind +the door, whom I had not at first observed, and whom I immediately +recognised as Mr. Samuel Weller and his father. + +It was a warm evening, but the elder Mr. Weller was attired, +notwithstanding, in a most capacious greatcoat, and his chin enveloped in +a large speckled shawl, such as is usually worn by stage coachmen on +active service. He looked very rosy and very stout, especially about the +legs, which appeared to have been compressed into his top-boots with some +difficulty. His broad-brimmed hat he held under his left arm, and with +the forefinger of his right hand he touched his forehead a great many +times in acknowledgment of my presence. + +‘I am very glad to see you in such good health, Mr. Weller,’ said I. + +‘Why, thankee, sir,’ returned Mr. Weller, ‘the axle an’t broke yet. We +keeps up a steady pace,—not too sewere, but vith a moderate degree o’ +friction,—and the consekens is that ve’re still a runnin’ and comes in to +the time reg’lar.—My son Samivel, sir, as you may have read on in +history,’ added Mr. Weller, introducing his first-born. + +I received Sam very graciously, but before he could say a word his father +struck in again. + +‘Samivel Veller, sir,’ said the old gentleman, ‘has conferred upon me the +ancient title o’ grandfather vich had long laid dormouse, and wos s’posed +to be nearly hex-tinct in our family. Sammy, relate a anecdote o’ vun o’ +them boys,—that ’ere little anecdote about young Tony sayin’ as he +_would_ smoke a pipe unbeknown to his mother.’ + +‘Be quiet, can’t you?’ said Sam; ‘I never see such a old magpie—never!’ + + [Picture: Tony Weller and his Grandson] + +‘That ’ere Tony is the blessedest boy,’ said Mr. Weller, heedless of this +rebuff, ‘the blessedest boy as ever _I_ see in _my_ days! of all the +charmin’est infants as ever I heerd tell on, includin’ them as was +kivered over by the robin-redbreasts arter they’d committed sooicide with +blackberries, there never wos any like that ’ere little Tony. He’s +alvays a playin’ vith a quart pot, that boy is! To see him a settin’ +down on the doorstep pretending to drink out of it, and fetching a long +breath artervards, and smoking a bit of firevood, and sayin’, “Now I’m +grandfather,”—to see him a doin’ that at two year old is better than any +play as wos ever wrote. “Now I’m grandfather!” He wouldn’t take a pint +pot if you wos to make him a present on it, but he gets his quart, and +then he says, “Now I’m grandfather!”’ + +Mr. Weller was so overpowered by this picture that he straightway fell +into a most alarming fit of coughing, which must certainly have been +attended with some fatal result but for the dexterity and promptitude of +Sam, who, taking a firm grasp of the shawl just under his father’s chin, +shook him to and fro with great violence, at the same time administering +some smart blows between his shoulders. By this curious mode of +treatment Mr. Weller was finally recovered, but with a very crimson face, +and in a state of great exhaustion. + +‘He’ll do now, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, who had been in some alarm +himself. + +‘He’ll do, sir!’ cried Sam, looking reproachfully at his parent. ‘Yes, +he _will_ do one o’ these days,—he’ll do for his-self and then he’ll wish +he hadn’t. Did anybody ever see sich a inconsiderate old file,—laughing +into conwulsions afore company, and stamping on the floor as if he’d +brought his own carpet vith him and wos under a wager to punch the +pattern out in a given time? He’ll begin again in a minute. There—he’s +a goin’ off—I said he would!’ + +In fact, Mr. Weller, whose mind was still running upon his precocious +grandson, was seen to shake his head from side to side, while a laugh, +working like an earthquake, below the surface, produced various +extraordinary appearances in his face, chest, and shoulders,—the more +alarming because unaccompanied by any noise whatever. These emotions, +however, gradually subsided, and after three or four short relapses he +wiped his eyes with the cuff of his coat, and looked about him with +tolerable composure. + +‘Afore the governor vith-draws,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘there is a pint, +respecting vich Sammy has a qvestion to ask. Vile that qvestion is a +perwadin’ this here conwersation, p’raps the genl’men vill permit me to +re-tire.’ + +‘Wot are you goin’ away for?’ demanded Sam, seizing his father by the +coat-tail. + +‘I never see such a undootiful boy as you, Samivel,’ returned Mr. Weller. +‘Didn’t you make a solemn promise, amountin’ almost to a speeches o’ wow, +that you’d put that ’ere qvestion on my account?’ + +‘Well, I’m agreeable to do it,’ said Sam, ‘but not if you go cuttin’ away +like that, as the bull turned round and mildly observed to the drover ven +they wos a goadin’ him into the butcher’s door. The fact is, sir,’ said +Sam, addressing me, ‘that he wants to know somethin’ respectin’ that ’ere +lady as is housekeeper here.’ + +‘Ay. What is that?’ + +‘Vy, sir,’ said Sam, grinning still more, ‘he wishes to know vether she—’ + +‘In short,’ interposed old Mr. Weller decisively, a perspiration breaking +out upon his forehead, ‘vether that ’ere old creetur is or is not a +widder.’ + +Mr. Pickwick laughed heartily, and so did I, as I replied decisively, +that ‘my housekeeper was a spinster.’ + +‘There!’ cried Sam, ‘now you’re satisfied. You hear she’s a spinster.’ + +‘A wot?’ said his father, with deep scorn. + +‘A spinster,’ replied Sam. + +Mr. Weller looked very hard at his son for a minute or two, and then +said, + +‘Never mind vether she makes jokes or not, that’s no matter. Wot I say +is, is that ’ere female a widder, or is she not?’ + +‘Wot do you mean by her making jokes?’ demanded Sam, quite aghast at the +obscurity of his parent’s speech. + +‘Never you mind, Samivel,’ returned Mr. Weller gravely; ‘puns may be wery +good things or they may be wery bad ’uns, and a female may be none the +better or she may be none the vurse for making of ’em; that’s got nothing +to do vith widders.’ + +‘Wy now,’ said Sam, looking round, ‘would anybody believe as a man at his +time o’ life could be running his head agin spinsters and punsters being +the same thing?’ + +‘There an’t a straw’s difference between ’em,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Your +father didn’t drive a coach for so many years, not to be ekal to his own +langvidge as far as _that_ goes, Sammy.’ + +Avoiding the question of etymology, upon which the old gentleman’s mind +was quite made up, he was several times assured that the housekeeper had +never been married. He expressed great satisfaction on hearing this, and +apologised for the question, remarking that he had been greatly terrified +by a widow not long before, and that his natural timidity was increased +in consequence. + +‘It wos on the rail,’ said Mr. Weller, with strong emphasis; ‘I wos a +goin’ down to Birmingham by the rail, and I wos locked up in a close +carriage vith a living widder. Alone we wos; the widder and me wos +alone; and I believe it wos only because we _wos_ alone and there wos no +clergyman in the conwayance, that that ’ere widder didn’t marry me afore +ve reached the half-way station. Ven I think how she began a screaming +as we wos a goin’ under them tunnels in the dark,—how she kept on a +faintin’ and ketchin’ hold o’ me,—and how I tried to bust open the door +as was tight-locked and perwented all escape—Ah! It was a awful thing, +most awful!’ + +Mr. Weller was so very much overcome by this retrospect that he was +unable, until he had wiped his brow several times, to return any reply to +the question whether he approved of railway communication, +notwithstanding that it would appear from the answer which he ultimately +gave, that he entertained strong opinions on the subject. + +‘I con-sider,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘that the rail is unconstitootional and +an inwaser o’ priwileges, and I should wery much like to know what that +’ere old Carter as once stood up for our liberties and wun ’em too,—I +should like to know wot he vould say, if he wos alive now, to Englishmen +being locked up vith widders, or with anybody again their wills. Wot a +old Carter would have said, a old Coachman may say, and I as-sert that in +that pint o’ view alone, the rail is an inwaser. As to the comfort, +vere’s the comfort o’ sittin’ in a harm-cheer lookin’ at brick walls or +heaps o’ mud, never comin’ to a public-house, never seein’ a glass o’ +ale, never goin’ through a pike, never meetin’ a change o’ no kind +(horses or othervise), but alvays comin’ to a place, ven you come to one +at all, the wery picter o’ the last, vith the same p’leesemen standing +about, the same blessed old bell a ringin’, the same unfort’nate people +standing behind the bars, a waitin’ to be let in; and everythin’ the same +except the name, vich is wrote up in the same sized letters as the last +name, and vith the same colours. As to the _h_onour and dignity o’ +travellin’, vere can that be vithout a coachman; and wot’s the rail to +sich coachmen and guards as is sometimes forced to go by it, but a +outrage and a insult? As to the pace, wot sort o’ pace do you think I, +Tony Veller, could have kept a coach goin’ at, for five hundred thousand +pound a mile, paid in adwance afore the coach was on the road? And as to +the ingein,—a nasty, wheezin’, creakin’, gaspin’, puffin’, bustin’ +monster, alvays out o’ breath, vith a shiny green-and-gold back, like a +unpleasant beetle in that ’ere gas magnifier,—as to the ingein as is +alvays a pourin’ out red-hot coals at night, and black smoke in the day, +the sensiblest thing it does, in my opinion, is, ven there’s somethin’ in +the vay, and it sets up that ’ere frightful scream vich seems to say, +“Now here’s two hundred and forty passengers in the wery greatest +extremity o’ danger, and here’s their two hundred and forty screams in +vun!”’ + +By this time I began to fear that my friends would be rendered impatient +by my protracted absence. I therefore begged Mr. Pickwick to accompany +me up-stairs, and left the two Mr. Wellers in the care of the +housekeeper, laying strict injunctions upon her to treat them with all +possible hospitality. + + + + +IV + + +THE CLOCK + +AS we were going up-stairs, Mr. Pickwick put on his spectacles, which he +had held in his hand hitherto; arranged his neckerchief, smoothed down +his waistcoat, and made many other little preparations of that kind which +men are accustomed to be mindful of, when they are going among strangers +for the first time, and are anxious to impress them pleasantly. Seeing +that I smiled, he smiled too, and said that if it had occurred to him +before he left home, he would certainly have presented himself in pumps +and silk stockings. + +‘I would, indeed, my dear sir,’ he said very seriously; ‘I would have +shown my respect for the society, by laying aside my gaiters.’ + +‘You may rest assured,’ said I, ‘that they would have regretted your +doing so very much, for they are quite attached to them.’ + +‘No, really!’ cried Mr. Pickwick, with manifest pleasure. ‘Do you think +they care about my gaiters? Do you seriously think that they identify me +at all with my gaiters?’ + +‘I am sure they do,’ I replied. + +‘Well, now,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that is one of the most charming and +agreeable circumstances that could possibly have occurred to me!’ + +I should not have written down this short conversation, but that it +developed a slight point in Mr. Pickwick’s character, with which I was +not previously acquainted. He has a secret pride in his legs. The +manner in which he spoke, and the accompanying glance he bestowed upon +his tights, convince me that Mr. Pickwick regards his legs with much +innocent vanity. + +‘But here are our friends,’ said I, opening the door and taking his arm +in mine; ‘let them speak for themselves.—Gentlemen, I present to you Mr. +Pickwick.’ + +Mr. Pickwick and I must have been a good contrast just then. I, leaning +quietly on my crutch-stick, with something of a care-worn, patient air; +he, having hold of my arm, and bowing in every direction with the most +elastic politeness, and an expression of face whose sprightly +cheerfulness and good-humour knew no bounds. The difference between us +must have been more striking yet, as we advanced towards the table, and +the amiable gentleman, adapting his jocund step to my poor tread, had his +attention divided between treating my infirmities with the utmost +consideration, and affecting to be wholly unconscious that I required +any. + +I made him personally known to each of my friends in turn. First, to the +deaf gentleman, whom he regarded with much interest, and accosted with +great frankness and cordiality. He had evidently some vague idea, at the +moment, that my friend being deaf must be dumb also; for when the latter +opened his lips to express the pleasure it afforded him to know a +gentleman of whom he had heard so much, Mr. Pickwick was so extremely +disconcerted, that I was obliged to step in to his relief. + +His meeting with Jack Redburn was quite a treat to see. Mr. Pickwick +smiled, and shook hands, and looked at him through his spectacles, and +under them, and over them, and nodded his head approvingly, and then +nodded to me, as much as to say, ‘This is just the man; you were quite +right;’ and then turned to Jack and said a few hearty words, and then did +and said everything over again with unimpaired vivacity. As to Jack +himself, he was quite as much delighted with Mr. Pickwick as Mr. Pickwick +could possibly be with him. Two people never can have met together since +the world began, who exchanged a warmer or more enthusiastic greeting. + +It was amusing to observe the difference between this encounter and that +which succeeded, between Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Miles. It was clear that +the latter gentleman viewed our new member as a kind of rival in the +affections of Jack Redburn, and besides this, he had more than once +hinted to me, in secret, that although he had no doubt Mr. Pickwick was a +very worthy man, still he did consider that some of his exploits were +unbecoming a gentleman of his years and gravity. Over and above these +grounds of distrust, it is one of his fixed opinions, that the law never +can by possibility do anything wrong; he therefore looks upon Mr. +Pickwick as one who has justly suffered in purse and peace for a breach +of his plighted faith to an unprotected female, and holds that he is +called upon to regard him with some suspicion on that account. These +causes led to a rather cold and formal reception; which Mr. Pickwick +acknowledged with the same stateliness and intense politeness as was +displayed on the other side. Indeed, he assumed an air of such majestic +defiance, that I was fearful he might break out into some solemn protest +or declaration, and therefore inducted him into his chair without a +moment’s delay. + +This piece of generalship was perfectly successful. The instant he took +his seat, Mr. Pickwick surveyed us all with a most benevolent aspect, and +was taken with a fit of smiling full five minutes long. His interest in +our ceremonies was immense. They are not very numerous or complicated, +and a description of them may be comprised in very few words. As our +transactions have already been, and must necessarily continue to be, more +or less anticipated by being presented in these pages at different times, +and under various forms, they do not require a detailed account. + +Our first proceeding when we are assembled is to shake hands all round, +and greet each other with cheerful and pleasant looks. Remembering that +we assemble not only for the promotion of our happiness, but with the +view of adding something to the common stock, an air of languor or +indifference in any member of our body would be regarded by the others as +a kind of treason. We have never had an offender in this respect; but if +we had, there is no doubt that he would be taken to task pretty severely. + +Our salutation over, the venerable piece of antiquity from which we take +our name is wound up in silence. The ceremony is always performed by +Master Humphrey himself (in treating of the club, I may be permitted to +assume the historical style, and speak of myself in the third person), +who mounts upon a chair for the purpose, armed with a large key. While +it is in progress, Jack Redburn is required to keep at the farther end of +the room under the guardianship of Mr. Miles, for he is known to +entertain certain aspiring and unhallowed thoughts connected with the +clock, and has even gone so far as to state that if he might take the +works out for a day or two, he thinks he could improve them. We pardon +him his presumption in consideration of his good intentions, and his +keeping this respectful distance, which last penalty is insisted on, lest +by secretly wounding the object of our regard in some tender part, in the +ardour of his zeal for its improvement, he should fill us with dismay and +consternation. + +This regulation afforded Mr. Pickwick the highest delight, and seemed, if +possible, to exalt Jack in his good opinion. + +The next ceremony is the opening of the clock-case (of which Master +Humphrey has likewise the key), the taking from it as many papers as will +furnish forth our evening’s entertainment, and arranging in the recess +such new contributions as have been provided since our last meeting. +This is always done with peculiar solemnity. The deaf gentleman then +fills and lights his pipe, and we once more take our seats round the +table before mentioned, Master Humphrey acting as president,—if we can be +said to have any president, where all are on the same social footing,—and +our friend Jack as secretary. Our preliminaries being now concluded, we +fall into any train of conversation that happens to suggest itself, or +proceed immediately to one of our readings. In the latter case, the +paper selected is consigned to Master Humphrey, who flattens it carefully +on the table and makes dog’s ears in the corner of every page, ready for +turning over easily; Jack Redburn trims the lamp with a small machine of +his own invention which usually puts it out; Mr. Miles looks on with +great approval notwithstanding; the deaf gentleman draws in his chair, so +that he can follow the words on the paper or on Master Humphrey’s lips as +he pleases; and Master Humphrey himself, looking round with mighty +gratification, and glancing up at his old clock, begins to read aloud. + + [Picture: Proceedings of the Club] + +Mr. Pickwick’s face, while his tale was being read, would have attracted +the attention of the dullest man alive. The complacent motion of his +head and forefinger as he gently beat time, and corrected the air with +imaginary punctuation, the smile that mantled on his features at every +jocose passage, and the sly look he stole around to observe its effect, +the calm manner in which he shut his eyes and listened when there was +some little piece of description, the changing expression with which he +acted the dialogue to himself, his agony that the deaf gentleman should +know what it was all about, and his extraordinary anxiety to correct the +reader when he hesitated at a word in the manuscript, or substituted a +wrong one, were alike worthy of remark. And when at last, endeavouring +to communicate with the deaf gentleman by means of the finger alphabet, +with which he constructed such words as are unknown in any civilised or +savage language, he took up a slate and wrote in large text, one word in +a line, the question, ‘How—do—you—like—it?’—when he did this, and handing +it over the table awaited the reply, with a countenance only brightened +and improved by his great excitement, even Mr. Miles relaxed, and could +not forbear looking at him for the moment with interest and favour. + +‘It has occurred to me,’ said the deaf gentleman, who had watched Mr. +Pickwick and everybody else with silent satisfaction—‘it has occurred to +me,’ said the deaf gentleman, taking his pipe from his lips, ‘that now is +our time for filling our only empty chair.’ + +As our conversation had naturally turned upon the vacant seat, we lent a +willing ear to this remark, and looked at our friend inquiringly. + +‘I feel sure,’ said he, ‘that Mr. Pickwick must be acquainted with +somebody who would be an acquisition to us; that he must know the man we +want. Pray let us not lose any time, but set this question at rest. Is +it so, Mr. Pickwick?’ + +The gentleman addressed was about to return a verbal reply, but +remembering our friend’s infirmity, he substituted for this kind of +answer some fifty nods. Then taking up the slate and printing on it a +gigantic ‘Yes,’ he handed it across the table, and rubbing his hands as +he looked round upon our faces, protested that he and the deaf gentleman +quite understood each other, already. + +‘The person I have in my mind,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘and whom I should not +have presumed to mention to you until some time hence, but for the +opportunity you have given me, is a very strange old man. His name is +Bamber.’ + +‘Bamber!’ said Jack. ‘I have certainly heard the name before.’ + +‘I have no doubt, then,’ returned Mr. Pickwick, ‘that you remember him in +those adventures of mine (the Posthumous Papers of our old club, I mean), +although he is only incidentally mentioned; and, if I remember right, +appears but once.’ + +‘That’s it,’ said Jack. ‘Let me see. He is the person who has a grave +interest in old mouldy chambers and the Inns of Court, and who relates +some anecdotes having reference to his favourite theme,—and an odd ghost +story,—is that the man?’ + +‘The very same. Now,’ said Mr. Pickwick, lowering his voice to a +mysterious and confidential tone, ‘he is a very extraordinary and +remarkable person; living, and talking, and looking, like some strange +spirit, whose delight is to haunt old buildings; and absorbed in that one +subject which you have just mentioned, to an extent which is quite +wonderful. When I retired into private life, I sought him out, and I do +assure you that the more I see of him, the more strongly I am impressed +with the strange and dreamy character of his mind.’ + +‘Where does he live?’ I inquired. + +‘He lives,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘in one of those dull, lonely old places +with which his thoughts and stories are all connected; quite alone, and +often shut up close for several weeks together. In this dusty solitude +he broods upon the fancies he has so long indulged, and when he goes into +the world, or anybody from the world without goes to see him, they are +still present to his mind and still his favourite topic. I may say, I +believe, that he has brought himself to entertain a regard for me, and an +interest in my visits; feelings which I am certain he would extend to +Master Humphrey’s Clock if he were once tempted to join us. All I wish +you to understand is, that he is a strange, secluded visionary, in the +world but not of it; and as unlike anybody here as he is unlike anybody +elsewhere that I have ever met or known.’ + +Mr. Miles received this account of our proposed companion with rather a +wry face, and after murmuring that perhaps he was a little mad, inquired +if he were rich. + +‘I never asked him,’ said Mr. Pickwick. + +‘You might know, sir, for all that,’ retorted Mr. Miles, sharply. + +‘Perhaps so, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, no less sharply than the other, +‘but I do not. Indeed,’ he added, relapsing into his usual mildness, ‘I +have no means of judging. He lives poorly, but that would seem to be in +keeping with his character. I never heard him allude to his +circumstances, and never fell into the society of any man who had the +slightest acquaintance with them. I have really told you all I know +about him, and it rests with you to say whether you wish to know more, or +know quite enough already.’ + +We were unanimously of opinion that we would seek to know more; and as a +sort of compromise with Mr. Miles (who, although he said ‘Yes—O +certainly—he should like to know more about the gentleman—he had no right +to put himself in opposition to the general wish,’ and so forth, shook +his head doubtfully and hemmed several times with peculiar gravity), it +was arranged that Mr. Pickwick should carry me with him on an evening +visit to the subject of our discussion, for which purpose an early +appointment between that gentleman and myself was immediately agreed +upon; it being understood that I was to act upon my own responsibility, +and to invite him to join us or not, as I might think proper. This +solemn question determined, we returned to the clock-case (where we have +been forestalled by the reader), and between its contents, and the +conversation they occasioned, the remainder of our time passed very +quickly. + +When we broke up, Mr. Pickwick took me aside to tell me that he had spent +a most charming and delightful evening. Having made this communication +with an air of the strictest secrecy, he took Jack Redburn into another +corner to tell him the same, and then retired into another corner with +the deaf gentleman and the slate, to repeat the assurance. It was +amusing to observe the contest in his mind whether he should extend his +confidence to Mr. Miles, or treat him with dignified reserve. Half a +dozen times he stepped up behind him with a friendly air, and as often +stepped back again without saying a word; at last, when he was close at +that gentleman’s ear and upon the very point of whispering something +conciliating and agreeable, Mr. Miles happened suddenly to turn his head, +upon which Mr. Pickwick skipped away, and said with some fierceness, +‘Good night, sir—I was about to say good night, sir,—nothing more;’ and +so made a bow and left him. + +‘Now, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, when he had got down-stairs. + +‘All right, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller. ‘Hold hard, sir. Right arm +fust—now the left—now one strong conwulsion, and the great-coat’s on, +sir.’ + +Mr. Pickwick acted upon these directions, and being further assisted by +Sam, who pulled at one side of the collar, and Mr. Weller, who pulled +hard at the other, was speedily enrobed. Mr. Weller, senior, then +produced a full-sized stable lantern, which he had carefully deposited in +a remote corner, on his arrival, and inquired whether Mr. Pickwick would +have ‘the lamps alight.’ + +‘I think not to-night,’ said Mr. Pickwick. + +‘Then if this here lady vill per-mit,’ rejoined Mr. Weller, ‘we’ll leave +it here, ready for next journey. This here lantern, mum,’ said Mr. +Weller, handing it to the housekeeper, ‘vunce belonged to the celebrated +Bill Blinder as is now at grass, as all on us vill be in our turns. +Bill, mum, wos the hostler as had charge o’ them two vell-known piebald +leaders that run in the Bristol fast coach, and vould never go to no +other tune but a sutherly vind and a cloudy sky, which wos consekvently +played incessant, by the guard, wenever they wos on duty. He wos took +wery bad one arternoon, arter having been off his feed, and wery shaky on +his legs for some veeks; and he says to his mate, “Matey,” he says, “I +think I’m a-goin’ the wrong side o’ the post, and that my foot’s wery +near the bucket. Don’t say I an’t,” he says, “for I know I am, and don’t +let me be interrupted,” he says, “for I’ve saved a little money, and I’m +a-goin’ into the stable to make my last vill and testymint.” “I’ll take +care as nobody interrupts,” says his mate, “but you on’y hold up your +head, and shake your ears a bit, and you’re good for twenty years to +come.” Bill Blinder makes him no answer, but he goes avay into the +stable, and there he soon artervards lays himself down a’tween the two +piebalds, and dies,—previously a writin’ outside the corn-chest, “This is +the last vill and testymint of Villiam Blinder.” They wos nat’rally wery +much amazed at this, and arter looking among the litter, and up in the +loft, and vere not, they opens the corn-chest, and finds that he’d been +and chalked his vill inside the lid; so the lid was obligated to be took +off the hinges, and sent up to Doctor Commons to be proved, and under +that ’ere wery instrument this here lantern was passed to Tony Veller; +vich circumstarnce, mum, gives it a wally in my eyes, and makes me +rekvest, if you vill be so kind, as to take partickler care on it.’ + +The housekeeper graciously promised to keep the object of Mr. Weller’s +regard in the safest possible custody, and Mr. Pickwick, with a laughing +face, took his leave. The bodyguard followed, side by side; old Mr. +Weller buttoned and wrapped up from his boots to his chin; and Sam with +his hands in his pockets and his hat half off his head, remonstrating +with his father, as he went, on his extreme loquacity. + +I was not a little surprised, on turning to go up-stairs, to encounter +the barber in the passage at that late hour; for his attendance is +usually confined to some half-hour in the morning. But Jack Redburn, who +finds out (by instinct, I think) everything that happens in the house, +informed me with great glee, that a society in imitation of our own had +been that night formed in the kitchen, under the title of ‘Mr. Weller’s +Watch,’ of which the barber was a member; and that he could pledge +himself to find means of making me acquainted with the whole of its +future proceedings, which I begged him, both on my own account and that +of my readers, by no means to neglect doing. {292} + + [Picture: The Last Will and Testament of William Blinder] + + + + +V + + +MR. WELLER’S WATCH + +IT seems that the housekeeper and the two Mr. Wellers were no sooner left +together on the occasion of their first becoming acquainted, than the +housekeeper called to her assistance Mr. Slithers the barber, who had +been lurking in the kitchen in expectation of her summons; and with many +smiles and much sweetness introduced him as one who would assist her in +the responsible office of entertaining her distinguished visitors. + +‘Indeed,’ said she, ‘without Mr. Slithers I should have been placed in +quite an awkward situation.’ + +‘There is no call for any hock’erdness, mum,’ said Mr. Weller with the +utmost politeness; ‘no call wotsumever. A lady,’ added the old +gentleman, looking about him with the air of one who establishes an +incontrovertible position,—‘a lady can’t be hock’erd. Natur’ has +otherwise purwided.’ + +The housekeeper inclined her head and smiled yet more sweetly. The +barber, who had been fluttering about Mr. Weller and Sam in a state of +great anxiety to improve their acquaintance, rubbed his hands and cried, +‘Hear, hear! Very true, sir;’ whereupon Sam turned about and steadily +regarded him for some seconds in silence. + +‘I never knew,’ said Sam, fixing his eyes in a ruminative manner upon the +blushing barber,—‘I never knew but vun o’ your trade, but _he_ wos worth +a dozen, and wos indeed dewoted to his callin’!’ + +‘Was he in the easy shaving way, sir,’ inquired Mr. Slithers; ‘or in the +cutting and curling line?’ + +‘Both,’ replied Sam; ‘easy shavin’ was his natur’, and cuttin’ and +curlin’ was his pride and glory. His whole delight wos in his trade. He +spent all his money in bears, and run in debt for ’em besides, and there +they wos a growling avay down in the front cellar all day long, and +ineffectooally gnashing their teeth, vile the grease o’ their relations +and friends wos being re-tailed in gallipots in the shop above, and the +first-floor winder wos ornamented vith their heads; not to speak o’ the +dreadful aggrawation it must have been to ’em to see a man alvays a +walkin’ up and down the pavement outside, vith the portrait of a bear in +his last agonies, and underneath in large letters, “Another fine animal +wos slaughtered yesterday at Jinkinson’s!” Hows’ever, there they wos, +and there Jinkinson wos, till he wos took wery ill with some inn’ard +disorder, lost the use of his legs, and wos confined to his bed, vere he +laid a wery long time, but sich wos his pride in his profession, even +then, that wenever he wos worse than usual the doctor used to go +down-stairs and say, “Jinkinson’s wery low this mornin’; we must give the +bears a stir;” and as sure as ever they stirred ’em up a bit and made ’em +roar, Jinkinson opens his eyes if he wos ever so bad, calls out, “There’s +the bears!” and rewives agin.’ + +‘Astonishing!’ cried the barber. + +‘Not a bit,’ said Sam, ‘human natur’ neat as imported. Vun day the +doctor happenin’ to say, “I shall look in as usual to-morrow mornin’,” +Jinkinson catches hold of his hand and says, “Doctor,” he says, “will you +grant me one favour?” “I will, Jinkinson,” says the doctor. “Then, +doctor,” says Jinkinson, “vill you come unshaved, and let me shave you?” +“I will,” says the doctor. “God bless you,” says Jinkinson. Next day +the doctor came, and arter he’d been shaved all skilful and reg’lar, he +says, “Jinkinson,” he says, “it’s wery plain this does you good. Now,” +he says, “I’ve got a coachman as has got a beard that it ’ud warm your +heart to work on, and though the footman,” he says, “hasn’t got much of a +beard, still he’s a trying it on vith a pair o’ viskers to that extent +that razors is Christian charity. If they take it in turns to mind the +carriage when it’s a waitin’ below,” he says, “wot’s to hinder you from +operatin’ on both of ’em ev’ry day as well as upon me? you’ve got six +children,” he says, “wot’s to hinder you from shavin’ all their heads and +keepin’ ’em shaved? you’ve got two assistants in the shop down-stairs, +wot’s to hinder you from cuttin’ and curlin’ them as often as you like? +Do this,” he says, “and you’re a man agin.” Jinkinson squeedged the +doctor’s hand and begun that wery day; he kept his tools upon the bed, +and wenever he felt his-self gettin’ worse, he turned to at vun o’ the +children who wos a runnin’ about the house vith heads like clean Dutch +cheeses, and shaved him agin. Vun day the lawyer come to make his vill; +all the time he wos a takin’ it down, Jinkinson was secretly a clippin’ +avay at his hair vith a large pair of scissors. “Wot’s that ’ere +snippin’ noise?” says the lawyer every now and then; “it’s like a man +havin’ his hair cut.” “It _is_ wery like a man havin’ his hair cut,” +says poor Jinkinson, hidin’ the scissors, and lookin’ quite innocent. By +the time the lawyer found it out, he was wery nearly bald. Jinkinson wos +kept alive in this vay for a long time, but at last vun day he has in all +the children vun arter another, shaves each on ’em wery clean, and gives +him vun kiss on the crown o’ his head; then he has in the two assistants, +and arter cuttin’ and curlin’ of ’em in the first style of elegance, says +he should like to hear the woice o’ the greasiest bear, vich rekvest is +immediately complied with; then he says that he feels wery happy in his +mind and vishes to be left alone; and then he dies, previously cuttin’ +his own hair and makin’ one flat curl in the wery middle of his +forehead.’ + +This anecdote produced an extraordinary effect, not only upon Mr. +Slithers, but upon the housekeeper also, who evinced so much anxiety to +please and be pleased, that Mr. Weller, with a manner betokening some +alarm, conveyed a whispered inquiry to his son whether he had gone ‘too +fur.’ + +‘Wot do you mean by too fur?’ demanded Sam. + +‘In that ’ere little compliment respectin’ the want of hock’erdness in +ladies, Sammy,’ replied his father. + +‘You don’t think she’s fallen in love with you in consekens o’ that, do +you?’ said Sam. + +‘More unlikelier things have come to pass, my boy,’ replied Mr. Weller in +a hoarse whisper; ‘I’m always afeerd of inadwertent captiwation, Sammy. +If I know’d how to make myself ugly or unpleasant, I’d do it, Samivel, +rayther than live in this here state of perpetival terror!’ + +Mr. Weller had, at that time, no further opportunity of dwelling upon the +apprehensions which beset his mind, for the immediate occasion of his +fears proceeded to lead the way down-stairs, apologising as they went for +conducting him into the kitchen, which apartment, however, she was +induced to proffer for his accommodation in preference to her own little +room, the rather as it afforded greater facilities for smoking, and was +immediately adjoining the ale-cellar. The preparations which were +already made sufficiently proved that these were not mere words of +course, for on the deal table were a sturdy ale-jug and glasses, flanked +with clean pipes and a plentiful supply of tobacco for the old gentleman +and his son, while on a dresser hard by was goodly store of cold meat and +other eatables. At sight of these arrangements Mr. Weller was at first +distracted between his love of joviality and his doubts whether they were +not to be considered as so many evidences of captivation having already +taken place; but he soon yielded to his natural impulse, and took his +seat at the table with a very jolly countenance. + +‘As to imbibin’ any o’ this here flagrant veed, mum, in the presence of a +lady,’ said Mr. Weller, taking up a pipe and laying it down again, ‘it +couldn’t be. Samivel, total abstinence, if _you_ please.’ + +‘But I like it of all things,’ said the housekeeper. + +‘No,’ rejoined Mr. Weller, shaking his head,—‘no.’ + +‘Upon my word I do,’ said the housekeeper. ‘Mr. Slithers knows I do.’ + +Mr. Weller coughed, and notwithstanding the barber’s confirmation of the +statement, said ‘No’ again, but more feebly than before. The housekeeper +lighted a piece of paper, and insisted on applying it to the bowl of the +pipe with her own fair hands; Mr. Weller resisted; the housekeeper cried +that her fingers would be burnt; Mr. Weller gave way. The pipe was +ignited, Mr. Weller drew a long puff of smoke, and detecting himself in +the very act of smiling on the housekeeper, put a sudden constraint upon +his countenance and looked sternly at the candle, with a determination +not to captivate, himself, or encourage thoughts of captivation in +others. From this iron frame of mind he was roused by the voice of his +son. + +‘I don’t think,’ said Sam, who was smoking with great composure and +enjoyment, ‘that if the lady wos agreeable it ’ud be wery far out o’ the +vay for us four to make up a club of our own like the governors does +up-stairs, and let him,’ Sam pointed with the stem of his pipe towards +his parent, ‘be the president.’ + +The housekeeper affably declared that it was the very thing she had been +thinking of. The barber said the same. Mr. Weller said nothing, but he +laid down his pipe as if in a fit of inspiration, and performed the +following manœuvres. + +Unbuttoning the three lower buttons of his waistcoat and pausing for a +moment to enjoy the easy flow of breath consequent upon this process, he +laid violent hands upon his watch-chain, and slowly and with extreme +difficulty drew from his fob an immense double-cased silver watch, which +brought the lining of the pocket with it, and was not to be disentangled +but by great exertions and an amazing redness of face. Having fairly got +it out at last, he detached the outer case and wound it up with a key of +corresponding magnitude; then put the case on again, and having applied +the watch to his ear to ascertain that it was still going, gave it some +half-dozen hard knocks on the table to improve its performance. + +‘That,’ said Mr. Weller, laying it on the table with its face upwards, +‘is the title and emblem o’ this here society. Sammy, reach them two +stools this vay for the wacant cheers. Ladies and gen’lmen, Mr. Weller’s +Watch is vound up and now a-goin’. Order!’ + +By way of enforcing this proclamation, Mr. Weller, using the watch after +the manner of a president’s hammer, and remarking with great pride that +nothing hurt it, and that falls and concussions of all kinds materially +enhanced the excellence of the works and assisted the regulator, knocked +the table a great many times, and declared the association formally +constituted. + +‘And don’t let’s have no grinnin’ at the cheer, Samivel,’ said Mr. Weller +to his son, ‘or I shall be committin’ you to the cellar, and then p’r’aps +we may get into what the ‘Merrikins call a fix, and the English a +qvestion o’ privileges.’ + +Having uttered this friendly caution, the President settled himself in +his chair with great dignity, and requested that Mr. Samuel would relate +an anecdote. + +‘I’ve told one,’ said Sam. + +‘Wery good, sir; tell another,’ returned the chair. + +‘We wos a talking jist now, sir,’ said Sam, turning to Slithers, ‘about +barbers. Pursuing that ’ere fruitful theme, sir, I’ll tell you in a wery +few words a romantic little story about another barber as p’r’aps you may +never have heerd.’ + +‘Samivel!’ said Mr. Weller, again bringing his watch and the table into +smart collision, ‘address your obserwations to the cheer, sir, and not to +priwate indiwiduals!’ + + [Picture: A Rival Club] + +‘And if I might rise to order,’ said the barber in a soft voice, and +looking round him with a conciliatory smile as he leant over the table, +with the knuckles of his left hand resting upon it,—‘if I _might_ rise to +order, I would suggest that “barbers” is not exactly the kind of language +which is agreeable and soothing to our feelings. You, sir, will correct +me if I’m wrong, but I believe there _is_ such a word in the dictionary +as hairdressers.’ + +‘Well, but suppose he wasn’t a hairdresser,’ suggested Sam. + +‘Wy then, sir, be parliamentary and call him vun all the more,’ returned +his father. ‘In the same vay as ev’ry gen’lman in another place is a +_h_onourable, ev’ry barber in this place is a hairdresser. Ven you read +the speeches in the papers, and see as vun gen’lman says of another, “the +_h_onourable member, if he vill allow me to call him so,” you vill +understand, sir, that that means, “if he vill allow me to keep up that +’ere pleasant and uniwersal fiction.”’ + +It is a common remark, confirmed by history and experience, that great +men rise with the circumstances in which they are placed. Mr. Weller +came out so strong in his capacity of chairman, that Sam was for some +time prevented from speaking by a grin of surprise, which held his +faculties enchained, and at last subsided in a long whistle of a single +note. Nay, the old gentleman appeared even to have astonished himself, +and that to no small extent, as was demonstrated by the vast amount of +chuckling in which he indulged, after the utterance of these lucid +remarks. + +‘Here’s the story,’ said Sam. ‘Vunce upon a time there wos a young +hairdresser as opened a wery smart little shop vith four wax dummies in +the winder, two gen’lmen and two ladies—the gen’lmen vith blue dots for +their beards, wery large viskers, oudacious heads of hair, uncommon clear +eyes, and nostrils of amazin’ pinkness; the ladies vith their heads o’ +one side, their right forefingers on their lips, and their forms +deweloped beautiful, in vich last respect they had the adwantage over the +gen’lmen, as wasn’t allowed but wery little shoulder, and terminated +rayther abrupt in fancy drapery. He had also a many hair-brushes and +tooth-brushes bottled up in the winder, neat glass-cases on the counter, +a floor-clothed cuttin’-room up-stairs, and a weighin’-macheen in the +shop, right opposite the door. But the great attraction and ornament wos +the dummies, which this here young hairdresser wos constantly a runnin’ +out in the road to look at, and constantly a runnin’ in again to touch up +and polish; in short, he wos so proud on ’em, that ven Sunday come, he +wos always wretched and mis’rable to think they wos behind the shutters, +and looked anxiously for Monday on that account. Vun o’ these dummies +wos a favrite vith him beyond the others; and ven any of his acquaintance +asked him wy he didn’t get married—as the young ladies he know’d, in +partickler, often did—he used to say, “Never! I never vill enter into +the bonds of vedlock,” he says, “until I meet vith a young ’ooman as +realises my idea o’ that ’ere fairest dummy vith the light hair. Then, +and not till then,” he says, “I vill approach the altar.” All the young +ladies he know’d as had got dark hair told him this wos wery sinful, and +that he wos wurshippin’ a idle; but them as wos at all near the same +shade as the dummy coloured up wery much, and wos observed to think him a +wery nice young man.’ + +‘Samivel,’ said Mr. Weller, gravely, ‘a member o’ this associashun bein’ +one o’ that ’ere tender sex which is now immedetly referred to, I have to +rekvest that you vill make no reflections.’ + +‘I ain’t a makin’ any, am I?’ inquired Sam. + +‘Order, sir!’ rejoined Mr. Weller, with severe dignity. Then, sinking +the chairman in the father, he added, in his usual tone of voice: +‘Samivel, drive on!’ + +Sam interchanged a smile with the housekeeper, and proceeded: + +‘The young hairdresser hadn’t been in the habit o’ makin’ this avowal +above six months, ven he en-countered a young lady as wos the wery picter +o’ the fairest dummy. “Now,” he says, “it’s all up. I am a slave!” The +young lady wos not only the picter o’ the fairest dummy, but she was wery +romantic, as the young hairdresser was, too, and he says, “O!” he says, +“here’s a community o’ feelin’, here’s a flow o’ soul!” he says, “here’s +a interchange o’ sentiment!” The young lady didn’t say much, o’ course, +but she expressed herself agreeable, and shortly artervards vent to see +him vith a mutual friend. The hairdresser rushes out to meet her, but +d’rectly she sees the dummies she changes colour and falls a tremblin’ +wiolently. “Look up, my love,” says the hairdresser, “behold your imige +in my winder, but not correcter than in my art!” “My imige!” she says. +“Yourn!” replies the hairdresser. “But whose imige is _that_?” she says, +a pinting at vun o’ the gen’lmen. “No vun’s, my love,” he says, “it is +but a idea.” “A idea!” she cries: “it is a portrait, I feel it is a +portrait, and that ’ere noble face must be in the millingtary!” “Wot do +I hear!” says he, a crumplin’ his curls. “Villiam Gibbs,” she says, +quite firm, “never renoo the subject. I respect you as a friend,” she +says, “but my affections is set upon that manly brow.” “This,” says the +hairdresser, “is a reg’lar blight, and in it I perceive the hand of Fate. +Farevell!” Vith these vords he rushes into the shop, breaks the dummy’s +nose vith a blow of his curlin’-irons, melts him down at the parlour +fire, and never smiles artervards.’ + +‘The young lady, Mr. Weller?’ said the housekeeper. + +‘Why, ma’am,’ said Sam, ‘finding that Fate had a spite agin her, and +everybody she come into contact vith, she never smiled neither, but read +a deal o’ poetry and pined avay,—by rayther slow degrees, for she ain’t +dead yet. It took a deal o’ poetry to kill the hairdresser, and some +people say arter all that it was more the gin and water as caused him to +be run over; p’r’aps it was a little o’ both, and came o’ mixing the +two.’ + +The barber declared that Mr. Weller had related one of the most +interesting stories that had ever come within his knowledge, in which +opinion the housekeeper entirely concurred. + +‘Are you a married man, sir?’ inquired Sam. + +The barber replied that he had not that honour. + +‘I s’pose you mean to be?’ said Sam. + +‘Well,’ replied the barber, rubbing his hands smirkingly, ‘I don’t know, +I don’t think it’s very likely.’ + +‘That’s a bad sign,’ said Sam; ‘if you’d said you meant to be vun o’ +these days, I should ha’ looked upon you as bein’ safe. You’re in a wery +precarious state.’ + +‘I am not conscious of any danger, at all events,’ returned the barber. + +‘No more wos I, sir,’ said the elder Mr. Weller, interposing; ‘those vere +my symptoms, exactly. I’ve been took that vay twice. Keep your vether +eye open, my friend, or you’re gone.’ + +There was something so very solemn about this admonition, both in its +matter and manner, and also in the way in which Mr. Weller still kept his +eye fixed upon the unsuspecting victim, that nobody cared to speak for +some little time, and might not have cared to do so for some time longer, +if the housekeeper had not happened to sigh, which called off the old +gentleman’s attention and gave rise to a gallant inquiry whether ‘there +wos anythin’ wery piercin’ in that ’ere little heart?’ + +‘Dear me, Mr. Weller!’ said the housekeeper, laughing. + +‘No, but is there anythin’ as agitates it?’ pursued the old gentleman. +‘Has it always been obderrate, always opposed to the happiness o’ human +creeturs? Eh? Has it?’ + +At this critical juncture for her blushes and confusion, the housekeeper +discovered that more ale was wanted, and hastily withdrew into the cellar +to draw the same, followed by the barber, who insisted on carrying the +candle. Having looked after her with a very complacent expression of +face, and after him with some disdain, Mr. Weller caused his glance to +travel slowly round the kitchen, until at length it rested on his son. + +‘Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘I mistrust that barber.’ + +‘Wot for?’ returned Sam; ‘wot’s he got to do with you? You’re a nice +man, you are, arter pretendin’ all kinds o’ terror, to go a payin’ +compliments and talkin’ about hearts and piercers.’ + +The imputation of gallantry appeared to afford Mr. Weller the utmost +delight, for he replied in a voice choked by suppressed laughter, and +with the tears in his eyes, + +‘Wos I a talkin’ about hearts and piercers,—wos I though, Sammy, eh?’ + +‘Wos you? of course you wos.’ + +‘She don’t know no better, Sammy, there ain’t no harm in it,—no danger, +Sammy; she’s only a punster. She seemed pleased, though, didn’t she? O’ +course, she wos pleased, it’s nat’ral she should be, wery nat’ral.’ + +‘He’s wain of it!’ exclaimed Sam, joining in his father’s mirth. ‘He’s +actually wain!’ + +‘Hush!’ replied Mr. Weller, composing his features, ‘they’re a comin’ +back,—the little heart’s a comin’ back. But mark these wurds o’ mine +once more, and remember ’em ven your father says he said ’em. Samivel, I +mistrust that ’ere deceitful barber.’ {300} + + + + +VI + + +MASTER HUMPHREY, FROM HIS CLOCK-SIDE IN THE CHIMNEY CORNER + +TWO or three evenings after the institution of Mr. Weller’s Watch, I +thought I heard, as I walked in the garden, the voice of Mr. Weller +himself at no great distance; and stopping once or twice to listen more +attentively, I found that the sounds proceeded from my housekeeper’s +little sitting-room, which is at the back of the house. I took no +further notice of the circumstance at that time, but it formed the +subject of a conversation between me and my friend Jack Redburn next +morning, when I found that I had not been deceived in my impression. +Jack furnished me with the following particulars; and as he appeared to +take extraordinary pleasure in relating them, I have begged him in future +to jot down any such domestic scenes or occurrences that may please his +humour, in order that they may be told in his own way. I must confess +that, as Mr. Pickwick and he are constantly together, I have been +influenced, in making this request, by a secret desire to know something +of their proceedings. + +On the evening in question, the housekeeper’s room was arranged with +particular care, and the housekeeper herself was very smartly dressed. +The preparations, however, were not confined to mere showy +demonstrations, as tea was prepared for three persons, with a small +display of preserves and jams and sweet cakes, which heralded some +uncommon occasion. Miss Benton (my housekeeper bears that name) was in a +state of great expectation, too, frequently going to the front door and +looking anxiously down the lane, and more than once observing to the +servant-girl that she expected company, and hoped no accident had +happened to delay them. + +A modest ring at the bell at length allayed her fears, and Miss Benton, +hurrying into her own room and shutting herself up, in order that she +might preserve that appearance of being taken by surprise which is so +essential to the polite reception of visitors, awaited their coming with +a smiling countenance. + +‘Good ev’nin’, mum,’ said the older Mr. Weller, looking in at the door +after a prefatory tap. ‘I’m afeerd we’ve come in rayther arter the time, +mum, but the young colt being full o’ wice, has been’ a boltin’ and +shyin’ and gettin’ his leg over the traces to sich a extent that if he +an’t wery soon broke in, he’ll wex me into a broken heart, and then he’ll +never be brought out no more except to learn his letters from the writin’ +on his grandfather’s tombstone.’ + +With these pathetic words, which were addressed to something outside the +door about two feet six from the ground, Mr. Weller introduced a very +small boy firmly set upon a couple of very sturdy legs, who looked as if +nothing could ever knock him down. Besides having a very round face +strongly resembling Mr. Weller’s, and a stout little body of exactly his +build, this young gentleman, standing with his little legs very wide +apart, as if the top-boots were familiar to them, actually winked upon +the housekeeper with his infant eye, in imitation of his grandfather. + + [Picture: A Chip of the Old Block] + +‘There’s a naughty boy, mum,’ said Mr. Weller, bursting with delight, +‘there’s a immoral Tony. Wos there ever a little chap o’ four year and +eight months old as vinked his eye at a strange lady afore?’ + +As little affected by this observation as by the former appeal to his +feelings, Master Weller elevated in the air a small model of a coach whip +which he carried in his hand, and addressing the housekeeper with a +shrill ‘ya—hip!’ inquired if she was ‘going down the road;’ at which +happy adaptation of a lesson he had been taught from infancy, Mr. Weller +could restrain his feelings no longer, but gave him twopence on the spot. + +‘It’s in wain to deny it, mum,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘this here is a boy +arter his grandfather’s own heart, and beats out all the boys as ever wos +or will be. Though at the same time, mum,’ added Mr. Weller, trying to +look gravely down upon his favourite, ‘it was wery wrong on him to want +to—over all the posts as we come along, and wery cruel on him to force +poor grandfather to lift him cross-legged over every vun of ’em. He +wouldn’t pass vun single blessed post, mum, and at the top o’ the lane +there’s seven-and-forty on ’em all in a row, and wery close together.’ + +Here Mr. Weller, whose feelings were in a perpetual conflict between +pride in his grandson’s achievements and a sense of his own +responsibility, and the importance of impressing him with moral truths, +burst into a fit of laughter, and suddenly checking himself, remarked in +a severe tone that little boys as made their grandfathers put ’em over +posts never went to heaven at any price. + +By this time the housekeeper had made tea, and little Tony, placed on a +chair beside her, with his eyes nearly on a level with the top of the +table, was provided with various delicacies which yielded him extreme +contentment. The housekeeper (who seemed rather afraid of the child, +notwithstanding her caresses) then patted him on the head, and declared +that he was the finest boy she had ever seen. + +‘Wy, mum,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘I don’t think you’ll see a many sich, and +that’s the truth. But if my son Samivel vould give me my vay, mum, and +only dis-pense vith his—_might_ I wenter to say the vurd?’ + +‘What word, Mr. Weller?’ said the housekeeper, blushing slightly. + +‘Petticuts, mum,’ returned that gentleman, laying his hand upon the +garments of his grandson. ‘If my son Samivel, mum, vould only dis-pense +vith these here, you’d see such a alteration in his appearance, as the +imagination can’t depicter.’ + +‘But what would you have the child wear instead, Mr. Weller?’ said the +housekeeper. + +‘I’ve offered my son Samivel, mum, agen and agen,’ returned the old +gentleman, ‘to purwide him at my own cost vith a suit o’ clothes as ’ud +be the makin’ on him, and form his mind in infancy for those pursuits as +I hope the family o’ the Vellers vill alvays dewote themselves to. Tony, +my boy, tell the lady wot them clothes are, as grandfather says, father +ought to let you vear.’ + +‘A little white hat and a little sprig weskut and little knee cords and +little top-boots and a little green coat with little bright buttons and a +little welwet collar,’ replied Tony, with great readiness and no stops. + +‘That’s the cos-toom, mum,’ said Mr. Weller, looking proudly at the +housekeeper. ‘Once make sich a model on him as that, and you’d say he +_wos_ an angel!’ + +Perhaps the housekeeper thought that in such a guise young Tony would +look more like the angel at Islington than anything else of that name, or +perhaps she was disconcerted to find her previously-conceived ideas +disturbed, as angels are not commonly represented in top-boots and sprig +waistcoats. She coughed doubtfully, but said nothing. + +‘How many brothers and sisters have you, my dear?’ she asked, after a +short silence. + +‘One brother and no sister at all,’ replied Tony. ‘Sam his name is, and +so’s my father’s. Do you know my father?’ + +‘O yes, I know him,’ said the housekeeper, graciously. + +‘Is my father fond of you?’ pursued Tony. + +‘I hope so,’ rejoined the smiling housekeeper. + +Tony considered a moment, and then said, ‘Is my grandfather fond of you?’ + +This would seem a very easy question to answer, but instead of replying +to it, the housekeeper smiled in great confusion, and said that really +children did ask such extraordinary questions that it was the most +difficult thing in the world to talk to them. Mr. Weller took upon +himself to reply that he was very fond of the lady; but the housekeeper +entreating that he would not put such things into the child’s head, Mr. +Weller shook his own while she looked another way, and seemed to be +troubled with a misgiving that captivation was in progress. It was, +perhaps, on this account that he changed the subject precipitately. + +‘It’s wery wrong in little boys to make game o’ their grandfathers, an’t +it, mum?’ said Mr. Weller, shaking his head waggishly, until Tony looked +at him, when he counterfeited the deepest dejection and sorrow. + +‘O, very sad!’ assented the housekeeper. ‘But I hope no little boys do +that?’ + +‘There is vun young Turk, mum,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘as havin’ seen his +grandfather a little overcome vith drink on the occasion of a friend’s +birthday, goes a reelin’ and staggerin’ about the house, and makin’ +believe that he’s the old gen’lm’n.’ + +‘O, quite shocking!’ cried the housekeeper, + +‘Yes, mum,’ said Mr. Weller; ‘and previously to so doin’, this here young +traitor that I’m a speakin’ of, pinches his little nose to make it red, +and then he gives a hiccup and says, “I’m all right,” he says; “give us +another song!” Ha, ha! “Give us another song,” he says. Ha, ha, ha!’ + +In his excessive delight, Mr. Weller was quite unmindful of his moral +responsibility, until little Tony kicked up his legs, and laughing +immoderately, cried, ‘That was me, that was;’ whereupon the grandfather, +by a great effort, became extremely solemn. + +‘No, Tony, not you,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘I hope it warn’t you, Tony. It +must ha’ been that ’ere naughty little chap as comes sometimes out o’ the +empty watch-box round the corner,—that same little chap as wos found +standing on the table afore the looking-glass, pretending to shave +himself vith a oyster-knife.’ + +‘He didn’t hurt himself, I hope?’ observed the housekeeper. + +‘Not he, mum,’ said Mr. Weller proudly; ‘bless your heart, you might +trust that ’ere boy vith a steam-engine a’most, he’s such a knowin’ +young’—but suddenly recollecting himself and observing that Tony +perfectly understood and appreciated the compliment, the old gentleman +groaned and observed that ‘it wos all wery shockin’—wery.’ + +‘O, he’s a bad ’un,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘is that ’ere watch-box boy, makin’ +such a noise and litter in the back yard, he does, waterin’ wooden horses +and feedin’ of ’em vith grass, and perpetivally spillin’ his little +brother out of a veelbarrow and frightenin’ his mother out of her vits, +at the wery moment wen she’s expectin’ to increase his stock of happiness +vith another play-feller,—O, he’s a bad one! He’s even gone so far as to +put on a pair of paper spectacles as he got his father to make for him, +and walk up and down the garden vith his hands behind him in imitation of +Mr. Pickwick,—but Tony don’t do sich things, O no!’ + +‘O no!’ echoed Tony. + +‘He knows better, he does,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘He knows that if he wos to +come sich games as these nobody wouldn’t love him, and that his +grandfather in partickler couldn’t abear the sight on him; for vich +reasons Tony’s always good.’ + +‘Always good,’ echoed Tony; and his grandfather immediately took him on +his knee and kissed him, at the same time, with many nods and winks, +slyly pointing at the child’s head with his thumb, in order that the +housekeeper, otherwise deceived by the admirable manner in which he (Mr. +Weller) had sustained his character, might not suppose that any other +young gentleman was referred to, and might clearly understand that the +boy of the watch-box was but an imaginary creation, and a fetch of Tony +himself, invented for his improvement and reformation. + +Not confining himself to a mere verbal description of his grandson’s +abilities, Mr. Weller, when tea was finished, invited him by various +gifts of pence and halfpence to smoke imaginary pipes, drink visionary +beer from real pots, imitate his grandfather without reserve, and in +particular to go through the drunken scene, which threw the old gentleman +into ecstasies and filled the housekeeper with wonder. Nor was Mr. +Weller’s pride satisfied with even this display, for when he took his +leave he carried the child, like some rare and astonishing curiosity, +first to the barber’s house and afterwards to the tobacconist’s, at each +of which places he repeated his performances with the utmost effect to +applauding and delighted audiences. It was half-past nine o’clock when +Mr. Weller was last seen carrying him home upon his shoulder, and it has +been whispered abroad that at that time the infant Tony was rather +intoxicated. {306} + + * * * * * + +I was musing the other evening upon the characters and incidents with +which I had been so long engaged; wondering how I could ever have looked +forward with pleasure to the completion of my tale, and reproaching +myself for having done so, as if it were a kind of cruelty to those +companions of my solitude whom I had now dismissed, and could never again +recall; when my clock struck ten. Punctual to the hour, my friends +appeared. + +On our last night of meeting, we had finished the story which the reader +has just concluded. Our conversation took the same current as the +meditations which the entrance of my friends had interrupted, and The Old +Curiosity Shop was the staple of our discourse. + +I may confide to the reader now, that in connection with this little +history I had something upon my mind; something to communicate which I +had all along with difficulty repressed; something I had deemed it, +during the progress of the story, necessary to its interest to disguise, +and which, now that it was over, I wished, and was yet reluctant, to +disclose. + +To conceal anything from those to whom I am attached, is not in my +nature. I can never close my lips where I have opened my heart. This +temper, and the consciousness of having done some violence to it in my +narrative, laid me under a restraint which I should have had great +difficulty in overcoming, but for a timely remark from Mr. Miles, who, as +I hinted in a former paper, is a gentleman of business habits, and of +great exactness and propriety in all his transactions. + +‘I could have wished,’ my friend objected, ‘that we had been made +acquainted with the single gentleman’s name. I don’t like his +withholding his name. It made me look upon him at first with suspicion, +and caused me to doubt his moral character, I assure you. I am fully +satisfied by this time of his being a worthy creature; but in this +respect he certainly would not appear to have acted at all like a man of +business.’ + +‘My friends,’ said I, drawing to the table, at which they were by this +time seated in their usual chairs, ‘do you remember that this story bore +another title besides that one we have so often heard of late?’ + +Mr. Miles had his pocket-book out in an instant, and referring to an +entry therein, rejoined, ‘Certainly. Personal Adventures of Master +Humphrey. Here it is. I made a note of it at the time.’ + +I was about to resume what I had to tell them, when the same Mr. Miles +again interrupted me, observing that the narrative originated in a +personal adventure of my own, and that was no doubt the reason for its +being thus designated. + +This led me to the point at once. + +‘You will one and all forgive me,’ I returned, ‘if for the greater +convenience of the story, and for its better introduction, that adventure +was fictitious. I had my share, indeed,—no light or trivial one,—in the +pages we have read, but it was not the share I feigned to have at first. +The younger brother, the single gentleman, the nameless actor in this +little drama, stands before you now.’ + +It was easy to see they had not expected this disclosure. + +‘Yes,’ I pursued. ‘I can look back upon my part in it with a calm, +half-smiling pity for myself as for some other man. But I am he, indeed; +and now the chief sorrows of my life are yours.’ + +I need not say what true gratification I derived from the sympathy and +kindness with which this acknowledgment was received; nor how often it +had risen to my lips before; nor how difficult I had found it—how +impossible, when I came to those passages which touched me most, and most +nearly concerned me—to sustain the character I had assumed. It is enough +to say that I replaced in the clock-case the record of so many +trials,—sorrowfully, it is true, but with a softened sorrow which was +almost pleasure; and felt that in living through the past again, and +communicating to others the lesson it had helped to teach me, I had been +a happier man. + +We lingered so long over the leaves from which I had read, that as I +consigned them to their former resting-place, the hand of my trusty clock +pointed to twelve, and there came towards us upon the wind the voice of +the deep and distant bell of St. Paul’s as it struck the hour of +midnight. + +‘This,’ said I, returning with a manuscript I had taken at the moment, +from the same repository, ‘to be opened to such music, should be a tale +where London’s face by night is darkly seen, and where some deed of such +a time as this is dimly shadowed out. Which of us here has seen the +working of that great machine whose voice has just now ceased?’ + +Mr. Pickwick had, of course, and so had Mr. Miles. Jack and my deaf +friend were in the minority. + +I had seen it but a few days before, and could not help telling them of +the fancy I had about it. + +I paid my fee of twopence upon entering, to one of the money-changers who +sit within the Temple; and falling, after a few turns up and down, into +the quiet train of thought which such a place awakens, paced the echoing +stones like some old monk whose present world lay all within its walls. +As I looked afar up into the lofty dome, I could not help wondering what +were his reflections whose genius reared that mighty pile, when, the last +small wedge of timber fixed, the last nail driven into its home for many +centuries, the clang of hammers, and the hum of busy voices gone, and the +Great Silence whole years of noise had helped to make, reigning +undisturbed around, he mused, as I did now, upon his work, and lost +himself amid its vast extent. I could not quite determine whether the +contemplation of it would impress him with a sense of greatness or of +insignificance; but when I remembered how long a time it had taken to +erect, in how short a space it might be traversed even to its remotest +parts, for how brief a term he, or any of those who cared to bear his +name, would live to see it, or know of its existence, I imagined him far +more melancholy than proud, and looking with regret upon his labour done. +With these thoughts in my mind, I began to ascend, almost unconsciously, +the flight of steps leading to the several wonders of the building, and +found myself before a barrier where another money-taker sat, who demanded +which among them I would choose to see. There were the stone gallery, he +said, and the whispering gallery, the geometrical staircase, the room of +models, the clock—the clock being quite in my way, I stopped him there, +and chose that sight from all the rest. + +I groped my way into the Turret which it occupies, and saw before me, in +a kind of loft, what seemed to be a great, old oaken press with folding +doors. These being thrown back by the attendant (who was sleeping when I +came upon him, and looked a drowsy fellow, as though his close +companionship with Time had made him quite indifferent to it), disclosed +a complicated crowd of wheels and chains in iron and brass,—great, +sturdy, rattling engines,—suggestive of breaking a finger put in here or +there, and grinding the bone to powder,—and these were the Clock! Its +very pulse, if I may use the word, was like no other clock. It did not +mark the flight of every moment with a gentle second stroke, as though it +would check old Time, and have him stay his pace in pity, but measured it +with one sledge-hammer beat, as if its business were to crush the seconds +as they came trooping on, and remorselessly to clear a path before the +Day of Judgment. + +I sat down opposite to it, and hearing its regular and never-changing +voice, that one deep constant note, uppermost amongst all the noise and +clatter in the streets below,—marking that, let that tumult rise or fall, +go on or stop,—let it be night or noon, to-morrow or to-day, this year or +next,—it still performed its functions with the same dull constancy, and +regulated the progress of the life around, the fancy came upon me that +this was London’s Heart,—and that when it should cease to beat, the City +would be no more. + +It is night. Calm and unmoved amidst the scenes that darkness favours, +the great heart of London throbs in its Giant breast. Wealth and +beggary, vice and virtue, guilt and innocence, repletion and the direst +hunger, all treading on each other and crowding together, are gathered +round it. Draw but a little circle above the clustering housetops, and +you shall have within its space everything, with its opposite extreme and +contradiction, close beside. Where yonder feeble light is shining, a man +is but this moment dead. The taper at a few yards’ distance is seen by +eyes that have this instant opened on the world. There are two houses +separated by but an inch or two of wall. In one, there are quiet minds +at rest; in the other, a waking conscience that one might think would +trouble the very air. In that close corner where the roofs shrink down +and cower together as if to hide their secrets from the handsome street +hard by, there are such dark crimes, such miseries and horrors, as could +be hardly told in whispers. In the handsome street, there are folks +asleep who have dwelt there all their lives, and have no more knowledge +of these things than if they had never been, or were transacted at the +remotest limits of the world,—who, if they were hinted at, would shake +their heads, look wise, and frown, and say they were impossible, and out +of Nature,—as if all great towns were not. Does not this Heart of +London, that nothing moves, nor stops, nor quickens,—that goes on the +same let what will be done, does it not express the City’s character +well? + +The day begins to break, and soon there is the hum and noise of life. +Those who have spent the night on doorsteps and cold stones crawl off to +beg; they who have slept in beds come forth to their occupation, too, and +business is astir. The fog of sleep rolls slowly off, and London shines +awake. The streets are filled with carriages and people gaily clad. The +jails are full, too, to the throat, nor have the workhouses or hospitals +much room to spare. The courts of law are crowded. Taverns have their +regular frequenters by this time, and every mart of traffic has its +throng. Each of these places is a world, and has its own inhabitants; +each is distinct from, and almost unconscious of the existence of any +other. There are some few people well to do, who remember to have heard +it said, that numbers of men and women—thousands, they think it was—get +up in London every day, unknowing where to lay their heads at night; and +that there are quarters of the town where misery and famine always are. +They don’t believe it quite,—there may be some truth in it, but it is +exaggerated, of course. So, each of these thousand worlds goes on, +intent upon itself, until night comes again,—first with its lights and +pleasures, and its cheerful streets; then with its guilt and darkness. + +Heart of London, there is a moral in thy every stroke! as I look on at +thy indomitable working, which neither death, nor press of life, nor +grief, nor gladness out of doors will influence one jot, I seem to hear a +voice within thee which sinks into my heart, bidding me, as I elbow my +way among the crowd, have some thought for the meanest wretch that +passes, and, being a man, to turn away with scorn and pride from none +that bear the human shape. + + * * * * * + +I am by no means sure that I might not have been tempted to enlarge upon +the subject, had not the papers that lay before me on the table been a +silent reproach for even this digression. I took them up again when I +had got thus far, and seriously prepared to read. + +The handwriting was strange to me, for the manuscript had been fairly +copied. As it is against our rules, in such a case, to inquire into the +authorship until the reading is concluded, I could only glance at the +different faces round me, in search of some expression which should +betray the writer. Whoever he might be, he was prepared for this, and +gave no sign for my enlightenment. + +I had the papers in my hand, when my deaf friend interposed with a +suggestion. + +‘It has occurred to me,’ he said, ‘bearing in mind your sequel to the +tale we have finished, that if such of us as have anything to relate of +our own lives could interweave it with our contribution to the Clock, it +would be well to do so. This need be no restraint upon us, either as to +time, or place, or incident, since any real passage of this kind may be +surrounded by fictitious circumstances, and represented by fictitious +characters. What if we make this an article of agreement among +ourselves?’ + +The proposition was cordially received, but the difficulty appeared to be +that here was a long story written before we had thought of it. + +‘Unless,’ said I, ‘it should have happened that the writer of this +tale—which is not impossible, for men are apt to do so when they +write—has actually mingled with it something of his own endurance and +experience.’ + +Nobody spoke, but I thought I detected in one quarter that this was +really the case. + +‘If I have no assurance to the contrary,’ I added, therefore, ‘I shall +take it for granted that he has done so, and that even these papers come +within our new agreement. Everybody being mute, we hold that +understanding if you please.’ + +And here I was about to begin again, when Jack informed us softly, that +during the progress of our last narrative, Mr. Weller’s Watch had +adjourned its sittings from the kitchen, and regularly met outside our +door, where he had no doubt that august body would be found at the +present moment. As this was for the convenience of listening to our +stories, he submitted that they might be suffered to come in, and hear +them more pleasantly. + +To this we one and all yielded a ready assent, and the party being +discovered, as Jack had supposed, and invited to walk in, entered (though +not without great confusion at having been detected), and were +accommodated with chairs at a little distance. + +Then, the lamp being trimmed, the fire well stirred and burning brightly, +the hearth clean swept, the curtains closely drawn, the clock wound up, +we entered on our new story. {311} + + [Picture: Master Humphrey’s Visionary Friends] + +It is again midnight. My fire burns cheerfully; the room is filled with +my old friend’s sober voice; and I am left to muse upon the story we have +just now finished. + +It makes me smile, at such a time as this, to think if there were any one +to see me sitting in my easy-chair, my gray head hanging down, my eyes +bent thoughtfully upon the glowing embers, and my crutch—emblem of my +helplessness—lying upon the hearth at my feet, how solitary I should +seem. Yet though I am the sole tenant of this chimney-corner, though I +am childless and old, I have no sense of loneliness at this hour; but am +the centre of a silent group whose company I love. + +Thus, even age and weakness have their consolations. If I were a younger +man, if I were more active, more strongly bound and tied to life, these +visionary friends would shun me, or I should desire to fly from them. +Being what I am, I can court their society, and delight in it; and pass +whole hours in picturing to myself the shadows that perchance flock every +night into this chamber, and in imagining with pleasure what kind of +interest they have in the frail, feeble mortal who is its sole +inhabitant. + +All the friends I have ever lost I find again among these visitors. I +love to fancy their spirits hovering about me, feeling still some earthly +kindness for their old companion, and watching his decay. ‘He is weaker, +he declines apace, he draws nearer and nearer to us, and will soon be +conscious of our existence.’ What is there to alarm me in this? It is +encouragement and hope. + +These thoughts have never crowded on me half so fast as they have done +to-night. Faces I had long forgotten have become familiar to me once +again; traits I had endeavoured to recall for years have come before me +in an instant; nothing is changed but me; and even I can be my former +self at will. + +Raising my eyes but now to the face of my old clock, I remember, quite +involuntarily, the veneration, not unmixed with a sort of childish awe, +with which I used to sit and watch it as it ticked, unheeded in a dark +staircase corner. I recollect looking more grave and steady when I met +its dusty face, as if, having that strange kind of life within it, and +being free from all excess of vulgar appetite, and warning all the house +by night and day, it were a sage. How often have I listened to it as it +told the beads of time, and wondered at its constancy! How often watched +it slowly pointing round the dial, and, while I panted for the eagerly +expected hour to come, admired, despite myself, its steadiness of purpose +and lofty freedom from all human strife, impatience, and desire! + +I thought it cruel once. It was very hard of heart, to my mind, I +remember. It was an old servant even then; and I felt as though it ought +to show some sorrow; as though it wanted sympathy with us in our +distress, and were a dull, heartless, mercenary creature. Ah! how soon I +learnt to know that in its ceaseless going on, and in its being checked +or stayed by nothing, lay its greatest kindness, and the only balm for +grief and wounded peace of mind. + +To-night, to-night, when this tranquillity and calm are on my spirits, +and memory presents so many shifting scenes before me, I take my quiet +stand at will by many a fire that has been long extinguished, and mingle +with the cheerful group that cluster round it. If I could be sorrowful +in such a mood, I should grow sad to think what a poor blot I was upon +their youth and beauty once, and now how few remain to put me to the +blush; I should grow sad to think that such among them as I sometimes +meet with in my daily walks are scarcely less infirm than I; that time +has brought us to a level; and that all distinctions fade and vanish as +we take our trembling steps towards the grave. + +But memory was given us for better purposes than this, and mine is not a +torment, but a source of pleasure. To muse upon the gaiety and youth I +have known suggests to me glad scenes of harmless mirth that may be +passing now. From contemplating them apart, I soon become an actor in +these little dramas, and humouring my fancy, lose myself among the beings +it invokes. + +When my fire is bright and high, and a warm blush mantles in the walls +and ceiling of this ancient room; when my clock makes cheerful music, +like one of those chirping insects who delight in the warm hearth, and +are sometimes, by a good superstition, looked upon as the harbingers of +fortune and plenty to that household in whose mercies they put their +humble trust; when everything is in a ruddy genial glow, and there are +voices in the crackling flame, and smiles in its flashing light, other +smiles and other voices congregate around me, invading, with their +pleasant harmony, the silence of the time. + +For then a knot of youthful creatures gather round my fireside, and the +room re-echoes to their merry voices. My solitary chair no longer holds +its ample place before the fire, but is wheeled into a smaller corner, to +leave more room for the broad circle formed about the cheerful hearth. I +have sons, and daughters, and grandchildren, and we are assembled on some +occasion of rejoicing common to us all. It is a birthday, perhaps, or +perhaps it may be Christmas time; but be it what it may, there is rare +holiday among us; we are full of glee. + +In the chimney-comer, opposite myself, sits one who has grown old beside +me. She is changed, of course; much changed; and yet I recognise the +girl even in that gray hair and wrinkled brow. Glancing from the +laughing child who half hides in her ample skirts, and half peeps +out,—and from her to the little matron of twelve years old, who sits so +womanly and so demure at no great distance from me,—and from her again, +to a fair girl in the full bloom of early womanhood, the centre of the +group, who has glanced more than once towards the opening door, and by +whom the children, whispering and tittering among themselves, _will_ +leave a vacant chair, although she bids them not,—I see her image thrice +repeated, and feel how long it is before one form and set of features +wholly pass away, if ever, from among the living. While I am dwelling +upon this, and tracing out the gradual change from infancy to youth, from +youth to perfect growth, from that to age, and thinking, with an old +man’s pride, that she is comely yet, I feel a slight thin hand upon my +arm, and, looking down, see seated at my feet a crippled boy,—a gentle, +patient child,—whose aspect I know well. He rests upon a little +crutch,—I know it too,—and leaning on it as he climbs my footstool, +whispers in my ear, ‘I am hardly one of these, dear grandfather, although +I love them dearly. They are very kind to me, but you will be kinder +still, I know.’ + +I have my hand upon his neck, and stoop to kiss him, when my clock +strikes, my chair is in its old spot, and I am alone. + +What if I be? What if this fireside be tenantless, save for the presence +of one weak old man? From my house-top I can look upon a hundred homes, +in every one of which these social companions are matters of reality. In +my daily walks I pass a thousand men whose cares are all forgotten, whose +labours are made light, whose dull routine of work from day to day is +cheered and brightened by their glimpses of domestic joy at home. Amid +the struggles of this struggling town what cheerful sacrifices are made; +what toil endured with readiness; what patience shown and fortitude +displayed for the mere sake of home and its affections! Let me thank +Heaven that I can people my fireside with shadows such as these; with +shadows of bright objects that exist in crowds about me; and let me say, +‘I am alone no more.’ + +I never was less so—I write it with a grateful heart—than I am to-night. +Recollections of the past and visions of the present come to bear me +company; the meanest man to whom I have ever given alms appears, to add +his mite of peace and comfort to my stock; and whenever the fire within +me shall grow cold, to light my path upon this earth no more, I pray that +it may be at such an hour as this, and when I love the world as well as I +do now. + + + +THE DEAF GENTLEMAN FROM HIS OWN APARTMENT + + +Our dear friend laid down his pen at the end of the foregoing paragraph, +to take it up no more. I little thought ever to employ mine upon so +sorrowful a task as that which he has left me, and to which I now devote +it. + +As he did not appear among us at his usual hour next morning, we knocked +gently at his door. No answer being given, it was softly opened; and +then, to our surprise, we saw him seated before the ashes of his fire, +with a little table I was accustomed to set at his elbow when I left him +for the night at a short distance from him, as though he had pushed it +away with the idea of rising and retiring to his bed. His crutch and +footstool lay at his feet as usual, and he was dressed in his +chamber-gown, which he had put on before I left him. He was reclining in +his chair, in his accustomed posture, with his face towards the fire, and +seemed absorbed in meditation,—indeed, at first, we almost hoped he was. + +Going up to him, we found him dead. I have often, very often, seen him +sleeping, and always peacefully, but I never saw him look so calm and +tranquil. His face wore a serene, benign expression, which had impressed +me very strongly when we last shook hands; not that he had ever had any +other look, God knows; but there was something in this so very spiritual, +so strangely and indefinably allied to youth, although his head was gray +and venerable, that it was new even in him. It came upon me all at once +when on some slight pretence he called me back upon the previous night to +take me by the hand again, and once more say, ‘God bless you.’ + +A bell-rope hung within his reach, but he had not moved towards it; nor +had he stirred, we all agreed, except, as I have said, to push away his +table, which he could have done, and no doubt did, with a very slight +motion of his hand. He had relapsed for a moment into his late train of +meditation, and, with a thoughtful smile upon his face, had died. + +I had long known it to be his wish that whenever this event should come +to pass we might be all assembled in the house. I therefore lost no time +in sending for Mr. Pickwick and for Mr. Miles, both of whom arrived +before the messenger’s return. + +It is not my purpose to dilate upon the sorrow and affectionate emotions +of which I was at once the witness and the sharer. But I may say, of the +humbler mourners, that his faithful housekeeper was fairly heart-broken; +that the poor barber would not be comforted; and that I shall respect the +homely truth and warmth of heart of Mr. Weller and his son to the last +moment of my life. + +‘And the sweet old creetur, sir,’ said the elder Mr. Weller to me in the +afternoon, ‘has bolted. Him as had no wice, and was so free from temper +that a infant might ha’ drove him, has been took at last with that ’ere +unawoidable fit o’ staggers as we all must come to, and gone off his feed +for ever! I see him,’ said the old gentleman, with a moisture in his +eye, which could not be mistaken,—‘I see him gettin’, every journey, more +and more groggy; I says to Samivel, “My boy! the Grey’s a-goin’ at the +knees;” and now my predilictions is fatally werified, and him as I could +never do enough to serve or show my likin’ for, is up the great uniwersal +spout o’ natur’.’ + +I was not the less sensible of the old man’s attachment because he +expressed it in his peculiar manner. Indeed, I can truly assert of both +him and his son, that notwithstanding the extraordinary dialogues they +held together, and the strange commentaries and corrections with which +each of them illustrated the other’s speech, I do not think it possible +to exceed the sincerity of their regret; and that I am sure their +thoughtfulness and anxiety in anticipating the discharge of many little +offices of sympathy would have done honour to the most delicate-minded +persons. + +Our friend had frequently told us that his will would be found in a box +in the Clock-case, the key of which was in his writing-desk. As he had +told us also that he desired it to be opened immediately after his death, +whenever that should happen, we met together that night for the +fulfilment of his request. + +We found it where he had told us, wrapped in a sealed paper, and with it +a codicil of recent date, in which he named Mr. Miles and Mr. Pickwick +his executors,—as having no need of any greater benefit from his estate +than a generous token (which he bequeathed to them) of his friendship and +remembrance. + +After pointing out the spot in which he wished his ashes to repose, he +gave to ‘his dear old friends,’ Jack Redburn and myself, his house, his +books, his furniture,—in short, all that his house contained; and with +this legacy more ample means of maintaining it in its present state than +we, with our habits and at our terms of life, can ever exhaust. Besides +these gifts, he left to us, in trust, an annual sum of no insignificant +amount, to be distributed in charity among his accustomed pensioners—they +are a long list—and such other claimants on his bounty as might, from +time to time, present themselves. And as true charity not only covers a +multitude of sins, but includes a multitude of virtues, such as +forgiveness, liberal construction, gentleness and mercy to the faults of +others, and the remembrance of our own imperfections and advantages, he +bade us not inquire too closely into the venial errors of the poor, but +finding that they _were_ poor, first to relieve and then endeavour—at an +advantage—to reclaim them. + +To the housekeeper he left an annuity, sufficient for her comfortable +maintenance and support through life. For the barber, who had attended +him many years, he made a similar provision. And I may make two remarks +in this place: first, that I think this pair are very likely to club +their means together and make a match of it; and secondly, that I think +my friend had this result in his mind, for I have heard him say, more +than once, that he could not concur with the generality of mankind in +censuring equal marriages made in later life, since there were many cases +in which such unions could not fail to be a wise and rational source of +happiness to both parties. + +The elder Mr. Weller is so far from viewing this prospect with any +feelings of jealousy, that he appears to be very much relieved by its +contemplation; and his son, if I am not mistaken, participates in this +feeling. We are all of opinion, however, that the old gentleman’s +danger, even at its crisis, was very slight, and that he merely laboured +under one of those transitory weaknesses to which persons of his +temperament are now and then liable, and which become less and less +alarming at every return, until they wholly subside. I have no doubt he +will remain a jolly old widower for the rest of his life, as he has +already inquired of me, with much gravity, whether a writ of habeas +corpus would enable him to settle his property upon Tony beyond the +possibility of recall; and has, in my presence, conjured his son, with +tears in his eyes, that in the event of his ever becoming amorous again, +he will put him in a strait-waistcoat until the fit is past, and +distinctly inform the lady that his property is ‘made over.’ + +Although I have very little doubt that Sam would dutifully comply with +these injunctions in a case of extreme necessity, and that he would do so +with perfect composure and coolness, I do not apprehend things will ever +come to that pass, as the old gentleman seems perfectly happy in the +society of his son, his pretty daughter-in-law, and his grandchildren, +and has solemnly announced his determination to ‘take arter the old ’un +in all respects;’ from which I infer that it is his intention to regulate +his conduct by the model of Mr. Pickwick, who will certainly set him the +example of a single life. + +I have diverged for a moment from the subject with which I set out, for I +know that my friend was interested in these little matters, and I have a +natural tendency to linger upon any topic that occupied his thoughts or +gave him pleasure and amusement. His remaining wishes are very briefly +told. He desired that we would make him the frequent subject of our +conversation; at the same time, that we would never speak of him with an +air of gloom or restraint, but frankly, and as one whom we still loved +and hoped to meet again. He trusted that the old house would wear no +aspect of mourning, but that it would be lively and cheerful; and that we +would not remove or cover up his picture, which hangs in our dining-room, +but make it our companion as he had been. His own room, our place of +meeting, remains, at his desire, in its accustomed state; our seats are +placed about the table as of old; his easy-chair, his desk, his crutch, +his footstool, hold their accustomed places, and the clock stands in its +familiar corner. We go into the chamber at stated times to see that all +is as it should be, and to take care that the light and air are not shut +out, for on that point he expressed a strong solicitude. But it was his +fancy that the apartment should not be inhabited; that it should be +religiously preserved in this condition, and that the voice of his old +companion should be heard no more. + +My own history may be summed up in very few words; and even those I +should have spared the reader but for my friend’s allusion to me some +time since. I have no deeper sorrow than the loss of a child,—an only +daughter, who is living, and who fled from her father’s house but a few +weeks before our friend and I first met. I had never spoken of this even +to him, because I have always loved her, and I could not bear to tell him +of her error until I could tell him also of her sorrow and regret. +Happily I was enabled to do so some time ago. And it will not be long, +with Heaven’s leave, before she is restored to me; before I find in her +and her husband the support of my declining years. + +For my pipe, it is an old relic of home, a thing of no great worth, a +poor trifle, but sacred to me for her sake. + +Thus, since the death of our venerable friend, Jack Redburn and I have +been the sole tenants of the old house; and, day by day, have lounged +together in his favourite walks. Mindful of his injunctions, we have +long been able to speak of him with ease and cheerfulness, and to +remember him as he would be remembered. From certain allusions which +Jack has dropped, to his having been deserted and cast off in early life, +I am inclined to believe that some passages of his youth may possibly be +shadowed out in the history of Mr. Chester and his son, but seeing that +he avoids the subject, I have not pursued it. + + [Picture: The Deserted Chamber] + +My task is done. The chamber in which we have whiled away so many hours, +not, I hope, without some pleasure and some profit, is deserted; our +happy hour of meeting strikes no more; the chimney-corner has grown cold; +and MASTER HUMPHREY’S CLOCK has stopped for ever. + + + + +TO THE READERS OF “MASTER HUMPHREY’S CLOCK” + + +DEAR FRIENDS, + +Next November we shall have finished the tale of which we are at present +engaged, and shall have travelled together through twenty monthly parts +and eighty-seven weekly numbers. It is my design when we have gone so +far, to close this work. Let me tell you why. + +I should not regard the anxiety, the close confinement, or the constant +attention, inseparable from the weekly form of publication (for to +commune with you in any form is to me a labour of love) if I had found it +advantageous to the conduct of my stories, the elucidation of my meaning, +or the gradual development of my characters. But I have not done so. I +have often felt cramped and confined in a very irksome and harassing +degree by the space in which I have been constrained to move. I have +wanted you to know more at once than I could tell you; and it has +frequently been of the greatest importance to my cherished intention, +that you should do so. I have been sometimes strongly tempted (and have +been at some pains to resist the temptation) to hurry incidents on, lest +they should appear to you who waited from week to week, and had not, like +me, the result and purpose in your minds, too long delayed. In a word, I +have found this form of publication most anxious, perplexing, and +difficult. I cannot bear these jerky confidences which are no sooner +begun than ended, and no sooner ended than begun again. + +Many passages in a tale of any length, depend materially for their +interest on the intimate relation they bear to what has gone before, or +to what is to follow. I have sometimes found it difficult when I issued +thirty-two closely printed pages once a month, to sustain in your minds +this needful connection: in the present form of publication it is often, +especially in the first half of a story, quite impossible to preserve it +sufficiently through the current numbers. And although in my progress, I +am gradually able to set you right, and to show you what my meaning has +been, and to work it out, I see no reason why you should ever be wrong +when I have it in my power by resorting to a better means of +communication between us to prevent it. + +Considerations of immediate profit and advantage ought in such a case to +be of secondary importance. They would lead me, at all hazards, to hold +my present course. But for the reason I have just now mentioned, I have +after long consideration, and with especial reference to the next new +tale I bear in my mind, arrived at the conclusion that it will be better +to abandon this scheme of publication in favour of our old and well-tried +plan which has only twelve gaps in a year, instead of fifty-two. + +Therefore my intention is, to close this story (with the limits of which +I am of course by this time acquainted) and this work, within, or about, +the period I have mentioned. I should add, that for the general +convenience of subscribers, another volume of collected numbers will not +be published until the whole is brought to a conclusion. + +Taking advantage of the respite which the close of this work will afford +me, I have decided, in January next, to pay a visit to America. The +pleasure I anticipate from this realization of a wish I have long +entertained, and long hoped to gratify, is subdued by the reflection that +it must separate us for a longer time than other circumstances would have +rendered necessary. + +On the first of November, eighteen hundred and forty-two, I purpose, if +it please God, to commence my book in monthly parts, under the old green +cover, in the old size and form, and at the old price. + +I look forward to addressing a few more words to you in reference to this +latter theme before I close the task on which I am now engaged. If there +be any among the numerous readers of _Master Humphrey’s Clock_ who are at +first dissatisfied with the prospect of this change—and it is not +unnatural almost to hope there may be some—I trust they will, at no very +distant day, find reason to agree with + + ITS AUTHOR + +_September_, 1841. + + + + +POSTSCRIPT {0} + + +Now that the time is come for taking leave, I find that the words I have +to add are very few indeed. + +We part until next November. It is a long parting between us, but if I +have left you anything by which to remember me, in the meanwhile, with no +unkind or distant feelings—anything by which I may be associated in +spirit with your firesides, homes, and blameless pleasures—I am happy. + +Believe me it has ever been my true desire to add to the common stock of +healthful cheerfulness, good humour, and good-will, and trust me when I +return to England and to another tale of English life and manners, I +shall not slacken in this zealous work. + +I take the opportunity for thanking all those who have addressed me by +letter since the appearance of the foregoing announcement; and of +expressing a hope that they will rest contented with this form of +acknowledgment, as their number renders it impossible to me to answer +them individually. + +I bid farewell to them and all my readers with a regret that we feel in +taking leave of Friends who have become endeared to us by long and close +communication; and I look forward with truthfulness and pleasure to our +next meeting. + +_November_, 1841. + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + +{0} Postscript, printed on the wrapper of No. 87 of “Master Humphrey’s +Clock”. + +{255} Old Curiosity Shop begins here. + +{292} Old Curiosity Shop is continued here, completing No. IV. + +{300} Old Curiosity Shop is continued to the end of the number. + +{306} Old Curiosity Shop is continued from here to the end without +further break. Master Humphrey is revived thus at the close of the Old +Curiosity Shop, merely to introduce Barnaby Rudge. + +{311} This was Barnaby Rudge, contained in vol. ix. of this Edition. +This is, as indicated, the final appearance of Master Humphrey’s Clock. +It forms the conclusion of Barnaby Rudge. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK*** + + +******* This file should be named 588-0.txt or 588-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/8/588 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Master Humphrey's Clock + + +Author: Charles Dickens + + + +Release Date: March 20, 2013 [eBook #588] +[This file was first posted on May 15, 1996] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1914 Chapman & Hall edition of +“The Mystery of Edwin Drood and Master Humphrey’s +Clock” by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>MASTER HUMPHREY’S CLOCK</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/fpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Charles Dickens" +title= +"Charles Dickens" +src="images/fps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><a name="pagexi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xi</span>DEDICATION OF<br /> +“MASTER HUMPHREY’S CLOCK”</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">TO<br /> +<b>SAMUEL ROGERS</b>, <b>ESQUIRE</b>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Sir</span>,</p> +<p>Let me have <i>my</i> Pleasures of Memory in connection with +this book, by dedicating it to a Poet whose writings (as all the +world knows) are replete with generous and earnest feeling; and +to a man whose daily life (as all the world does not know) is one +of active sympathy with the poorest and humblest of his kind.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Your faithful friend,<br /> +CHARLES DICKENS.</p> +<h2>ADDRESS BY CHARLES DICKENS.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right">4<i>th</i> <i>April</i>, 1840.</p> +<p>Master Humphrey earnestly hopes, (and is almost tempted to +believe,) that all degrees of readers, young or old, rich or +poor, sad or merry, easy of amusement or difficult to entertain, +may find something agreeable in the face of his old clock. +That, when they have made its acquaintance, its voice may sound +cheerfully in their ears, and be suggestive of none but pleasant +thoughts. That they may come to have favourite and familiar +associations connected with its name, and to look for it as for a +welcome friend.</p> +<p>From week to week, then, Master Humphrey will set his clock, +trusting that while it counts the hours, it will sometimes cheat +them of their heaviness, and that while it marks the thread of +Time, it will scatter a few slight flowers in the Old +Mower’s path.</p> +<p>Until the specified period arrives, and he can enter freely +upon that confidence with his readers which he is impatient to +maintain, he may only bid them a short farewell, and look forward +to their next meeting.</p> +<h2><a name="pagexiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xiv</span>PREFACE TO THE FIRST VOLUME</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> the Author commenced this +Work, he proposed to himself three objects—</p> +<p>First. To establish a periodical, which should enable +him to present, under one general head, and not as separate and +distinct publications, certain fictions that he had it in +contemplation to write.</p> +<p>Secondly. To produce these Tales in weekly numbers, +hoping that to shorten the intervals of communication between +himself and his readers, would be to knit more closely the +pleasant relations they had held, for Forty Months.</p> +<p>Thirdly. In the execution of this weekly task, to have +as much regard as its exigencies would permit, to each story as a +whole, and to the possibility of its publication at some distant +day, apart from the machinery in which it had its origin.</p> +<p>The characters of Master Humphrey and his three friends, and +the little fancy of the clock, were the results of these +considerations. When he sought to interest his readers in +those who talked, and read, and listened, he revived Mr. Pickwick +and his humble friends; not with any intention of re-opening an +exhausted and abandoned mine, but to connect them in the thoughts +of those whose favourites they had been, with the tranquil +enjoyments of Master Humphrey.</p> +<p>It was never the intention of the Author to make the Members +of Master Humphrey’s clock, active agents in the stories +they are supposed to relate. Having brought himself in the +commencement of his undertaking to feel an interest in these +quiet creatures, and to imagine them in their chamber of <a +name="pagexv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xv</span>meeting, +eager listeners to all he had to tell, the Author hoped—as +authors will—to succeed in awakening some of his own +emotion in the bosoms of his readers. Imagining Master +Humphrey in his chimney corner, resuming night after night the +narrative,—say, of the <i>Old Curiosity +Shop</i>—picturing to himself the various sensations of his +hearers—thinking how Jack Redburn might incline to poor +Kit, and perhaps lean too favourably even towards the lighter +vices of Mr. Richard Swiveller—how the deaf gentleman would +have his favourite and Mr. Miles his—and how all these +gentle spirits would trace some faint reflexion in their past +lives in the varying currents of the tale—he has insensibly +fallen into the belief that they are present to his readers as +they are to him, and has forgotten that, like one whose vision is +disordered, he may be conjuring up bright figures when there is +nothing but empty space.</p> +<p>The short papers which are to be found at the beginning of the +volume were indispensable to the form of publication and the +limited extent of each number, as no story of length or interest +could be begun until “The Clock was wound up and fairly +going.”</p> +<p>The Author would fain hope that there are not many who would +disturb Master Humphrey and his friends in their seclusion; who +would have them forego their present enjoyments, to exchange +those confidences with each other, the absence of which is the +foundation of their mutual trust. For when their occupation +is gone, when their tales are ended, and but their personal +histories remain, the chimney corner will be growing cold, and +the clock will be about to stop for ever.</p> +<p>One other word in his own person, and he returns to the more +grateful task of speaking for those imaginary people whose little +world lies within these pages.</p> +<p>It may be some consolation to those well-disposed ladies and +gentlemen who, in the interval between the conclusion of his last +work and the commencement of this, originated a report that he +had gone raving mad, to know that it spread <a +name="pagexvi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xvi</span>as rapidly +as could be desired, and was made the subject of considerable +dispute; not as regarded the fact, for that was as thoroughly +established as the duel between Sir Peter Teazle and Charles +Surface in the <i>School for Scandal</i>; but with reference to +the unfortunate lunatic’s place of confinement; one party +insisting positively on Bedlam, another inclining favourably +towards St. Luke’s, and a third swearing strongly by the +asylum at Hanwell; while each backed its case by circumstantial +evidence of the same excellent nature as that brought to bear by +Sir Benjamin Backbite on the pistol shot which struck against the +little bronze bust of Shakespeare over the fireplace, grazed out +of the window at a right angle, and wounded the postman, who was +coming to the door with a double letter from +Northamptonshire.</p> +<p>It will be a great affliction to these ladies and gentlemen to +learn—and he is so unwilling to give pain, that he would +not whisper the circumstance on any account, did he not feel in a +manner bound to do so, in gratitude to those amongst his friends +who were at the trouble of being angry at the absurdity that +their inventions made the Author’s home unusually merry, +and gave rise to an extraordinary number of jests, of which he +will only add, in the words of the good Vicar of Wakefield, +“I cannot say whether we had more wit among us than usual; +but I am sure we had more laughing.”</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <span +class="smcap">York Gate</span>, <i>September</i>, 1840.</p> +<h2><a name="pagexvii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xvii</span>PREFACE TO THE SECOND VOLUME</h2> +<p>“<span class="smcap">An</span> author,” says +Fielding, in his introduction to <i>Tom Jones</i>, “ought +to consider himself, not as the gentleman who gives a private or +eleemosynary treat, but rather as one who keeps a public +ordinary, to which all persons are welcome for their money. +Men who pay for what they eat, will insist on gratifying their +palates, however nice and whimsical these may prove; and if +everything is not agreeable to their taste, will challenge a +right to censure, to abuse, and to damn their dinner without +control.</p> +<p>“To prevent, therefore, giving offence to their +customers by any such disappointment, it hath been usual with the +honest and well-meaning host to provide a bill of fare, which all +persons may peruse at their first entrance into the house; and +having thence acquainted themselves with the entertainment which +they may expect, may either stay and regale with what is provided +for them, or may depart to some other ordinary better +accommodated to their taste.”</p> +<p>In the present instance, the host or author, in opening his +new establishment, provided no bill of fare. Sensible of +the difficulties of such an undertaking in its infancy, he +preferred that it should make its own way, silently and +gradually, or make no way at all. It <i>has</i> made its +way, and is doing such a thriving business that nothing remains +for him but to add, in the words of the good old civic ceremony, +now that one dish has been discussed and finished, and another +smokes upon the board, that he drinks to his guests in a +loving-cup, and bids them a hearty welcome.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <span +class="smcap">London</span>, <i>March</i>, 1841.</p> +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Master Humphrey’s +Chamber</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>George Cattermole</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page215">215</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Friendly Recognitions</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>Phiz</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page217">217</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Gog and Magog</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page228">228</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Gallant Cavalier</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>George Cattermole</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page232">232</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Death of Master Graham</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page237">237</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Charming Fellow</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>Phiz</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page240">240</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Two Friends</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page246">246</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Hunted Down</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>George Cattermole</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page254">254</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Mr. Pickwick introduces himself to +Master Humphrey</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>Phiz</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page259">259</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Will Marks reading the News concerning +Witches</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>George Cattermole</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page266">266</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Will Marks takes up his position for +the night</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>Phiz</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page270">270</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Will Marks arrives at the +Church</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>George Cattermole</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page277">277</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Tony Weller and his +Grandson</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>Phiz</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page282">282</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Proceedings of the Club</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">„</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page288">288</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Last Will and Testament of William +Blinder</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page292">292</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Rival Club</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page297">297</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Chip of the Old Block</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page302">302</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Master Humphrey’s Visionary +Friends</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">,,</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page311">311</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Deserted Chamber</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>George Cattermole</i></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page318">318</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +215</span>I</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">MASTER HUMPHREY, FROM HIS CLOCK-SIDE IN THE +CHIMNEY CORNER</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p215b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Master Humphrey’s Chamber" +title= +"Master Humphrey’s Chamber" +src="images/p215s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> reader must not expect to know +where I live. At present, it is true, my abode may be a +question of little or no import to anybody; but if I should carry +my readers with me, as I hope to do, and there should spring up +between them and me feelings of homely affection and regard +attaching something of interest to matters ever so slightly +connected with my fortunes or my speculations, even my place of +residence might one day have a kind of charm for them. +Bearing this possible contingency in mind, I wish them to +understand, in the outset, that they must never expect to know +it.</p> +<p>I am not a churlish old man. Friendless I can never be, +for all mankind are my kindred, and I am on ill terms with no one +member of my great family. But for many years I have led a +lonely, solitary life;—what wound I sought to heal, what +sorrow to forget, originally, matters not now; it is sufficient +that retirement has become a habit with me, and that I am +unwilling to break the spell which for so long a time has shed +its quiet influence upon my home and heart.</p> +<p>I live in a venerable suburb of London, in an old house which +in bygone days was a famous resort for merry roysterers and +peerless ladies, long since departed. It is a silent, shady +place, with a paved courtyard so full of echoes, that sometimes I +am tempted to believe that faint responses to the noises of old +times linger there yet, and that these ghosts of sound haunt my +footsteps as I pace it up and down. I am the more confirmed +in this belief, because, of late years, the echoes that attend my +walks have been less loud and marked than they were wont to be; +and it is pleasanter to imagine in them the rustling of silk +brocade, and the light step of some lovely girl, than to +recognise in their altered note the failing tread of an old +man.</p> +<p>Those who like to read of brilliant rooms and gorgeous +furniture would derive but little pleasure from a minute +description of my simple dwelling. It is dear to me for the +same reason that they would hold it in slight regard. Its +worm-eaten doors, and low ceilings crossed by clumsy beams; its +walls of wainscot, dark stairs, and gaping closets; its small +chambers, communicating with each other by winding passages or +narrow steps; its many nooks, scarce larger than its +corner-cupboards; its very dust and dulness, are all dear to +me. The moth and spider are my constant tenants; for in my +house the one basks in his long sleep, and the other plies his +busy loom secure and undisturbed. I have a pleasure in +thinking on a summer’s day how many butterflies have sprung +for the first time into light and sunshine from some dark corner +of these old walls.</p> +<p>When I first came to live here, which was many years ago, the +neighbours were curious to know who I was, and whence I came, and +why I lived so much alone. As time went on, and they still +remained unsatisfied on these points, I became the centre of a +popular ferment, extending for half a mile round, and in one +direction for a full mile. Various rumours were circulated +to my prejudice. I was a spy, an infidel, a conjurer, a +kidnapper of children, a refugee, a priest, a monster. +Mothers caught up their infants and ran into their houses as I +passed; men eyed me spitefully, and muttered threats and +curses. I was the object of suspicion and +distrust—ay, of downright hatred too.</p> +<p>But when in course of time they found I did no harm, but, on +the contrary, inclined towards them despite their unjust usage, +they began to relent. I found my footsteps <a +name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 217</span>no longer +dogged, as they had often been before, and observed that the +women and children no longer retreated, but would stand and gaze +at me as I passed their doors. I took this for a good omen, +and waited patiently for better times. By degrees I began +to make friends among these humble folks; and though they were +yet shy of speaking, would give them ‘good day,’ and +so pass on. In a little time, those whom I had thus +accosted would make a point of coming to their doors and windows +at the usual hour, and nod or courtesy to me; children, too, came +timidly within my reach, and ran away quite scared when I patted +their heads and bade them be good at school. These little +people soon grew more familiar. From exchanging mere words +of course with my older neighbours, I gradually became their +friend and adviser, the depositary of their cares and sorrows, +and sometimes, it may be, the reliever, in my small way, of their +distresses. And now I never walk abroad but pleasant +recognitions and smiling faces wait on Master Humphrey.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p217b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Friendly recognitions" +title= +"Friendly recognitions" +src="images/p217s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>It was a whim of mine, perhaps as a whet to the curiosity of +my neighbours, and a kind of retaliation upon them for their +suspicions—it was, I say, a whim of mine, when I first took +up my abode in this place, to acknowledge no other name than +Humphrey. With my detractors, I was Ugly Humphrey. +When I began to convert them into friends, I was Mr. Humphrey and +Old Mr. Humphrey. At length I settled down into plain +Master Humphrey, which was understood to be the title most +pleasant to my ear; and so completely a matter of course has it +become, that sometimes when I am taking my morning walk in my +little courtyard, I overhear my barber—who has a profound +respect for me, and would not, I am sure, abridge my honours for +the world—holding forth on the other side of the wall, +touching the state of ‘Master Humphrey’s’ +health, and communicating to some friend the substance of the +conversation that he and Master Humphrey have had together in the +course of the shaving which he has just concluded.</p> +<p>That I may not make acquaintance with my readers under false +pretences, or give them cause to complain hereafter that I have +withheld any matter which it was essential for them to have +learnt at first, I wish them to know—and I smile +sorrowfully to think that the time has been when the confession +would have given me pain—that I am a misshapen, deformed +old man.</p> +<p>I have never been made a misanthrope by this cause. I +have never been stung by any insult, nor wounded by any jest upon +my crooked figure. As a child I was melancholy and timid, +but that was because the gentle consideration paid to my +misfortune sunk deep into my spirit and made me sad, even in +those early days. I was but a very young creature when my +poor mother died, and yet I remember that often when I hung +around her neck, and oftener still when I played about the room +before her, she would catch me to her bosom, and bursting into +tears, would soothe me with every term of fondness and +affection. God knows I was a happy child at those +times,—happy to nestle in her breast,—happy to weep +when she did,—happy in not knowing why.</p> +<p>These occasions are so strongly impressed upon my memory, that +they seem to have occupied whole years. I had numbered +very, very few when they ceased for ever, but before then their +meaning had been revealed to me.</p> +<p>I do not know whether all children are imbued with a quick +perception of childish grace and beauty, and a strong love for +it, but I was. I had no thought that I remember, either +that I possessed it myself or that I lacked it, but I admired it +with an intensity that I cannot describe. A little knot of +playmates—they must have been beautiful, for I see them +now—were clustered one day round my mother’s knee in +eager admiration of some picture representing a group of infant +angels, which she held in her hand. Whose the picture was, +whether it was familiar to me or otherwise, or how all the +children came to be there, I forget; I have some dim thought it +was my birthday, but the beginning of my recollection is that we +were all together in a garden, and it was summer weather,—I +am sure of that, for one of the little girls had roses in her +sash. There were many lovely angels in this picture, and I +remember the fancy coming upon me to point out which of them +represented each child there, and that when I had gone through my +companions, I stopped and hesitated, wondering which was most +like me. I remember the children looking at each other, and +my turning red and hot, and their crowding round to kiss me, +saying that they loved me all the same; and then, and when the +old sorrow came into my dear mother’s mild and tender look, +the truth broke upon me for the first time, and I knew, while +watching my awkward and ungainly sports, how keenly she had felt +for her poor crippled boy.</p> +<p>I used frequently to dream of it afterwards, and now my heart +aches for that child as if I had never been he, when I think how +often he awoke from some fairy change to his own old form, and +sobbed himself to sleep again.</p> +<p>Well, well,—all these sorrows are past. My +glancing at them may not be without its use, for it may help in +some measure to explain why I have all my life been attached to +the inanimate objects that people my chamber, and how I have come +to look upon them rather in the light of old and constant +friends, than as mere chairs and tables which a little money +could replace at will.</p> +<p>Chief and first among all these is my Clock,—my old, +cheerful, companionable Clock. How can I ever convey to +others an idea of the comfort and consolation that this old Clock +has been for years to me!</p> +<p>It is associated with my earliest recollections. It +stood upon the staircase at home (I call it home still +mechanically), nigh sixty years ago. I like it for that; +but it is not on that account, nor because it is a quaint old +thing in a huge oaken case curiously and richly carved, that I +prize it as I do. I incline to it as if it were alive, and +could understand and give me back the love I bear it.</p> +<p>And what other thing that has not life could cheer me as it +does? what other thing that has not life (I will not say how few +things that have) could have proved the same patient, true, +untiring friend? How often have I sat in the long winter +evenings feeling such society in its cricket-voice, that raising +my eyes from my book and looking gratefully towards it, the face +reddened by the glow of the shining fire has seemed to relax from +its staid expression and to regard me kindly! how often in the +summer twilight, when my thoughts have wandered back to a +melancholy past, have its regular whisperings recalled them to +the calm and peaceful present! how often in the dead tranquillity +of night has its bell broken the oppressive silence, and seemed +to give me assurance that the old clock was still a faithful +watcher at my chamber-door! My easy-chair, my desk, my +ancient furniture, my very books, I can scarcely bring myself to +love even these last like my old clock.</p> +<p>It stands in a snug corner, midway between the fireside and a +low arched door leading to my bedroom. Its fame is diffused +so extensively throughout the neighbourhood, that I have often +the satisfaction of hearing the publican, or the baker, and +sometimes even the parish-clerk, petitioning my housekeeper (of +whom I shall have much to say by-and-by) to inform him the exact +time by Master Humphrey’s clock. My barber, to whom I +have referred, would sooner believe it than the sun. Nor +are these its only distinctions. It has acquired, I am +happy to say, another, inseparably connecting it not only with my +enjoyments and reflections, but with those of other men; as I +shall now relate.</p> +<p>I lived alone here for a long time without any friend or +acquaintance. In the course of my wanderings by night and +day, at all hours and seasons, in city streets and quiet country +parts, I came to be familiar with certain faces, and to take it +to heart as quite a heavy disappointment if they failed to +present themselves each at its accustomed spot. But these +were the only friends I knew, and beyond them I had none.</p> +<p>It happened, however, when I had gone on thus for a long time, +that I formed an acquaintance with a deaf gentleman, which +ripened into intimacy and close companionship. To this +hour, I am ignorant of his name. It is his humour to +conceal it, or he has a reason and purpose for so doing. In +either case, I feel that he has a right to require a return of +the trust he has reposed; and as he has never sought to discover +my secret, I have never sought to penetrate his. There may +have been something in this tacit confidence in each other +flattering and pleasant to us both, and it may have imparted in +the beginning an additional zest, perhaps, to our +friendship. Be this as it may, we have grown to be like +brothers, and still I only know him as the deaf gentleman.</p> +<p>I have said that retirement has become a habit with me. +When I add, that the deaf gentleman and I have two friends, I +communicate nothing which is inconsistent with that +declaration. I spend many hours of every day in solitude +and study, have no friends or change of friends but these, only +see them at stated periods, and am supposed to be of a retired +spirit by the very nature and object of our association.</p> +<p>We are men of secluded habits, with something of a cloud upon +our early fortunes, whose enthusiasm, nevertheless, has not +cooled with age, whose spirit of romance is not yet quenched, who +are content to ramble through the world in a pleasant dream, +rather than ever waken again to its harsh realities. We are +alchemists who would extract the essence of perpetual youth from +dust and ashes, tempt coy Truth in many light and airy forms from +the bottom of her well, and discover one crumb of comfort or one +grain of good in the commonest and least-regarded matter that +passes through our crucible. Spirits of past times, +creatures of imagination, and people of to-day are alike the +objects of our seeking, and, unlike the objects of search with +most philosophers, we can insure their coming at our command.</p> +<p>The deaf gentleman and I first began to beguile our days with +these fancies, and our nights in communicating them to each +other. We are now four. But in my room there are six +old chairs, and we have decided that the two empty seats shall +always be placed at our table when we meet, to remind us that we +may yet increase our company by that number, if we should find +two men to our mind. When one among us dies, his chair will +always be set in its usual place, but never occupied again; and I +have caused my will to be so drawn out, that when we are all dead +the house shall be shut up, and the vacant chairs still left in +their accustomed places. It is pleasant to think that even +then our shades may, perhaps, assemble together as of yore we +did, and join in ghostly converse.</p> +<p>One night in every week, as the clock strikes ten, we +meet. At the second stroke of two, I am alone.</p> +<p>And now shall I tell how that my old servant, besides giving +us note of time, and ticking cheerful encouragement of our +proceedings, lends its name to our society, which for its +punctuality and my love is christened ‘Master +Humphrey’s Clock’? Now shall I tell how that in +the bottom of the old dark closet, where the steady pendulum +throbs and beats with healthy action, though the pulse of him who +made it stood still long ago, and never moved again, there are +piles of dusty papers constantly placed there by our hands, that +we may link our enjoyments with my old friend, and draw means to +beguile time from the heart of time itself? Shall I, or can +I, tell with what a secret pride I open this repository when we +meet at night, and still find new store of pleasure in my dear +old Clock?</p> +<p>Friend and companion of my solitude! mine is not a selfish +love; I would not keep your merits to myself, but disperse +something of pleasant association with your image through the +whole wide world; I would have men couple with your name cheerful +and healthy thoughts; I would have them believe that you keep +true and honest time; and how it would gladden me to know that +they recognised some hearty English work in Master +Humphrey’s clock!</p> +<h3>THE CLOCK-CASE</h3> +<p>It is my intention constantly to address my readers from the +chimney-corner, and I would fain hope that such accounts as I +shall give them of our histories and proceedings, our quiet +speculations or more busy adventures, will never be +unwelcome. Lest, however, I should grow prolix in the +outset by lingering too long upon our little association, +confounding the enthusiasm with which I regard this chief +happiness of my life with that minor degree of interest which +those to whom I address myself may be supposed to feel for it, I +have deemed it expedient to break off as they have seen.</p> +<p>But, still clinging to my old friend, and naturally desirous +that all its merits should be known, I am tempted to open +(somewhat irregularly and against our laws, I must admit) the +clock-case. The first roll of paper on which I lay my hand +is in the writing of the deaf gentleman. I shall have to +speak of him in my next paper; and how can I better approach that +welcome task than by prefacing it with a production of his own +pen, consigned to the safe keeping of my honest Clock by his own +hand?</p> +<p>The manuscript runs thus</p> +<h3>INTRODUCTION TO THE GIANT CHRONICLES</h3> +<p>Once upon a time, that is to say, in this our time,—the +exact year, month, and day are of no matter,—there dwelt in +the city of London a substantial citizen, who united in his +single person the dignities of wholesale fruiterer, alderman, +common-councilman, and member of the worshipful Company of +Patten-makers; who had superadded to these extraordinary +distinctions the important post and title of Sheriff, and who at +length, and to crown all, stood next in rotation for the high and +honourable office of Lord Mayor.</p> +<p>He was a very substantial citizen indeed. His face was +like the full moon in a fog, with two little holes punched out +for his eyes, a very ripe pear stuck on for his nose, and a wide +gash to serve for a mouth. The girth of his waistcoat was +hung up and lettered in his tailor’s shop as an +extraordinary curiosity. He breathed like a heavy snorer, +and his voice in speaking came thickly forth, as if it were +oppressed and stifled by feather-beds. He trod the ground +like an elephant, and eat and drank like—like nothing but +an alderman, as he was.</p> +<p>This worthy citizen had risen to his great eminence from small +beginnings. He had once been a very lean, weazen little +boy, never dreaming of carrying such a weight of flesh upon his +bones or of money in his pockets, and glad enough to take his +dinner at a baker’s door, and his tea at a pump. But +he had long ago forgotten all this, as it was proper that a +wholesale fruiterer, alderman, common-councilman, member of the +worshipful Company of Patten-makers, past sheriff, and, above +all, a Lord Mayor that was to be, should; and he never forgot it +more completely in all his life than on the eighth of November in +the year of his election to the great golden civic chair, which +was the day before his grand dinner at Guildhall.</p> +<p>It happened that as he sat that evening all alone in his +counting-house, looking over the bill of fare for next day, and +checking off the fat capons in fifties, and the turtle-soup by +the hundred quarts, for his private amusement,—it happened +that as he sat alone occupied in these pleasant calculations, a +strange man came in and asked him how he did, adding, ‘If I +am half as much changed as you, sir, you have no recollection of +me, I am sure.’</p> +<p>The strange man was not over and above well dressed, and was +very far from being fat or rich-looking in any sense of the word, +yet he spoke with a kind of modest confidence, and assumed an +easy, gentlemanly sort of an air, to which nobody but a rich man +can lawfully presume. Besides this, he interrupted the good +citizen just as he had reckoned three hundred and seventy-two fat +capons, and was carrying them over to the next column; and as if +that were not aggravation enough, the learned recorder for the +city of London had only ten minutes previously gone out at that +very same door, and had turned round and said, ‘Good night, +my lord.’ Yes, he had said, ‘my +lord;’—he, a man of birth and education, of the +Honourable Society of the Middle Temple, +Barrister-at-Law,—he who had an uncle in the House of +Commons, and an aunt almost but not quite in the House of Lords +(for she had married a feeble peer, and made him vote as she +liked),—he, this man, this learned recorder, had said, +‘my lord.’ ‘I’ll not wait till +to-morrow to give you your title, my Lord Mayor,’ says he, +with a bow and a smile; ‘you are Lord Mayor <i>de +facto</i>, if not <i>de jure</i>. Good night, my +lord.’</p> +<p>The Lord Mayor elect thought of this, and turning to the +stranger, and sternly bidding him ‘go out of his private +counting-house,’ brought forward the three hundred and +seventy-two fat capons, and went on with his account.</p> +<p>‘Do you remember,’ said the other, stepping +forward,—‘<i>do</i> you remember little Joe +Toddyhigh?’</p> +<p>The port wine fled for a moment from the fruiterer’s +nose as he muttered, ‘Joe Toddyhigh! What about Joe +Toddyhigh?’</p> +<p>‘<i>I</i> am Joe Toddyhigh,’ cried the +visitor. ‘Look at me, look hard at me,—harder, +harder. You know me now? You know little Joe +again? What a happiness to us both, to meet the very night +before your grandeur! O! give me your hand, +Jack,—both hands,—both, for the sake of old +times.’</p> +<p>‘You pinch me, sir. You’re a-hurting of +me,’ said the Lord Mayor elect pettishly. +‘Don’t,—suppose anybody should come,—Mr. +Toddyhigh, sir.’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Toddyhigh!’ repeated the other ruefully.</p> +<p>‘O, don’t bother,’ said the Lord Mayor +elect, scratching his head. ‘Dear me! Why, I +thought you was dead. What a fellow you are!’</p> +<p>Indeed, it was a pretty state of things, and worthy the tone +of vexation and disappointment in which the Lord Mayor +spoke. Joe Toddyhigh had been a poor boy with him at Hull, +and had oftentimes divided his last penny and parted his last +crust to relieve his wants; for though Joe was a destitute child +in those times, he was as faithful and affectionate in his +friendship as ever man of might could be. They parted one +day to seek their fortunes in different directions. Joe +went to sea, and the now wealthy citizen begged his way to +London, They separated with many tears, like foolish fellows as +they were, and agreed to remain fast friends, and if they lived, +soon to communicate again.</p> +<p>When he was an errand-boy, and even in the early days of his +apprenticeship, the citizen had many a time trudged to the +Post-office to ask if there were any letter from poor little Joe, +and had gone home again with tears in his eyes, when he found no +news of his only friend. The world is a wide place, and it +was a long time before the letter came; when it did, the writer +was forgotten. It turned from white to yellow from lying in +the Post-office with nobody to claim it, and in course of time +was torn up with five hundred others, and sold for +waste-paper. And now at last, and when it might least have +been expected, here was this Joe Toddyhigh turning up and +claiming acquaintance with a great public character, who on the +morrow would be cracking jokes with the Prime Minister of +England, and who had only, at any time during the next twelve +months, to say the word, and he could shut up Temple Bar, and +make it no thoroughfare for the king himself!</p> +<p>‘I am sure I don’t know what to say, Mr. +Toddyhigh,’ said the Lord Mayor elect; ‘I really +don’t. It’s very inconvenient. I’d +sooner have given twenty pound,—it’s very +inconvenient, really.’—A thought had come into his +mind, that perhaps his old friend might say something passionate +which would give him an excuse for being angry himself. No +such thing. Joe looked at him steadily, but very mildly, and did +not open his lips.</p> +<p>‘Of course I shall pay you what I owe you,’ said +the Lord Mayor elect, fidgeting in his chair. ‘You +lent me—I think it was a shilling or some small +coin—when we parted company, and that of course I shall pay +with good interest. I can pay my way with any man, and +always have done. If you look into the Mansion House the +day after to-morrow,—some time after dusk,—and ask +for my private clerk, you’ll find he has a draft for +you. I haven’t got time to say anything more just +now, unless,’—he hesitated, for, coupled with a +strong desire to glitter for once in all his glory in the eyes of +his former companion, was a distrust of his appearance, which +might be more shabby than he could tell by that feeble +light,—‘unless you’d like to come to the dinner +to-morrow. I don’t mind your having this ticket, if +you like to take it. A great many people would give their +ears for it, I can tell you.’</p> +<p>His old friend took the card without speaking a word, and +instantly departed. His sunburnt face and gray hair were +present to the citizen’s mind for a moment; but by the time +he reached three hundred and eighty-one fat capons, he had quite +forgotten him.</p> +<p>Joe Toddyhigh had never been in the capital of Europe before, +and he wandered up and down the streets that night amazed at the +number of churches and other public buildings, the splendour of +the shops, the riches that were heaped up on every side, the +glare of light in which they were displayed, and the concourse of +people who hurried to and fro, indifferent, apparently, to all +the wonders that surrounded them. But in all the long +streets and broad squares, there were none but strangers; it was +quite a relief to turn down a by-way and hear his own footsteps +on the pavement. He went home to his inn, thought that +London was a dreary, desolate place, and felt disposed to doubt +the existence of one true-hearted man in the whole worshipful +Company of Patten-makers. Finally, he went to bed, and +dreamed that he and the Lord Mayor elect were boys again.</p> +<p>He went next day to the dinner; and when in a burst of light +and music, and in the midst of splendid decorations and +surrounded by brilliant company, his former friend appeared at +the head of the Hall, and was hailed with shouts and cheering, he +cheered and shouted with the best, and for the moment could have +cried. The next moment he cursed his weakness in behalf of +a man so changed and selfish, and quite hated a jolly-looking old +gentleman opposite for declaring himself in the pride of his +heart a Patten-maker.</p> +<p>As the banquet proceeded, he took more and more to heart the +rich citizen’s unkindness; and that, not from any envy, but +because he felt that a man of his state and fortune could all the +better afford to recognise an old friend, even if he were poor +and obscure. The more he thought of this, the more lonely +and sad he felt. When the company dispersed and adjourned +to the ball-room, he paced the hall and passages alone, +ruminating in a very melancholy condition upon the disappointment +he had experienced.</p> +<p>It chanced, while he was lounging about in this moody state, +that he stumbled upon a flight of stairs, dark, steep, and +narrow, which he ascended without any thought about the matter, +and so came into a little music-gallery, empty and +deserted. From this elevated post, which commanded the +whole hall, he amused himself in looking down upon the attendants +who were clearing away the fragments of the feast very lazily, +and drinking out of all the bottles and glasses with most +commendable perseverance.</p> +<p>His attention gradually relaxed, and he fell fast asleep.</p> +<p>When he awoke, he thought there must be something the matter +with his eyes; but, rubbing them a little, he soon found that the +moonlight was really streaming through the east window, that the +lamps were all extinguished, and that he was alone. He +listened, but no distant murmur in the echoing passages, not even +the shutting of a door, broke the deep silence; he groped his way +down the stairs, and found that the door at the bottom was locked +on the other side. He began now to comprehend that he must +have slept a long time, that he had been overlooked, and was shut +up there for the night.</p> +<p>His first sensation, perhaps, was not altogether a comfortable +one, for it was a dark, chilly, earthy-smelling place, and +something too large, for a man so situated, to feel at home +in. However, when the momentary consternation of his +surprise was over, he made light of the accident, and resolved to +feel his way up the stairs again, and make himself as comfortable +as he could in the gallery until morning. As he turned to +execute this purpose, he heard the clocks strike three.</p> +<p>Any such invasion of a dead stillness as the striking of +distant clocks, causes it to appear the more intense and +insupportable when the sound has ceased. He listened with +strained attention in the hope that some clock, lagging behind +its fellows, had yet to strike,—looking all the time into +the profound darkness before him, until it seemed to weave itself +into a black tissue, patterned with a hundred reflections of his +own eyes. But the bells had all pealed out their warning +for that once, and the gust of wind that moaned through the place +seemed cold and heavy with their iron breath.</p> +<p>The time and circumstances were favourable to +reflection. He tried to keep his thoughts to the current, +unpleasant though it was, in which they had moved all day, and to +think with what a romantic feeling he had looked forward to +shaking his old friend by the hand before he died, and what a +wide and cruel difference there was between the meeting they had +had, and that which he had so often and so long +anticipated. Still, he was disordered by waking to such +sudden loneliness, and could not prevent his mind from running +upon odd tales of people of undoubted courage, who, being shut up +by night in vaults or churches, or other dismal places, had +scaled great heights to get out, and fled from silence as they +had never done from danger. This brought to his mind the +moonlight through the window, and bethinking himself of it, he +groped his way back up the crooked stairs,—but very +stealthily, as though he were fearful of being overheard.</p> +<p>He was very much astonished when he approached the gallery +again, to see a light in the building: still more so, on +advancing hastily and looking round, to observe no visible source +from which it could proceed. But how much greater yet was +his astonishment at the spectacle which this light revealed.</p> +<p>The statues of the two giants, Gog and Magog, each above +fourteen feet in height, those which succeeded to still older and +more barbarous figures, after the Great Fire of London, and which +stand in the Guildhall to this day, were endowed with life and +motion. These guardian genii of the City had quitted their +pedestals, and reclined in easy attitudes in the great stained +glass window. Between them was an ancient cask, which +seemed to be full of wine; for the younger Giant, clapping his +huge hand upon it, and throwing up his mighty leg, burst into an +exulting laugh, which reverberated through the hall like +thunder.</p> +<p>Joe Toddyhigh instinctively stooped down, and, more dead than +alive, felt his hair stand on end, his knees knock together, and +a cold damp break out upon his forehead. But even at that +minute curiosity prevailed over every other feeling, and somewhat +reassured by the good-humour of the Giants and their apparent +unconsciousness of his presence, he crouched in a corner of the +gallery, in as small a space as he could, and, peeping between +the rails, observed them closely.</p> +<p>It was then that the elder Giant, who had a flowing gray +beard, raised his thoughtful eyes to his companion’s face, +and in a grave and solemn voice addressed him thus:</p> +<h3>FIRST NIGHT OF THE GIANT CHRONICLES</h3> +<p>Turning towards his companion the elder Giant uttered these +words in a grave, majestic tone:</p> +<p>‘Magog, does boisterous mirth beseem the Giant Warder of +this ancient city? Is this becoming demeanour for a +watchful spirit over whose bodiless head so many years have +rolled, so many changes swept like empty air—in whose +impalpable nostrils the scent of blood and crime, pestilence, +cruelty, and horror, has been familiar as breath to +mortals—in whose sight Time has gathered in the harvest of +centuries, and garnered so many crops of human pride, affections, +hopes, and sorrows? Bethink you of our compact. The +night wanes; feasting, revelry, and music have encroached upon +our usual hours of solitude, and morning will be here +apace. Ere we are stricken mute again, bethink you of our +compact.’</p> +<p>Pronouncing these latter words with more of impatience than +quite accorded with his apparent age and gravity, the Giant +raised a long pole (which he still bears in his hand) and tapped +his brother Giant rather smartly on the head; indeed, the blow +was so smartly administered, that the latter quickly withdrew his +lips from the cask, to which they had been applied, and, catching +up his shield and halberd, assumed an attitude of defence. +His irritation was but momentary, for he laid these weapons aside +as hastily as he had assumed them, and said as he did so:</p> +<p>‘You know, Gog, old friend, that when we animate these +shapes which the Londoners of old assigned (and not unworthily) +to the guardian genii of their city, we are susceptible of some +of the sensations which belong to human kind. Thus when I +taste wine, I feel blows; when I relish the one, I disrelish the +other. Therefore, Gog, the more especially as your arm is +none of the lightest, keep your good staff by your side, else we +may chance to differ. Peace be between us!’</p> +<p>‘Amen!’ said the other, leaning his staff in the +window-corner. ‘Why did you laugh just +now?’</p> +<p><a name="page228"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +228</span>‘To think,’ replied the Giant Magog, laying +his hand upon the cask, ‘of him who owned this wine, and +kept it in a cellar hoarded from the light of day, for thirty +years,—“till it should be fit to drink,” quoth +he. He was twoscore and ten years old when he buried it +beneath his house, and yet never thought that he might be +scarcely “fit to drink” when the wine became +so. I wonder it never occurred to him to make himself unfit +to be eaten. There is very little of him left by this +time.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p228b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Gog and Magog" +title= +"Gog and Magog" +src="images/p228s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>‘The night is waning,’ said Gog mournfully.</p> +<p>‘I know it,’ replied his companion, ‘and I +see you are impatient. But look. Through the eastern +window—placed opposite to us, that the first beams of the +rising sun may every morning gild our giant faces—the +moon-rays fall upon the pavement in a stream of light that to my +fancy sinks through the cold stone and gushes into the old crypt +below. The night is scarcely past its noon, and our great +charge is sleeping heavily.’</p> +<p>They ceased to speak, and looked upward at the moon. The +sight of their large, black, rolling eyes filled Joe Toddyhigh +with such horror that he could scarcely draw his breath. +Still they took no note of him, and appeared to believe +themselves quite alone.</p> +<p>‘Our compact,’ said Magog after a pause, +‘is, if I understand it, that, instead of watching here in +silence through the dreary nights, we entertain each other with +stories of our past experience; with tales of the past, the +present, and the future; with legends of London and her sturdy +citizens from the old simple times. That every night at +midnight, when St. Paul’s bell tolls out one, and we may +move and speak, we thus discourse, nor leave such themes till the +first gray gleam of day shall strike us dumb. Is that our +bargain, brother?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said the Giant Gog, ‘that is the +league between us who guard this city, by day in spirit, and by +night in body also; and never on ancient holidays have its +conduits run wine more merrily than we will pour forth our +legendary lore. We are old chroniclers from this time +hence. The crumbled walls encircle us once more, the +postern-gates are closed, the drawbridge is up, and pent in its +narrow den beneath, the water foams and struggles with the sunken +starlings. Jerkins and quarter-staves are in the streets +again, the nightly watch is set, the rebel, sad and lonely in his +Tower dungeon, tries to sleep and weeps for home and +children. Aloft upon the gates and walls are noble heads +glaring fiercely down upon the dreaming city, and vexing the +hungry dogs that scent them in the air, and tear the ground +beneath with dismal howlings. The axe, the block, the rack, +in their dark chambers give signs of recent use. The +Thames, floating past long lines of cheerful windows whence come +a burst of music and a stream of light, bears suddenly to the +Palace wall the last red stain brought on the tide from +Traitor’s Gate. But your pardon, brother. The +night wears, and I am talking idly.’</p> +<p>The other Giant appeared to be entirely of this opinion, for +during the foregoing rhapsody of his fellow-sentinel he had been +scratching his head with an air of comical uneasiness, or rather +with an air that would have been very comical if he had been a +dwarf or an ordinary-sized man. He winked too, and though +it could not be doubted for a moment that he winked to himself, +still he certainly cocked his enormous eye towards the gallery +where the listener was concealed. Nor was this all, for he +gaped; and when he gaped, Joe was horribly reminded of the +popular prejudice on the subject of giants, and of their fabled +power of smelling out Englishmen, however closely concealed.</p> +<p>His alarm was such that he nearly swooned, and it was some +little time before his power of sight or hearing was +restored. When he recovered he found that the elder Giant +was pressing the younger to commence the Chronicles, and that the +latter was endeavouring to excuse himself on the ground that the +night was far spent, and it would be better to wait until the +next. Well assured by this that he was certainly about to +begin directly, the listener collected his faculties by a great +effort, and distinctly heard Magog express himself to the +following effect:</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>In the sixteenth century and in the reign of Queen Elizabeth +of glorious memory (albeit her golden days are sadly rusted with +blood), there lived in the city of London a bold young +’prentice who loved his master’s daughter. +There were no doubt within the walls a great many +’prentices in this condition, but I speak of only one, and +his name was Hugh Graham.</p> +<p>This Hugh was apprenticed to an honest Bowyer who dwelt in the +ward of Cheype, and was rumoured to possess great wealth. +Rumour was quite as infallible in those days as at the present +time, but it happened then as now to be sometimes right by +accident. It stumbled upon the truth when it gave the old +Bowyer a mint of money. His trade had been a profitable one +in the time of King Henry the Eighth, who encouraged English +archery to the utmost, and he had been prudent and +discreet. Thus it came to pass that Mistress Alice, his +only daughter, was the richest heiress in all his wealthy +ward. Young Hugh had often maintained with staff and cudgel +that she was the handsomest. To do him justice, I believe +she was.</p> +<p>If he could have gained the heart of pretty Mistress Alice by +knocking this conviction into stubborn people’s heads, Hugh +would have had no cause to fear. But though the +Bowyer’s daughter smiled in secret to hear of his doughty +deeds for her sake, and though her little waiting-woman reported +all her smiles (and many more) to Hugh, and though he was at a +vast expense in kisses and small coin to recompense her fidelity, +he made no progress in his love. He durst not whisper it to +Mistress Alice save on sure encouragement, and that she never +gave him. A glance of her dark eye as she sat at the door +on a summer’s evening after prayer-time, while he and the +neighbouring ’prentices exercised themselves in the street +with blunted sword and buckler, would fire Hugh’s blood so +that none could stand before him; but then she glanced at others +quite as kindly as on him, and where was the use of cracking +crowns if Mistress Alice smiled upon the cracked as well as on +the cracker?</p> +<p>Still Hugh went on, and loved her more and more. He +thought of her all day, and dreamed of her all night long. +He treasured up her every word and gesture, and had a palpitation +of the heart whenever he heard her footstep on the stairs or her +voice in an adjoining room. To him, the old Bowyer’s +house was haunted by an angel; there was enchantment in the air +and space in which she moved. It would have been no miracle +to Hugh if flowers had sprung from the rush-strewn floors beneath +the tread of lovely Mistress Alice.</p> +<p>Never did ’prentice long to distinguish himself in the +eyes of his lady-love so ardently as Hugh. Sometimes he +pictured to himself the house taking fire by night, and he, when +all drew back in fear, rushing through flame and smoke, and +bearing her from the ruins in his arms. At other times he +thought of a rising of fierce rebels, an attack upon the city, a +strong assault upon the Bowyer’s house in particular, and +he falling on the threshold pierced with numberless wounds in +defence of Mistress Alice. If he could only enact some +prodigy of valour, do some wonderful deed, and let her know that +she had inspired it, he thought he could die contented.</p> +<p>Sometimes the Bowyer and his daughter would go out to supper +with a worthy citizen at the fashionable hour of six +o’clock, and on such occasions Hugh, wearing his blue +’prentice cloak as gallantly as ’prentice might, +would attend with a lantern and his trusty club to escort them +home. These were the brightest moments of his life. +To hold the light while Mistress Alice picked her steps, to touch +her hand as he helped her over broken ways, to have her leaning +on his arm,—it sometimes even came to that,—this was +happiness indeed!</p> +<p>When the nights were fair, Hugh followed in the rear, his eyes +riveted on the graceful figure of the Bowyer’s daughter as +she and the old man moved on before him. So they threaded +the narrow winding streets of the city, now passing beneath the +overhanging gables of old wooden houses whence creaking signs +projected into the street, and now emerging from some dark and +frowning gateway into the clear moonlight. At such times, +or when the shouts of straggling brawlers met her ear, the +Bowyer’s daughter would look timidly back at Hugh, +beseeching him to draw nearer; and then how he grasped his club +and longed to do battle with a dozen rufflers, for the love of +Mistress Alice!</p> +<p>The old Bowyer was in the habit of lending money on interest +to the gallants of the Court, and thus it happened that many a +richly-dressed gentleman dismounted at his door. More +waving plumes and gallant steeds, indeed, were seen at the +Bowyer’s house, <a name="page232"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 232</span>and more embroidered silks and +velvets sparkled in his dark shop and darker private closet, than +at any merchants in the city. In those times no less than +in the present it would seem that the richest-looking cavaliers +often wanted money the most.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p232b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"A Gallant Cavalier" +title= +"A Gallant Cavalier" +src="images/p232s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Of these glittering clients there was one who always came +alone. He was nobly mounted, and, having no attendant, gave +his horse in charge to Hugh while he and the Bowyer were closeted +within. Once as he sprung into the saddle Mistress Alice +was seated at an upper window, and before she could withdraw he +had doffed his jewelled cap and kissed his hand. Hugh +watched him caracoling down the street, and burnt with +indignation. But how much deeper was the glow that reddened +in his cheeks when, raising his eyes to the casement, he saw that +Alice watched the stranger too!</p> +<p>He came again and often, each time arrayed more gaily than +before, and still the little casement showed him Mistress +Alice. At length one heavy day, she fled from home. +It had cost her a hard struggle, for all her old father’s +gifts were strewn about her chamber as if she had parted from +them one by one, and knew that the time must come when these +tokens of his love would wring her heart,—yet she was +gone.</p> +<p>She left a letter commanding her poor father to the care of +Hugh, and wishing he might be happier than ever he could have +been with her, for he deserved the love of a better and a purer +heart than she had to bestow. The old man’s +forgiveness (she said) she had no power to ask, but she prayed +God to bless him,—and so ended with a blot upon the paper +where her tears had fallen.</p> +<p>At first the old man’s wrath was kindled, and he carried +his wrong to the Queen’s throne itself; but there was no +redress he learnt at Court, for his daughter had been conveyed +abroad. This afterwards appeared to be the truth, as there +came from France, after an interval of several years, a letter in +her hand. It was written in trembling characters, and +almost illegible. Little could be made out save that she +often thought of home and her old dear pleasant room,—and +that she had dreamt her father was dead and had not blessed +her,—and that her heart was breaking.</p> +<p>The poor old Bowyer lingered on, never suffering Hugh to quit +his sight, for he knew now that he had loved his daughter, and +that was the only link that bound him to earth. It broke at +length and he died,—bequeathing his old ’prentice his +trade and all his wealth, and solemnly charging him with his last +breath to revenge his child if ever he who had worked her misery +crossed his path in life again.</p> +<p>From the time of Alice’s flight, the tilting-ground, the +fields, the fencing-school, the summer-evening sports, knew Hugh +no more. His spirit was dead within him. He rose to +great eminence and repute among the citizens, but was seldom seen +to smile, and never mingled in their revelries or +rejoicings. Brave, humane, and generous, he was beloved by +all. He was pitied too by those who knew his story, and +these were so many that when he walked along the streets alone at +dusk, even the rude common people doffed their caps and mingled a +rough air of sympathy with their respect.</p> +<p>One night in May—it was her birthnight, and twenty years +since she had left her home—Hugh Graham sat in the room she +had hallowed in his boyish days. He was now a gray-haired +man, though still in the prime of life. Old thoughts had +borne him company for many hours, and the chamber had gradually +grown quite dark, when he was roused by a low knocking at the +outer door.</p> +<p>He hastened down, and opening it saw by the light of a lamp +which he had seized upon the way, a female figure crouching in +the portal. It hurried swiftly past him and glided up the +stairs. He looked for pursuers. There were none in +sight. No, not one.</p> +<p>He was inclined to think it a vision of his own brain, when +suddenly a vague suspicion of the truth flashed upon his +mind. He barred the door, and hastened wildly back. +Yes, there she was,—there, in the chamber he had +quitted,—there in her old innocent, happy home, so changed +that none but he could trace one gleam of what she had +been,—there upon her knees,—with her hands clasped in +agony and shame before her burning face.</p> +<p>‘My God, my God!’ she cried, ‘now strike me +dead! Though I have brought death and shame and sorrow on +this roof, O, let me die at home in mercy!’</p> +<p>There was no tear upon her face then, but she trembled and +glanced round the chamber. Everything was in its old +place. Her bed looked as if she had risen from it but that +morning. The sight of these familiar objects, marking the +dear remembrance in which she had been held, and the blight she +had brought upon herself, was more than the woman’s better +nature that had carried her there could bear. She wept and +fell upon the ground.</p> +<p>A rumour was spread about, in a few days’ time, that the +Bowyer’s cruel daughter had come home, and that Master +Graham had given her lodging in his house. It was rumoured +too that he had resigned her fortune, in order that she might +bestow it in acts of charity, and that he had vowed to guard her +in her solitude, but that they were never to see each other +more. These rumours greatly incensed all virtuous wives and +daughters in the ward, especially when they appeared to receive +some corroboration from the circumstance of Master Graham taking +up his abode in another tenement hard by. The estimation in +which he was held, however, forbade any questioning on the +subject; and as the Bowyer’s house was close shut up, and +nobody came forth when public shows and festivities were in +progress, or to flaunt in the public walks, or to buy new +fashions at the mercers’ booths, all the well-conducted +females agreed among themselves that there could be no woman +there.</p> +<p>These reports had scarcely died away when the wonder of every +good citizen, male and female, was utterly absorbed and swallowed +up by a Royal Proclamation, in which her Majesty, strongly +censuring the practice of wearing long Spanish rapiers of +preposterous length (as being a bullying and swaggering custom, +tending to bloodshed and public disorder), commanded that on a +particular day therein named, certain grave citizens should +repair to the city gates, and there, in public, break all rapiers +worn or carried by persons claiming admission, that exceeded, +though it were only by a quarter of an inch, three standard feet +in length.</p> +<p>Royal Proclamations usually take their course, let the public +wonder never so much. On the appointed day two citizens of +high repute took up their stations at each of the gates, attended +by a party of the city guard, the main body to enforce the +Queen’s will, and take custody of all such rebels (if any) +as might have the temerity to dispute it: and a few to bear the +standard measures and instruments for reducing all unlawful +sword-blades to the prescribed dimensions. In pursuance of +these arrangements, Master Graham and another were posted at Lud +Gate, on the hill before St. Paul’s.</p> +<p>A pretty numerous company were gathered together at this spot, +for, besides the officers in attendance to enforce the +proclamation, there was a motley crowd of lookers-on of various +degrees, who raised from time to time such shouts and cries as +the circumstances called forth. A spruce young courtier was +the first who approached: he unsheathed a weapon of burnished +steel that shone and glistened in the sun, and handed it with the +newest air to the officer, who, finding it exactly three feet +long, returned it with a bow. Thereupon the gallant raised +his hat and crying, ‘God save the Queen!’ passed on +amidst the plaudits of the mob. Then came another—a +better courtier still—who wore a blade but two feet long, +whereat the people laughed, much to the disparagement of his +honour’s dignity. Then came a third, a sturdy old +officer of the army, girded with a rapier at least a foot and a +half beyond her Majesty’s pleasure; at him they raised a +great shout, and most of the spectators (but especially those who +were armourers or cutlers) laughed very heartily at the breakage +which would ensue. But they were disappointed; for the old +campaigner, coolly unbuckling his sword and bidding his servant +carry it home again, passed through unarmed, to the great +indignation of all the beholders. They relieved themselves +in some degree by hooting a tall blustering fellow with a +prodigious weapon, who stopped short on coming in sight of the +preparations, and after a little consideration turned back +again. But all this time no rapier had been broken, +although it was high noon, and all cavaliers of any quality or +appearance were taking their way towards Saint Paul’s +churchyard.</p> +<p>During these proceedings, Master Graham had stood apart, +strictly confining himself to the duty imposed upon him, and +taking little heed of anything beyond. He stepped forward +now as a richly-dressed gentleman on foot, followed by a single +attendant, was seen advancing up the hill.</p> +<p>As this person drew nearer, the crowd stopped their clamour, +and bent forward with eager looks. Master Graham standing +alone in the gateway, and the stranger coming slowly towards him, +they seemed, as it were, set face to face. The nobleman +(for he looked one) had a haughty and disdainful air, which +bespoke the slight estimation in which he held the citizen. +The citizen, on the other hand, preserved the resolute bearing of +one who was not to be frowned down or daunted, and who cared very +little for any nobility but that of worth and manhood. It +was perhaps some consciousness on the part of each, of these +feelings in the other, that infused a more stern expression into +their regards as they came closer together.</p> +<p>‘Your rapier, worthy sir!’</p> +<p>At the instant that he pronounced these words Graham started, +and falling back some paces, laid his hand upon the dagger in his +belt.</p> +<p>‘You are the man whose horse I used to hold before the +Bowyer’s door? You are that man? +Speak!’</p> +<p>‘Out, you ’prentice hound!’ said the +other.</p> +<p>‘You are he! I know you well now!’ cried +Graham. ‘Let no man step between us two, or I shall +be his murderer.’ With that he drew his dagger, and +rushed in upon him.</p> +<p>The stranger had drawn his weapon from the scabbard ready for +the scrutiny, before a word was spoken. He made a thrust at +his assailant, but the dagger which Graham clutched in his left +hand being the dirk in use at that time for parrying such blows, +promptly turned the point aside. They closed. The +dagger fell rattling on the ground, and Graham, wresting his +adversary’s sword from his grasp, plunged it through his +heart. As he drew it out it snapped in two, leaving a +fragment in the dead man’s body.</p> +<p>All this passed so swiftly that the bystanders looked on +without an effort to interfere; but the man was no sooner down +than an uproar broke forth which rent the air. The +attendant rushing through the gate proclaimed that his master, a +nobleman, had been set upon and slain by a citizen; the word +quickly spread from mouth to mouth; Saint Paul’s Cathedral, +and every book-shop, ordinary, and smoking-house in the +churchyard poured out its stream of cavaliers and their +followers, who mingling together in a dense tumultuous body, +struggled, sword in hand, towards the spot.</p> +<p>With equal impetuosity, and stimulating each other by loud +cries and shouts, the citizens and common people took up the +quarrel on their side, and encircling Master Graham a hundred +deep, forced him from the gate. In vain he waved the broken +sword above his head, crying that he would die on London’s +threshold for their sacred homes. They bore him on, and +ever keeping him in the midst, so that no man could attack him, +fought their way into the city.</p> +<p>The clash of swords and roar of voices, the dust and heat and +pressure, the trampling under foot of men, the distracted looks +and shrieks of women at the windows above as they recognised +their relatives or lovers in the crowd, the rapid tolling of +alarm-bells, the <a name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +237</span>furious rage and passion of the scene, were +fearful. Those who, being on the outskirts of each crowd, +could use their weapons with effect, fought desperately, while +those behind, maddened with baffled rage, struck at each other +over the heads of those before them, and crushed their own +fellows. Wherever the broken sword was seen above the +people’s heads, towards that spot the cavaliers made a new +rush. Every one of these charges was marked by sudden gaps +in the throng where men were trodden down, but as fast as they +were made, the tide swept over them, and still the multitude +pressed on again, a confused mass of swords, clubs, staves, +broken plumes, fragments of rich cloaks and doublets, and angry, +bleeding faces, all mixed up together in inextricable +disorder.</p> +<p>The design of the people was to force Master Graham to take +refuge in his dwelling, and to defend it until the authorities +could interfere, or they could gain time for parley. But +either from ignorance or in the confusion of the moment they +stopped at his old house, which was closely shut. Some time +was lost in beating the doors open and passing him to the +front. About a score of the boldest of the other party +threw themselves into the torrent while this was being done, and +reaching the door at the same moment with himself cut him off +from his defenders.</p> +<p>‘I never will turn in such a righteous cause, so help me +Heaven!’ cried Graham, in a voice that at last made itself +heard, and confronting them as he spoke. ‘Least of +all will I turn upon this threshold which owes its desolation to +such men as ye. I give no quarter, and I will have +none! Strike!’</p> +<p>For a moment they stood at bay. At that moment a shot +from an unseen hand, apparently fired by some person who had +gained access to one of the opposite houses, struck Graham in the +brain, and he fell dead. A low wail was heard in the +air,—many people in the concourse cried that they had seen +a spirit glide across the little casement window of the +Bowyer’s house—</p> +<p>A dead silence succeeded. After a short time some of the +flushed and heated throng laid down their arms and softly carried +the body within doors. Others fell off or slunk away in +knots of two or three, others whispered together in groups, and +before a numerous guard which then rode up could muster in the +street, it was nearly empty.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p237b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Death of Master Graham" +title= +"Death of Master Graham" +src="images/p237s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Those who carried Master Graham to the bed up-stairs were +shocked to see a woman lying beneath the window with her hands +clasped together. After trying to recover her in vain, they +laid her near the citizen, who still retained, tightly grasped in +his right hand, the first and last sword that was broken that day +at Lud Gate.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>The Giant uttered these concluding words with sudden +precipitation; and on the instant the strange light which had +filled the hall faded away. Joe Toddyhigh glanced +involuntarily at the eastern window, and saw the first pale gleam +of morning. He turned his head again towards the other +window in which the Giants had been seated. It was +empty. The cask of wine was gone, and he could dimly make +out that the two great figures stood mute and motionless upon +their pedestals.</p> +<p>After rubbing his eyes and wondering for full half an hour, +during which time he observed morning come creeping on apace, he +yielded to the drowsiness which overpowered him and fell into a +refreshing slumber. When he awoke it was broad day; the +building was open, and workmen were busily engaged in removing +the vestiges of last night’s feast.</p> +<p>Stealing gently down the little stairs, and assuming the air +of some early lounger who had dropped in from the street, he +walked up to the foot of each pedestal in turn, and attentively +examined the figure it supported. There could be no doubt +about the features of either; he recollected the exact expression +they had worn at different passages of their conversation, and +recognised in every line and lineament the Giants of the +night. Assured that it was no vision, but that he had heard +and seen with his own proper senses, he walked forth, determining +at all hazards to conceal himself in the Guildhall again that +evening. He further resolved to sleep all day, so that he +might be very wakeful and vigilant, and above all that he might +take notice of the figures at the precise moment of their +becoming animated and subsiding into their old state, which he +greatly reproached himself for not having done already.</p> +<h3>CORRESPONDENCE<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">TO MASTER HUMPHREY</span></h3> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—Before you +proceed any further in your account of your friends and what you +say and do when you meet together, excuse me if I proffer my +claim to be elected to one of the vacant chairs in that old room +of yours. Don’t reject me without full consideration; +for if you do, you will be sorry for it afterwards—you +will, upon my life.</p> +<p>‘I enclose my card, sir, in this letter. I never +was ashamed of my name, and I never shall be. I am +considered a devilish gentlemanly fellow, and I act up to the +character. If you want a reference, ask any of the men at +our club. Ask any fellow who goes there to write his +letters, what sort of conversation mine is. Ask him if he +thinks I have the sort of voice that will suit your deaf friend +and make him hear, if he can hear anything at all. Ask the +servants what they think of me. There’s not a rascal +among ’em, sir, but will tremble to hear my name. +That reminds me—don’t you say too much about that +housekeeper of yours; it’s a low subject, damned low.</p> +<p>‘I tell you what, sir. If you vote me into one of +those empty chairs, you’ll have among you a man with a fund +of gentlemanly information that’ll rather astonish +you. I can let you into a few anecdotes about some fine +women of title, that are quite high life, sir—the tiptop +sort of thing. I know the name of every man who has been +out on an affair of honour within the last five-and-twenty years; +I know the private particulars of every cross and squabble that +has taken place upon the turf, at the gaming-table, or elsewhere, +during the whole of that time. I have been called the +gentlemanly chronicle. You may consider yourself a lucky +dog; upon my soul, you may congratulate yourself, though I say +so.</p> +<p>‘It’s an uncommon good notion that of yours, not +letting anybody know where you live. I have tried it, but +there has always been an anxiety respecting me, which has found +me out. Your deaf friend is a cunning fellow to keep his +name so close. I have tried that too, but have always +failed. I shall be proud to make his +acquaintance—tell him so, with my compliments.</p> +<p>‘You must have been a queer fellow when you were a +child, confounded queer. It’s odd, all that about the +picture in your first paper—prosy, but told in a devilish +gentlemanly sort of way. In places like that I could come +in with great effect with a touch of life—don’t you +feel that?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p240b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"A Charming Fellow" +title= +"A Charming Fellow" +src="images/p240s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p><a name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +240</span>‘I am anxiously waiting for your next paper to +know whether your friends live upon the premises, and at your +expense, which I take it for granted is the case. If I am +right in this impression, I know a charming fellow (an excellent +companion and most delightful company) who will be proud to join +you. Some years ago he seconded a great many +prize-fighters, and once fought an amateur match himself; since +then he has driven several mails, broken at different periods all +the lamps on the right-hand side of Oxford-street, and six times +carried away every bell-handle in Bloomsbury-square, besides +turning off the gas in various thoroughfares. In point of +gentlemanliness he is unrivalled, and I should say that next to +myself he is of all men the best suited to your purpose.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘Expecting your reply,<br /> +‘I am,<br /> +‘&c. &c.’</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Master Humphrey informs this gentleman that his application, +both as it concerns himself and his friend, is rejected.</p> +<h2><a name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +241</span>II</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">MASTER HUMPHREY, FROM HIS CLOCK-SIDE IN THE +CHIMNEY-CORNER</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My</span> old companion tells me it is +midnight. The fire glows brightly, crackling with a sharp +and cheerful sound, as if it loved to burn. The merry +cricket on the hearth (my constant visitor), this ruddy blaze, my +clock, and I, seem to share the world among us, and to be the +only things awake. The wind, high and boisterous but now, +has died away and hoarsely mutters in its sleep. I love all +times and seasons each in its turn, and am apt, perhaps, to think +the present one the best; but past or coming I always love this +peaceful time of night, when long-buried thoughts, favoured by +the gloom and silence, steal from their graves, and haunt the +scenes of faded happiness and hope.</p> +<p>The popular faith in ghosts has a remarkable affinity with the +whole current of our thoughts at such an hour as this, and seems +to be their necessary and natural consequence. For who can +wonder that man should feel a vague belief in tales of +disembodied spirits wandering through those places which they +once dearly affected, when he himself, scarcely less separated +from his old world than they, is for ever lingering upon past +emotions and bygone times, and hovering, the ghost of his former +self, about the places and people that warmed his heart of +old? It is thus that at this quiet hour I haunt the house +where I was born, the rooms I used to tread, the scenes of my +infancy, my boyhood, and my youth; it is thus that I prowl around +my buried treasure (though not of gold or silver), and mourn my +loss; it is thus that I revisit the ashes of extinguished fires, +and take my silent stand at old bedsides. If my spirit +should ever glide back to this chamber when my body is mingled +with the dust, it will but follow the course it often took in the +old man’s lifetime, and add but one more change to the +subjects of its contemplation.</p> +<p>In all my idle speculations I am greatly assisted by various +legends connected with my venerable house, which are current in +the neighbourhood, and are so numerous that there is scarce a +cupboard or corner that has not some dismal story of its +own. When I first entertained thoughts of becoming its +tenant, I was assured that it was haunted from roof to cellar, +and I believe that the bad opinion in which my neighbours once +held me, had its rise in my not being torn to pieces, or at least +distracted with terror, on the night I took possession; in either +of which cases I should doubtless have arrived by a short cut at +the very summit of popularity.</p> +<p>But traditions and rumours all taken into account, who so +abets me in every fancy and chimes with my every thought, as my +dear deaf friend? and how often have I cause to bless the day +that brought us two together! Of all days in the year I +rejoice to think that it should have been Christmas Day, with +which from childhood we associate something friendly, hearty, and +sincere.</p> +<p>I had walked out to cheer myself with the happiness of others, +and, in the little tokens of festivity and rejoicing, of which +the streets and houses present so many upon that day, had lost +some hours. Now I stopped to look at a merry party hurrying +through the snow on foot to their place of meeting, and now +turned back to see a whole coachful of children safely deposited +at the welcome house. At one time, I admired how carefully +the working man carried the baby in its gaudy hat and feathers, +and how his wife, trudging patiently on behind, forgot even her +care of her gay clothes, in exchanging greeting with the child as +it crowed and laughed over the father’s shoulder; at +another, I pleased myself with some passing scene of gallantry or +courtship, and was glad to believe that for a season half the +world of poverty was gay.</p> +<p>As the day closed in, I still rambled through the streets, +feeling a companionship in the bright fires that cast their warm +reflection on the windows as I passed, and losing all sense of my +own loneliness in imagining the sociality and kind-fellowship +that everywhere prevailed. At length I happened to stop +before a Tavern, and, encountering a Bill of Fare in the window, +it all at once brought it into my head to wonder what kind of +people dined alone in Taverns upon Christmas Day.</p> +<p>Solitary men are accustomed, I suppose, unconsciously to look +upon solitude as their own peculiar property. I had sat +alone in my room on many, many anniversaries of this great +holiday, and had never regarded it but as one of universal +assemblage and rejoicing. I had excepted, and with an +aching heart, a crowd of prisoners and beggars; but <i>these</i> +were not the men for whom the Tavern doors were open. Had +they any customers, or was it a mere form?—a form, no +doubt.</p> +<p>Trying to feel quite sure of this, I walked away; but before I +had gone many paces, I stopped and looked back. There was a +provoking air of business in the lamp above the door which I +could not overcome. I began to be afraid there might be +many customers—young men, perhaps, struggling with the +world, utter strangers in this great place, whose friends lived +at a long distance off, and whose means were too slender to +enable them to make the journey. The supposition gave rise +to so many distressing little pictures, that in preference to +carrying them home with me, I determined to encounter the +realities. So I turned and walked in.</p> +<p>I was at once glad and sorry to find that there was only one +person in the dining-room; glad to know that there were not more, +and sorry that he should be there by himself. He did not +look so old as I, but like me he was advanced in life, and his +hair was nearly white. Though I made more noise in entering +and seating myself than was quite necessary, with the view of +attracting his attention and saluting him in the good old form of +that time of year, he did not raise his head, but sat with it +resting on his hand, musing over his half-finished meal.</p> +<p>I called for something which would give me an excuse for +remaining in the room (I had dined early, as my housekeeper was +engaged at night to partake of some friend’s good cheer), +and sat where I could observe without intruding on him. +After a time he looked up. He was aware that somebody had +entered, but could see very little of me, as I sat in the shade +and he in the light. He was sad and thoughtful, and I +forbore to trouble him by speaking.</p> +<p>Let me believe it was something better than curiosity which +riveted my attention and impelled me strongly towards this +gentleman. I never saw so patient and kind a face. He +should have been surrounded by friends, and yet here he sat +dejected and alone when all men had their friends about +them. As often as he roused himself from his reverie he +would fall into it again, and it was plain that, whatever were +the subject of his thoughts, they were of a melancholy kind, and +would not be controlled.</p> +<p>He was not used to solitude. I was sure of that; for I +know by myself that if he had been, his manner would have been +different, and he would have taken some slight interest in the +arrival of another. I could not fail to mark that he had no +appetite; that he tried to eat in vain; that time after time the +plate was pushed away, and he relapsed into his former +posture.</p> +<p>His mind was wandering among old Christmas days, I +thought. Many of them sprung up together, not with a long +gap between each, but in unbroken succession like days of the +week. It was a great change to find himself for the first +time (I quite settled that it <i>was</i> the first) in an empty +silent room with no soul to care for. I could not help +following him in imagination through crowds of pleasant faces, +and then coming back to that dull place with its bough of +mistletoe sickening in the gas, and sprigs of holly parched up +already by a Simoom of roast and boiled. The very waiter +had gone home; and his representative, a poor, lean, hungry man, +was keeping Christmas in his jacket.</p> +<p>I grew still more interested in my friend. His dinner +done, a decanter of wine was placed before him. It remained +untouched for a long time, but at length with a quivering hand he +filled a glass and raised it to his lips. Some tender wish +to which he had been accustomed to give utterance on that day, or +some beloved name that he had been used to pledge, trembled upon +them at the moment. He put it down very hastily—took +it up once more—again put it down—pressed his hand +upon his face—yes—and tears stole down his cheeks, I +am certain.</p> +<p>Without pausing to consider whether I did right or wrong, I +stepped across the room, and sitting down beside him laid my hand +gently on his arm.</p> +<p>‘My friend,’ I said, ‘forgive me if I +beseech you to take comfort and consolation from the lips of an +old man. I will not preach to you what I have not +practised, indeed. Whatever be your grief, be of a good +heart—be of a good heart, pray!’</p> +<p>‘I see that you speak earnestly,’ he replied, +‘and kindly I am very sure, but—’</p> +<p>I nodded my head to show that I understood what he would say; +for I had already gathered, from a certain fixed expression in +his face, and from the attention with which he watched me while I +spoke, that his sense of hearing was destroyed. +‘There should be a freemasonry between us,’ said I, +pointing from himself to me to explain my meaning; ‘if not +in our gray hairs, at least in our misfortunes. You see +that I am but a poor cripple.’</p> +<p>I never felt so happy under my affliction since the trying +moment of my first becoming conscious of it, as when he took my +hand in his with a smile that has lighted my path in life from +that day, and we sat down side by side.</p> +<p>This was the beginning of my friendship with the deaf +gentleman; and when was ever the slight and easy service of a +kind word in season repaid by such attachment and devotion as he +has shown to me!</p> +<p>He produced a little set of tablets and a pencil to facilitate +our conversation, on that our first acquaintance; and I well +remember how awkward and constrained I was in writing down my +share of the dialogue, and how easily he guessed my meaning +before I had written half of what I had to say. He told me +in a faltering voice that he had not been accustomed to be alone +on that day—that it had always been a little festival with +him; and seeing that I glanced at his dress in the expectation +that he wore mourning, he added hastily that it was not that; if +it had been he thought he could have borne it better. From +that time to the present we have never touched upon this +theme. Upon every return of the same day we have been +together; and although we make it our annual custom to drink to +each other hand in hand after dinner, and to recall with +affectionate garrulity every circumstance of our first meeting, +we always avoid this one as if by mutual consent.</p> +<p>Meantime we have gone on strengthening in our friendship and +regard and forming an attachment which, I trust and believe, will +only be interrupted by death, to be renewed in another +existence. I scarcely know how we communicate as we do; but +he has long since ceased to be deaf to me. He is frequently +my companion in my walks, and even in crowded streets replies to +my slightest look or gesture, as though he could read my +thoughts. From the vast number of objects which pass in +rapid succession before our eyes, we frequently select the same +for some particular notice or remark; and when one of these +little coincidences occurs, I cannot describe the pleasure which +animates my friend, or the beaming countenance he will preserve +for half-an-hour afterwards at least.</p> +<p>He is a great thinker from living so much within himself, and, +having a lively imagination, has a facility of conceiving and +enlarging upon odd ideas, which renders him invaluable to our +little body, and greatly astonishes our two friends. His +powers in this respect are much assisted by a large pipe, which +he assures us once belonged to a German Student. Be this as +it may, it has undoubtedly a very ancient and mysterious +appearance, and is of such capacity that it takes three hours and +a half to smoke it out. I have reason to believe that my +barber, who is the chief authority of a knot of gossips, who +congregate every evening at a small tobacconist’s hard by, +has related anecdotes of this pipe and the grim figures that are +carved upon its bowl, at which all the smokers in the +neighbourhood have stood aghast; and I know that my housekeeper, +while she holds it in high veneration, has a superstitious +feeling connected with it which would render her exceedingly +unwilling to be left alone in its company after dark.</p> +<p>Whatever sorrow my dear friend has known, and whatever grief +may linger in some secret corner of his heart, he is now a +cheerful, placid, happy creature. Misfortune can never have +fallen upon such a man but for some good purpose; and when I see +its traces in his gentle nature and his earnest feeling, I am the +less disposed to murmur at such trials as I may have undergone +myself. With regard to the pipe, I have a theory of my own; +I cannot help thinking that it is in some manner connected with +the event that brought us together; for I remember that it was a +long time before he even talked about it; that when he did, he +grew reserved and melancholy; and that it was a long time yet +before he brought it forth. I have no curiosity, however, +upon this subject; for I know that it promotes his tranquillity +and comfort, and I need no other inducement to regard it with my +utmost favour.</p> +<p>Such is the deaf gentleman. I can call up his figure +now, clad in sober gray, and seated in the chimney-corner. +As he puffs out the smoke from his favourite pipe, he casts a +look on me brimful of cordiality and friendship, and says all +manner of kind and genial things in a cheerful smile; then he +raises his eyes to my clock, which is just about to strike, and, +glancing from it to me and back <a name="page246"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 246</span>again, seems to divide his heart +between us. For myself, it is not too much to say that I +would gladly part with one of my poor limbs, could he but hear +the old clock’s voice.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p246b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"The Two Friends" +title= +"The Two Friends" +src="images/p246s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Of our two friends, the first has been all his life one of +that easy, wayward, truant class whom the world is accustomed to +designate as nobody’s enemies but their own. Bred to +a profession for which he never qualified himself, and reared in +the expectation of a fortune he has never inherited, he has +undergone every vicissitude of which such an existence is +capable. He and his younger brother, both orphans from +their childhood, were educated by a wealthy relative, who taught +them to expect an equal division of his property; but too +indolent to court, and too honest to flatter, the elder gradually +lost ground in the affections of a capricious old man, and the +younger, who did not fail to improve his opportunity, now +triumphs in the possession of enormous wealth. His triumph +is to hoard it in solitary wretchedness, and probably to feel +with the expenditure of every shilling a greater pang than the +loss of his whole inheritance ever cost his brother.</p> +<p>Jack Redburn—he was Jack Redburn at the first little +school he went to, where every other child was mastered and +surnamed, and he has been Jack Redburn all his life, or he would +perhaps have been a richer man by this time—has been an +inmate of my house these eight years past. He is my +librarian, secretary, steward, and first minister; director of +all my affairs, and inspector-general of my household. He +is something of a musician, something of an author, something of +an actor, something of a painter, very much of a carpenter, and +an extraordinary gardener, having had all his life a wonderful +aptitude for learning everything that was of no use to him. +He is remarkably fond of children, and is the best and kindest +nurse in sickness that ever drew the breath of life. He has +mixed with every grade of society, and known the utmost distress; +but there never was a less selfish, a more tender-hearted, a more +enthusiastic, or a more guileless man; and I dare say, if few +have done less good, fewer still have done less harm in the world +than he. By what chance Nature forms such whimsical jumbles +I don’t know; but I do know that she sends them among us +very often, and that the king of the whole race is Jack +Redburn.</p> +<p>I should be puzzled to say how old he is. His health is +none of the best, and he wears a quantity of iron-gray hair, +which shades his face and gives it rather a worn appearance; but +we consider him quite a young fellow notwithstanding; and if a +youthful spirit, surviving the roughest contact with the world, +confers upon its possessor any title to be considered young, then +he is a mere child. The only interruptions to his careless +cheerfulness are on a wet Sunday, when he is apt to be unusually +religious and solemn, and sometimes of an evening, when he has +been blowing a very slow tune on the flute. On these +last-named occasions he is apt to incline towards the mysterious, +or the terrible. As a specimen of his powers in this mood, +I refer my readers to the extract from the clock-case which +follows this paper: he brought it to me not long ago at midnight, +and informed me that the main incident had been suggested by a +dream of the night before.</p> +<p>His apartments are two cheerful rooms looking towards the +garden, and one of his great delights is to arrange and rearrange +the furniture in these chambers, and put it in every possible +variety of position. During the whole time he has been +here, I do not think he has slept for two nights running with the +head of his bed in the same place; and every time he moves it, is +to be the last. My housekeeper was at first well-nigh +distracted by these frequent changes; but she has become quite +reconciled to them by degrees, and has so fallen in with his +humour, that they often consult together with great gravity upon +the next final alteration. Whatever his arrangements are, +however, they are always a pattern of neatness; and every one of +the manifold articles connected with his manifold occupations is +to be found in its own particular place. Until within the +last two or three years he was subject to an occasional fit +(which usually came upon him in very fine weather), under the +influence of which he would dress himself with peculiar care, +and, going out under pretence of taking a walk, disappeared for +several days together. At length, after the interval +between each outbreak of this disorder had gradually grown longer +and longer, it wholly disappeared; and now he seldom stirs +abroad, except to stroll out a little way on a summer’s +evening. Whether he yet mistrusts his own constancy in this +respect, and is therefore afraid to wear a coat, I know not; but +we seldom see him in any other upper garment than an old +spectral-looking dressing-gown, with very disproportionate +pockets, full of a miscellaneous collection of odd matters, which +he picks up wherever he can lay his hands upon them.</p> +<p>Everything that is a favourite with our friend is a favourite +with us; and thus it happens that the fourth among us is Mr. Owen +Miles, a most worthy gentleman, who had treated Jack with great +kindness before my deaf friend and I encountered him by an +accident, to which I may refer on some future occasion. Mr. +Miles was once a very rich merchant; but receiving a severe shock +in the death of his wife, he retired from business, and devoted +himself to a quiet, unostentatious life. He is an excellent +man, of thoroughly sterling character: not of quick apprehension, +and not without some amusing prejudices, which I shall leave to +their own development. He holds us all in profound +veneration; but Jack Redburn he esteems as a kind of pleasant +wonder, that he may venture to approach familiarly. He +believes, not only that no man ever lived who could do so many +things as Jack, but that no man ever lived who could do anything +so well; and he never calls my attention to any of his ingenious +proceedings, but he whispers in my ear, nudging me at the same +time with his elbow: ‘If he had only made it his trade, +sir—if he had only made it his trade!’</p> +<p>They are inseparable companions; one would almost suppose +that, although Mr. Miles never by any chance does anything in the +way of assistance, Jack could do nothing without him. +Whether he is reading, writing, painting, carpentering, +gardening, flute-playing, or what not, there is Mr. Miles beside +him, buttoned up to the chin in his blue coat, and looking on +with a face of incredulous delight, as though he could not credit +the testimony of his own senses, and had a misgiving that no man +could be so clever but in a dream.</p> +<p>These are my friends; I have now introduced myself and +them.</p> +<h3>THE CLOCK-CASE</h3> +<p class="gutsumm">A CONFESSION FOUND IN A PRISON IN THE TIME OF +CHARLES THE SECOND</p> +<p>I held a lieutenant’s commission in his Majesty’s +army, and served abroad in the campaigns of 1677 and 1678. +The treaty of Nimeguen being concluded, I returned home, and +retiring from the service, withdrew to a small estate lying a few +miles east of London, which I had recently acquired in right of +my wife.</p> +<p>This is the last night I have to live, and I will set down the +naked truth without disguise. I was never a brave man, and +had always been from my childhood of a secret, sullen, +distrustful nature. I speak of myself as if I had passed +from the world; for while I write this, my grave is digging, and +my name is written in the black-book of death.</p> +<p>Soon after my return to England, my only brother was seized +with mortal illness. This circumstance gave me slight or no +pain; for since we had been men, we had associated but very +little together. He was open-hearted and generous, +handsomer than I, more accomplished, and generally beloved. +Those who sought my acquaintance abroad or at home, because they +were friends of his, seldom attached themselves to me long, and +would usually say, in our first conversation, that they were +surprised to find two brothers so unlike in their manners and +appearance. It was my habit to lead them on to this avowal; +for I knew what comparisons they must draw between us; and having +a rankling envy in my heart, I sought to justify it to +myself.</p> +<p>We had married two sisters. This additional tie between +us, as it may appear to some, only estranged us the more. +His wife knew me well. I never struggled with any secret +jealousy or gall when she was present but that woman knew it as +well as I did. I never raised my eyes at such times but I +found hers fixed upon me; I never bent them on the ground or +looked another way but I felt that she overlooked me +always. It was an inexpressible relief to me when we +quarrelled, and a greater relief still when I heard abroad that +she was dead. It seems to me now as if some strange and +terrible foreshadowing of what has happened since must have hung +over us then. I was afraid of her; she haunted me; her +fixed and steady look comes back upon me now, like the memory of +a dark dream, and makes my blood run cold.</p> +<p>She died shortly after giving birth to a child—a +boy. When my brother knew that all hope of his own recovery +was past, he called my wife to his bedside, and confided this +orphan, a child of four years old, to her protection. He +bequeathed to him all the property he had, and willed that, in +case of his child’s death, it should pass to my wife, as +the only acknowledgment he could make her for her care and +love. He exchanged a few brotherly words with me, deploring +our long separation; and being exhausted, fell into a slumber, +from which he never awoke.</p> +<p>We had no children; and as there had been a strong affection +between the sisters, and my wife had almost supplied the place of +a mother to this boy, she loved him as if he had been her +own. The child was ardently attached to her; but he was his +mother’s image in face and spirit, and always mistrusted +me.</p> +<p>I can scarcely fix the date when the feeling first came upon +me; but I soon began to be uneasy when this child was by. I +never roused myself from some moody train of thought but I marked +him looking at me; not with mere childish wonder, but with +something of the purpose and meaning that I had so often noted in +his mother. It was no effort of my fancy, founded on close +resemblance of feature and expression. I never could look +the boy down. He feared me, but seemed by some instinct to +despise me while he did so; and even when he drew back beneath my +gaze—as he would when we were alone, to get nearer to the +door—he would keep his bright eyes upon me still.</p> +<p>Perhaps I hide the truth from myself, but I do not think that, +when this began, I meditated to do him any wrong. I may +have thought how serviceable his inheritance would be to us, and +may have wished him dead; but I believe I had no thought of +compassing his death. Neither did the idea come upon me at +once, but by very slow degrees, presenting itself at first in dim +shapes at a very great distance, as men may think of an +earthquake or the last day; then drawing nearer and nearer, and +losing something of its horror and improbability; then coming to +be part and parcel—nay nearly the whole sum and +substance—of my daily thoughts, and resolving itself into a +question of means and safety; not of doing or abstaining from the +deed.</p> +<p>While this was going on within me, I never could bear that the +child should see me looking at him, and yet I was under a +fascination which made it a kind of business with me to +contemplate his slight and fragile figure and think how easily it +might be done. Sometimes I would steal up-stairs and watch +him as he slept; but usually I hovered in the garden near the +window of the room in which he learnt his little tasks; and +there, as he sat upon a low seat beside my wife, I would peer at +him for hours together from behind a tree; starting, like the +guilty wretch I was, at every rustling of a leaf, and still +gliding back to look and start again.</p> +<p>Hard by our cottage, but quite out of sight, and (if there +were any wind astir) of hearing too, was a deep sheet of +water. I spent days in shaping with my pocket-knife a rough +model of a boat, which I finished at last and dropped in the +child’s way. Then I withdrew to a secret place, which +he must pass if he stole away alone to swim this bauble, and +lurked there for his coming. He came neither that day nor +the next, though I waited from noon till nightfall. I was +sure that I had him in my net, for I had heard him prattling of +the toy, and knew that in his infant pleasure he kept it by his +side in bed. I felt no weariness or fatigue, but waited +patiently, and on the third day he passed me, running joyously +along, with his silken hair streaming in the wind, and he +singing—God have mercy upon me!—singing a merry +ballad,—who could hardly lisp the words.</p> +<p>I stole down after him, creeping under certain shrubs which +grow in that place, and none but devils know with what terror I, +a strong, full-grown man, tracked the footsteps of that baby as +he approached the water’s brink. I was close upon +him, had sunk upon my knee and raised my hand to thrust him in, +when he saw my shadow in the stream and turned him round.</p> +<p>His mother’s ghost was looking from his eyes. The +sun burst forth from behind a cloud; it shone in the bright sky, +the glistening earth, the clear water, the sparkling drops of +rain upon the leaves. There were eyes in everything. +The whole great universe of light was there to see the murder +done. I know not what he said; he came of bold and manly +blood, and, child as he was, he did not crouch or fawn upon +me. I heard him cry that he would try to love me,—not +that he did,—and then I saw him running back towards the +house. The next I saw was my own sword naked in my hand, +and he lying at my feet stark dead,—dabbled here and there +with blood, but otherwise no different from what I had seen him +in his sleep—in the same attitude too, with his cheek +resting upon his little hand.</p> +<p>I took him in my arms and laid him—very gently now that +he was dead—in a thicket. My wife was from home that +day, and would not return until the next. Our bedroom +window, the only sleeping-room on that side of the house, was but +a few feet from the ground, and I resolved to descend from it at +night and bury him in the garden. I had no thought that I +had failed in my design, no thought that the water would be +dragged and nothing found, that the money must now lie waste, +since I must encourage the idea that the child was lost or +stolen. All my thoughts were bound up and knotted together +in the one absorbing necessity of hiding what I had done.</p> +<p>How I felt when they came to tell me that the child was +missing, when I ordered scouts in all directions, when I gasped +and trembled at every one’s approach, no tongue can tell or +mind of man conceive. I buried him that night. When I +parted the boughs and looked into the dark thicket, there was a +glow-worm shining like the visible spirit of God upon the +murdered child. I glanced down into his grave when I had +placed him there, and still it gleamed upon his breast; an eye of +fire looking up to Heaven in supplication to the stars that +watched me at my work.</p> +<p>I had to meet my wife, and break the news, and give her hope +that the child would soon be found. All this I +did,—with some appearance, I suppose, of being sincere, for +I was the object of no suspicion. This done, I sat at the +bedroom window all day long, and watched the spot where the +dreadful secret lay.</p> +<p>It was in a piece of ground which had been dug up to be newly +turfed, and which I had chosen on that account, as the traces of +my spade were less likely to attract attention. The men who +laid down the grass must have thought me mad. I called to +them continually to expedite their work, ran out and worked +beside them, trod down the earth with my feet, and hurried them +with frantic eagerness. They had finished their task before +night, and then I thought myself comparatively safe.</p> +<p>I slept,—not as men do who awake refreshed and cheerful, +but I did sleep, passing from vague and shadowy dreams of being +hunted down, to visions of the plot of grass, through which now a +hand, and now a foot, and now the head itself was starting +out. At this point I always woke and stole to the window, +to make sure that it was not really so. That done, I crept +to bed again; and thus I spent the night in fits and starts, +getting up and lying down full twenty times, and dreaming the +same dream over and over again,—which was far worse than +lying awake, for every dream had a whole night’s suffering +of its own. Once I thought the child was alive, and that I +had never tried to kill him. To wake from that dream was +the most dreadful agony of all.</p> +<p>The next day I sat at the window again, never once taking my +eyes from the place, which, although it was covered by the grass, +was as plain to me—its shape, its size, its depth, its +jagged sides, and all—as if it had been open to the light +of day. When a servant walked across it, I felt as if he +must sink in; when he had passed, I looked to see that his feet +had not worn the edges. If a bird lighted there, I was in +terror lest by some tremendous interposition it should be +instrumental in the discovery; if a breath of air sighed across +it, to me it whispered murder. There was not a sight or a +sound—how ordinary, mean, or unimportant soever—but +was fraught with fear. And in this state of ceaseless +watching I spent three days.</p> +<p>On the fourth there came to the gate one who had served with +me abroad, accompanied by a brother officer of his whom I had +never seen. I felt that I could not bear to be out of sight +of the place. It was a summer evening, and I bade my people +take a table and a flask of wine into the garden. Then I +sat down <i>with my chair upon the grave</i>, and being assured +that nobody could disturb it now without my knowledge, tried to +drink and talk.</p> +<p>They hoped that my wife was well,—that she was not +obliged to keep her chamber,—that they had not frightened +her away. What could I do but tell them with a faltering +tongue about the child? The officer whom I did not know was +a down-looking man, and kept his eyes upon the ground while I was +speaking. Even that terrified me. I could not divest +myself of the idea that he saw something there which caused him +to suspect the truth. I asked him hurriedly if he supposed +that—and stopped. ‘That the child has been +murdered?’ said he, looking mildly at me: ‘O no! what +could a man gain by murdering a poor child?’ <i>I</i> +could have told him what a man gained by such a deed, no one +better: but I held my peace and shivered as with an ague.</p> +<p>Mistaking my emotion, they were endeavouring to cheer me with +the hope that the boy would certainly be found,—great cheer +that was for me!—when we heard a low deep howl, and +presently there sprung over the wall two great dogs, who, +bounding into the garden, repeated the baying sound we had heard +before.</p> +<p>‘Bloodhounds!’ cried my visitors.</p> +<p>What need to tell me that! I had never seen one of that +kind in all my life, but I knew what they were and for what +purpose they had come. I grasped the elbows of my chair, +and neither spoke nor moved.</p> +<p>‘They are of the genuine breed,’ said the man whom +I had known abroad, ‘and being out for exercise have no +doubt escaped from their keeper.’</p> +<p>Both he and his friend turned to look at the dogs, who with +their noses to the ground moved restlessly about, running to and +fro, and up and down, and across, and round in circles, careering +about like wild things, and all this time taking no notice of us, +but ever and again repeating the yell we had heard already, then +dropping their noses to the ground again and tracking earnestly +here and there. They now began to snuff the earth more +eagerly than they had done yet, and although they were still very +restless, no longer beat about in such wide circuits, but kept +near to one spot, and constantly diminished the distance between +themselves and me.</p> +<p>At last they came up close to the great chair on which I sat, +and raising their frightful howl once more, tried to tear away +the wooden rails that kept them from the ground beneath. I +saw how I looked, in the faces of the two who were with me.</p> +<p> ‘They scent some prey,’ said they, both +together.</p> +<p>‘They scent no prey!’ cried I.</p> +<p>‘In Heaven’s name, move!’ said the one I +knew, very earnestly, ‘or you will be torn to +pieces.’</p> +<p>‘Let them tear me from limb to limb, I’ll never +leave this place!’ cried I. ‘Are dogs to hurry +men to shameful deaths? Hew them down, cut them in +pieces.’</p> +<p><a name="page254"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +254</span>‘There is some foul mystery here!’ said the +officer whom I did not know, drawing his sword. ‘In +King Charles’s name, assist me to secure this +man.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p254b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Hunted down" +title= +"Hunted down" +src="images/p254s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>They both set upon me and forced me away, though I fought and +bit and caught at them like a madman. After a struggle, +they got me quietly between them; and then, my God! I saw +the angry dogs tearing at the earth and throwing it up into the +air like water.</p> +<p>What more have I to tell? That I fell upon my knees, and +with chattering teeth confessed the truth, and prayed to be +forgiven. That I have since denied, and now confess to it +again. That I have been tried for the crime, found guilty, +and sentenced. That I have not the courage to anticipate my +doom, or to bear up manfully against it. That I have no +compassion, no consolation, no hope, no friend. That my +wife has happily lost for the time those faculties which would +enable her to know my misery or hers. That I am alone in +this stone dungeon with my evil spirit, and that I die to-morrow. +<a name="citation255"></a><a href="#footnote255" +class="citation">[255]</a></p> +<h3>CORRESPONDENCE</h3> +<p>Master Humphrey has been favoured with the following letter +written on strongly-scented paper, and sealed in light-blue wax +with the representation of two very plump doves interchanging +beaks. It does not commence with any of the usual forms of +address, but begins as is here set forth.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Bath, Wednesday night.</p> +<p>Heavens! into what an indiscretion do I suffer myself to be +betrayed! To address these faltering lines to a total +stranger, and that stranger one of a conflicting sex!—and +yet I am precipitated into the abyss, and have no power of +self-snatchation (forgive me if I coin that phrase) from the +yawning gulf before me.</p> +<p>Yes, I am writing to a man; but let me not think of that, for +madness is in the thought. You will understand my +feelings? O yes, I am sure you will; and you will respect +them too, and not despise them,—will you?</p> +<p>Let me be calm. That portrait,—smiling as once he +smiled on me; that cane,—dangling as I have seen it dangle +from his hand I know not how oft; those legs that have glided +through my nightly dreams and never stopped to speak; the +perfectly gentlemanly, though false original,—can I be +mistaken? O no, no.</p> +<p>Let me be calmer yet; I would be calm as coffins. You +have published a letter from one whose likeness is engraved, but +whose name (and wherefore?) is suppressed. Shall <i>I</i> +breathe that name! Is it—but why ask when my heart +tells me too truly that it is!</p> +<p>I would not upbraid him with his treachery; I would not remind +him of those times when he plighted the most eloquent of vows, +and procured from me a small pecuniary accommodation; and yet I +would see him—see him did I +say—<i>him</i>—alas! such is woman’s +nature. For as the poet beautifully says—but you will +already have anticipated the sentiment. Is it not +sweet? O yes!</p> +<p>It was in this city (hallowed by the recollection) that I met +him first; and assuredly if mortal happiness be recorded +anywhere, then those rubbers with their three-and-sixpenny points +are scored on tablets of celestial brass. He always held an +honour—generally two. On that eventful night we stood +at eight. He raised his eyes (luminous in their seductive +sweetness) to my agitated face. ‘<i>Can</i> +you?’ said he, with peculiar meaning. I felt the +gentle pressure of his foot on mine; our corns throbbed in +unison. ‘<i>Can</i> you?’ he said again; and +every lineament of his expressive countenance added the words +‘resist me?’ I murmured ‘No,’ and +fainted.</p> +<p>They said, when I recovered, it was the weather. +<i>I</i> said it was the nutmeg in the negus. How little +did they suspect the truth! How little did they guess the +deep mysterious meaning of that inquiry! He called next +morning on his knees; I do not mean to say that he actually came +in that position to the house-door, but that he went down upon +those joints directly the servant had retired. He brought +some verses in his hat, which he said were original, but which I +have since found were Milton’s; likewise a little bottle +labelled laudanum; also a pistol and a sword-stick. He drew +the latter, uncorked the former, and clicked the trigger of the +pocket fire-arm. He had come, he said, to conquer or to +die. He did not die. He wrested from me an avowal of +my love, and let off the pistol out of a back window previous to +partaking of a slight repast.</p> +<p>Faithless, inconstant man! How many ages seem to have +elapsed since his unaccountable and perfidious +disappearance! Could I still forgive him both that and the +borrowed lucre that he promised to pay next week! Could I +spurn him from my feet if he approached in penitence, and with a +matrimonial object! Would the blandishing enchanter still +weave his spells around me, or should I burst them all and turn +away in coldness! I dare not trust my weakness with the +thought.</p> +<p>My brain is in a whirl again. You know his address, his +occupations, his mode of life,—are acquainted, perhaps, +with his inmost thoughts. You are a humane and +philanthropic character; reveal all you know—all; but +especially the street and number of his lodgings. The post +is departing, the bellman rings,—pray Heaven it be not the +knell of love and hope to</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Belinda</span>.</p> +<p>P.S. Pardon the wanderings of a bad pen and a distracted +mind. Address to the Post-office. The bellman, +rendered impatient by delay, is ringing dreadfully in the +passage.</p> +<p>P.P.S. I open this to say that the bellman is gone, and that +you must not expect it till the next post; so don’t be +surprised when you don’t get it.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Master Humphrey does not feel himself at liberty to furnish +his fair correspondent with the address of the gentleman in +question, but he publishes her letter as a public appeal to his +faith and gallantry.</p> +<h2>III</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">MASTER HUMPHREY’S VISITOR</p> +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> I am in a thoughtful mood, I +often succeed in diverting the current of some mournful +reflections, by conjuring up a number of fanciful associations +with the objects that surround me, and dwelling upon the scenes +and characters they suggest.</p> +<p>I have been led by this habit to assign to every room in my +house and every old staring portrait on its walls a separate +interest of its own. Thus, I am persuaded that a stately +dame, terrible to behold in her rigid modesty, who hangs above +the chimney-piece of my bedroom, is the former lady of the +mansion. In the courtyard below is a stone face of +surpassing ugliness, which I have somehow—in a kind of +jealousy, I am afraid—associated with her husband. +Above my study is a little room with ivy peeping through the +lattice, from which I bring their daughter, a lovely girl of +eighteen or nineteen years of age, and dutiful in all respects +save one, that one being her devoted attachment to a young +gentleman on the stairs, whose grandmother (degraded to a disused +laundry in the garden) piques herself upon an old family quarrel, +and is the implacable enemy of their love. With such +materials as these I work out many a little drama, whose chief +merit is, that I can bring it to a happy end at will. I +have so many of them on hand, that if on my return home one of +these evenings I were to find some bluff old wight of two +centuries ago comfortably seated in my easy chair, and a lovelorn +damsel vainly appealing to his heart, and leaning her white arm +upon my clock itself, I verily believe I should only express my +surprise that they had kept me waiting so long, and never +honoured me with a call before.</p> +<p>I was in such a mood as this, sitting in my garden yesterday +morning under the shade of a favourite tree, revelling in all the +bloom and brightness about me, and feeling every sense of hope +and enjoyment quickened by this most beautiful season of Spring, +when my meditations were interrupted by the unexpected appearance +of my barber at the end of the walk, who I immediately saw was +coming towards me with a hasty step that betokened something +remarkable.</p> +<p>My barber is at all times a very brisk, bustling, active +little man,—for he is, as it were, chubby all over, without +being stout or unwieldy,—but yesterday his alacrity was so +very uncommon that it quite took me by surprise. For could +I fail to observe when he came up to me that his gray eyes were +twinkling in a most extraordinary manner, that his little red +nose was in an unusual glow, that every line in his round bright +face was twisted and curved into an expression of pleased +surprise, and that his whole countenance was radiant with +glee? I was still more surprised to see my housekeeper, who +usually preserves a very staid air, and stands somewhat upon her +dignity, peeping round the hedge at the bottom of the walk, and +exchanging nods and smiles with the barber, who twice or thrice +looked over his shoulder for that purpose. I could conceive +no announcement to which these appearances could be the prelude, +unless it were that they had married each other that morning.</p> +<p>I was, consequently, a little disappointed when it only came +out that there was a gentleman in the house who wished to speak +with me.</p> +<p>‘And who is it?’ said I.</p> +<p>The barber, with his face screwed up still tighter than +before, replied that the gentleman would not send his name, but +wished to see me. I pondered for a moment, wondering who +this visitor might be, and I remarked that he embraced the +opportunity of exchanging another nod with the housekeeper, who +still lingered in the distance.</p> +<p>‘Well!’ said I, ‘bid the gentleman come +here.’</p> +<p>This seemed to be the consummation of the barber’s +hopes, for he turned sharp round, and actually ran away.</p> +<p>Now, my sight is not very good at a distance, and therefore +when the gentleman first appeared in the walk, I was not quite +clear whether he was a stranger to me or otherwise. He was +an elderly gentleman, but came tripping along in the pleasantest +manner conceivable, avoiding the garden-roller and the borders of +the beds with inimitable dexterity, picking his way among the +flower-pots, and smiling with unspeakable good humour. +Before he was half-way up the walk he began to salute me; then I +thought I knew him; but when he came towards me with his hat in +his hand, the sun shining on his bald head, his bland face, his +bright spectacles, his fawn-coloured tights, and his black +gaiters,—then my heart warmed towards him, and I felt quite +certain that it was Mr. Pickwick.</p> +<p><a name="page259"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +259</span>‘My dear sir,’ said that gentleman as I +rose to receive him, ‘pray be seated. Pray sit +down. Now, do not stand on my account. I must insist +upon it, really.’ With these words Mr. Pickwick +gently pressed me down into my seat, and taking my hand in his, +shook it again and again with a warmth of manner perfectly +irresistible. I endeavoured to express in my welcome +something of that heartiness and pleasure which the sight of him +awakened, and made him sit down beside me. All this time he +kept alternately releasing my hand and grasping it again, and +surveying me through his spectacles with such a beaming +countenance as I never till then beheld.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p259b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Mr. Pickwick introduces himself to Master Humphrey" +title= +"Mr. Pickwick introduces himself to Master Humphrey" +src="images/p259s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>‘You knew me directly!’ said Mr. Pickwick. +‘What a pleasure it is to think that you knew me +directly!’</p> +<p>I remarked that I had read his adventures very often, and his +features were quite familiar to me from the published +portraits. As I thought it a good opportunity of adverting +to the circumstance, I condoled with him upon the various libels +on his character which had found their way into print. Mr. +Pickwick shook his head, and for a moment looked very indignant, +but smiling again directly, added that no doubt I was acquainted +with Cervantes’s introduction to the second part of Don +Quixote, and that it fully expressed his sentiments on the +subject.</p> +<p>‘But now,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘don’t +you wonder how I found you out?’</p> +<p>‘I shall never wonder, and, with your good leave, never +know,’ said I, smiling in my turn. ‘It is +enough for me that you give me this gratification. I have +not the least desire that you should tell me by what means I have +obtained it.’</p> +<p>‘You are very kind,’ returned Mr. Pickwick, +shaking me by the hand again; ‘you are so exactly what I +expected! But for what particular purpose do you think I +have sought you, my dear sir? Now what <i>do</i> you think +I have come for?’</p> +<p>Mr. Pickwick put this question as though he were persuaded +that it was morally impossible that I could by any means divine +the deep purpose of his visit, and that it must be hidden from +all human ken. Therefore, although I was rejoiced to think +that I had anticipated his drift, I feigned to be quite ignorant +of it, and after a brief consideration shook my head +despairingly.</p> +<p>‘What should you say,’ said Mr. Pickwick, laying +the forefinger of his left hand upon my coat-sleeve, and looking +at me with his head thrown back, and a little on one +side,—‘what should you say if I confessed that after +reading your account of yourself and your little society, I had +come here, a humble candidate for one of those empty +chairs?’</p> +<p>‘I should say,’ I returned, ‘that I know of +only one circumstance which could still further endear that +little society to me, and that would be the associating with it +my old friend,—for you must let me call you so,—my +old friend, Mr. Pickwick.’</p> +<p>As I made him this answer every feature of Mr. +Pickwick’s face fused itself into one all-pervading +expression of delight. After shaking me heartily by both +hands at once, he patted me gently on the back, and then—I +well understood why—coloured up to the eyes, and hoped with +great earnestness of manner that he had not hurt me.</p> +<p>If he had, I would have been content that he should have +repeated the offence a hundred times rather than suppose so; but +as he had not, I had no difficulty in changing the subject by +making an inquiry which had been upon my lips twenty times +already.</p> +<p>‘You have not told me,’ said I, ‘anything +about Sam Weller.’</p> +<p>‘O! Sam,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, ‘is the same +as ever. The same true, faithful fellow that he ever +was. What should I tell you about Sam, my dear sir, except +that he is more indispensable to my happiness and comfort every +day of my life?’</p> +<p>‘And Mr. Weller senior?’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Old Mr. Weller,’ returned Mr. Pickwick, ‘is +in no respect more altered than Sam, unless it be that he is a +little more opinionated than he was formerly, and perhaps at +times more talkative. He spends a good deal of his time now +in our neighbourhood, and has so constituted himself a part of my +bodyguard, that when I ask permission for Sam to have a seat in +your kitchen on clock nights (supposing your three friends think +me worthy to fill one of the chairs), I am afraid I must often +include Mr. Weller too.’</p> +<p>I very readily pledged myself to give both Sam and his father +a free admission to my house at all hours and seasons, and this +point settled, we fell into a lengthy conversation which was +carried on with as little reserve on both sides as if we had been +intimate friends from our youth, and which conveyed to me the +comfortable assurance that Mr. Pickwick’s buoyancy of +spirit, and indeed all his old cheerful characteristics, were +wholly unimpaired. As he had spoken of the consent of my +friends as being yet in abeyance, I repeatedly assured him that +his proposal was certain to receive their most joyful sanction, +and several times entreated that he would give me leave to +introduce him to Jack Redburn and Mr. Miles (who were near at +hand) without further ceremony.</p> +<p>To this proposal, however, Mr. Pickwick’s delicacy would +by no means allow him to accede, for he urged that his +eligibility must be formally discussed, and that, until this had +been done, he could not think of obtruding himself further. +The utmost I could obtain from him was a promise that he would +attend upon our next night of meeting, that I might have the +pleasure of presenting him immediately on his election.</p> +<p>Mr. Pickwick, having with many blushes placed in my hands a +small roll of paper, which he termed his +‘qualification,’ put a great many questions to me +touching my friends, and particularly Jack Redburn, whom he +repeatedly termed ‘a fine fellow,’ and in whose +favour I could see he was strongly predisposed. When I had +satisfied him on these points, I took him up into my room, that +he might make acquaintance with the old chamber which is our +place of meeting.</p> +<p>‘And this,’ said Mr. Pickwick, stopping short, +‘is the clock! Dear me! And this is really the +old clock!’</p> +<p>I thought he would never have come away from it. After +advancing towards it softly, and laying his hand upon it with as +much respect and as many smiling looks as if it were alive, he +set himself to consider it in every possible direction, now +mounting on a chair to look at the top, now going down upon his +knees to examine the bottom, now surveying the sides with his +spectacles almost touching the case, and now trying to peep +between it and the wall to get a slight view of the back. +Then he would retire a pace or two and look up at the dial to see +it go, and then draw near again and stand with his head on one +side to hear it tick: never failing to glance towards me at +intervals of a few seconds each, and nod his head with such +complacent gratification as I am quite unable to describe. +His admiration was not confined to the clock either, but extended +itself to every article in the room; and really, when he had gone +through them every one, and at last sat himself down in all the +six chairs, one after another, to try how they felt, I never saw +such a picture of good-humour and happiness as he presented, from +the top of his shining head down to the very last button of his +gaiters.</p> +<p>I should have been well pleased, and should have had the +utmost enjoyment of his company, if he had remained with me all +day, but my favourite, striking the hour, reminded him that he +must take his leave. I could not forbear telling him once +more how glad he had made me, and we shook hands all the way +down-stairs.</p> +<p>We had no sooner arrived in the Hall than my housekeeper, +gliding out of her little room (she had changed her gown and cap, +I observed), greeted Mr. Pickwick with her best smile and +courtesy; and the barber, feigning to be accidentally passing on +his way out, made him a vast number of bows. When the +housekeeper courtesied, Mr. Pickwick bowed with the utmost +politeness, and when he bowed, the housekeeper courtesied again; +between the housekeeper and the barber, I should say that Mr. +Pickwick faced about and bowed with undiminished affability fifty +times at least.</p> +<p>I saw him to the door; an omnibus was at the moment passing +the corner of the lane, which Mr. Pickwick hailed and ran after +with extraordinary nimbleness. When he had got about +half-way, he turned his head, and seeing that I was still looking +after him and that I waved my hand, stopped, evidently irresolute +whether to come back and shake hands again, or to go on. +The man behind the omnibus shouted, and Mr. Pickwick ran a little +way towards him: then he looked round at me, and ran a little way +back again. Then there was another shout, and he turned +round once more and ran the other way. After several of +these vibrations, the man settled the question by taking Mr. +Pickwick by the arm and putting him into the carriage; but his +last action was to let down the window and wave his hat to me as +it drove off.</p> +<p>I lost no time in opening the parcel he had left with +me. The following were its contents:—</p> +<h3>MR. PICKWICK’S TALE</h3> +<p>A good many years have passed away since old John Podgers +lived in the town of Windsor, where he was born, and where, in +course of time, he came to be comfortably and snugly +buried. You may be sure that in the time of King James the +First, Windsor was a very quaint queer old town, and you may take +it upon my authority that John Podgers was a very quaint queer +old fellow; consequently he and Windsor fitted each other to a +nicety, and seldom parted company even for half a day.</p> +<p>John Podgers was broad, sturdy, Dutch-built, short, and a very +hard eater, as men of his figure often are. Being a hard +sleeper likewise, he divided his time pretty equally between +these two recreations, always falling asleep when he had done +eating, and always taking another turn at the trencher when he +had done sleeping, by which means he grew more corpulent and more +drowsy every day of his life. Indeed it used to be +currently reported that when he sauntered up and down the sunny +side of the street before dinner (as he never failed to do in +fair weather), he enjoyed his soundest nap; but many people held +this to be a fiction, as he had several times been seen to look +after fat oxen on market-days, and had even been heard, by +persons of good credit and reputation, to chuckle at the sight, +and say to himself with great glee, ‘Live beef, live +beef!’ It was upon this evidence that the wisest +people in Windsor (beginning with the local authorities of +course) held that John Podgers was a man of strong, sound sense, +not what is called smart, perhaps, and it might be of a rather +lazy and apoplectic turn, but still a man of solid parts, and one +who meant much more than he cared to show. This impression +was confirmed by a very dignified way he had of shaking his head +and imparting, at the same time, a pendulous motion to his double +chin; in short, he passed for one of those people who, being +plunged into the Thames, would make no vain efforts to set it +afire, but would straightway flop down to the bottom with a deal +of gravity, and be highly respected in consequence by all good +men.</p> +<p>Being well to do in the world, and a peaceful +widower,—having a great appetite, which, as he could afford +to gratify it, was a luxury and no inconvenience, and a power of +going to sleep, which, as he had no occasion to keep awake, was a +most enviable faculty,—you will readily suppose that John +Podgers was a happy man. But appearances are often +deceptive when they least seem so, and the truth is that, +notwithstanding his extreme sleekness, he was rendered uneasy in +his mind and exceedingly uncomfortable by a constant apprehension +that beset him night and day.</p> +<p>You know very well that in those times there flourished divers +evil old women who, under the name of Witches, spread great +disorder through the land, and inflicted various dismal tortures +upon Christian men; sticking pins and needles into them when they +least expected it, and causing them to walk in the air with their +feet upwards, to the great terror of their wives and families, +who were naturally very much disconcerted when the master of the +house unexpectedly came home, knocking at the door with his heels +and combing his hair on the scraper. These were their +commonest pranks, but they every day played a hundred others, of +which none were less objectionable, and many were much more so, +being improper besides; the result was that vengeance was +denounced against all old women, with whom even the king himself +had no sympathy (as he certainly ought to have had), for with his +own most Gracious hand he penned a most Gracious consignment of +them to everlasting wrath, and devised most Gracious means for +their confusion and slaughter, in virtue whereof scarcely a day +passed but one witch at the least was most graciously hanged, +drowned, or roasted in some part of his dominions. Still +the press teemed with strange and terrible news from the North or +the South, or the East or the West, relative to witches and their +unhappy victims in some corner of the country, and the +Public’s hair stood on end to that degree that it lifted +its hat off its head, and made its face pale with terror.</p> +<p>You may believe that the little town of Windsor did not escape +the general contagion. The inhabitants boiled a witch on +the king’s birthday and sent a bottle of the broth to +court, with a dutiful address expressive of their loyalty. +The king, being rather frightened by the present, piously +bestowed it upon the Archbishop of Canterbury, and returned an +answer to the address, wherein he gave them golden rules for +discovering witches, and laid great stress upon certain +protecting charms, and especially horseshoes. Immediately +the towns-people went to work nailing up horseshoes over every +door, and so many anxious parents apprenticed their children to +farriers to keep them out of harm’s way, that it became +quite a genteel trade, and flourished exceedingly.</p> +<p>In the midst of all this bustle John Podgers ate and slept as +usual, but shook his head a great deal oftener than was his +custom, and was observed to look at the oxen less, and at the old +women more. He had a little shelf put up in his +sitting-room, whereon was displayed, in a row which grew longer +every week, all the witchcraft literature of the time; he grew +learned in charms and exorcisms, hinted at certain questionable +females on broomsticks whom he had seen from his chamber window, +riding in the air at night, and was in constant terror of being +bewitched. At length, from perpetually dwelling upon this +one idea, which, being alone in his head, had all its own way, +the fear of witches became the single passion of his life. +He, who up to that time had never known what it was to dream, +began to have visions of witches whenever he fell asleep; waking, +they were incessantly present to his imagination likewise; and, +sleeping or waking, he had not a moment’s peace. He +began to set witch-traps in the highway, and was often seen lying +in wait round the corner for hours together, to watch their +effect. These engines were of simple construction, usually +consisting of two straws disposed in the form of a cross, or a +piece of a Bible cover with a pinch of salt upon it; but they +were infallible, and if an old woman chanced to stumble over them +(as not unfrequently happened, the chosen spot being a broken and +stony place), John started from a doze, pounced out upon her, and +hung round her neck till assistance arrived, when she was +immediately carried away and drowned. By dint of constantly +inveigling old ladies and disposing of them in this summary +manner, he acquired the reputation of a great public character; +and as he received no harm in these pursuits beyond a scratched +face or so, he came, in the course of time, to be considered +witch-proof.</p> +<p>There was but one person who entertained the least doubt of +John Podgers’s gifts, and that person was his own nephew, a +wild, roving young fellow of twenty who had been brought up in +his uncle’s house and lived there still,—that is to +say, when he was at home, which was not as often as it might have +been. As he was an apt scholar, it was he who read aloud +every fresh piece of strange and terrible intelligence that John +Podgers bought; and this he always did of an evening in the +little porch in front of the house, round which the neighbours +would flock in crowds to hear the direful news,—for people +like to be frightened, and when they can be frightened for +nothing and at another man’s expense, they like it all the +better.</p> +<p>One fine midsummer evening, a group of persons were gathered +in this place, listening intently to Will Marks (that was the +nephew’s name), as with his cap very much on one side, his +arm coiled slyly round the waist of a pretty girl who sat beside +him, and his face screwed into a comical expression intended to +represent extreme gravity, he read—with Heaven knows how +many embellishments of his own—a dismal account of a +gentleman down in Northamptonshire under the influence of +witchcraft and taken forcible possession of by the Devil, who was +playing his very self with him. John Podgers, in a high +sugar-loaf hat and short cloak, filled the opposite seat, and +surveyed the auditory with a look of mingled pride and horror +very edifying to see; while the hearers, with their heads thrust +forward and their mouths open, listened and trembled, and hoped +there was a great deal more to come. Sometimes Will stopped +for an instant to look round upon his eager audience, and then, +with a more comical expression of face than before and a settling +of himself comfortably, which included a squeeze of the young +lady before mentioned, he launched into some new wonder +surpassing all the others.</p> +<p>The setting sun shed his last golden rays upon this little +party, who, absorbed in their present occupation, took no heed of +the approach of night, or the glory in which the day went down, +when the sound of a horse, approaching at a good round trot, +invading the silence of the hour, caused the reader to make a +sudden stop, and the listeners to raise their heads in +wonder. Nor was their <a name="page266"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 266</span>wonder diminished when a horseman +dashed up to the porch, and abruptly checking his steed, inquired +where one John Podgers dwelt.</p> +<p>‘Here!’ cried a dozen voices, while a dozen hands +pointed out sturdy John, still basking in the terrors of the +pamphlet.</p> +<p>The rider, giving his bridle to one of those who surrounded +him, dismounted, and approached John, hat in hand, but with great +haste.</p> +<p>‘Whence come ye?’ said John.</p> +<p>‘From Kingston, master.’</p> +<p>‘And wherefore?’</p> +<p>‘On most pressing business.’</p> +<p>‘Of what nature?’</p> +<p>‘Witchcraft.’</p> +<p>Witchcraft! Everybody looked aghast at the breathless +messenger, and the breathless messenger looked equally aghast at +everybody—except Will Marks, who, finding himself +unobserved, not only squeezed the young lady again, but kissed +her twice. Surely he must have been bewitched himself, or +he never could have done it—and the young lady too, or she +never would have let him.</p> +<p>‘Witchcraft!’ cried Will, drowning the sound of +his last kiss, which was rather a loud one.</p> +<p>The messenger turned towards him, and with a frown repeated +the word more solemnly than before; then told his errand, which +was, in brief, that the people of Kingston had been greatly +terrified for some nights past by hideous revels, held by witches +beneath the gibbet within a mile of the town, and related and +deposed to by chance wayfarers who had passed within ear-shot of +the spot; that the sound of their voices in their wild orgies had +been plainly heard by many persons; that three old women laboured +under strong suspicion, and that precedents had been consulted +and solemn council had, and it was found that to identify the +hags some single person must watch upon the spot alone; that no +single person had the courage to perform the task; and that he +had been despatched express to solicit John Podgers to undertake +it that very night, as being a man of great renown, who bore a +charmed life, and was proof against unholy spells.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p266b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Will Marks reading the News concerning Witches" +title= +"Will Marks reading the News concerning Witches" +src="images/p266s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>John received this communication with much composure, and said +in a few words, that it would have afforded him inexpressible +pleasure to do the Kingston people so slight a service, if it +were not for his unfortunate propensity to fall asleep, which no +man regretted more than himself upon the present occasion, but +which quite settled the question. Nevertheless, he said, +there <i>was</i> a gentleman present (and here he looked very +hard at a tall farrier), who, having been engaged all his life in +the manufacture of horseshoes, must be quite invulnerable to the +power of witches, and who, he had no doubt, from his own +reputation for bravery and good-nature, would readily accept the +commission. The farrier politely thanked him for his good +opinion, which it would always be his study to deserve, but added +that, with regard to the present little matter, he couldn’t +think of it on any account, as his departing on such an errand +would certainly occasion the instant death of his wife, to whom, +as they all knew, he was tenderly attached. Now, so far +from this circumstance being notorious, everybody had suspected +the reverse, as the farrier was in the habit of beating his lady +rather more than tender husbands usually do; all the married men +present, however, applauded his resolution with great vehemence, +and one and all declared that they would stop at home and die if +needful (which happily it was not) in defence of their lawful +partners.</p> +<p>This burst of enthusiasm over, they began to look, as by one +consent, toward Will Marks, who, with his cap more on one side +than ever, sat watching the proceedings with extraordinary +unconcern. He had never been heard openly to express his +disbelief in witches, but had often cut such jokes at their +expense as left it to be inferred; publicly stating on several +occasions that he considered a broomstick an inconvenient +charger, and one especially unsuited to the dignity of the female +character, and indulging in other free remarks of the same +tendency, to the great amusement of his wild companions.</p> +<p>As they looked at Will they began to whisper and murmur among +themselves, and at length one man cried, ‘Why don’t +you ask Will Marks?’</p> +<p>As this was what everybody had been thinking of, they all took +up the word, and cried in concert, ‘Ah! why don’t you +ask Will?’</p> +<p>‘<i>He</i> don’t care,’ said the +farrier.</p> +<p>‘Not he,’ added another voice in the crowd.</p> +<p>‘He don’t believe in it, you know,’ sneered +a little man with a yellow face and a taunting nose and chin, +which he thrust out from under the arm of a long man before +him.</p> +<p>‘Besides,’ said a red-faced gentleman with a gruff +voice, ‘he’s a single man.’</p> +<p>‘That’s the point!’ said the farrier; and +all the married men murmured, ah! that was it, and they only +wished they were single themselves; they would show him what +spirit was, very soon.</p> +<p>The messenger looked towards Will Marks beseechingly.</p> +<p>‘It will be a wet night, friend, and my gray nag is +tired after yesterday’s work—’</p> +<p>Here there was a general titter.</p> +<p>‘But,’ resumed Will, looking about him with a +smile, ‘if nobody else puts in a better claim to go, for +the credit of the town I am your man, and I would be, if I had to +go afoot. In five minutes I shall be in the saddle, unless +I am depriving any worthy gentleman here of the honour of the +adventure, which I wouldn’t do for the world.’</p> +<p>But here arose a double difficulty, for not only did John +Podgers combat the resolution with all the words he had, which +were not many, but the young lady combated it too with all the +tears she had, which were very many indeed. Will, however, +being inflexible, parried his uncle’s objections with a +joke, and coaxed the young lady into a smile in three short +whispers. As it was plain that he set his mind upon it, and +would go, John Podgers offered him a few first-rate charms out of +his own pocket, which he dutifully declined to accept; and the +young lady gave him a kiss, which he also returned.</p> +<p>‘You see what a rare thing it is to be married,’ +said Will, ‘and how careful and considerate all these +husbands are. There’s not a man among them but his +heart is leaping to forestall me in this adventure, and yet a +strong sense of duty keeps him back. The husbands in this +one little town are a pattern to the world, and so must the wives +be too, for that matter, or they could never boast half the +influence they have!’</p> +<p>Waiting for no reply to this sarcasm, he snapped his fingers +and withdrew into the house, and thence into the stable, while +some busied themselves in refreshing the messenger, and others in +baiting his steed. In less than the specified time he +returned by another way, with a good cloak hanging over his arm, +a good sword girded by his side, and leading his good horse +caparisoned for the journey.</p> +<p>‘Now,’ said Will, leaping into the saddle at a +bound, ‘up and away. Upon your mettle, friend, and +push on. Good night!’</p> +<p>He kissed his hand to the girl, nodded to his drowsy uncle, +waved his cap to the rest—and off they flew pell-mell, as +if all the witches in England were in their horses’ +legs. They were out of sight in a minute.</p> +<p>The men who were left behind shook their heads doubtfully, +stroked their chins, and shook their heads again. The +farrier said that certainly Will Marks was a good horseman, +nobody should ever say he denied that: but he was rash, very +rash, and there was no telling what the end of it might be; what +did he go for, that was what he wanted to know? He wished +the young fellow no harm, but why did he go? Everybody +echoed these words, and shook their heads again, having done +which they wished John Podgers good night, and straggled home to +bed.</p> +<p>The Kingston people were in their first sleep when Will Marks +and his conductor rode through the town and up to the door of a +house where sundry grave functionaries were assembled, anxiously +expecting the arrival of the renowned Podgers. They were a +little disappointed to find a gay young man in his place; but +they put the best face upon the matter, and gave him full +instructions how he was to conceal himself behind the gibbet, and +watch and listen to the witches, and how at a certain time he was +to burst forth and cut and slash among them vigorously, so that +the suspected parties might be found bleeding in their beds next +day, and thoroughly confounded. They gave him a great +quantity of wholesome advice besides, and—which was more to +the purpose with Will—a good supper. All these things +being done, and midnight nearly come, <a name="page270"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 270</span>they sallied forth to show him the +spot where he was to keep his dreary vigil.</p> +<p>The night was by this time dark and threatening. There +was a rumbling of distant thunder, and a low sighing of wind +among the trees, which was very dismal. The potentates of +the town kept so uncommonly close to Will that they trod upon his +toes, or stumbled against his ankles, or nearly tripped up his +heels at every step he took, and, besides these annoyances, their +teeth chattered so with fear, that he seemed to be accompanied by +a dirge of castanets.</p> +<p>At last they made a halt at the opening of a lonely, desolate +space, and, pointing to a black object at some distance, asked +Will if he saw that, yonder.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘What +then?’</p> +<p>Informing him abruptly that it was the gibbet where he was to +watch, they wished him good night in an extremely friendly +manner, and ran back as fast as their feet would carry them.</p> +<p>Will walked boldly to the gibbet, and, glancing upwards when +he came under it, saw—certainly with +satisfaction—that it was empty, and that nothing dangled +from the top but some iron chains, which swung mournfully to and +fro as they were moved by the breeze. After a careful +survey of every quarter he determined to take his station with +his face towards the town; both because that would place him with +his back to the wind, and because, if any trick or surprise were +attempted, it would probably come from that direction in the +first instance. Having taken these precautions, he wrapped +his cloak about him so that it left the handle of his sword free, +and ready to his hand, and leaning against the gallows-tree with +his cap not quite so much on one side as it had been before, took +up his position for the night.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p270b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Will Marks takes up his position for the night" +title= +"Will Marks takes up his position for the night" +src="images/p270s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h3>SECOND CHAPTER OF MR. PICKWICK’S TALE</h3> +<p>We left Will Marks leaning under the gibbet with his face +towards the town, scanning the distance with a keen eye, which +sought to pierce the darkness and catch the earliest glimpse of +any person or persons that might approach towards him. But +all was quiet, and, save the howling of the wind as it swept +across the heath in gusts, and the creaking of the chains that +dangled above his head, there was no sound to break the sullen +stillness of the night. After half an hour or so this +monotony became more disconcerting to Will than the most furious +uproar would have been, and he heartily wished for some one +antagonist with whom he might have a fair stand-up fight, if it +were only to warm himself.</p> +<p>Truth to tell, it was a bitter wind, and seemed to blow to the +very heart of a man whose blood, heated but now with rapid +riding, was the more sensitive to the chilling blast. Will +was a daring fellow, and cared not a jot for hard knocks or sharp +blades; but he could not persuade himself to move or walk about, +having just that vague expectation of a sudden assault which made +it a comfortable thing to have something at his back, even though +that something were a gallows-tree. He had no great faith +in the superstitions of the age, still such of them as occurred +to him did not serve to lighten the time, or to render his +situation the more endurable. He remembered how witches +were said to repair at that ghostly hour to churchyards and +gibbets, and such-like dismal spots, to pluck the bleeding +mandrake or scrape the flesh from dead men’s bones, as +choice ingredients for their spells; how, stealing by night to +lonely places, they dug graves with their finger-nails, or +anointed themselves before riding in the air, with a delicate +pomatum made of the fat of infants newly boiled. These, and +many other fabled practices of a no less agreeable nature, and +all having some reference to the circumstances in which he was +placed, passed and repassed in quick succession through the mind +of Will Marks, and adding a shadowy dread to that distrust and +watchfulness which his situation inspired, rendered it, upon the +whole, sufficiently uncomfortable. As he had foreseen, too, +the rain began to descend heavily, and driving before the wind in +a thick mist, obscured even those few objects which the darkness +of the night had before imperfectly revealed.</p> +<p>‘Look!’ shrieked a voice. ‘Great +Heaven, it has fallen down, and stands erect as if it +lived!’</p> +<p>The speaker was close behind him; the voice was almost at his +ear. Will threw off his cloak, drew his sword, and darting +swiftly round, seized a woman by the wrist, who, recoiling from +him with a dreadful shriek, fell struggling upon her knees. +Another woman, clad, like her whom he had grasped, in mourning +garments, stood rooted to the spot on which they were, gazing +upon his face with wild and glaring eyes that quite appalled +him.</p> +<p>‘Say,’ cried Will, when they had confronted each +other thus for some time, ‘what are ye?’</p> +<p>‘Say what are <i>you</i>,’ returned the woman, +‘who trouble even this obscene resting-place of the dead, +and strip the gibbet of its honoured burden? Where is the +body?’</p> +<p>He looked in wonder and affright from the woman who questioned +him to the other whose arm he clutched.</p> +<p>‘Where is the body?’ repeated the questioner more +firmly than before. ‘You wear no livery which marks +you for the hireling of the government. You are no friend +to us, or I should recognise you, for the friends of such as we +are few in number. What are you then, and wherefore are you +here?’</p> +<p>‘I am no foe to the distressed and helpless,’ said +Will. ‘Are ye among that number? ye should be by your +looks.’</p> +<p>‘We are!’ was the answer.</p> +<p>‘Is it ye who have been wailing and weeping here under +cover of the night?’ said Will.</p> +<p>‘It is,’ replied the woman sternly; and pointing, +as she spoke, towards her companion, ‘she mourns a husband, +and I a brother. Even the bloody law that wreaks its +vengeance on the dead does not make that a crime, and if it did +’twould be alike to us who are past its fear or +favour.’</p> +<p>Will glanced at the two females, and could barely discern that +the one whom he addressed was much the elder, and that the other +was young and of a slight figure. Both were deadly pale, +their garments wet and worn, their hair dishevelled and streaming +in the wind, themselves bowed down with grief and misery; their +whole appearance most dejected, wretched, and forlorn. A +sight so different from any he had expected to encounter touched +him to the quick, and all idea of anything but their pitiable +condition vanished before it.</p> +<p>‘I am a rough, blunt yeoman,’ said Will. +‘Why I came here is told in a word; you have been overheard +at a distance in the silence of the night, and I have undertaken +a watch for hags or spirits. I came here expecting an +adventure, and prepared to go through with any. If there be +aught that I can do to help or aid you, name it, and on the faith +of a man who can be secret and trusty, I will stand by you to the +death.’</p> +<p>‘How comes this gibbet to be empty?’ asked the +elder female.</p> +<p>‘I swear to you,’ replied Will, ‘that I know +as little as yourself. But this I know, that when I came +here an hour ago or so, it was as it is now; and if, as I gather +from your question, it was not so last night, sure I am that it +has been secretly disturbed without the knowledge of the folks in +yonder town. Bethink you, therefore, whether you have no +friends in league with you or with him on whom the law has done +its worst, by whom these sad remains have been removed for +burial.’</p> +<p>The women spoke together, and Will retired a pace or two while +they conversed apart. He could hear them sob and moan, and +saw that they wrung their hands in fruitless agony. He +could make out little that they said, but between whiles he +gathered enough to assure him that his suggestion was not very +wide of the mark, and that they not only suspected by whom the +body had been removed, but also whither it had been +conveyed. When they had been in conversation a long time, +they turned towards him once more. This time the younger +female spoke.</p> +<p>‘You have offered us your help?’</p> +<p>‘I have.’</p> +<p>‘And given a pledge that you are still willing to +redeem?’</p> +<p>‘Yes. So far as I may, keeping all plots and +conspiracies at arm’s length.’</p> +<p>‘Follow us, friend.’</p> +<p>Will, whose self-possession was now quite restored, needed no +second bidding, but with his drawn sword in his hand, and his +cloak so muffled over his left arm as to serve for a kind of +shield without offering any impediment to its free action, +suffered them to lead the way. Through mud and mire, and +wind and rain, they walked in silence a full mile. At +length they turned into a dark lane, where, suddenly starting out +from beneath some trees where he had taken shelter, a man +appeared, having in his charge three saddled horses. One of +these (his own apparently), in obedience to a whisper from the +women, he consigned to Will, who, seeing that they mounted, +mounted also. Then, without a word spoken, they rode on +together, leaving the attendant behind.</p> +<p>They made no halt nor slackened their pace until they arrived +near Putney. At a large wooden house which stood apart from +any other they alighted, and giving their horses to one who was +already waiting, passed in by a side door, and so up some narrow +creaking stairs into a small panelled chamber, where Will was +left alone. He had not been here very long, when the door +was softly opened, and there entered to him a cavalier whose face +was concealed beneath a black mask.</p> +<p>Will stood upon his guard, and scrutinised this figure from +head to foot. The form was that of a man pretty far +advanced in life, but of a firm and stately carriage. His +dress was of a rich and costly kind, but so soiled and disordered +that it was scarcely to be recognised for one of those gorgeous +suits which the expensive taste and fashion of the time +prescribed for men of any rank or station.</p> +<p>He was booted and spurred, and bore about him even as many +tokens of the state of the roads as Will himself. All this +he noted, while the eyes behind the mask regarded him with equal +attention. This survey over, the cavalier broke +silence.</p> +<p>‘Thou’rt young and bold, and wouldst be richer +than thou art?’</p> +<p>‘The two first I am,’ returned Will. +‘The last I have scarcely thought of. But be it +so. Say that I would be richer than I am; what +then?’</p> +<p>‘The way lies before thee now,’ replied the +Mask.</p> +<p>‘Show it me.’</p> +<p>‘First let me inform thee, that thou wert brought here +to-night lest thou shouldst too soon have told thy tale to those +who placed thee on the watch.’</p> +<p>‘I thought as much when I followed,’ said +Will. ‘But I am no blab, not I.’</p> +<p>‘Good,’ returned the Mask. ‘Now +listen. He who was to have executed the enterprise of +burying that body, which, as thou hast suspected, was taken down +to-night, has left us in our need.’</p> +<p>Will nodded, and thought within himself that if the Mask were +to attempt to play any tricks, the first eyelet-hole on the +left-hand side of his doublet, counting from the buttons up the +front, would be a very good place in which to pink him +neatly.</p> +<p>‘Thou art here, and the emergency is desperate. I +propose his task to thee. Convey the body (now coffined in +this house), by means that I shall show, to the Church of St. +Dunstan in London to-morrow night, and thy service shall be +richly paid. Thou’rt about to ask whose corpse it +is. Seek not to know. I warn thee, seek not to +know. Felons hang in chains on every moor and heath. +Believe, as others do, that this was one, and ask no +further. The murders of state policy, its victims or +avengers, had best remain unknown to such as thee.’</p> +<p>‘The mystery of this service,’ said Will, +‘bespeaks its danger. What is the reward?’</p> +<p>‘One hundred golden unities,’ replied the +cavalier. ‘The danger to one who cannot be recognised +as the friend of a fallen cause is not great, but there is some +hazard to be run. Decide between that and the +reward.’</p> +<p>‘What if I refuse?’ said Will.</p> +<p>‘Depart in peace, in God’s name,’ returned +the Mask in a melancholy tone, ‘and keep our secret, +remembering that those who brought thee here were crushed and +stricken women, and that those who bade thee go free could have +had thy life with one word, and no man the wiser.’</p> +<p>Men were readier to undertake desperate adventures in those +times than they are now. In this case the temptation was +great, and the punishment, even in case of detection, was not +likely to be very severe, as Will came of a loyal stock, and his +uncle was in good repute, and a passable tale to account for his +possession of the body and his ignorance of the identity might be +easily devised.</p> +<p>The cavalier explained that a coveted cart had been prepared +for the purpose; that the time of departure could be arranged so +that he should reach London Bridge at dusk, and proceed through +the City after the day had closed in; that people would be ready +at his journey’s end to place the coffin in a vault without +a minute’s delay; that officious inquirers in the streets +would be easily repelled by the tale that he was carrying for +interment the corpse of one who had died of the plague; and in +short showed him every reason why he should succeed, and none why +he should fail. After a time they were joined by another +gentleman, masked like the first, who added new arguments to +those which had been already urged; the wretched wife, too, added +her tears and prayers to their calmer representations; and in the +end, Will, moved by compassion and good-nature, by a love of the +marvellous, by a mischievous anticipation of the terrors of the +Kingston people when he should be missing next day, and finally, +by the prospect of gain, took upon himself the task, and devoted +all his energies to its successful execution.</p> +<p>The following night, when it was quite dark, the hollow echoes +of old London Bridge responded to the rumbling of the cart which +contained the ghastly load, the object of Will Marks’ +care. Sufficiently disguised to attract no attention by his +garb, Will walked at the horse’s head, as unconcerned as a +man could be who was sensible that he had now arrived at the most +dangerous part of his undertaking, but full of boldness and +confidence.</p> +<p>It was now eight o’clock. After nine, none could +walk the streets without danger of their lives, and even at this +hour, robberies and murder were of no uncommon occurrence. +The shops upon the bridge were all closed; the low wooden arches +thrown across the way were like so many black pits, in every one +of which ill-favoured fellows lurked in knots of three or four; +some standing upright against the wall, lying in wait; others +skulking in gateways, and thrusting out their uncombed heads and +scowling eyes: others crossing and recrossing, and constantly +jostling both horse and man to provoke a quarrel; others stealing +away and summoning their companions in a low whistle. Once, +even in that short passage, there was the noise of scuffling and +the clash of swords behind him, but Will, who knew the City and +its ways, kept straight on and scarcely turned his head.</p> +<p>The streets being unpaved, the rain of the night before had +converted them into a perfect quagmire, which the splashing +water-spouts from the gables, and the filth and offal cast from +the different houses, swelled in no small degree. These +odious matters being left to putrefy in the close and heavy air, +emitted an insupportable stench, to which every court and passage +poured forth a contribution of its own. Many parts, even of +the main streets, with their projecting stories tottering +overhead and nearly shutting out the sky, were more like huge +chimneys than open ways. At the corners of some of these, +great bonfires were burning to prevent infection from the plague, +of which it was rumoured that some citizens had lately died; and +few, who availing themselves of the light thus afforded paused +for a moment to look around them, would have been disposed to +doubt the existence of the disease, or wonder at its dreadful +visitations.</p> +<p>But it was not in such scenes as these, or even in the deep +and miry road, that Will Marks found the chief obstacles to his +progress. There were kites and ravens feeding in the +streets (the only scavengers the City kept), who, scenting what +he carried, followed the cart or fluttered on its top, and +croaked their knowledge of its burden and their ravenous appetite +for prey. There were distant fires, where the poor wood and +plaster tenements wasted fiercely, and whither crowds made their +way, clamouring eagerly for plunder, beating down all who came +within their reach, and yelling like devils let loose. +There were single-handed men flying from bands of ruffians, who +pursued them with naked weapons, and hunted them savagely; there +were drunken, desperate robbers issuing from their dens and +staggering through the open streets where no man dared molest +them; there were vagabond servitors returning from the Bear +Garden, where had been good sport that day, dragging after them +their torn and bleeding dogs, or leaving them to die and rot upon +the road. Nothing was abroad but cruelty, violence, and +disorder.</p> +<p>Many were the interruptions which Will Marks encountered from +these stragglers, and many the narrow escapes he made. Now +some stout bully would take his seat upon the cart, insisting to +be driven to his own home, and now two or three men would come +down upon him together, and demand that on peril of his life he +showed them what he had inside. Then a party of the city +watch, upon their rounds, would draw across the road, and not +satisfied with his tale, question him closely, and revenge +themselves by a little cuffing and hustling for maltreatment +sustained at other hands that night. All these assailants +had to be rebutted, some by fair words, some by foul, and some by +blows. But Will Marks was not the man to be stopped or +turned back now he had penetrated so far, and though he got on +slowly, still he made his way down Fleet-street and reached the +church at last.</p> +<p>As he had been forewarned, all was in readiness. +Directly he stopped, the coffin was removed by four men, who +appeared so suddenly that they seemed to have started from the +earth. A fifth mounted the cart, and scarcely allowing Will +time to snatch from it <a name="page277"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 277</span>a little bundle containing such of +his own clothes as he had thrown off on assuming his disguise, +drove briskly away. Will never saw cart or man again.</p> +<p>He followed the body into the church, and it was well he lost +no time in doing so, for the door was immediately closed. +There was no light in the building save that which came from a +couple of torches borne by two men in cloaks, who stood upon the +brink of a vault. Each supported a female figure, and all +observed a profound silence.</p> +<p>By this dim and solemn glare, which made Will feel as though +light itself were dead, and its tomb the dreary arches that +frowned above, they placed the coffin in the vault, with +uncovered heads, and closed it up. One of the torch-bearers +then turned to Will, and stretched forth his hand, in which was a +purse of gold. Something told him directly that those were +the same eyes which he had seen beneath the mask.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p277b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Will Marks arrives at the Church" +title= +"Will Marks arrives at the Church" +src="images/p277s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>‘Take it,’ said the cavalier in a low voice, +‘and be happy. Though these have been hasty +obsequies, and no priest has blessed the work, there will not be +the less peace with thee thereafter, for having laid his bones +beside those of his little children. Keep thy own counsel, +for thy sake no less than ours, and God be with thee!’</p> +<p>‘The blessing of a widowed mother on thy head, good +friend!’ cried the younger lady through her tears; +‘the blessing of one who has now no hope or rest but in +this grave!’</p> +<p>Will stood with the purse in his hand, and involuntarily made +a gesture as though he would return it, for though a thoughtless +fellow, he was of a frank and generous nature. But the two +gentlemen, extinguishing their torches, cautioned him to be gone, +as their common safety would be endangered by a longer delay; and +at the same time their retreating footsteps sounded through the +church. He turned, therefore, towards the point at which he +had entered, and seeing by a faint gleam in the distance that the +door was again partially open, groped his way towards it and so +passed into the street.</p> +<p>Meantime the local authorities of Kingston had kept watch and +ward all the previous night, fancying every now and then that +dismal shrieks were borne towards them on the wind, and +frequently winking to each other, and drawing closer to the fire +as they drank the health of the lonely sentinel, upon whom a +clerical gentleman present was especially severe by reason of his +levity and youthful folly. Two or three of the gravest in +company, who were of a theological turn, propounded to him the +question, whether such a character was not but poorly armed for +single combat with the Devil, and whether he himself would not +have been a stronger opponent; but the clerical gentleman, +sharply reproving them for their presumption in discussing such +questions, clearly showed that a fitter champion than Will could +scarcely have been selected, not only for that being a child of +Satan, he was the less likely to be alarmed by the appearance of +his own father, but because Satan himself would be at his ease in +such company, and would not scruple to kick up his heels to an +extent which it was quite certain he would never venture before +clerical eyes, under whose influence (as was notorious) he became +quite a tame and milk-and-water character.</p> +<p>But when next morning arrived, and with it no Will Marks, and +when a strong party repairing to the spot, as a strong party +ventured to do in broad day, found Will gone and the gibbet +empty, matters grew serious indeed. The day passing away +and no news arriving, and the night going on also without any +intelligence, the thing grew more tremendous still; in short, the +neighbourhood worked itself up to such a comfortable pitch of +mystery and horror, that it is a great question whether the +general feeling was not one of excessive disappointment, when, on +the second morning, Will Marks returned.</p> +<p>However this may be, back Will came in a very cool and +collected state, and appearing not to trouble himself much about +anybody except old John Podgers, who, having been sent for, was +sitting in the Town Hall crying slowly, and dozing between +whiles. Having embraced his uncle and assured him of his +safety, Will mounted on a table and told his story to the +crowd.</p> +<p>And surely they would have been the most unreasonable crowd +that ever assembled together, if they had been in the least +respect disappointed with the tale he told them; for besides +describing the Witches’ Dance to the minutest motion of +their legs, and performing it in character on the table, with the +assistance of a broomstick, he related how they had carried off +the body in a copper caldron, and so bewitched him, that he lost +his senses until he found himself lying under a hedge at least +ten miles off, whence he had straightway returned as they then +beheld. The story gained such universal applause that it +soon afterwards brought down express from London the great +witch-finder of the age, the Heaven-born Hopkins, who having +examined Will closely on several points, pronounced it the most +extraordinary and the best accredited witch-story ever known, +under which title it was published at the Three Bibles on London +Bridge, in small quarto, with a view of the caldron from an +original drawing, and a portrait of the clerical gentleman as he +sat by the fire.</p> +<p>On one point Will was particularly careful: and that was to +describe for the witches he had seen, three impossible old +females, whose likenesses never were or will be. Thus he +saved the lives of the suspected parties, and of all other old +women who were dragged before him to be identified.</p> +<p>This circumstance occasioned John Podgers much grief and +sorrow, until happening one day to cast his eyes upon his +housekeeper, and observing her to be plainly afflicted with +rheumatism, he procured her to be burnt as an undoubted +witch. For this service to the state he was immediately +knighted, and became from that time Sir John Podgers.</p> +<p>Will Marks never gained any clue to the mystery in which he +had been an actor, nor did any inscription in the church, which +he often visited afterwards, nor any of the limited inquiries +that he dared to make, yield him the least assistance. As +he kept his own secret, he was compelled to spend the gold +discreetly and sparingly. In the course of time he married +the young lady of whom I have already told you, whose maiden name +is not recorded, with whom he led a prosperous and happy +life. Years and years after this adventure, it was his wont +to tell her upon a stormy night that it was a great comfort to +him to think those bones, to whomsoever they might have once +belonged, were not bleaching in the troubled air, but were +mouldering away with the dust of their own kith and kindred in a +quiet grave.</p> +<h3>FURTHER PARTICULARS OF MASTER HUMPHREY’S VISITOR</h3> +<p>Being very full of Mr. Pickwick’s application, and +highly pleased with the compliment he had paid me, it will be +readily supposed that long before our next night of meeting I +communicated it to my three friends, who unanimously voted his +admission into our body. We all looked forward with some +impatience to the occasion which would enroll him among us, but I +am greatly mistaken if Jack Redburn and myself were not by many +degrees the most impatient of the party.</p> +<p>At length the night came, and a few minutes after ten Mr. +Pickwick’s knock was heard at the street-door. He was +shown into a lower room, and I directly took my crooked stick and +went to accompany him up-stairs, in order that he might be +presented with all honour and formality.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Pickwick,’ said I, on entering the room, +‘I am rejoiced to see you,—rejoiced to believe that +this is but the opening of a long series of visits to this house, +and but the beginning of a close and lasting +friendship.’</p> +<p>That gentleman made a suitable reply with a cordiality and +frankness peculiarly his own, and glanced with a smile towards +two persons behind the door, whom I had not at first observed, +and whom I immediately recognised as Mr. Samuel Weller and his +father.</p> +<p>It was a warm evening, but the elder Mr. Weller was attired, +notwithstanding, in a most capacious greatcoat, and his chin +enveloped in a large speckled shawl, such as is usually worn by +stage coachmen on active service. He looked very rosy and +very stout, especially about the legs, which appeared to have +been compressed into his top-boots with some difficulty. +His broad-brimmed hat he held under his left arm, and with the +forefinger of his right hand he touched his forehead a great many +times in acknowledgment of my presence.</p> +<p>‘I am very glad to see you in such good health, Mr. +Weller,’ said I.</p> +<p>‘Why, thankee, sir,’ returned Mr. Weller, +‘the axle an’t broke yet. We keeps up a steady +pace,—not too sewere, but vith a moderate degree o’ +friction,—and the consekens is that ve’re still a +runnin’ and comes in to the time reg’lar.—My +son Samivel, sir, as you may have read on in history,’ +added Mr. Weller, introducing his first-born.</p> +<p>I received Sam very graciously, but before he could say a word +his father struck in again.</p> +<p>‘Samivel Veller, sir,’ said the old gentleman, +‘has conferred upon me the ancient title o’ +grandfather vich had long laid dormouse, and wos s’posed to +be nearly hex-tinct in our family. Sammy, relate a anecdote +o’ vun o’ them boys,—that ’ere little +anecdote about young Tony sayin’ as he <i>would</i> smoke a +pipe unbeknown to his mother.’</p> +<p>‘Be quiet, can’t you?’ said Sam; ‘I +never see such a old magpie—never!’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p282b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Tony Weller and his Grandson" +title= +"Tony Weller and his Grandson" +src="images/p282s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>‘That ’ere Tony is the blessedest boy,’ said +Mr. Weller, heedless of this rebuff, ‘the blessedest boy as +ever <i>I</i> see in <i>my</i> days! of all the charmin’est +infants as ever I heerd tell on, includin’ them as was +kivered over by the robin-redbreasts arter they’d committed +sooicide with blackberries, there never wos any like that +’ere little Tony. He’s alvays a playin’ +vith a quart pot, that boy is! To see him a settin’ +down on the doorstep pretending to drink out of it, and fetching +a long breath artervards, and smoking a bit of firevood, and +sayin’, “Now I’m grandfather,”—to +see him a doin’ that at two year old is better than any +play as wos ever wrote. “Now I’m +grandfather!” He wouldn’t take a pint pot if +you wos to make him a present on it, but he gets his quart, and +then he says, “Now I’m grandfather!”’</p> +<p>Mr. Weller was so overpowered by this picture that he +straightway fell into a most alarming fit of coughing, which must +certainly have been attended with some fatal result but for the +dexterity and promptitude of Sam, who, taking a firm grasp of the +shawl just under his father’s chin, shook him to and fro +with great violence, at the same time administering some smart +blows between his shoulders. By this curious mode of +treatment Mr. Weller was finally recovered, but with a very +crimson face, and in a state of great exhaustion.</p> +<p>‘He’ll do now, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, who +had been in some alarm himself.</p> +<p>‘He’ll do, sir!’ cried Sam, looking +reproachfully at his parent. ‘Yes, he <i>will</i> do +one o’ these days,—he’ll do for his-self and +then he’ll wish he hadn’t. Did anybody ever see +sich a inconsiderate old file,—laughing into conwulsions +afore company, and stamping on the floor as if he’d brought +his own carpet vith him and wos under a wager to punch the +pattern out in a given time? He’ll begin again in a +minute. There—he’s a goin’ off—I +said he would!’</p> +<p><a name="page282"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 282</span>In +fact, Mr. Weller, whose mind was still running upon his +precocious grandson, was seen to shake his head from side to +side, while a laugh, working like an earthquake, below the +surface, produced various extraordinary appearances in his face, +chest, and shoulders,—the more alarming because +unaccompanied by any noise whatever. These emotions, +however, gradually subsided, and after three or four short +relapses he wiped his eyes with the cuff of his coat, and looked +about him with tolerable composure.</p> +<p>‘Afore the governor vith-draws,’ said Mr. Weller, +‘there is a pint, respecting vich Sammy has a qvestion to +ask. Vile that qvestion is a perwadin’ this here +conwersation, p’raps the genl’men vill permit me to +re-tire.’</p> +<p>‘Wot are you goin’ away for?’ demanded Sam, +seizing his father by the coat-tail.</p> +<p>‘I never see such a undootiful boy as you, +Samivel,’ returned Mr. Weller. ‘Didn’t +you make a solemn promise, amountin’ almost to a speeches +o’ wow, that you’d put that ’ere qvestion on my +account?’</p> +<p>‘Well, I’m agreeable to do it,’ said Sam, +‘but not if you go cuttin’ away like that, as the +bull turned round and mildly observed to the drover ven they wos +a goadin’ him into the butcher’s door. The fact +is, sir,’ said Sam, addressing me, ‘that he wants to +know somethin’ respectin’ that ’ere lady as is +housekeeper here.’</p> +<p>‘Ay. What is that?’</p> +<p>‘Vy, sir,’ said Sam, grinning still more, +‘he wishes to know vether she—’</p> +<p>‘In short,’ interposed old Mr. Weller decisively, +a perspiration breaking out upon his forehead, ‘vether that +’ere old creetur is or is not a widder.’</p> +<p>Mr. Pickwick laughed heartily, and so did I, as I replied +decisively, that ‘my housekeeper was a spinster.’</p> +<p>‘There!’ cried Sam, ‘now you’re +satisfied. You hear she’s a spinster.’</p> +<p>‘A wot?’ said his father, with deep scorn.</p> +<p>‘A spinster,’ replied Sam.</p> +<p>Mr. Weller looked very hard at his son for a minute or two, +and then said,</p> +<p>‘Never mind vether she makes jokes or not, that’s +no matter. Wot I say is, is that ’ere female a +widder, or is she not?’</p> +<p>‘Wot do you mean by her making jokes?’ demanded +Sam, quite aghast at the obscurity of his parent’s +speech.</p> +<p>‘Never you mind, Samivel,’ returned Mr. Weller +gravely; ‘puns may be wery good things or they may be wery +bad ’uns, and a female may be none the better or she may be +none the vurse for making of ’em; that’s got nothing +to do vith widders.’</p> +<p>‘Wy now,’ said Sam, looking round, ‘would +anybody believe as a man at his time o’ life could be +running his head agin spinsters and punsters being the same +thing?’</p> +<p>‘There an’t a straw’s difference between +’em,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Your father +didn’t drive a coach for so many years, not to be ekal to +his own langvidge as far as <i>that</i> goes, Sammy.’</p> +<p>Avoiding the question of etymology, upon which the old +gentleman’s mind was quite made up, he was several times +assured that the housekeeper had never been married. He +expressed great satisfaction on hearing this, and apologised for +the question, remarking that he had been greatly terrified by a +widow not long before, and that his natural timidity was +increased in consequence.</p> +<p>‘It wos on the rail,’ said Mr. Weller, with strong +emphasis; ‘I wos a goin’ down to Birmingham by the +rail, and I wos locked up in a close carriage vith a living +widder. Alone we wos; the widder and me wos alone; and I +believe it wos only because we <i>wos</i> alone and there wos no +clergyman in the conwayance, that that ’ere widder +didn’t marry me afore ve reached the half-way +station. Ven I think how she began a screaming as we wos a +goin’ under them tunnels in the dark,—how she kept on +a faintin’ and ketchin’ hold o’ me,—and +how I tried to bust open the door as was tight-locked and +perwented all escape—Ah! It was a awful thing, most +awful!’</p> +<p>Mr. Weller was so very much overcome by this retrospect that +he was unable, until he had wiped his brow several times, to +return any reply to the question whether he approved of railway +communication, notwithstanding that it would appear from the +answer which he ultimately gave, that he entertained strong +opinions on the subject.</p> +<p>‘I con-sider,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘that the +rail is unconstitootional and an inwaser o’ priwileges, and +I should wery much like to know what that ’ere old Carter +as once stood up for our liberties and wun ’em too,—I +should like to know wot he vould say, if he wos alive now, to +Englishmen being locked up vith widders, or with anybody again +their wills. Wot a old Carter would have said, a old +Coachman may say, and I as-sert that in that pint o’ view +alone, the rail is an inwaser. As to the comfort, +vere’s the comfort o’ sittin’ in a harm-cheer +lookin’ at brick walls or heaps o’ mud, never +comin’ to a public-house, never seein’ a glass +o’ ale, never goin’ through a pike, never +meetin’ a change o’ no kind (horses or othervise), +but alvays comin’ to a place, ven you come to one at all, +the wery picter o’ the last, vith the same p’leesemen +standing about, the same blessed old bell a ringin’, the +same unfort’nate people standing behind the bars, a +waitin’ to be let in; and everythin’ the same except +the name, vich is wrote up in the same sized letters as the last +name, and vith the same colours. As to the <i>h</i>onour +and dignity o’ travellin’, vere can that be vithout a +coachman; and wot’s the rail to sich coachmen and guards as +is sometimes forced to go by it, but a outrage and a +insult? As to the pace, wot sort o’ pace do you think +I, Tony Veller, could have kept a coach goin’ at, for five +hundred thousand pound a mile, paid in adwance afore the coach +was on the road? And as to the ingein,—a nasty, +wheezin’, creakin’, gaspin’, puffin’, +bustin’ monster, alvays out o’ breath, vith a shiny +green-and-gold back, like a unpleasant beetle in that ’ere +gas magnifier,—as to the ingein as is alvays a +pourin’ out red-hot coals at night, and black smoke in the +day, the sensiblest thing it does, in my opinion, is, ven +there’s somethin’ in the vay, and it sets up that +’ere frightful scream vich seems to say, “Now +here’s two hundred and forty passengers in the wery +greatest extremity o’ danger, and here’s their two +hundred and forty screams in vun!”’</p> +<p>By this time I began to fear that my friends would be rendered +impatient by my protracted absence. I therefore begged Mr. +Pickwick to accompany me up-stairs, and left the two Mr. Wellers +in the care of the housekeeper, laying strict injunctions upon +her to treat them with all possible hospitality.</p> +<h2>IV</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">THE CLOCK</p> +<p><span class="smcap">As</span> we were going up-stairs, Mr. +Pickwick put on his spectacles, which he had held in his hand +hitherto; arranged his neckerchief, smoothed down his waistcoat, +and made many other little preparations of that kind which men +are accustomed to be mindful of, when they are going among +strangers for the first time, and are anxious to impress them +pleasantly. Seeing that I smiled, he smiled too, and said +that if it had occurred to him before he left home, he would +certainly have presented himself in pumps and silk stockings.</p> +<p>‘I would, indeed, my dear sir,’ he said very +seriously; ‘I would have shown my respect for the society, +by laying aside my gaiters.’</p> +<p>‘You may rest assured,’ said I, ‘that they +would have regretted your doing so very much, for they are quite +attached to them.’</p> +<p>‘No, really!’ cried Mr. Pickwick, with manifest +pleasure. ‘Do you think they care about my +gaiters? Do you seriously think that they identify me at +all with my gaiters?’</p> +<p>‘I am sure they do,’ I replied.</p> +<p>‘Well, now,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that is one +of the most charming and agreeable circumstances that could +possibly have occurred to me!’</p> +<p>I should not have written down this short conversation, but +that it developed a slight point in Mr. Pickwick’s +character, with which I was not previously acquainted. He +has a secret pride in his legs. The manner in which he +spoke, and the accompanying glance he bestowed upon his tights, +convince me that Mr. Pickwick regards his legs with much innocent +vanity.</p> +<p>‘But here are our friends,’ said I, opening the +door and taking his arm in mine; ‘let them speak for +themselves.—Gentlemen, I present to you Mr. +Pickwick.’</p> +<p>Mr. Pickwick and I must have been a good contrast just +then. I, leaning quietly on my crutch-stick, with something +of a care-worn, patient air; he, having hold of my arm, and +bowing in every direction with the most elastic politeness, and +an expression of face whose sprightly cheerfulness and +good-humour knew no bounds. The difference between us must +have been more striking yet, as we advanced towards the table, +and the amiable gentleman, adapting his jocund step to my poor +tread, had his attention divided between treating my infirmities +with the utmost consideration, and affecting to be wholly +unconscious that I required any.</p> +<p>I made him personally known to each of my friends in +turn. First, to the deaf gentleman, whom he regarded with +much interest, and accosted with great frankness and +cordiality. He had evidently some vague idea, at the +moment, that my friend being deaf must be dumb also; for when the +latter opened his lips to express the pleasure it afforded him to +know a gentleman of whom he had heard so much, Mr. Pickwick was +so extremely disconcerted, that I was obliged to step in to his +relief.</p> +<p>His meeting with Jack Redburn was quite a treat to see. +Mr. Pickwick smiled, and shook hands, and looked at him through +his spectacles, and under them, and over them, and nodded his +head approvingly, and then nodded to me, as much as to say, +‘This is just the man; you were quite right;’ and +then turned to Jack and said a few hearty words, and then did and +said everything over again with unimpaired vivacity. As to +Jack himself, he was quite as much delighted with Mr. Pickwick as +Mr. Pickwick could possibly be with him. Two people never +can have met together since the world began, who exchanged a +warmer or more enthusiastic greeting.</p> +<p>It was amusing to observe the difference between this +encounter and that which succeeded, between Mr. Pickwick and Mr. +Miles. It was clear that the latter gentleman viewed our +new member as a kind of rival in the affections of Jack Redburn, +and besides this, he had more than once hinted to me, in secret, +that although he had no doubt Mr. Pickwick was a very worthy man, +still he did consider that some of his exploits were unbecoming a +gentleman of his years and gravity. Over and above these +grounds of distrust, it is one of his fixed opinions, that the +law never can by possibility do anything wrong; he therefore +looks upon Mr. Pickwick as one who has justly suffered in purse +and peace for a breach of his plighted faith to an unprotected +female, and holds that he is called upon to regard him with some +suspicion on that account. These causes led to a rather +cold and formal reception; which Mr. Pickwick acknowledged with +the same stateliness and intense politeness as was displayed on +the other side. Indeed, he assumed an air of such majestic +defiance, that I was fearful he might break out into some solemn +protest or declaration, and therefore inducted him into his chair +without a moment’s delay.</p> +<p>This piece of generalship was perfectly successful. The +instant he took his seat, Mr. Pickwick surveyed us all with a +most benevolent aspect, and was taken with a fit of smiling full +five minutes long. His interest in our ceremonies was +immense. They are not very numerous or complicated, and a +description of them may be comprised in very few words. As +our transactions have already been, and must necessarily continue +to be, more or less anticipated by being presented in these pages +at different times, and under various forms, they do not require +a detailed account.</p> +<p>Our first proceeding when we are assembled is to shake hands +all round, and greet each other with cheerful and pleasant +looks. Remembering that we assemble not only for the +promotion of our happiness, but with the view of adding something +to the common stock, an air of languor or indifference in any +member of our body would be regarded by the others as a kind of +treason. We have never had an offender in this respect; but +if we had, there is no doubt that he would be taken to task +pretty severely.</p> +<p>Our salutation over, the venerable piece of antiquity from +which we take our name is wound up in silence. The ceremony +is always performed by Master Humphrey himself (in treating of +the club, I may be permitted to assume the historical style, and +speak of myself in the third person), who mounts upon a chair for +the purpose, armed with a large key. While it is in +progress, Jack Redburn is required to keep at the farther end of +the room under the guardianship of Mr. Miles, for he is known to +entertain certain aspiring and unhallowed thoughts connected with +the clock, and has even gone so far as to state that if he might +take the works out for a day or two, he thinks he could improve +them. We pardon him his presumption in consideration of his +good intentions, and his keeping this respectful distance, which +last penalty is insisted on, lest by secretly wounding the object +of our regard in some tender part, in the ardour of his zeal for +its improvement, he should fill us with dismay and +consternation.</p> +<p>This regulation afforded Mr. Pickwick the highest delight, and +seemed, if possible, to exalt Jack in his good opinion.</p> +<p>The next ceremony is the opening of the clock-case (of which +Master Humphrey has likewise the key), the taking from it as many +papers as will furnish forth our evening’s entertainment, +and arranging in the recess such new contributions as have been +provided since our last meeting. This is always done with +peculiar solemnity. The deaf gentleman then fills and +lights his pipe, and we once more take our seats round the table +before mentioned, Master Humphrey acting as president,—if +we can be said to have any president, where all are on the same +social footing,—and our friend Jack as secretary. Our +preliminaries being now concluded, we fall into any train of +conversation that happens to suggest itself, or proceed +immediately to one of our readings. In the latter case, the +paper selected is consigned to Master Humphrey, who flattens it +carefully on the table and makes dog’s ears in the corner +of every page, ready for turning over easily; Jack Redburn trims +the lamp with a small machine of his own invention which usually +puts it out; Mr. Miles looks on with great approval +notwithstanding; the deaf gentleman draws in his chair, so that +he can follow the words on the paper or on Master +Humphrey’s lips as he pleases; and Master Humphrey <a +name="page288"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 288</span>himself, +looking round with mighty gratification, and glancing up at his +old clock, begins to read aloud.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p288b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Proceedings of the Club" +title= +"Proceedings of the Club" +src="images/p288s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>Mr. Pickwick’s face, while his tale was being read, +would have attracted the attention of the dullest man +alive. The complacent motion of his head and forefinger as +he gently beat time, and corrected the air with imaginary +punctuation, the smile that mantled on his features at every +jocose passage, and the sly look he stole around to observe its +effect, the calm manner in which he shut his eyes and listened +when there was some little piece of description, the changing +expression with which he acted the dialogue to himself, his agony +that the deaf gentleman should know what it was all about, and +his extraordinary anxiety to correct the reader when he hesitated +at a word in the manuscript, or substituted a wrong one, were +alike worthy of remark. And when at last, endeavouring to +communicate with the deaf gentleman by means of the finger +alphabet, with which he constructed such words as are unknown in +any civilised or savage language, he took up a slate and wrote in +large text, one word in a line, the question, +‘How—do—you—like—it?’—when +he did this, and handing it over the table awaited the reply, +with a countenance only brightened and improved by his great +excitement, even Mr. Miles relaxed, and could not forbear looking +at him for the moment with interest and favour.</p> +<p>‘It has occurred to me,’ said the deaf gentleman, +who had watched Mr. Pickwick and everybody else with silent +satisfaction—‘it has occurred to me,’ said the +deaf gentleman, taking his pipe from his lips, ‘that now is +our time for filling our only empty chair.’</p> +<p>As our conversation had naturally turned upon the vacant seat, +we lent a willing ear to this remark, and looked at our friend +inquiringly.</p> +<p>‘I feel sure,’ said he, ‘that Mr. Pickwick +must be acquainted with somebody who would be an acquisition to +us; that he must know the man we want. Pray let us not lose +any time, but set this question at rest. Is it so, Mr. +Pickwick?’</p> +<p>The gentleman addressed was about to return a verbal reply, +but remembering our friend’s infirmity, he substituted for +this kind of answer some fifty nods. Then taking up the +slate and printing on it a gigantic ‘Yes,’ he handed +it across the table, and rubbing his hands as he looked round +upon our faces, protested that he and the deaf gentleman quite +understood each other, already.</p> +<p>‘The person I have in my mind,’ said Mr. Pickwick, +‘and whom I should not have presumed to mention to you +until some time hence, but for the opportunity you have given me, +is a very strange old man. His name is Bamber.’</p> +<p>‘Bamber!’ said Jack. ‘I have certainly +heard the name before.’</p> +<p>‘I have no doubt, then,’ returned Mr. Pickwick, +‘that you remember him in those adventures of mine (the +Posthumous Papers of our old club, I mean), although he is only +incidentally mentioned; and, if I remember right, appears but +once.’</p> +<p>‘That’s it,’ said Jack. ‘Let me +see. He is the person who has a grave interest in old +mouldy chambers and the Inns of Court, and who relates some +anecdotes having reference to his favourite theme,—and an +odd ghost story,—is that the man?’</p> +<p>‘The very same. Now,’ said Mr. Pickwick, +lowering his voice to a mysterious and confidential tone, +‘he is a very extraordinary and remarkable person; living, +and talking, and looking, like some strange spirit, whose delight +is to haunt old buildings; and absorbed in that one subject which +you have just mentioned, to an extent which is quite +wonderful. When I retired into private life, I sought him +out, and I do assure you that the more I see of him, the more +strongly I am impressed with the strange and dreamy character of +his mind.’</p> +<p>‘Where does he live?’ I inquired.</p> +<p>‘He lives,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘in one of +those dull, lonely old places with which his thoughts and stories +are all connected; quite alone, and often shut up close for +several weeks together. In this dusty solitude he broods +upon the fancies he has so long indulged, and when he goes into +the world, or anybody from the world without goes to see him, +they are still present to his mind and still his favourite +topic. I may say, I believe, that he has brought himself to +entertain a regard for me, and an interest in my visits; feelings +which I am certain he would extend to Master Humphrey’s +Clock if he were once tempted to join us. All I wish you to +understand is, that he is a strange, secluded visionary, in the +world but not of it; and as unlike anybody here as he is unlike +anybody elsewhere that I have ever met or known.’</p> +<p>Mr. Miles received this account of our proposed companion with +rather a wry face, and after murmuring that perhaps he was a +little mad, inquired if he were rich.</p> +<p>‘I never asked him,’ said Mr. Pickwick.</p> +<p>‘You might know, sir, for all that,’ retorted Mr. +Miles, sharply.</p> +<p>‘Perhaps so, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, no less +sharply than the other, ‘but I do not. Indeed,’ +he added, relapsing into his usual mildness, ‘I have no +means of judging. He lives poorly, but that would seem to +be in keeping with his character. I never heard him allude +to his circumstances, and never fell into the society of any man +who had the slightest acquaintance with them. I have really +told you all I know about him, and it rests with you to say +whether you wish to know more, or know quite enough +already.’</p> +<p>We were unanimously of opinion that we would seek to know +more; and as a sort of compromise with Mr. Miles (who, although +he said ‘Yes—O certainly—he should like to know +more about the gentleman—he had no right to put himself in +opposition to the general wish,’ and so forth, shook his +head doubtfully and hemmed several times with peculiar gravity), +it was arranged that Mr. Pickwick should carry me with him on an +evening visit to the subject of our discussion, for which purpose +an early appointment between that gentleman and myself was +immediately agreed upon; it being understood that I was to act +upon my own responsibility, and to invite him to join us or not, +as I might think proper. This solemn question determined, +we returned to the clock-case (where we have been forestalled by +the reader), and between its contents, and the conversation they +occasioned, the remainder of our time passed very quickly.</p> +<p>When we broke up, Mr. Pickwick took me aside to tell me that +he had spent a most charming and delightful evening. Having +made this communication with an air of the strictest secrecy, he +took Jack Redburn into another corner to tell him the same, and +then retired into another corner with the deaf gentleman and the +slate, to repeat the assurance. It was amusing to observe +the contest in his mind whether he should extend his confidence +to Mr. Miles, or treat him with dignified reserve. Half a +dozen times he stepped up behind him with a friendly air, and as +often stepped back again without saying a word; at last, when he +was close at that gentleman’s ear and upon the very point +of whispering something conciliating and agreeable, Mr. Miles +happened suddenly to turn his head, upon which Mr. Pickwick +skipped away, and said with some fierceness, ‘Good night, +sir—I was about to say good night, sir,—nothing +more;’ and so made a bow and left him.</p> +<p>‘Now, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, when he had got +down-stairs.</p> +<p>‘All right, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller. +‘Hold hard, sir. Right arm fust—now the +left—now one strong conwulsion, and the great-coat’s +on, sir.’</p> +<p>Mr. Pickwick acted upon these directions, and being further +assisted by Sam, who pulled at one side of the collar, and Mr. +Weller, who pulled hard at the other, was speedily enrobed. +Mr. Weller, senior, then produced a full-sized stable lantern, +which he had carefully deposited in a remote corner, on his +arrival, and inquired whether Mr. Pickwick would have ‘the +lamps alight.’</p> +<p>‘I think not to-night,’ said Mr. Pickwick.</p> +<p>‘Then if this here lady vill per-mit,’ rejoined +Mr. Weller, ‘we’ll leave it here, ready for next +journey. This here lantern, mum,’ said Mr. Weller, +handing it to the housekeeper, ‘vunce belonged to the +celebrated Bill Blinder as is now at grass, as all on us vill be +in our turns. Bill, mum, wos the hostler as had charge +o’ them two vell-known piebald leaders that run in the +Bristol fast coach, and vould never go to no other tune but a +sutherly vind and a cloudy sky, which wos consekvently played +incessant, by the guard, wenever they wos on duty. He wos +took wery bad one arternoon, arter having been off his feed, and +wery shaky on his legs for some veeks; and he says to his mate, +“Matey,” he says, “I think I’m +a-goin’ the wrong side o’ the post, and that my +foot’s wery near the bucket. Don’t say I +an’t,” he says, “for I know I am, and +don’t let me be interrupted,” he says, “for +I’ve saved a little money, and I’m a-goin’ into +the stable to make my last vill and testymint.” +“I’ll take care as nobody interrupts,” says his +mate, “but you on’y hold up your head, and shake your +ears a bit, and you’re good for twenty years to +come.” Bill Blinder makes him no answer, but he goes +avay into the stable, and there he soon artervards lays himself +down a’tween the two piebalds, and dies,—previously a +writin’ outside the corn-chest, “This is the last +vill and testymint of Villiam Blinder.” They wos +nat’rally wery much amazed at this, and arter looking among +the litter, and up in the loft, and vere not, they opens the +corn-chest, and finds that he’d been and chalked his vill +inside the lid; so the lid was obligated to be took off the +hinges, and sent up to Doctor Commons to be proved, and under +that ’ere wery instrument this here lantern was passed to +Tony Veller; vich circumstarnce, mum, gives it a wally in my +eyes, and <a name="page292"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +292</span>makes me rekvest, if you vill be so kind, as to take +partickler care on it.’</p> +<p>The housekeeper graciously promised to keep the object of Mr. +Weller’s regard in the safest possible custody, and Mr. +Pickwick, with a laughing face, took his leave. The +bodyguard followed, side by side; old Mr. Weller buttoned and +wrapped up from his boots to his chin; and Sam with his hands in +his pockets and his hat half off his head, remonstrating with his +father, as he went, on his extreme loquacity.</p> +<p>I was not a little surprised, on turning to go up-stairs, to +encounter the barber in the passage at that late hour; for his +attendance is usually confined to some half-hour in the +morning. But Jack Redburn, who finds out (by instinct, I +think) everything that happens in the house, informed me with +great glee, that a society in imitation of our own had been that +night formed in the kitchen, under the title of ‘Mr. +Weller’s Watch,’ of which the barber was a member; +and that he could pledge himself to find means of making me +acquainted with the whole of its future proceedings, which I +begged him, both on my own account and that of my readers, by no +means to neglect doing. <a name="citation292"></a><a +href="#footnote292" class="citation">[292]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p292b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"The Last Will and Testament of William Blinder" +title= +"The Last Will and Testament of William Blinder" +src="images/p292s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2>V</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">MR. WELLER’S WATCH</p> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> seems that the housekeeper and +the two Mr. Wellers were no sooner left together on the occasion +of their first becoming acquainted, than the housekeeper called +to her assistance Mr. Slithers the barber, who had been lurking +in the kitchen in expectation of her summons; and with many +smiles and much sweetness introduced him as one who would assist +her in the responsible office of entertaining her distinguished +visitors.</p> +<p>‘Indeed,’ said she, ‘without Mr. Slithers I +should have been placed in quite an awkward situation.’</p> +<p>‘There is no call for any hock’erdness, +mum,’ said Mr. Weller with the utmost politeness; ‘no +call wotsumever. A lady,’ added the old gentleman, +looking about him with the air of one who establishes an +incontrovertible position,—‘a lady can’t be +hock’erd. Natur’ has otherwise +purwided.’</p> +<p>The housekeeper inclined her head and smiled yet more +sweetly. The barber, who had been fluttering about Mr. +Weller and Sam in a state of great anxiety to improve their +acquaintance, rubbed his hands and cried, ‘Hear, +hear! Very true, sir;’ whereupon Sam turned about and +steadily regarded him for some seconds in silence.</p> +<p>‘I never knew,’ said Sam, fixing his eyes in a +ruminative manner upon the blushing barber,—‘I never +knew but vun o’ your trade, but <i>he</i> wos worth a +dozen, and wos indeed dewoted to his callin’!’</p> +<p>‘Was he in the easy shaving way, sir,’ inquired +Mr. Slithers; ‘or in the cutting and curling +line?’</p> +<p>‘Both,’ replied Sam; ‘easy shavin’ was +his natur’, and cuttin’ and curlin’ was his +pride and glory. His whole delight wos in his trade. +He spent all his money in bears, and run in debt for ’em +besides, and there they wos a growling avay down in the front +cellar all day long, and ineffectooally gnashing their teeth, +vile the grease o’ their relations and friends wos being +re-tailed in gallipots in the shop above, and the first-floor +winder wos ornamented vith their heads; not to speak o’ the +dreadful aggrawation it must have been to ’em to see a man +alvays a walkin’ up and down the pavement outside, vith the +portrait of a bear in his last agonies, and underneath in large +letters, “Another fine animal wos slaughtered yesterday at +Jinkinson’s!” Hows’ever, there they wos, +and there Jinkinson wos, till he wos took wery ill with some +inn’ard disorder, lost the use of his legs, and wos +confined to his bed, vere he laid a wery long time, but sich wos +his pride in his profession, even then, that wenever he wos worse +than usual the doctor used to go down-stairs and say, +“Jinkinson’s wery low this mornin’; we must +give the bears a stir;” and as sure as ever they stirred +’em up a bit and made ’em roar, Jinkinson opens his +eyes if he wos ever so bad, calls out, “There’s the +bears!” and rewives agin.’</p> +<p>‘Astonishing!’ cried the barber.</p> +<p>‘Not a bit,’ said Sam, ‘human natur’ +neat as imported. Vun day the doctor happenin’ to +say, “I shall look in as usual to-morrow +mornin’,” Jinkinson catches hold of his hand and +says, “Doctor,” he says, “will you grant me one +favour?” “I will, Jinkinson,” says the +doctor. “Then, doctor,” says Jinkinson, +“vill you come unshaved, and let me shave you?” +“I will,” says the doctor. “God bless +you,” says Jinkinson. Next day the doctor came, and +arter he’d been shaved all skilful and reg’lar, he +says, “Jinkinson,” he says, “it’s wery +plain this does you good. Now,” he says, +“I’ve got a coachman as has got a beard that it +’ud warm your heart to work on, and though the +footman,” he says, “hasn’t got much of a beard, +still he’s a trying it on vith a pair o’ viskers to +that extent that razors is Christian charity. If they take +it in turns to mind the carriage when it’s a waitin’ +below,” he says, “wot’s to hinder you from +operatin’ on both of ’em ev’ry day as well as +upon me? you’ve got six children,” he says, +“wot’s to hinder you from shavin’ all their +heads and keepin’ ’em shaved? you’ve got two +assistants in the shop down-stairs, wot’s to hinder you +from cuttin’ and curlin’ them as often as you +like? Do this,” he says, “and you’re a +man agin.” Jinkinson squeedged the doctor’s +hand and begun that wery day; he kept his tools upon the bed, and +wenever he felt his-self gettin’ worse, he turned to at vun +o’ the children who wos a runnin’ about the house +vith heads like clean Dutch cheeses, and shaved him agin. +Vun day the lawyer come to make his vill; all the time he wos a +takin’ it down, Jinkinson was secretly a clippin’ +avay at his hair vith a large pair of scissors. +“Wot’s that ’ere snippin’ noise?” +says the lawyer every now and then; “it’s like a man +havin’ his hair cut.” “It <i>is</i> wery +like a man havin’ his hair cut,” says poor Jinkinson, +hidin’ the scissors, and lookin’ quite +innocent. By the time the lawyer found it out, he was wery +nearly bald. Jinkinson wos kept alive in this vay for a +long time, but at last vun day he has in all the children vun +arter another, shaves each on ’em wery clean, and gives him +vun kiss on the crown o’ his head; then he has in the two +assistants, and arter cuttin’ and curlin’ of +’em in the first style of elegance, says he should like to +hear the woice o’ the greasiest bear, vich rekvest is +immediately complied with; then he says that he feels wery happy +in his mind and vishes to be left alone; and then he dies, +previously cuttin’ his own hair and makin’ one flat +curl in the wery middle of his forehead.’</p> +<p>This anecdote produced an extraordinary effect, not only upon +Mr. Slithers, but upon the housekeeper also, who evinced so much +anxiety to please and be pleased, that Mr. Weller, with a manner +betokening some alarm, conveyed a whispered inquiry to his son +whether he had gone ‘too fur.’</p> +<p>‘Wot do you mean by too fur?’ demanded Sam.</p> +<p>‘In that ’ere little compliment respectin’ +the want of hock’erdness in ladies, Sammy,’ replied +his father.</p> +<p>‘You don’t think she’s fallen in love with +you in consekens o’ that, do you?’ said Sam.</p> +<p>‘More unlikelier things have come to pass, my +boy,’ replied Mr. Weller in a hoarse whisper; +‘I’m always afeerd of inadwertent captiwation, +Sammy. If I know’d how to make myself ugly or +unpleasant, I’d do it, Samivel, rayther than live in this +here state of perpetival terror!’</p> +<p>Mr. Weller had, at that time, no further opportunity of +dwelling upon the apprehensions which beset his mind, for the +immediate occasion of his fears proceeded to lead the way +down-stairs, apologising as they went for conducting him into the +kitchen, which apartment, however, she was induced to proffer for +his accommodation in preference to her own little room, the +rather as it afforded greater facilities for smoking, and was +immediately adjoining the ale-cellar. The preparations +which were already made sufficiently proved that these were not +mere words of course, for on the deal table were a sturdy ale-jug +and glasses, flanked with clean pipes and a plentiful supply of +tobacco for the old gentleman and his son, while on a dresser +hard by was goodly store of cold meat and other eatables. +At sight of these arrangements Mr. Weller was at first distracted +between his love of joviality and his doubts whether they were +not to be considered as so many evidences of captivation having +already taken place; but he soon yielded to his natural impulse, +and took his seat at the table with a very jolly countenance.</p> +<p>‘As to imbibin’ any o’ this here flagrant +veed, mum, in the presence of a lady,’ said Mr. Weller, +taking up a pipe and laying it down again, ‘it +couldn’t be. Samivel, total abstinence, if <i>you</i> +please.’</p> +<p>‘But I like it of all things,’ said the +housekeeper.</p> +<p>‘No,’ rejoined Mr. Weller, shaking his +head,—‘no.’</p> +<p>‘Upon my word I do,’ said the housekeeper. +‘Mr. Slithers knows I do.’</p> +<p>Mr. Weller coughed, and notwithstanding the barber’s +confirmation of the statement, said ‘No’ again, but +more feebly than before. The housekeeper lighted a piece of +paper, and insisted on applying it to the bowl of the pipe with +her own fair hands; Mr. Weller resisted; the housekeeper cried +that her fingers would be burnt; Mr. Weller gave way. The +pipe was ignited, Mr. Weller drew a long puff of smoke, and +detecting himself in the very act of smiling on the housekeeper, +put a sudden constraint upon his countenance and looked sternly +at the candle, with a determination not to captivate, himself, or +encourage thoughts of captivation in others. From this iron +frame of mind he was roused by the voice of his son.</p> +<p>‘I don’t think,’ said Sam, who was smoking +with great composure and enjoyment, ‘that if the lady wos +agreeable it ’ud be wery far out o’ the vay for us +four to make up a club of our own like the governors does +up-stairs, and let him,’ Sam pointed with the stem of his +pipe towards his parent, ‘be the president.’</p> +<p>The housekeeper affably declared that it was the very thing +she had been thinking of. The barber said the same. +Mr. Weller said nothing, but he laid down his pipe as if in a fit +of inspiration, and performed the following manœuvres.</p> +<p>Unbuttoning the three lower buttons of his waistcoat and +pausing for a moment to enjoy the easy flow of breath consequent +upon this process, he laid violent hands upon his watch-chain, +and slowly and with extreme difficulty drew from his fob an +immense double-cased silver watch, which brought the lining of +the pocket with it, and was not to be disentangled but by great +exertions and an amazing redness of face. Having fairly got +it out at last, he detached the outer case and wound it up with a +key of corresponding magnitude; then put the case on again, and +having applied the watch to his ear to ascertain that it was +still going, gave it some half-dozen hard knocks on the table to +improve its performance.</p> +<p>‘That,’ said Mr. Weller, laying it on the table +with its face upwards, ‘is the title and emblem o’ +this here society. Sammy, reach them two stools this vay +for the wacant cheers. Ladies and gen’lmen, Mr. +Weller’s Watch is vound up and now a-goin’. +Order!’</p> +<p>By way of enforcing this proclamation, Mr. Weller, using the +watch after the manner of a president’s hammer, and +remarking with great pride that nothing hurt it, and that falls +and concussions of all kinds materially enhanced the excellence +of the works and assisted the regulator, knocked the table a +great many times, and declared the association formally +constituted.</p> +<p>‘And don’t let’s have no grinnin’ at +the cheer, Samivel,’ said Mr. Weller to his son, ‘or +I shall be committin’ you to the cellar, and then +p’r’aps we may get into what the ‘Merrikins +call a fix, and the English a qvestion o’ +privileges.’</p> +<p>Having uttered this friendly caution, the President settled +himself in his chair with great dignity, and requested that Mr. +Samuel would relate an anecdote.</p> +<p>‘I’ve told one,’ said Sam.</p> +<p>‘Wery good, sir; tell another,’ returned the +chair.</p> +<p>‘We wos a talking jist now, sir,’ said Sam, +turning to Slithers, ‘about barbers. Pursuing that +’ere fruitful theme, sir, I’ll tell you <a +name="page297"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 297</span>in a wery +few words a romantic little story about another barber as +p’r’aps you may never have heerd.’</p> +<p>‘Samivel!’ said Mr. Weller, again bringing his +watch and the table into smart collision, ‘address your +obserwations to the cheer, sir, and not to priwate +indiwiduals!’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p297b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"A Rival Club" +title= +"A Rival Club" +src="images/p297s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>‘And if I might rise to order,’ said the barber in +a soft voice, and looking round him with a conciliatory smile as +he leant over the table, with the knuckles of his left hand +resting upon it,—‘if I <i>might</i> rise to order, I +would suggest that “barbers” is not exactly the kind +of language which is agreeable and soothing to our +feelings. You, sir, will correct me if I’m wrong, but +I believe there <i>is</i> such a word in the dictionary as +hairdressers.’</p> +<p>‘Well, but suppose he wasn’t a hairdresser,’ +suggested Sam.</p> +<p>‘Wy then, sir, be parliamentary and call him vun all the +more,’ returned his father. ‘In the same vay as +ev’ry gen’lman in another place is a +<i>h</i>onourable, ev’ry barber in this place is a +hairdresser. Ven you read the speeches in the papers, and +see as vun gen’lman says of another, “the +<i>h</i>onourable member, if he vill allow me to call him +so,” you vill understand, sir, that that means, “if +he vill allow me to keep up that ’ere pleasant and +uniwersal fiction.”’</p> +<p>It is a common remark, confirmed by history and experience, +that great men rise with the circumstances in which they are +placed. Mr. Weller came out so strong in his capacity of +chairman, that Sam was for some time prevented from speaking by a +grin of surprise, which held his faculties enchained, and at last +subsided in a long whistle of a single note. Nay, the old +gentleman appeared even to have astonished himself, and that to +no small extent, as was demonstrated by the vast amount of +chuckling in which he indulged, after the utterance of these +lucid remarks.</p> +<p>‘Here’s the story,’ said Sam. +‘Vunce upon a time there wos a young hairdresser as opened +a wery smart little shop vith four wax dummies in the winder, two +gen’lmen and two ladies—the gen’lmen vith blue +dots for their beards, wery large viskers, oudacious heads of +hair, uncommon clear eyes, and nostrils of amazin’ +pinkness; the ladies vith their heads o’ one side, their +right forefingers on their lips, and their forms deweloped +beautiful, in vich last respect they had the adwantage over the +gen’lmen, as wasn’t allowed but wery little shoulder, +and terminated rayther abrupt in fancy drapery. He had also +a many hair-brushes and tooth-brushes bottled up in the winder, +neat glass-cases on the counter, a floor-clothed +cuttin’-room up-stairs, and a weighin’-macheen in the +shop, right opposite the door. But the great attraction and +ornament wos the dummies, which this here young hairdresser wos +constantly a runnin’ out in the road to look at, and +constantly a runnin’ in again to touch up and polish; in +short, he wos so proud on ’em, that ven Sunday come, he wos +always wretched and mis’rable to think they wos behind the +shutters, and looked anxiously for Monday on that account. +Vun o’ these dummies wos a favrite vith him beyond the +others; and ven any of his acquaintance asked him wy he +didn’t get married—as the young ladies he +know’d, in partickler, often did—he used to say, +“Never! I never vill enter into the bonds of +vedlock,” he says, “until I meet vith a young +’ooman as realises my idea o’ that ’ere fairest +dummy vith the light hair. Then, and not till then,” +he says, “I vill approach the altar.” All the +young ladies he know’d as had got dark hair told him this +wos wery sinful, and that he wos wurshippin’ a idle; but +them as wos at all near the same shade as the dummy coloured up +wery much, and wos observed to think him a wery nice young +man.’</p> +<p>‘Samivel,’ said Mr. Weller, gravely, ‘a +member o’ this associashun bein’ one o’ that +’ere tender sex which is now immedetly referred to, I have +to rekvest that you vill make no reflections.’</p> +<p>‘I ain’t a makin’ any, am I?’ inquired +Sam.</p> +<p>‘Order, sir!’ rejoined Mr. Weller, with severe +dignity. Then, sinking the chairman in the father, he +added, in his usual tone of voice: ‘Samivel, drive +on!’</p> +<p>Sam interchanged a smile with the housekeeper, and +proceeded:</p> +<p>‘The young hairdresser hadn’t been in the habit +o’ makin’ this avowal above six months, ven he +en-countered a young lady as wos the wery picter o’ the +fairest dummy. “Now,” he says, +“it’s all up. I am a slave!” The +young lady wos not only the picter o’ the fairest dummy, +but she was wery romantic, as the young hairdresser was, too, and +he says, “O!” he says, “here’s a +community o’ feelin’, here’s a flow o’ +soul!” he says, “here’s a interchange o’ +sentiment!” The young lady didn’t say much, +o’ course, but she expressed herself agreeable, and shortly +artervards vent to see him vith a mutual friend. The +hairdresser rushes out to meet her, but d’rectly she sees +the dummies she changes colour and falls a tremblin’ +wiolently. “Look up, my love,” says the +hairdresser, “behold your imige in my winder, but not +correcter than in my art!” “My imige!” +she says. “Yourn!” replies the +hairdresser. “But whose imige is <i>that</i>?” +she says, a pinting at vun o’ the gen’lmen. +“No vun’s, my love,” he says, “it is but +a idea.” “A idea!” she cries: “it +is a portrait, I feel it is a portrait, and that ’ere noble +face must be in the millingtary!” “Wot do I +hear!” says he, a crumplin’ his curls. +“Villiam Gibbs,” she says, quite firm, “never +renoo the subject. I respect you as a friend,” she +says, “but my affections is set upon that manly +brow.” “This,” says the hairdresser, +“is a reg’lar blight, and in it I perceive the hand +of Fate. Farevell!” Vith these vords he rushes +into the shop, breaks the dummy’s nose vith a blow of his +curlin’-irons, melts him down at the parlour fire, and +never smiles artervards.’</p> +<p>‘The young lady, Mr. Weller?’ said the +housekeeper.</p> +<p>‘Why, ma’am,’ said Sam, ‘finding that +Fate had a spite agin her, and everybody she come into contact +vith, she never smiled neither, but read a deal o’ poetry +and pined avay,—by rayther slow degrees, for she +ain’t dead yet. It took a deal o’ poetry to +kill the hairdresser, and some people say arter all that it was +more the gin and water as caused him to be run over; +p’r’aps it was a little o’ both, and came +o’ mixing the two.’</p> +<p>The barber declared that Mr. Weller had related one of the +most interesting stories that had ever come within his knowledge, +in which opinion the housekeeper entirely concurred.</p> +<p>‘Are you a married man, sir?’ inquired Sam.</p> +<p>The barber replied that he had not that honour.</p> +<p>‘I s’pose you mean to be?’ said Sam.</p> +<p>‘Well,’ replied the barber, rubbing his hands +smirkingly, ‘I don’t know, I don’t think +it’s very likely.’</p> +<p>‘That’s a bad sign,’ said Sam; ‘if +you’d said you meant to be vun o’ these days, I +should ha’ looked upon you as bein’ safe. +You’re in a wery precarious state.’</p> +<p>‘I am not conscious of any danger, at all events,’ +returned the barber.</p> +<p>‘No more wos I, sir,’ said the elder Mr. Weller, +interposing; ‘those vere my symptoms, exactly. +I’ve been took that vay twice. Keep your vether eye +open, my friend, or you’re gone.’</p> +<p>There was something so very solemn about this admonition, both +in its matter and manner, and also in the way in which Mr. Weller +still kept his eye fixed upon the unsuspecting victim, that +nobody cared to speak for some little time, and might not have +cared to do so for some time longer, if the housekeeper had not +happened to sigh, which called off the old gentleman’s +attention and gave rise to a gallant inquiry whether ‘there +wos anythin’ wery piercin’ in that ’ere little +heart?’</p> +<p>‘Dear me, Mr. Weller!’ said the housekeeper, +laughing.</p> +<p>‘No, but is there anythin’ as agitates it?’ +pursued the old gentleman. ‘Has it always been +obderrate, always opposed to the happiness o’ human +creeturs? Eh? Has it?’</p> +<p>At this critical juncture for her blushes and confusion, the +housekeeper discovered that more ale was wanted, and hastily +withdrew into the cellar to draw the same, followed by the +barber, who insisted on carrying the candle. Having looked +after her with a very complacent expression of face, and after +him with some disdain, Mr. Weller caused his glance to travel +slowly round the kitchen, until at length it rested on his +son.</p> +<p>‘Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘I mistrust that +barber.’</p> +<p>‘Wot for?’ returned Sam; ‘wot’s he got +to do with you? You’re a nice man, you are, arter +pretendin’ all kinds o’ terror, to go a payin’ +compliments and talkin’ about hearts and +piercers.’</p> +<p>The imputation of gallantry appeared to afford Mr. Weller the +utmost delight, for he replied in a voice choked by suppressed +laughter, and with the tears in his eyes,</p> +<p>‘Wos I a talkin’ about hearts and +piercers,—wos I though, Sammy, eh?’</p> +<p>‘Wos you? of course you wos.’</p> +<p>‘She don’t know no better, Sammy, there +ain’t no harm in it,—no danger, Sammy; she’s +only a punster. She seemed pleased, though, didn’t +she? O’ course, she wos pleased, it’s +nat’ral she should be, wery nat’ral.’</p> +<p>‘He’s wain of it!’ exclaimed Sam, joining in +his father’s mirth. ‘He’s actually +wain!’</p> +<p>‘Hush!’ replied Mr. Weller, composing his +features, ‘they’re a comin’ back,—the +little heart’s a comin’ back. But mark these +wurds o’ mine once more, and remember ’em ven your +father says he said ’em. Samivel, I mistrust that +’ere deceitful barber.’ <a name="citation300"></a><a +href="#footnote300" class="citation">[300]</a></p> +<h2>VI</h2> +<p class="gutsumm">MASTER HUMPHREY, FROM HIS CLOCK-SIDE IN THE +CHIMNEY CORNER</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Two</span> or three evenings after the +institution of Mr. Weller’s Watch, I thought I heard, as I +walked in the garden, the voice of Mr. Weller himself at no great +distance; and stopping once or twice to listen more attentively, +I found that the sounds proceeded from my housekeeper’s +little sitting-room, which is at the back of the house. I +took no further notice of the circumstance at that time, but it +formed the subject of a conversation between me and my friend +Jack Redburn next morning, when I found that I had not been +deceived in my impression. Jack furnished me with the +following particulars; and as he appeared to take extraordinary +pleasure in relating them, I have begged him in future to jot +down any such domestic scenes or occurrences that may please his +humour, in order that they may be told in his own way. I +must confess that, as Mr. Pickwick and he are constantly +together, I have been influenced, in making this request, by a +secret desire to know something of their proceedings.</p> +<p>On the evening in question, the housekeeper’s room was +arranged with particular care, and the housekeeper herself was +very smartly dressed. The preparations, however, were not +confined to mere showy demonstrations, as tea was prepared for +three persons, with a small display of preserves and jams and +sweet cakes, which heralded some uncommon occasion. Miss +Benton (my housekeeper bears that name) was in a state of great +expectation, too, frequently going to the front door and looking +anxiously down the lane, and more than once observing to the +servant-girl that she expected company, and hoped no accident had +happened to delay them.</p> +<p>A modest ring at the bell at length allayed her fears, and +Miss Benton, hurrying into her own room and shutting herself up, +in order that she might preserve that appearance of being taken +by surprise which is so essential to the polite reception of +visitors, awaited their coming with a smiling countenance.</p> +<p>‘Good ev’nin’, mum,’ said the older +Mr. Weller, looking in at the door after a prefatory tap. +‘I’m afeerd we’ve come in rayther arter the +time, mum, but the young colt being full o’ wice, has +been’ a boltin’ and shyin’ and gettin’ +his leg over the traces to sich a extent that if he an’t +wery soon broke in, he’ll wex me into a broken heart, and +then he’ll never be brought out no more except to learn his +letters from the writin’ on his grandfather’s +tombstone.’</p> +<p><a name="page302"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 302</span>With +these pathetic words, which were addressed to something outside +the door about two feet six from the ground, Mr. Weller +introduced a very small boy firmly set upon a couple of very +sturdy legs, who looked as if nothing could ever knock him +down. Besides having a very round face strongly resembling +Mr. Weller’s, and a stout little body of exactly his build, +this young gentleman, standing with his little legs very wide +apart, as if the top-boots were familiar to them, actually winked +upon the housekeeper with his infant eye, in imitation of his +grandfather.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p302b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"A Chip of the Old Block" +title= +"A Chip of the Old Block" +src="images/p302s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>‘There’s a naughty boy, mum,’ said Mr. +Weller, bursting with delight, ‘there’s a immoral +Tony. Wos there ever a little chap o’ four year and +eight months old as vinked his eye at a strange lady +afore?’</p> +<p>As little affected by this observation as by the former appeal +to his feelings, Master Weller elevated in the air a small model +of a coach whip which he carried in his hand, and addressing the +housekeeper with a shrill ‘ya—hip!’ inquired if +she was ‘going down the road;’ at which happy +adaptation of a lesson he had been taught from infancy, Mr. +Weller could restrain his feelings no longer, but gave him +twopence on the spot.</p> +<p>‘It’s in wain to deny it, mum,’ said Mr. +Weller, ‘this here is a boy arter his grandfather’s +own heart, and beats out all the boys as ever wos or will +be. Though at the same time, mum,’ added Mr. Weller, +trying to look gravely down upon his favourite, ‘it was +wery wrong on him to want to—over all the posts as we come +along, and wery cruel on him to force poor grandfather to lift +him cross-legged over every vun of ’em. He +wouldn’t pass vun single blessed post, mum, and at the top +o’ the lane there’s seven-and-forty on ’em all +in a row, and wery close together.’</p> +<p>Here Mr. Weller, whose feelings were in a perpetual conflict +between pride in his grandson’s achievements and a sense of +his own responsibility, and the importance of impressing him with +moral truths, burst into a fit of laughter, and suddenly checking +himself, remarked in a severe tone that little boys as made their +grandfathers put ’em over posts never went to heaven at any +price.</p> +<p>By this time the housekeeper had made tea, and little Tony, +placed on a chair beside her, with his eyes nearly on a level +with the top of the table, was provided with various delicacies +which yielded him extreme contentment. The housekeeper (who +seemed rather afraid of the child, notwithstanding her caresses) +then patted him on the head, and declared that he was the finest +boy she had ever seen.</p> +<p>‘Wy, mum,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘I don’t +think you’ll see a many sich, and that’s the +truth. But if my son Samivel vould give me my vay, mum, and +only dis-pense vith his—<i>might</i> I wenter to say the +vurd?’</p> +<p>‘What word, Mr. Weller?’ said the housekeeper, +blushing slightly.</p> +<p>‘Petticuts, mum,’ returned that gentleman, laying +his hand upon the garments of his grandson. ‘If my +son Samivel, mum, vould only dis-pense vith these here, +you’d see such a alteration in his appearance, as the +imagination can’t depicter.’</p> +<p>‘But what would you have the child wear instead, Mr. +Weller?’ said the housekeeper.</p> +<p>‘I’ve offered my son Samivel, mum, agen and +agen,’ returned the old gentleman, ‘to purwide him at +my own cost vith a suit o’ clothes as ’ud be the +makin’ on him, and form his mind in infancy for those +pursuits as I hope the family o’ the Vellers vill alvays +dewote themselves to. Tony, my boy, tell the lady wot them +clothes are, as grandfather says, father ought to let you +vear.’</p> +<p>‘A little white hat and a little sprig weskut and little +knee cords and little top-boots and a little green coat with +little bright buttons and a little welwet collar,’ replied +Tony, with great readiness and no stops.</p> +<p>‘That’s the cos-toom, mum,’ said Mr. Weller, +looking proudly at the housekeeper. ‘Once make sich a +model on him as that, and you’d say he <i>wos</i> an +angel!’</p> +<p>Perhaps the housekeeper thought that in such a guise young +Tony would look more like the angel at Islington than anything +else of that name, or perhaps she was disconcerted to find her +previously-conceived ideas disturbed, as angels are not commonly +represented in top-boots and sprig waistcoats. She coughed +doubtfully, but said nothing.</p> +<p>‘How many brothers and sisters have you, my dear?’ +she asked, after a short silence.</p> +<p>‘One brother and no sister at all,’ replied +Tony. ‘Sam his name is, and so’s my +father’s. Do you know my father?’</p> +<p>‘O yes, I know him,’ said the housekeeper, +graciously.</p> +<p>‘Is my father fond of you?’ pursued Tony.</p> +<p>‘I hope so,’ rejoined the smiling housekeeper.</p> +<p>Tony considered a moment, and then said, ‘Is my +grandfather fond of you?’</p> +<p>This would seem a very easy question to answer, but instead of +replying to it, the housekeeper smiled in great confusion, and +said that really children did ask such extraordinary questions +that it was the most difficult thing in the world to talk to +them. Mr. Weller took upon himself to reply that he was +very fond of the lady; but the housekeeper entreating that he +would not put such things into the child’s head, Mr. Weller +shook his own while she looked another way, and seemed to be +troubled with a misgiving that captivation was in progress. +It was, perhaps, on this account that he changed the subject +precipitately.</p> +<p>‘It’s wery wrong in little boys to make game +o’ their grandfathers, an’t it, mum?’ said Mr. +Weller, shaking his head waggishly, until Tony looked at him, +when he counterfeited the deepest dejection and sorrow.</p> +<p>‘O, very sad!’ assented the housekeeper. +‘But I hope no little boys do that?’</p> +<p>‘There is vun young Turk, mum,’ said Mr. Weller, +‘as havin’ seen his grandfather a little overcome +vith drink on the occasion of a friend’s birthday, goes a +reelin’ and staggerin’ about the house, and +makin’ believe that he’s the old +gen’lm’n.’</p> +<p>‘O, quite shocking!’ cried the housekeeper,</p> +<p>‘Yes, mum,’ said Mr. Weller; ‘and previously +to so doin’, this here young traitor that I’m a +speakin’ of, pinches his little nose to make it red, and +then he gives a hiccup and says, “I’m all +right,” he says; “give us another song!” +Ha, ha! “Give us another song,” he says. +Ha, ha, ha!’</p> +<p>In his excessive delight, Mr. Weller was quite unmindful of +his moral responsibility, until little Tony kicked up his legs, +and laughing immoderately, cried, ‘That was me, that +was;’ whereupon the grandfather, by a great effort, became +extremely solemn.</p> +<p>‘No, Tony, not you,’ said Mr. Weller. +‘I hope it warn’t you, Tony. It must ha’ +been that ’ere naughty little chap as comes sometimes out +o’ the empty watch-box round the corner,—that same +little chap as wos found standing on the table afore the +looking-glass, pretending to shave himself vith a +oyster-knife.’</p> +<p>‘He didn’t hurt himself, I hope?’ observed +the housekeeper.</p> +<p>‘Not he, mum,’ said Mr. Weller proudly; +‘bless your heart, you might trust that ’ere boy vith +a steam-engine a’most, he’s such a knowin’ +young’—but suddenly recollecting himself and +observing that Tony perfectly understood and appreciated the +compliment, the old gentleman groaned and observed that ‘it +wos all wery shockin’—wery.’</p> +<p>‘O, he’s a bad ’un,’ said Mr. Weller, +‘is that ’ere watch-box boy, makin’ such a +noise and litter in the back yard, he does, waterin’ wooden +horses and feedin’ of ’em vith grass, and +perpetivally spillin’ his little brother out of a +veelbarrow and frightenin’ his mother out of her vits, at +the wery moment wen she’s expectin’ to increase his +stock of happiness vith another play-feller,—O, he’s +a bad one! He’s even gone so far as to put on a pair +of paper spectacles as he got his father to make for him, and +walk up and down the garden vith his hands behind him in +imitation of Mr. Pickwick,—but Tony don’t do sich +things, O no!’</p> +<p>‘O no!’ echoed Tony.</p> +<p>‘He knows better, he does,’ said Mr. Weller. +‘He knows that if he wos to come sich games as these nobody +wouldn’t love him, and that his grandfather in partickler +couldn’t abear the sight on him; for vich reasons +Tony’s always good.’</p> +<p>‘Always good,’ echoed Tony; and his grandfather +immediately took him on his knee and kissed him, at the same +time, with many nods and winks, slyly pointing at the +child’s head with his thumb, in order that the housekeeper, +otherwise deceived by the admirable manner in which he (Mr. +Weller) had sustained his character, might not suppose that any +other young gentleman was referred to, and might clearly +understand that the boy of the watch-box was but an imaginary +creation, and a fetch of Tony himself, invented for his +improvement and reformation.</p> +<p>Not confining himself to a mere verbal description of his +grandson’s abilities, Mr. Weller, when tea was finished, +invited him by various gifts of pence and halfpence to smoke +imaginary pipes, drink visionary beer from real pots, imitate his +grandfather without reserve, and in particular to go through the +drunken scene, which threw the old gentleman into ecstasies and +filled the housekeeper with wonder. Nor was Mr. +Weller’s pride satisfied with even this display, for when +he took his leave he carried the child, like some rare and +astonishing curiosity, first to the barber’s house and +afterwards to the tobacconist’s, at each of which places he +repeated his performances with the utmost effect to applauding +and delighted audiences. It was half-past nine +o’clock when Mr. Weller was last seen carrying him home +upon his shoulder, and it has been whispered abroad that at that +time the infant Tony was rather intoxicated. <a +name="citation306"></a><a href="#footnote306" +class="citation">[306]</a></p> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>I was musing the other evening upon the characters and +incidents with which I had been so long engaged; wondering how I +could ever have looked forward with pleasure to the completion of +my tale, and reproaching myself for having done so, as if it were +a kind of cruelty to those companions of my solitude whom I had +now dismissed, and could never again recall; when my clock struck +ten. Punctual to the hour, my friends appeared.</p> +<p>On our last night of meeting, we had finished the story which +the reader has just concluded. Our conversation took the +same current as the meditations which the entrance of my friends +had interrupted, and The Old Curiosity Shop was the staple of our +discourse.</p> +<p>I may confide to the reader now, that in connection with this +little history I had something upon my mind; something to +communicate which I had all along with difficulty repressed; +something I had deemed it, during the progress of the story, +necessary to its interest to disguise, and which, now that it was +over, I wished, and was yet reluctant, to disclose.</p> +<p>To conceal anything from those to whom I am attached, is not +in my nature. I can never close my lips where I have opened +my heart. This temper, and the consciousness of having done +some violence to it in my narrative, laid me under a restraint +which I should have had great difficulty in overcoming, but for a +timely remark from Mr. Miles, who, as I hinted in a former paper, +is a gentleman of business habits, and of great exactness and +propriety in all his transactions.</p> +<p>‘I could have wished,’ my friend objected, +‘that we had been made acquainted with the single +gentleman’s name. I don’t like his withholding +his name. It made me look upon him at first with suspicion, +and caused me to doubt his moral character, I assure you. I +am fully satisfied by this time of his being a worthy creature; +but in this respect he certainly would not appear to have acted +at all like a man of business.’</p> +<p>‘My friends,’ said I, drawing to the table, at +which they were by this time seated in their usual chairs, +‘do you remember that this story bore another title besides +that one we have so often heard of late?’</p> +<p>Mr. Miles had his pocket-book out in an instant, and referring +to an entry therein, rejoined, ‘Certainly. Personal +Adventures of Master Humphrey. Here it is. I made a +note of it at the time.’</p> +<p>I was about to resume what I had to tell them, when the same +Mr. Miles again interrupted me, observing that the narrative +originated in a personal adventure of my own, and that was no +doubt the reason for its being thus designated.</p> +<p>This led me to the point at once.</p> +<p>‘You will one and all forgive me,’ I returned, +‘if for the greater convenience of the story, and for its +better introduction, that adventure was fictitious. I had +my share, indeed,—no light or trivial one,—in the +pages we have read, but it was not the share I feigned to have at +first. The younger brother, the single gentleman, the +nameless actor in this little drama, stands before you +now.’</p> +<p>It was easy to see they had not expected this disclosure.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ I pursued. ‘I can look back +upon my part in it with a calm, half-smiling pity for myself as +for some other man. But I am he, indeed; and now the chief +sorrows of my life are yours.’</p> +<p>I need not say what true gratification I derived from the +sympathy and kindness with which this acknowledgment was +received; nor how often it had risen to my lips before; nor how +difficult I had found it—how impossible, when I came to +those passages which touched me most, and most nearly concerned +me—to sustain the character I had assumed. It is +enough to say that I replaced in the clock-case the record of so +many trials,—sorrowfully, it is true, but with a softened +sorrow which was almost pleasure; and felt that in living through +the past again, and communicating to others the lesson it had +helped to teach me, I had been a happier man.</p> +<p>We lingered so long over the leaves from which I had read, +that as I consigned them to their former resting-place, the hand +of my trusty clock pointed to twelve, and there came towards us +upon the wind the voice of the deep and distant bell of St. +Paul’s as it struck the hour of midnight.</p> +<p>‘This,’ said I, returning with a manuscript I had +taken at the moment, from the same repository, ‘to be +opened to such music, should be a tale where London’s face +by night is darkly seen, and where some deed of such a time as +this is dimly shadowed out. Which of us here has seen the +working of that great machine whose voice has just now +ceased?’</p> +<p>Mr. Pickwick had, of course, and so had Mr. Miles. Jack +and my deaf friend were in the minority.</p> +<p>I had seen it but a few days before, and could not help +telling them of the fancy I had about it.</p> +<p>I paid my fee of twopence upon entering, to one of the +money-changers who sit within the Temple; and falling, after a +few turns up and down, into the quiet train of thought which such +a place awakens, paced the echoing stones like some old monk +whose present world lay all within its walls. As I looked +afar up into the lofty dome, I could not help wondering what were +his reflections whose genius reared that mighty pile, when, the +last small wedge of timber fixed, the last nail driven into its +home for many centuries, the clang of hammers, and the hum of +busy voices gone, and the Great Silence whole years of noise had +helped to make, reigning undisturbed around, he mused, as I did +now, upon his work, and lost himself amid its vast extent. +I could not quite determine whether the contemplation of it would +impress him with a sense of greatness or of insignificance; but +when I remembered how long a time it had taken to erect, in how +short a space it might be traversed even to its remotest parts, +for how brief a term he, or any of those who cared to bear his +name, would live to see it, or know of its existence, I imagined +him far more melancholy than proud, and looking with regret upon +his labour done. With these thoughts in my mind, I began to +ascend, almost unconsciously, the flight of steps leading to the +several wonders of the building, and found myself before a +barrier where another money-taker sat, who demanded which among +them I would choose to see. There were the stone gallery, +he said, and the whispering gallery, the geometrical staircase, +the room of models, the clock—the clock being quite in my +way, I stopped him there, and chose that sight from all the +rest.</p> +<p>I groped my way into the Turret which it occupies, and saw +before me, in a kind of loft, what seemed to be a great, old +oaken press with folding doors. These being thrown back by +the attendant (who was sleeping when I came upon him, and looked +a drowsy fellow, as though his close companionship with Time had +made him quite indifferent to it), disclosed a complicated crowd +of wheels and chains in iron and brass,—great, sturdy, +rattling engines,—suggestive of breaking a finger put in +here or there, and grinding the bone to powder,—and these +were the Clock! Its very pulse, if I may use the word, was +like no other clock. It did not mark the flight of every +moment with a gentle second stroke, as though it would check old +Time, and have him stay his pace in pity, but measured it with +one sledge-hammer beat, as if its business were to crush the +seconds as they came trooping on, and remorselessly to clear a +path before the Day of Judgment.</p> +<p>I sat down opposite to it, and hearing its regular and +never-changing voice, that one deep constant note, uppermost +amongst all the noise and clatter in the streets +below,—marking that, let that tumult rise or fall, go on or +stop,—let it be night or noon, to-morrow or to-day, this +year or next,—it still performed its functions with the +same dull constancy, and regulated the progress of the life +around, the fancy came upon me that this was London’s +Heart,—and that when it should cease to beat, the City +would be no more.</p> +<p>It is night. Calm and unmoved amidst the scenes that +darkness favours, the great heart of London throbs in its Giant +breast. Wealth and beggary, vice and virtue, guilt and +innocence, repletion and the direst hunger, all treading on each +other and crowding together, are gathered round it. Draw +but a little circle above the clustering housetops, and you shall +have within its space everything, with its opposite extreme and +contradiction, close beside. Where yonder feeble light is +shining, a man is but this moment dead. The taper at a few +yards’ distance is seen by eyes that have this instant +opened on the world. There are two houses separated by but +an inch or two of wall. In one, there are quiet minds at +rest; in the other, a waking conscience that one might think +would trouble the very air. In that close corner where the +roofs shrink down and cower together as if to hide their secrets +from the handsome street hard by, there are such dark crimes, +such miseries and horrors, as could be hardly told in +whispers. In the handsome street, there are folks asleep +who have dwelt there all their lives, and have no more knowledge +of these things than if they had never been, or were transacted +at the remotest limits of the world,—who, if they were +hinted at, would shake their heads, look wise, and frown, and say +they were impossible, and out of Nature,—as if all great +towns were not. Does not this Heart of London, that nothing +moves, nor stops, nor quickens,—that goes on the same let +what will be done, does it not express the City’s character +well?</p> +<p>The day begins to break, and soon there is the hum and noise +of life. Those who have spent the night on doorsteps and +cold stones crawl off to beg; they who have slept in beds come +forth to their occupation, too, and business is astir. The +fog of sleep rolls slowly off, and London shines awake. The +streets are filled with carriages and people gaily clad. +The jails are full, too, to the throat, nor have the workhouses +or hospitals much room to spare. The courts of law are +crowded. Taverns have their regular frequenters by this +time, and every mart of traffic has its throng. Each of +these places is a world, and has its own inhabitants; each is +distinct from, and almost unconscious of the existence of any +other. There are some few people well to do, who remember +to have heard it said, that numbers of men and +women—thousands, they think it was—get up in London +every day, unknowing where to lay their heads at night; and that +there are quarters of the town where misery and famine always +are. They don’t believe it quite,—there may be +some truth in it, but it is exaggerated, of course. So, +each of these thousand worlds goes on, intent upon itself, until +night comes again,—first with its lights and pleasures, and +its cheerful streets; then with its guilt and darkness.</p> +<p>Heart of London, there is a moral in thy every stroke! as I +look on at thy indomitable working, which neither death, nor +press of life, nor grief, nor gladness out of doors will +influence one jot, I seem to hear a voice within thee which sinks +into my heart, bidding me, as I elbow my way among the crowd, +have some thought for the meanest wretch that passes, and, being +a man, to turn away with scorn and pride from none that bear the +human shape.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>I am by no means sure that I might not have been tempted to +enlarge upon the subject, had not the papers that lay before me +on the table been a silent reproach for even this +digression. I took them up again when I had got thus far, +and seriously prepared to read.</p> +<p>The handwriting was strange to me, for the manuscript had been +fairly copied. As it is against our rules, in such a case, +to inquire into the authorship until the reading is concluded, I +could only glance at the different faces round me, in search of +some expression which should betray the writer. Whoever he +might be, he was prepared for this, and gave no sign for my +enlightenment.</p> +<p>I had the papers in my hand, when my deaf friend interposed +with a suggestion.</p> +<p>‘It has occurred to me,’ he said, ‘bearing +in mind your sequel to the tale we have finished, that if such of +us as have anything to relate of our own lives could interweave +it with our contribution to the Clock, it would be well to do +so. This need be no restraint upon us, either as to time, +or place, or incident, since any real passage of this kind may be +surrounded by fictitious circumstances, and represented by +fictitious characters. What if we make this an article of +agreement among ourselves?’</p> +<p>The proposition was cordially received, but the difficulty +appeared to be that here was a long story written before we had +thought of it.</p> +<p>‘Unless,’ said I, ‘it should have happened +that the writer of this tale—which is not impossible, for +men are apt to do so when they write—has actually mingled +with it something of his own endurance and experience.’</p> +<p>Nobody spoke, but I thought I detected in one quarter that +this was really the case.</p> +<p><a name="page311"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +311</span>‘If I have no assurance to the contrary,’ I +added, therefore, ‘I shall take it for granted that he has +done so, and that even these papers come within our new +agreement. Everybody being mute, we hold that understanding +if you please.’</p> +<p>And here I was about to begin again, when Jack informed us +softly, that during the progress of our last narrative, Mr. +Weller’s Watch had adjourned its sittings from the kitchen, +and regularly met outside our door, where he had no doubt that +august body would be found at the present moment. As this +was for the convenience of listening to our stories, he submitted +that they might be suffered to come in, and hear them more +pleasantly.</p> +<p>To this we one and all yielded a ready assent, and the party +being discovered, as Jack had supposed, and invited to walk in, +entered (though not without great confusion at having been +detected), and were accommodated with chairs at a little +distance.</p> +<p>Then, the lamp being trimmed, the fire well stirred and +burning brightly, the hearth clean swept, the curtains closely +drawn, the clock wound up, we entered on our new story. <a +name="citation311"></a><a href="#footnote311" +class="citation">[311]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p311b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Master Humphrey’s Visionary Friends" +title= +"Master Humphrey’s Visionary Friends" +src="images/p311s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>It is again midnight. My fire burns cheerfully; the room +is filled with my old friend’s sober voice; and I am left +to muse upon the story we have just now finished.</p> +<p>It makes me smile, at such a time as this, to think if there +were any one to see me sitting in my easy-chair, my gray head +hanging down, my eyes bent thoughtfully upon the glowing embers, +and my crutch—emblem of my helplessness—lying upon +the hearth at my feet, how solitary I should seem. Yet +though I am the sole tenant of this chimney-corner, though I am +childless and old, I have no sense of loneliness at this hour; +but am the centre of a silent group whose company I love.</p> +<p>Thus, even age and weakness have their consolations. If +I were a younger man, if I were more active, more strongly bound +and tied to life, these visionary friends would shun me, or I +should desire to fly from them. Being what I am, I can +court their society, and delight in it; and pass whole hours in +picturing to myself the shadows that perchance flock every night +into this chamber, and in imagining with pleasure what kind of +interest they have in the frail, feeble mortal who is its sole +inhabitant.</p> +<p>All the friends I have ever lost I find again among these +visitors. I love to fancy their spirits hovering about me, +feeling still some earthly kindness for their old companion, and +watching his decay. ‘He is weaker, he declines apace, +he draws nearer and nearer to us, and will soon be conscious of +our existence.’ What is there to alarm me in +this? It is encouragement and hope.</p> +<p>These thoughts have never crowded on me half so fast as they +have done to-night. Faces I had long forgotten have become +familiar to me once again; traits I had endeavoured to recall for +years have come before me in an instant; nothing is changed but +me; and even I can be my former self at will.</p> +<p>Raising my eyes but now to the face of my old clock, I +remember, quite involuntarily, the veneration, not unmixed with a +sort of childish awe, with which I used to sit and watch it as it +ticked, unheeded in a dark staircase corner. I recollect +looking more grave and steady when I met its dusty face, as if, +having that strange kind of life within it, and being free from +all excess of vulgar appetite, and warning all the house by night +and day, it were a sage. How often have I listened to it as +it told the beads of time, and wondered at its constancy! +How often watched it slowly pointing round the dial, and, while I +panted for the eagerly expected hour to come, admired, despite +myself, its steadiness of purpose and lofty freedom from all +human strife, impatience, and desire!</p> +<p>I thought it cruel once. It was very hard of heart, to +my mind, I remember. It was an old servant even then; and I +felt as though it ought to show some sorrow; as though it wanted +sympathy with us in our distress, and were a dull, heartless, +mercenary creature. Ah! how soon I learnt to know that in +its ceaseless going on, and in its being checked or stayed by +nothing, lay its greatest kindness, and the only balm for grief +and wounded peace of mind.</p> +<p>To-night, to-night, when this tranquillity and calm are on my +spirits, and memory presents so many shifting scenes before me, I +take my quiet stand at will by many a fire that has been long +extinguished, and mingle with the cheerful group that cluster +round it. If I could be sorrowful in such a mood, I should +grow sad to think what a poor blot I was upon their youth and +beauty once, and now how few remain to put me to the blush; I +should grow sad to think that such among them as I sometimes meet +with in my daily walks are scarcely less infirm than I; that time +has brought us to a level; and that all distinctions fade and +vanish as we take our trembling steps towards the grave.</p> +<p>But memory was given us for better purposes than this, and +mine is not a torment, but a source of pleasure. To muse +upon the gaiety and youth I have known suggests to me glad scenes +of harmless mirth that may be passing now. From +contemplating them apart, I soon become an actor in these little +dramas, and humouring my fancy, lose myself among the beings it +invokes.</p> +<p>When my fire is bright and high, and a warm blush mantles in +the walls and ceiling of this ancient room; when my clock makes +cheerful music, like one of those chirping insects who delight in +the warm hearth, and are sometimes, by a good superstition, +looked upon as the harbingers of fortune and plenty to that +household in whose mercies they put their humble trust; when +everything is in a ruddy genial glow, and there are voices in the +crackling flame, and smiles in its flashing light, other smiles +and other voices congregate around me, invading, with their +pleasant harmony, the silence of the time.</p> +<p>For then a knot of youthful creatures gather round my +fireside, and the room re-echoes to their merry voices. My +solitary chair no longer holds its ample place before the fire, +but is wheeled into a smaller corner, to leave more room for the +broad circle formed about the cheerful hearth. I have sons, +and daughters, and grandchildren, and we are assembled on some +occasion of rejoicing common to us all. It is a birthday, +perhaps, or perhaps it may be Christmas time; but be it what it +may, there is rare holiday among us; we are full of glee.</p> +<p>In the chimney-comer, opposite myself, sits one who has grown +old beside me. She is changed, of course; much changed; and +yet I recognise the girl even in that gray hair and wrinkled +brow. Glancing from the laughing child who half hides in +her ample skirts, and half peeps out,—and from her to the +little matron of twelve years old, who sits so womanly and so +demure at no great distance from me,—and from her again, to +a fair girl in the full bloom of early womanhood, the centre of +the group, who has glanced more than once towards the opening +door, and by whom the children, whispering and tittering among +themselves, <i>will</i> leave a vacant chair, although she bids +them not,—I see her image thrice repeated, and feel how +long it is before one form and set of features wholly pass away, +if ever, from among the living. While I am dwelling upon +this, and tracing out the gradual change from infancy to youth, +from youth to perfect growth, from that to age, and thinking, +with an old man’s pride, that she is comely yet, I feel a +slight thin hand upon my arm, and, looking down, see seated at my +feet a crippled boy,—a gentle, patient child,—whose +aspect I know well. He rests upon a little crutch,—I +know it too,—and leaning on it as he climbs my footstool, +whispers in my ear, ‘I am hardly one of these, dear +grandfather, although I love them dearly. They are very +kind to me, but you will be kinder still, I know.’</p> +<p>I have my hand upon his neck, and stoop to kiss him, when my +clock strikes, my chair is in its old spot, and I am alone.</p> +<p>What if I be? What if this fireside be tenantless, save +for the presence of one weak old man? From my house-top I +can look upon a hundred homes, in every one of which these social +companions are matters of reality. In my daily walks I pass +a thousand men whose cares are all forgotten, whose labours are +made light, whose dull routine of work from day to day is cheered +and brightened by their glimpses of domestic joy at home. +Amid the struggles of this struggling town what cheerful +sacrifices are made; what toil endured with readiness; what +patience shown and fortitude displayed for the mere sake of home +and its affections! Let me thank Heaven that I can people +my fireside with shadows such as these; with shadows of bright +objects that exist in crowds about me; and let me say, ‘I +am alone no more.’</p> +<p>I never was less so—I write it with a grateful +heart—than I am to-night. Recollections of the past +and visions of the present come to bear me company; the meanest +man to whom I have ever given alms appears, to add his mite of +peace and comfort to my stock; and whenever the fire within me +shall grow cold, to light my path upon this earth no more, I pray +that it may be at such an hour as this, and when I love the world +as well as I do now.</p> +<h3>THE DEAF GENTLEMAN FROM HIS OWN APARTMENT</h3> +<p>Our dear friend laid down his pen at the end of the foregoing +paragraph, to take it up no more. I little thought ever to +employ mine upon so sorrowful a task as that which he has left +me, and to which I now devote it.</p> +<p>As he did not appear among us at his usual hour next morning, +we knocked gently at his door. No answer being given, it +was softly opened; and then, to our surprise, we saw him seated +before the ashes of his fire, with a little table I was +accustomed to set at his elbow when I left him for the night at a +short distance from him, as though he had pushed it away with the +idea of rising and retiring to his bed. His crutch and +footstool lay at his feet as usual, and he was dressed in his +chamber-gown, which he had put on before I left him. He was +reclining in his chair, in his accustomed posture, with his face +towards the fire, and seemed absorbed in +meditation,—indeed, at first, we almost hoped he was.</p> +<p>Going up to him, we found him dead. I have often, very +often, seen him sleeping, and always peacefully, but I never saw +him look so calm and tranquil. His face wore a serene, +benign expression, which had impressed me very strongly when we +last shook hands; not that he had ever had any other look, God +knows; but there was something in this so very spiritual, so +strangely and indefinably allied to youth, although his head was +gray and venerable, that it was new even in him. It came +upon me all at once when on some slight pretence he called me +back upon the previous night to take me by the hand again, and +once more say, ‘God bless you.’</p> +<p>A bell-rope hung within his reach, but he had not moved +towards it; nor had he stirred, we all agreed, except, as I have +said, to push away his table, which he could have done, and no +doubt did, with a very slight motion of his hand. He had +relapsed for a moment into his late train of meditation, and, +with a thoughtful smile upon his face, had died.</p> +<p>I had long known it to be his wish that whenever this event +should come to pass we might be all assembled in the house. +I therefore lost no time in sending for Mr. Pickwick and for Mr. +Miles, both of whom arrived before the messenger’s +return.</p> +<p>It is not my purpose to dilate upon the sorrow and +affectionate emotions of which I was at once the witness and the +sharer. But I may say, of the humbler mourners, that his +faithful housekeeper was fairly heart-broken; that the poor +barber would not be comforted; and that I shall respect the +homely truth and warmth of heart of Mr. Weller and his son to the +last moment of my life.</p> +<p>‘And the sweet old creetur, sir,’ said the elder +Mr. Weller to me in the afternoon, ‘has bolted. Him +as had no wice, and was so free from temper that a infant might +ha’ drove him, has been took at last with that ’ere +unawoidable fit o’ staggers as we all must come to, and +gone off his feed for ever! I see him,’ said the old +gentleman, with a moisture in his eye, which could not be +mistaken,—‘I see him gettin’, every journey, +more and more groggy; I says to Samivel, “My boy! the +Grey’s a-goin’ at the knees;” and now my +predilictions is fatally werified, and him as I could never do +enough to serve or show my likin’ for, is up the great +uniwersal spout o’ natur’.’</p> +<p>I was not the less sensible of the old man’s attachment +because he expressed it in his peculiar manner. Indeed, I +can truly assert of both him and his son, that notwithstanding +the extraordinary dialogues they held together, and the strange +commentaries and corrections with which each of them illustrated +the other’s speech, I do not think it possible to exceed +the sincerity of their regret; and that I am sure their +thoughtfulness and anxiety in anticipating the discharge of many +little offices of sympathy would have done honour to the most +delicate-minded persons.</p> +<p>Our friend had frequently told us that his will would be found +in a box in the Clock-case, the key of which was in his +writing-desk. As he had told us also that he desired it to +be opened immediately after his death, whenever that should +happen, we met together that night for the fulfilment of his +request.</p> +<p>We found it where he had told us, wrapped in a sealed paper, +and with it a codicil of recent date, in which he named Mr. Miles +and Mr. Pickwick his executors,—as having no need of any +greater benefit from his estate than a generous token (which he +bequeathed to them) of his friendship and remembrance.</p> +<p>After pointing out the spot in which he wished his ashes to +repose, he gave to ‘his dear old friends,’ Jack +Redburn and myself, his house, his books, his furniture,—in +short, all that his house contained; and with this legacy more +ample means of maintaining it in its present state than we, with +our habits and at our terms of life, can ever exhaust. +Besides these gifts, he left to us, in trust, an annual sum of no +insignificant amount, to be distributed in charity among his +accustomed pensioners—they are a long list—and such +other claimants on his bounty as might, from time to time, +present themselves. And as true charity not only covers a +multitude of sins, but includes a multitude of virtues, such as +forgiveness, liberal construction, gentleness and mercy to the +faults of others, and the remembrance of our own imperfections +and advantages, he bade us not inquire too closely into the +venial errors of the poor, but finding that they <i>were</i> +poor, first to relieve and then endeavour—at an +advantage—to reclaim them.</p> +<p>To the housekeeper he left an annuity, sufficient for her +comfortable maintenance and support through life. For the +barber, who had attended him many years, he made a similar +provision. And I may make two remarks in this place: first, +that I think this pair are very likely to club their means +together and make a match of it; and secondly, that I think my +friend had this result in his mind, for I have heard him say, +more than once, that he could not concur with the generality of +mankind in censuring equal marriages made in later life, since +there were many cases in which such unions could not fail to be a +wise and rational source of happiness to both parties.</p> +<p>The elder Mr. Weller is so far from viewing this prospect with +any feelings of jealousy, that he appears to be very much +relieved by its contemplation; and his son, if I am not mistaken, +participates in this feeling. We are all of opinion, +however, that the old gentleman’s danger, even at its +crisis, was very slight, and that he merely laboured under one of +those transitory weaknesses to which persons of his temperament +are now and then liable, and which become less and less alarming +at every return, until they wholly subside. I have no doubt +he will remain a jolly old widower for the rest of his life, as +he has already inquired of me, with much gravity, whether a writ +of habeas corpus would enable him to settle his property upon +Tony beyond the possibility of recall; and has, in my presence, +conjured his son, with tears in his eyes, that in the event of +his ever becoming amorous again, he will put him in a +strait-waistcoat until the fit is past, and distinctly inform the +lady that his property is ‘made over.’</p> +<p>Although I have very little doubt that Sam would dutifully +comply with these injunctions in a case of extreme necessity, and +that he would do so with perfect composure and coolness, I do not +apprehend things will ever come to that pass, as the old +gentleman seems perfectly happy in the society of his son, his +pretty daughter-in-law, and his grandchildren, and has solemnly +announced his determination to ‘take arter the old +’un in all respects;’ from which I infer that it is +his intention to regulate his conduct by the model of Mr. +Pickwick, who will certainly set him the example of a single +life.</p> +<p>I have diverged for a moment from the subject with which I set +out, for I know that my friend was interested in these little +matters, and I have a natural tendency to linger upon any topic +that occupied his thoughts or gave him pleasure and +amusement. His remaining wishes are very briefly +told. He desired that we would make him the frequent +subject of our conversation; at the same time, that we would +never speak of him with an air of gloom or restraint, but +frankly, and as one whom we still loved and hoped to meet +again. He trusted that the old house would wear no aspect +of mourning, but that it would be lively and cheerful; and that +we would not remove or cover up his picture, which hangs in our +dining-room, but make it our companion as he had been. His +own room, our place of meeting, remains, at his desire, in its +accustomed state; our seats are placed about the table as of old; +his easy-chair, his desk, his crutch, his footstool, hold their +accustomed places, and the clock stands in its familiar +corner. We go into the chamber at stated times to see that +all is as it should be, and to take care that <a +name="page318"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 318</span>the light +and air are not shut out, for on that point he expressed a strong +solicitude. But it was his fancy that the apartment should +not be inhabited; that it should be religiously preserved in this +condition, and that the voice of his old companion should be +heard no more.</p> +<p>My own history may be summed up in very few words; and even +those I should have spared the reader but for my friend’s +allusion to me some time since. I have no deeper sorrow +than the loss of a child,—an only daughter, who is living, +and who fled from her father’s house but a few weeks before +our friend and I first met. I had never spoken of this even +to him, because I have always loved her, and I could not bear to +tell him of her error until I could tell him also of her sorrow +and regret. Happily I was enabled to do so some time +ago. And it will not be long, with Heaven’s leave, +before she is restored to me; before I find in her and her +husband the support of my declining years.</p> +<p>For my pipe, it is an old relic of home, a thing of no great +worth, a poor trifle, but sacred to me for her sake.</p> +<p>Thus, since the death of our venerable friend, Jack Redburn +and I have been the sole tenants of the old house; and, day by +day, have lounged together in his favourite walks. Mindful +of his injunctions, we have long been able to speak of him with +ease and cheerfulness, and to remember him as he would be +remembered. From certain allusions which Jack has dropped, +to his having been deserted and cast off in early life, I am +inclined to believe that some passages of his youth may possibly +be shadowed out in the history of Mr. Chester and his son, but +seeing that he avoids the subject, I have not pursued it.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p318b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"The Deserted Chamber" +title= +"The Deserted Chamber" +src="images/p318s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>My task is done. The chamber in which we have whiled +away so many hours, not, I hope, without some pleasure and some +profit, is deserted; our happy hour of meeting strikes no more; +the chimney-corner has grown cold; and <span class="smcap">Master +Humphrey’s Clock</span> has stopped for ever.</p> +<h2>TO THE READERS OF “MASTER HUMPHREY’S +CLOCK”</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Friends</span>,</p> +<p>Next November we shall have finished the tale of which we are +at present engaged, and shall have travelled together through +twenty monthly parts and eighty-seven weekly numbers. It is +my design when we have gone so far, to close this work. Let +me tell you why.</p> +<p>I should not regard the anxiety, the close confinement, or the +constant attention, inseparable from the weekly form of +publication (for to commune with you in any form is to me a +labour of love) if I had found it advantageous to the conduct of +my stories, the elucidation of my meaning, or the gradual +development of my characters. But I have not done so. +I have often felt cramped and confined in a very irksome and +harassing degree by the space in which I have been constrained to +move. I have wanted you to know more at once than I could +tell you; and it has frequently been of the greatest importance +to my cherished intention, that you should do so. I have +been sometimes strongly tempted (and have been at some pains to +resist the temptation) to hurry incidents on, lest they should +appear to you who waited from week to week, and had not, like me, +the result and purpose in your minds, <a name="pagexix"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xix</span>too long delayed. In a word, I +have found this form of publication most anxious, perplexing, and +difficult. I cannot bear these jerky confidences which are +no sooner begun than ended, and no sooner ended than begun +again.</p> +<p>Many passages in a tale of any length, depend materially for +their interest on the intimate relation they bear to what has +gone before, or to what is to follow. I have sometimes +found it difficult when I issued thirty-two closely printed pages +once a month, to sustain in your minds this needful connection: +in the present form of publication it is often, especially in the +first half of a story, quite impossible to preserve it +sufficiently through the current numbers. And although in +my progress, I am gradually able to set you right, and to show +you what my meaning has been, and to work it out, I see no reason +why you should ever be wrong when I have it in my power by +resorting to a better means of communication between us to +prevent it.</p> +<p>Considerations of immediate profit and advantage ought in such +a case to be of secondary importance. They would lead me, +at all hazards, to hold my present course. But for the +reason I have just now mentioned, I have after long +consideration, and with especial reference to the next new tale I +bear in my mind, arrived at the conclusion that it will be better +to abandon this scheme of publication in favour of our old and +well-tried plan which has only twelve gaps in a year, instead of +fifty-two.</p> +<p>Therefore my intention is, to close this story (with the +limits of which I am of course by this time acquainted) and this +work, within, or about, the period I have mentioned. I +should add, that for the general convenience of subscribers, +another volume of collected numbers will not be published until +the whole is brought to a conclusion.</p> +<p>Taking advantage of the respite which the close of this work +will afford me, I have decided, in January next, to pay a visit +to America. The pleasure I anticipate from this realization +of a wish I have long entertained, and long hoped <a +name="pagexx"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xx</span>to gratify, +is subdued by the reflection that it must separate us for a +longer time than other circumstances would have rendered +necessary.</p> +<p>On the first of November, eighteen hundred and forty-two, I +purpose, if it please God, to commence my book in monthly parts, +under the old green cover, in the old size and form, and at the +old price.</p> +<p>I look forward to addressing a few more words to you in +reference to this latter theme before I close the task on which I +am now engaged. If there be any among the numerous readers +of <i>Master Humphrey’s Clock</i> who are at first +dissatisfied with the prospect of this change—and it is not +unnatural almost to hope there may be some—I trust they +will, at no very distant day, find reason to agree with</p> +<p style="text-align: right">ITS AUTHOR</p> +<p><i>September</i>, 1841.</p> +<h2><a name="pagexxi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xxi</span>POSTSCRIPT <a name="citation0"></a><a href="#footnote0" +class="citation">[0]</a></h2> +<p>Now that the time is come for taking leave, I find that the +words I have to add are very few indeed.</p> +<p>We part until next November. It is a long parting +between us, but if I have left you anything by which to remember +me, in the meanwhile, with no unkind or distant +feelings—anything by which I may be associated in spirit +with your firesides, homes, and blameless pleasures—I am +happy.</p> +<p>Believe me it has ever been my true desire to add to the +common stock of healthful cheerfulness, good humour, and +good-will, and trust me when I return to England and to another +tale of English life and manners, I shall not slacken in this +zealous work.</p> +<p>I take the opportunity for thanking all those who have +addressed me by letter since the appearance of the foregoing +announcement; and of expressing a hope that they will rest +contented with this form of acknowledgment, as their number +renders it impossible to me to answer them individually.</p> +<p>I bid farewell to them and all my readers with a regret that +we feel in taking leave of Friends who have become endeared to us +by long and close communication; and I look forward with +truthfulness and pleasure to our next meeting.</p> +<p><i>November</i>, 1841.</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote0"></a><a href="#citation0" +class="footnote">[0]</a> Postscript, printed on the wrapper +of No. 87 of “Master Humphrey’s Clock”.</p> +<p><a name="footnote255"></a><a href="#citation255" +class="footnote">[255]</a> Old Curiosity Shop begins +here.</p> +<p><a name="footnote292"></a><a href="#citation292" +class="footnote">[292]</a> Old Curiosity Shop is continued +here, completing No. IV.</p> +<p><a name="footnote300"></a><a href="#citation300" +class="footnote">[300]</a> Old Curiosity Shop is continued +to the end of the number.</p> +<p><a name="footnote306"></a><a href="#citation306" +class="footnote">[306]</a> Old Curiosity Shop is continued +from here to the end without further break. Master Humphrey +is revived thus at the close of the Old Curiosity Shop, merely to +introduce Barnaby Rudge.</p> +<p><a name="footnote311"></a><a href="#citation311" +class="footnote">[311]</a> This was Barnaby Rudge, +contained in vol. ix. of this Edition. This is, as +indicated, the final appearance of Master Humphrey’s +Clock. It forms the conclusion of Barnaby Rudge.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 588-h.htm or 588-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/8/588 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +Master Humphrey's Clock by Charles Dickens +Scanned and proofed by David Price +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +Master Humphrey's Clock + +by Charles Dickens + + + +CHAPTER I - MASTER HUMPHREY, FROM HIS CLOCK-SIDE IN THE CHIMNEY +CORNER + + + +THE reader must not expect to know where I live. At present, it is +true, my abode may be a question of little or no import to anybody; +but if I should carry my readers with me, as I hope to do, and +there should spring up between them and me feelings of homely +affection and regard attaching something of interest to matters +ever so slightly connected with my fortunes or my speculations, +even my place of residence might one day have a kind of charm for +them. Bearing this possible contingency in mind, I wish them to +understand, in the outset, that they must never expect to know it. + +I am not a churlish old man. Friendless I can never be, for all +mankind are my kindred, and I am on ill terms with no one member of +my great family. But for many years I have led a lonely, solitary +life; - what wound I sought to heal, what sorrow to forget, +originally, matters not now; it is sufficient that retirement has +become a habit with me, and that I am unwilling to break the spell +which for so long a time has shed its quiet influence upon my home +and heart. + +I live in a venerable suburb of London, in an old house which in +bygone days was a famous resort for merry roysterers and peerless +ladies, long since departed. It is a silent, shady place, with a +paved courtyard so full of echoes, that sometimes I am tempted to +believe that faint responses to the noises of old times linger +there yet, and that these ghosts of sound haunt my footsteps as I +pace it up and down. I am the more confirmed in this belief, +because, of late years, the echoes that attend my walks have been +less loud and marked than they were wont to be; and it is +pleasanter to imagine in them the rustling of silk brocade, and the +light step of some lovely girl, than to recognise in their altered +note the failing tread of an old man. + +Those who like to read of brilliant rooms and gorgeous furniture +would derive but little pleasure from a minute description of my +simple dwelling. It is dear to me for the same reason that they +would hold it in slight regard. Its worm-eaten doors, and low +ceilings crossed by clumsy beams; its walls of wainscot, dark +stairs, and gaping closets; its small chambers, communicating with +each other by winding passages or narrow steps; its many nooks, +scarce larger than its corner-cupboards; its very dust and dulness, +are all dear to me. The moth and spider are my constant tenants; +for in my house the one basks in his long sleep, and the other +plies his busy loom secure and undisturbed. I have a pleasure in +thinking on a summer's day how many butterflies have sprung for the +first time into light and sunshine from some dark corner of these +old walls. + +When I first came to live here, which was many years ago, the +neighbours were curious to know who I was, and whence I came, and +why I lived so much alone. As time went on, and they still +remained unsatisfied on these points, I became the centre of a +popular ferment, extending for half a mile round, and in one +direction for a full mile. Various rumours were circulated to my +prejudice. I was a spy, an infidel, a conjurer, a kidnapper of +children, a refugee, a priest, a monster. Mothers caught up their +infants and ran into their houses as I passed; men eyed me +spitefully, and muttered threats and curses. I was the object of +suspicion and distrust - ay, of downright hatred too. + +But when in course of time they found I did no harm, but, on the +contrary, inclined towards them despite their unjust usage, they +began to relent. I found my footsteps no longer dogged, as they +had often been before, and observed that the women and children no +longer retreated, but would stand and gaze at me as I passed their +doors. I took this for a good omen, and waited patiently for +better times. By degrees I began to make friends among these +humble folks; and though they were yet shy of speaking, would give +them 'good day,' and so pass on. In a little time, those whom I +had thus accosted would make a point of coming to their doors and +windows at the usual hour, and nod or courtesy to me; children, +too, came timidly within my reach, and ran away quite scared when I +patted their heads and bade them be good at school. These little +people soon grew more familiar. From exchanging mere words of +course with my older neighbours, I gradually became their friend +and adviser, the depositary of their cares and sorrows, and +sometimes, it may be, the reliever, in my small way, of their +distresses. And now I never walk abroad but pleasant recognitions +and smiling faces wait on Master Humphrey. + +It was a whim of mine, perhaps as a whet to the curiosity of my +neighbours, and a kind of retaliation upon them for their +suspicions - it was, I say, a whim of mine, when I first took up my +abode in this place, to acknowledge no other name than Humphrey. +With my detractors, I was Ugly Humphrey. When I began to convert +them into friends, I was Mr. Humphrey and Old Mr. Humphrey. At +length I settled down into plain Master Humphrey, which was +understood to be the title most pleasant to my ear; and so +completely a matter of course has it become, that sometimes when I +am taking my morning walk in my little courtyard, I overhear my +barber - who has a profound respect for me, and would not, I am +sure, abridge my honours for the world - holding forth on the other +side of the wall, touching the state of 'Master Humphrey's' health, +and communicating to some friend the substance of the conversation +that he and Master Humphrey have had together in the course of the +shaving which he has just concluded. + +That I may not make acquaintance with my readers under false +pretences, or give them cause to complain hereafter that I have +withheld any matter which it was essential for them to have learnt +at first, I wish them to know - and I smile sorrowfully to think +that the time has been when the confession would have given me pain +- that I am a misshapen, deformed old man. + +I have never been made a misanthrope by this cause. I have never +been stung by any insult, nor wounded by any jest upon my crooked +figure. As a child I was melancholy and timid, but that was +because the gentle consideration paid to my misfortune sunk deep +into my spirit and made me sad, even in those early days. I was +but a very young creature when my poor mother died, and yet I +remember that often when I hung around her neck, and oftener still +when I played about the room before her, she would catch me to her +bosom, and bursting into tears, would soothe me with every term of +fondness and affection. God knows I was a happy child at those +times, - happy to nestle in her breast, - happy to weep when she +did, - happy in not knowing why. + +These occasions are so strongly impressed upon my memory, that they +seem to have occupied whole years. I had numbered very, very few +when they ceased for ever, but before then their meaning had been +revealed to me. + +I do not know whether all children are imbued with a quick +perception of childish grace and beauty, and a strong love for it, +but I was. I had no thought that I remember, either that I +possessed it myself or that I lacked it, but I admired it with an +intensity that I cannot describe. A little knot of playmates - +they must have been beautiful, for I see them now - were clustered +one day round my mother's knee in eager admiration of some picture +representing a group of infant angels, which she held in her hand. +Whose the picture was, whether it was familiar to me or otherwise, +or how all the children came to be there, I forget; I have some dim +thought it was my birthday, but the beginning of my recollection is +that we were all together in a garden, and it was summer weather, - +I am sure of that, for one of the little girls had roses in her +sash. There were many lovely angels in this picture, and I +remember the fancy coming upon me to point out which of them +represented each child there, and that when I had gone through my +companions, I stopped and hesitated, wondering which was most like +me. I remember the children looking at each other, and my turning +red and hot, and their crowding round to kiss me, saying that they +loved me all the same; and then, and when the old sorrow came into +my dear mother's mild and tender look, the truth broke upon me for +the first time, and I knew, while watching my awkward and ungainly +sports, how keenly she had felt for her poor crippled boy. + +I used frequently to dream of it afterwards, and now my heart aches +for that child as if I had never been he, when I think how often he +awoke from some fairy change to his own old form, and sobbed +himself to sleep again. + +Well, well, - all these sorrows are past. My glancing at them may +not be without its use, for it may help in some measure to explain +why I have all my life been attached to the inanimate objects that +people my chamber, and how I have come to look upon them rather in +the light of old and constant friends, than as mere chairs and +tables which a little money could replace at will. + +Chief and first among all these is my Clock, - my old, cheerful, +companionable Clock. How can I ever convey to others an idea of +the comfort and consolation that this old Clock has been for years +to me! + +It is associated with my earliest recollections. It stood upon the +staircase at home (I call it home still mechanically), nigh sixty +years ago. I like it for that; but it is not on that account, nor +because it is a quaint old thing in a huge oaken case curiously and +richly carved, that I prize it as I do. I incline to it as if it +were alive, and could understand and give me back the love I bear +it. + +And what other thing that has not life could cheer me as it does? +what other thing that has not life (I will not say how few things +that have) could have proved the same patient, true, untiring +friend? How often have I sat in the long winter evenings feeling +such society in its cricket-voice, that raising my eyes from my +book and looking gratefully towards it, the face reddened by the +glow of the shining fire has seemed to relax from its staid +expression and to regard me kindly! how often in the summer +twilight, when my thoughts have wandered back to a melancholy past, +have its regular whisperings recalled them to the calm and peaceful +present! how often in the dead tranquillity of night has its bell +broken the oppressive silence, and seemed to give me assurance that +the old clock was still a faithful watcher at my chamber-door! My +easy-chair, my desk, my ancient furniture, my very books, I can +scarcely bring myself to love even these last like my old clock. + +It stands in a snug corner, midway between the fireside and a low +arched door leading to my bedroom. Its fame is diffused so +extensively throughout the neighbourhood, that I have often the +satisfaction of hearing the publican, or the baker, and sometimes +even the parish-clerk, petitioning my housekeeper (of whom I shall +have much to say by-and-by) to inform him the exact time by Master +Humphrey's clock. My barber, to whom I have referred, would sooner +believe it than the sun. Nor are these its only distinctions. It +has acquired, I am happy to say, another, inseparably connecting it +not only with my enjoyments and reflections, but with those of +other men; as I shall now relate. + +I lived alone here for a long time without any friend or +acquaintance. In the course of my wanderings by night and day, at +all hours and seasons, in city streets and quiet country parts, I +came to be familiar with certain faces, and to take it to heart as +quite a heavy disappointment if they failed to present themselves +each at its accustomed spot. But these were the only friends I +knew, and beyond them I had none. + +It happened, however, when I had gone on thus for a long time, that +I formed an acquaintance with a deaf gentleman, which ripened into +intimacy and close companionship. To this hour, I am ignorant of +his name. It is his humour to conceal it, or he has a reason and +purpose for so doing. In either case, I feel that he has a right +to require a return of the trust he has reposed; and as he has +never sought to discover my secret, I have never sought to +penetrate his. There may have been something in this tacit +confidence in each other flattering and pleasant to us both, and it +may have imparted in the beginning an additional zest, perhaps, to +our friendship. Be this as it may, we have grown to be like +brothers, and still I only know him as the deaf gentleman. + +I have said that retirement has become a habit with me. When I +add, that the deaf gentleman and I have two friends, I communicate +nothing which is inconsistent with that declaration. I spend many +hours of every day in solitude and study, have no friends or change +of friends but these, only see them at stated periods, and am +supposed to be of a retired spirit by the very nature and object of +our association. + +We are men of secluded habits, with something of a cloud upon our +early fortunes, whose enthusiasm, nevertheless, has not cooled with +age, whose spirit of romance is not yet quenched, who are content +to ramble through the world in a pleasant dream, rather than ever +waken again to its harsh realities. We are alchemists who would +extract the essence of perpetual youth from dust and ashes, tempt +coy Truth in many light and airy forms from the bottom of her well, +and discover one crumb of comfort or one grain of good in the +commonest and least-regarded matter that passes through our +crucible. Spirits of past times, creatures of imagination, and +people of to-day are alike the objects of our seeking, and, unlike +the objects of search with most philosophers, we can insure their +coming at our command. + +The deaf gentleman and I first began to beguile our days with these +fancies, and our nights in communicating them to each other. We +are now four. But in my room there are six old chairs, and we have +decided that the two empty seats shall always be placed at our +table when we meet, to remind us that we may yet increase our +company by that number, if we should find two men to our mind. +When one among us dies, his chair will always be set in its usual +place, but never occupied again; and I have caused my will to be so +drawn out, that when we are all dead the house shall be shut up, +and the vacant chairs still left in their accustomed places. It is +pleasant to think that even then our shades may, perhaps, assemble +together as of yore we did, and join in ghostly converse. + +One night in every week, as the clock strikes ten, we meet. At the +second stroke of two, I am alone. + +And now shall I tell how that my old servant, besides giving us +note of time, and ticking cheerful encouragement of our +proceedings, lends its name to our society, which for its +punctuality and my love is christened 'Master Humphrey's Clock'? +Now shall I tell how that in the bottom of the old dark closet, +where the steady pendulum throbs and beats with healthy action, +though the pulse of him who made it stood still long ago, and never +moved again, there are piles of dusty papers constantly placed +there by our hands, that we may link our enjoyments with my old +friend, and draw means to beguile time from the heart of time +itself? Shall I, or can I, tell with what a secret pride I open +this repository when we meet at night, and still find new store of +pleasure in my dear old Clock? + +Friend and companion of my solitude! mine is not a selfish love; I +would not keep your merits to myself, but disperse something of +pleasant association with your image through the whole wide world; +I would have men couple with your name cheerful and healthy +thoughts; I would have them believe that you keep true and honest +time; and how it would gladden me to know that they recognised some +hearty English work in Master Humphrey's clock! + + + +THE CLOCK-CASE + + + +It is my intention constantly to address my readers from the +chimney-corner, and I would fain hope that such accounts as I shall +give them of our histories and proceedings, our quiet speculations +or more busy adventures, will never be unwelcome. Lest, however, I +should grow prolix in the outset by lingering too long upon our +little association, confounding the enthusiasm with which I regard +this chief happiness of my life with that minor degree of interest +which those to whom I address myself may be supposed to feel for +it, I have deemed it expedient to break off as they have seen. + +But, still clinging to my old friend, and naturally desirous that +all its merits should be known, I am tempted to open (somewhat +irregularly and against our laws, I must admit) the clock-case. +The first roll of paper on which I lay my hand is in the writing of +the deaf gentleman. I shall have to speak of him in my next paper; +and how can I better approach that welcome task than by prefacing +it with a production of his own pen, consigned to the safe keeping +of my honest Clock by his own hand? + +The manuscript runs thus + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE GIANT CHRONICLES + + +Once upon a time, that is to say, in this our time, - the exact +year, month, and day are of no matter, - there dwelt in the city of +London a substantial citizen, who united in his single person the +dignities of wholesale fruiterer, alderman, common-councilman, and +member of the worshipful Company of Patten-makers; who had +superadded to these extraordinary distinctions the important post +and title of Sheriff, and who at length, and to crown all, stood +next in rotation for the high and honourable office of Lord Mayor. + +He was a very substantial citizen indeed. His face was like the +full moon in a fog, with two little holes punched out for his eyes, +a very ripe pear stuck on for his nose, and a wide gash to serve +for a mouth. The girth of his waistcoat was hung up and lettered +in his tailor's shop as an extraordinary curiosity. He breathed +like a heavy snorer, and his voice in speaking came thickly forth, +as if it were oppressed and stifled by feather-beds. He trod the +ground like an elephant, and eat and drank like - like nothing but +an alderman, as he was. + +This worthy citizen had risen to his great eminence from small +beginnings. He had once been a very lean, weazen little boy, never +dreaming of carrying such a weight of flesh upon his bones or of +money in his pockets, and glad enough to take his dinner at a +baker's door, and his tea at a pump. But he had long ago forgotten +all this, as it was proper that a wholesale fruiterer, alderman, +common-councilman, member of the worshipful Company of Patten- +makers, past sheriff, and, above all, a Lord Mayor that was to be, +should; and he never forgot it more completely in all his life than +on the eighth of November in the year of his election to the great +golden civic chair, which was the day before his grand dinner at +Guildhall. + +It happened that as he sat that evening all alone in his counting- +house, looking over the bill of fare for next day, and checking off +the fat capons in fifties, and the turtle-soup by the hundred +quarts, for his private amusement, - it happened that as he sat +alone occupied in these pleasant calculations, a strange man came +in and asked him how he did, adding, 'If I am half as much changed +as you, sir, you have no recollection of me, I am sure.' + +The strange man was not over and above well dressed, and was very +far from being fat or rich-looking in any sense of the word, yet he +spoke with a kind of modest confidence, and assumed an easy, +gentlemanly sort of an air, to which nobody but a rich man can +lawfully presume. Besides this, he interrupted the good citizen +just as he had reckoned three hundred and seventy-two fat capons, +and was carrying them over to the next column; and as if that were +not aggravation enough, the learned recorder for the city of London +had only ten minutes previously gone out at that very same door, +and had turned round and said, 'Good night, my lord.' Yes, he had +said, 'my lord;' - he, a man of birth and education, of the +Honourable Society of the Middle Temple, Barrister-at-Law, - he who +had an uncle in the House of Commons, and an aunt almost but not +quite in the House of Lords (for she had married a feeble peer, and +made him vote as she liked), - he, this man, this learned recorder, +had said, 'my lord.' 'I'll not wait till to-morrow to give you +your title, my Lord Mayor,' says he, with a bow and a smile; 'you +are Lord Mayor DE FACTO, if not DE JURE. Good night, my lord.' + +The Lord Mayor elect thought of this, and turning to the stranger, +and sternly bidding him 'go out of his private counting-house,' +brought forward the three hundred and seventy-two fat capons, and +went on with his account. + +'Do you remember,' said the other, stepping forward, - 'DO you +remember little Joe Toddyhigh?' + +The port wine fled for a moment from the fruiterer's nose as he +muttered, 'Joe Toddyhigh! What about Joe Toddyhigh?' + +'I am Joe Toddyhigh,' cried the visitor. 'Look at me, look hard at +me, - harder, harder. You know me now? You know little Joe again? +What a happiness to us both, to meet the very night before your +grandeur! O! give me your hand, Jack, - both hands, - both, for +the sake of old times.' + +'You pinch me, sir. You're a-hurting of me,' said the Lord Mayor +elect pettishly. 'Don't, - suppose anybody should come, - Mr. +Toddyhigh, sir.' + +'Mr. Toddyhigh!' repeated the other ruefully. + +'O, don't bother,' said the Lord Mayor elect, scratching his head. +'Dear me! Why, I thought you was dead. What a fellow you are!' + +Indeed, it was a pretty state of things, and worthy the tone of +vexation and disappointment in which the Lord Mayor spoke. Joe +Toddyhigh had been a poor boy with him at Hull, and had oftentimes +divided his last penny and parted his last crust to relieve his +wants; for though Joe was a destitute child in those times, he was +as faithful and affectionate in his friendship as ever man of might +could be. They parted one day to seek their fortunes in different +directions. Joe went to sea, and the now wealthy citizen begged +his way to London, They separated with many tears, like foolish +fellows as they were, and agreed to remain fast friends, and if +they lived, soon to communicate again. + +When he was an errand-boy, and even in the early days of his +apprenticeship, the citizen had many a time trudged to the Post- +office to ask if there were any letter from poor little Joe, and +had gone home again with tears in his eyes, when he found no news +of his only friend. The world is a wide place, and it was a long +time before the letter came; when it did, the writer was forgotten. +It turned from white to yellow from lying in the Post-office with +nobody to claim it, and in course of time was torn up with five +hundred others, and sold for waste-paper. And now at last, and +when it might least have been expected, here was this Joe Toddyhigh +turning up and claiming acquaintance with a great public character, +who on the morrow would be cracking jokes with the Prime Minister +of England, and who had only, at any time during the next twelve +months, to say the word, and he could shut up Temple Bar, and make +it no thoroughfare for the king himself! + +'I am sure I don't know what to say, Mr. Toddyhigh,' said the Lord +Mayor elect; 'I really don't. It's very inconvenient. I'd sooner +have given twenty pound, - it's very inconvenient, really.' - A +thought had come into his mind, that perhaps his old friend might +say something passionate which would give him an excuse for being +angry himself. No such thing. Joe looked at him steadily, but very +mildly, and did not open his lips. + +'Of course I shall pay you what I owe you,' said the Lord Mayor +elect, fidgeting in his chair. 'You lent me - I think it was a +shilling or some small coin - when we parted company, and that of +course I shall pay with good interest. I can pay my way with any +man, and always have done. If you look into the Mansion House the +day after to-morrow, - some time after dusk, - and ask for my +private clerk, you'll find he has a draft for you. I haven't got +time to say anything more just now, unless,' - he hesitated, for, +coupled with a strong desire to glitter for once in all his glory +in the eyes of his former companion, was a distrust of his +appearance, which might be more shabby than he could tell by that +feeble light, - 'unless you'd like to come to the dinner to-morrow. +I don't mind your having this ticket, if you like to take it. A +great many people would give their ears for it, I can tell you.' + +His old friend took the card without speaking a word, and instantly +departed. His sunburnt face and gray hair were present to the +citizen's mind for a moment; but by the time he reached three +hundred and eighty-one fat capons, he had quite forgotten him. + +Joe Toddyhigh had never been in the capital of Europe before, and +he wandered up and down the streets that night amazed at the number +of churches and other public buildings, the splendour of the shops, +the riches that were heaped up on every side, the glare of light in +which they were displayed, and the concourse of people who hurried +to and fro, indifferent, apparently, to all the wonders that +surrounded them. But in all the long streets and broad squares, +there were none but strangers; it was quite a relief to turn down a +by-way and hear his own footsteps on the pavement. He went home to +his inn, thought that London was a dreary, desolate place, and felt +disposed to doubt the existence of one true-hearted man in the +whole worshipful Company of Patten-makers. Finally, he went to +bed, and dreamed that he and the Lord Mayor elect were boys again. + +He went next day to the dinner; and when in a burst of light and +music, and in the midst of splendid decorations and surrounded by +brilliant company, his former friend appeared at the head of the +Hall, and was hailed with shouts and cheering, he cheered and +shouted with the best, and for the moment could have cried. The +next moment he cursed his weakness in behalf of a man so changed +and selfish, and quite hated a jolly-looking old gentleman opposite +for declaring himself in the pride of his heart a Patten-maker. + +As the banquet proceeded, he took more and more to heart the rich +citizen's unkindness; and that, not from any envy, but because he +felt that a man of his state and fortune could all the better +afford to recognise an old friend, even if he were poor and +obscure. The more he thought of this, the more lonely and sad he +felt. When the company dispersed and adjourned to the ball-room, +he paced the hall and passages alone, ruminating in a very +melancholy condition upon the disappointment he had experienced. + +It chanced, while he was lounging about in this moody state, that +he stumbled upon a flight of stairs, dark, steep, and narrow, which +he ascended without any thought about the matter, and so came into +a little music-gallery, empty and deserted. From this elevated +post, which commanded the whole hall, he amused himself in looking +down upon the attendants who were clearing away the fragments of +the feast very lazily, and drinking out of all the bottles and +glasses with most commendable perseverance. + +His attention gradually relaxed, and he fell fast asleep. + +When he awoke, he thought there must be something the matter with +his eyes; but, rubbing them a little, he soon found that the +moonlight was really streaming through the east window, that the +lamps were all extinguished, and that he was alone. He listened, +but no distant murmur in the echoing passages, not even the +shutting of a door, broke the deep silence; he groped his way down +the stairs, and found that the door at the bottom was locked on the +other side. He began now to comprehend that he must have slept a +long time, that he had been overlooked, and was shut up there for +the night. + +His first sensation, perhaps, was not altogether a comfortable one, +for it was a dark, chilly, earthy-smelling place, and something too +large, for a man so situated, to feel at home in. However, when +the momentary consternation of his surprise was over, he made light +of the accident, and resolved to feel his way up the stairs again, +and make himself as comfortable as he could in the gallery until +morning. As he turned to execute this purpose, he heard the clocks +strike three. + +Any such invasion of a dead stillness as the striking of distant +clocks, causes it to appear the more intense and insupportable when +the sound has ceased. He listened with strained attention in the +hope that some clock, lagging behind its fellows, had yet to +strike, - looking all the time into the profound darkness before +him, until it seemed to weave itself into a black tissue, patterned +with a hundred reflections of his own eyes. But the bells had all +pealed out their warning for that once, and the gust of wind that +moaned through the place seemed cold and heavy with their iron +breath. + +The time and circumstances were favourable to reflection. He tried +to keep his thoughts to the current, unpleasant though it was, in +which they had moved all day, and to think with what a romantic +feeling he had looked forward to shaking his old friend by the hand +before he died, and what a wide and cruel difference there was +between the meeting they had had, and that which he had so often +and so long anticipated. Still, he was disordered by waking to +such sudden loneliness, and could not prevent his mind from running +upon odd tales of people of undoubted courage, who, being shut up +by night in vaults or churches, or other dismal places, had scaled +great heights to get out, and fled from silence as they had never +done from danger. This brought to his mind the moonlight through +the window, and bethinking himself of it, he groped his way back up +the crooked stairs, - but very stealthily, as though he were +fearful of being overheard. + +He was very much astonished when he approached the gallery again, +to see a light in the building: still more so, on advancing +hastily and looking round, to observe no visible source from which +it could proceed. But how much greater yet was his astonishment at +the spectacle which this light revealed. + +The statues of the two giants, Gog and Magog, each above fourteen +feet in height, those which succeeded to still older and more +barbarous figures, after the Great Fire of London, and which stand +in the Guildhall to this day, were endowed with life and motion. +These guardian genii of the City had quitted their pedestals, and +reclined in easy attitudes in the great stained glass window. +Between them was an ancient cask, which seemed to be full of wine; +for the younger Giant, clapping his huge hand upon it, and throwing +up his mighty leg, burst into an exulting laugh, which reverberated +through the hall like thunder. + +Joe Toddyhigh instinctively stooped down, and, more dead than +alive, felt his hair stand on end, his knees knock together, and a +cold damp break out upon his forehead. But even at that minute +curiosity prevailed over every other feeling, and somewhat +reassured by the good-humour of the Giants and their apparent +unconsciousness of his presence, he crouched in a corner of the +gallery, in as small a space as he could, and, peeping between the +rails, observed them closely. + +It was then that the elder Giant, who had a flowing gray beard, +raised his thoughtful eyes to his companion's face, and in a grave +and solemn voice addressed him thus: + + +FIRST NIGHT OF THE GIANT CHRONICLES + + +Turning towards his companion the elder Giant uttered these words +in a grave, majestic tone: + +'Magog, does boisterous mirth beseem the Giant Warder of this +ancient city? Is this becoming demeanour for a watchful spirit +over whose bodiless head so many years have rolled, so many changes +swept like empty air - in whose impalpable nostrils the scent of +blood and crime, pestilence, cruelty, and horror, has been familiar +as breath to mortals - in whose sight Time has gathered in the +harvest of centuries, and garnered so many crops of human pride, +affections, hopes, and sorrows? Bethink you of our compact. The +night wanes; feasting, revelry, and music have encroached upon our +usual hours of solitude, and morning will be here apace. Ere we +are stricken mute again, bethink you of our compact.' + +Pronouncing these latter words with more of impatience than quite +accorded with his apparent age and gravity, the Giant raised a long +pole (which he still bears in his hand) and tapped his brother +Giant rather smartly on the head; indeed, the blow was so smartly +administered, that the latter quickly withdrew his lips from the +cask, to which they had been applied, and, catching up his shield +and halberd, assumed an attitude of defence. His irritation was +but momentary, for he laid these weapons aside as hastily as he had +assumed them, and said as he did so: + +'You know, Gog, old friend, that when we animate these shapes which +the Londoners of old assigned (and not unworthily) to the guardian +genii of their city, we are susceptible of some of the sensations +which belong to human kind. Thus when I taste wine, I feel blows; +when I relish the one, I disrelish the other. Therefore, Gog, the +more especially as your arm is none of the lightest, keep your good +staff by your side, else we may chance to differ. Peace be between +us!' + +'Amen!' said the other, leaning his staff in the window-corner. +'Why did you laugh just now?' + +'To think,' replied the Giant Magog, laying his hand upon the cask, +'of him who owned this wine, and kept it in a cellar hoarded from +the light of day, for thirty years, - "till it should be fit to +drink," quoth he. He was twoscore and ten years old when he buried +it beneath his house, and yet never thought that he might be +scarcely "fit to drink" when the wine became so. I wonder it never +occurred to him to make himself unfit to be eaten. There is very +little of him left by this time.' + +'The night is waning,' said Gog mournfully. + +'I know it,' replied his companion, 'and I see you are impatient. +But look. Through the eastern window - placed opposite to us, that +the first beams of the rising sun may every morning gild our giant +faces - the moon-rays fall upon the pavement in a stream of light +that to my fancy sinks through the cold stone and gushes into the +old crypt below. The night is scarcely past its noon, and our +great charge is sleeping heavily.' + +They ceased to speak, and looked upward at the moon. The sight of +their large, black, rolling eyes filled Joe Toddyhigh with such +horror that he could scarcely draw his breath. Still they took no +note of him, and appeared to believe themselves quite alone. + +'Our compact,' said Magog after a pause, 'is, if I understand it, +that, instead of watching here in silence through the dreary +nights, we entertain each other with stories of our past +experience; with tales of the past, the present, and the future; +with legends of London and her sturdy citizens from the old simple +times. That every night at midnight, when St. Paul's bell tolls +out one, and we may move and speak, we thus discourse, nor leave +such themes till the first gray gleam of day shall strike us dumb. +Is that our bargain, brother?' + +'Yes,' said the Giant Gog, 'that is the league between us who guard +this city, by day in spirit, and by night in body also; and never +on ancient holidays have its conduits run wine more merrily than we +will pour forth our legendary lore. We are old chroniclers from +this time hence. The crumbled walls encircle us once more, the +postern-gates are closed, the drawbridge is up, and pent in its +narrow den beneath, the water foams and struggles with the sunken +starlings. Jerkins and quarter-staves are in the streets again, +the nightly watch is set, the rebel, sad and lonely in his Tower +dungeon, tries to sleep and weeps for home and children. Aloft +upon the gates and walls are noble heads glaring fiercely down upon +the dreaming city, and vexing the hungry dogs that scent them in +the air, and tear the ground beneath with dismal howlings. The +axe, the block, the rack, in their dark chambers give signs of +recent use. The Thames, floating past long lines of cheerful +windows whence come a burst of music and a stream of light, bears +suddenly to the Palace wall the last red stain brought on the tide +from Traitor's Gate. But your pardon, brother. The night wears, +and I am talking idly.' + +The other Giant appeared to be entirely of this opinion, for during +the foregoing rhapsody of his fellow-sentinel he had been +scratching his head with an air of comical uneasiness, or rather +with an air that would have been very comical if he had been a +dwarf or an ordinary-sized man. He winked too, and though it could +not be doubted for a moment that he winked to himself, still he +certainly cocked his enormous eye towards the gallery where the +listener was concealed. Nor was this all, for he gaped; and when +he gaped, Joe was horribly reminded of the popular prejudice on the +subject of giants, and of their fabled power of smelling out +Englishmen, however closely concealed. + +His alarm was such that he nearly swooned, and it was some little +time before his power of sight or hearing was restored. When he +recovered he found that the elder Giant was pressing the younger to +commence the Chronicles, and that the latter was endeavouring to +excuse himself on the ground that the night was far spent, and it +would be better to wait until the next. Well assured by this that +he was certainly about to begin directly, the listener collected +his faculties by a great effort, and distinctly heard Magog express +himself to the following effect: + + +In the sixteenth century and in the reign of Queen Elizabeth of +glorious memory (albeit her golden days are sadly rusted with +blood), there lived in the city of London a bold young 'prentice +who loved his master's daughter. There were no doubt within the +walls a great many 'prentices in this condition, but I speak of +only one, and his name was Hugh Graham. + +This Hugh was apprenticed to an honest Bowyer who dwelt in the ward +of Cheype, and was rumoured to possess great wealth. Rumour was +quite as infallible in those days as at the present time, but it +happened then as now to be sometimes right by accident. It +stumbled upon the truth when it gave the old Bowyer a mint of +money. His trade had been a profitable one in the time of King +Henry the Eighth, who encouraged English archery to the utmost, and +he had been prudent and discreet. Thus it came to pass that +Mistress Alice, his only daughter, was the richest heiress in all +his wealthy ward. Young Hugh had often maintained with staff and +cudgel that she was the handsomest. To do him justice, I believe +she was. + +If he could have gained the heart of pretty Mistress Alice by +knocking this conviction into stubborn people's heads, Hugh would +have had no cause to fear. But though the Bowyer's daughter smiled +in secret to hear of his doughty deeds for her sake, and though her +little waiting-woman reported all her smiles (and many more) to +Hugh, and though he was at a vast expense in kisses and small coin +to recompense her fidelity, he made no progress in his love. He +durst not whisper it to Mistress Alice save on sure encouragement, +and that she never gave him. A glance of her dark eye as she sat +at the door on a summer's evening after prayer-time, while he and +the neighbouring 'prentices exercised themselves in the street with +blunted sword and buckler, would fire Hugh's blood so that none +could stand before him; but then she glanced at others quite as +kindly as on him, and where was the use of cracking crowns if +Mistress Alice smiled upon the cracked as well as on the cracker? + +Still Hugh went on, and loved her more and more. He thought of her +all day, and dreamed of her all night long. He treasured up her +every word and gesture, and had a palpitation of the heart whenever +he heard her footstep on the stairs or her voice in an adjoining +room. To him, the old Bowyer's house was haunted by an angel; +there was enchantment in the air and space in which she moved. It +would have been no miracle to Hugh if flowers had sprung from the +rush-strewn floors beneath the tread of lovely Mistress Alice. + +Never did 'prentice long to distinguish himself in the eyes of his +lady-love so ardently as Hugh. Sometimes he pictured to himself +the house taking fire by night, and he, when all drew back in fear, +rushing through flame and smoke, and bearing her from the ruins in +his arms. At other times he thought of a rising of fierce rebels, +an attack upon the city, a strong assault upon the Bowyer's house +in particular, and he falling on the threshold pierced with +numberless wounds in defence of Mistress Alice. If he could only +enact some prodigy of valour, do some wonderful deed, and let her +know that she had inspired it, he thought he could die contented. + +Sometimes the Bowyer and his daughter would go out to supper with a +worthy citizen at the fashionable hour of six o'clock, and on such +occasions Hugh, wearing his blue 'prentice cloak as gallantly as +'prentice might, would attend with a lantern and his trusty club to +escort them home. These were the brightest moments of his life. +To hold the light while Mistress Alice picked her steps, to touch +her hand as he helped her over broken ways, to have her leaning on +his arm, - it sometimes even came to that, - this was happiness +indeed! + +When the nights were fair, Hugh followed in the rear, his eyes +riveted on the graceful figure of the Bowyer's daughter as she and +the old man moved on before him. So they threaded the narrow +winding streets of the city, now passing beneath the overhanging +gables of old wooden houses whence creaking signs projected into +the street, and now emerging from some dark and frowning gateway +into the clear moonlight. At such times, or when the shouts of +straggling brawlers met her ear, the Bowyer's daughter would look +timidly back at Hugh, beseeching him to draw nearer; and then how +he grasped his club and longed to do battle with a dozen rufflers, +for the love of Mistress Alice! + +The old Bowyer was in the habit of lending money on interest to the +gallants of the Court, and thus it happened that many a richly- +dressed gentleman dismounted at his door. More waving plumes and +gallant steeds, indeed, were seen at the Bowyer's house, and more +embroidered silks and velvets sparkled in his dark shop and darker +private closet, than at any merchants in the city. In those times +no less than in the present it would seem that the richest-looking +cavaliers often wanted money the most. + +Of these glittering clients there was one who always came alone. +He was nobly mounted, and, having no attendant, gave his horse in +charge to Hugh while he and the Bowyer were closeted within. Once +as he sprung into the saddle Mistress Alice was seated at an upper +window, and before she could withdraw he had doffed his jewelled +cap and kissed his hand. Hugh watched him caracoling down the +street, and burnt with indignation. But how much deeper was the +glow that reddened in his cheeks when, raising his eyes to the +casement, he saw that Alice watched the stranger too! + +He came again and often, each time arrayed more gaily than before, +and still the little casement showed him Mistress Alice. At length +one heavy day, she fled from home. It had cost her a hard +struggle, for all her old father's gifts were strewn about her +chamber as if she had parted from them one by one, and knew that +the time must come when these tokens of his love would wring her +heart, - yet she was gone. + +She left a letter commanding her poor father to the care of Hugh, +and wishing he might be happier than ever he could have been with +her, for he deserved the love of a better and a purer heart than +she had to bestow. The old man's forgiveness (she said) she had no +power to ask, but she prayed God to bless him, - and so ended with +a blot upon the paper where her tears had fallen. + +At first the old man's wrath was kindled, and he carried his wrong +to the Queen's throne itself; but there was no redress he learnt at +Court, for his daughter had been conveyed abroad. This afterwards +appeared to be the truth, as there came from France, after an +interval of several years, a letter in her hand. It was written in +trembling characters, and almost illegible. Little could be made +out save that she often thought of home and her old dear pleasant +room, - and that she had dreamt her father was dead and had not +blessed her, - and that her heart was breaking. + +The poor old Bowyer lingered on, never suffering Hugh to quit his +sight, for he knew now that he had loved his daughter, and that was +the only link that bound him to earth. It broke at length and he +died, - bequeathing his old 'prentice his trade and all his wealth, +and solemnly charging him with his last breath to revenge his child +if ever he who had worked her misery crossed his path in life +again. + +From the time of Alice's flight, the tilting-ground, the fields, +the fencing-school, the summer-evening sports, knew Hugh no more. +His spirit was dead within him. He rose to great eminence and +repute among the citizens, but was seldom seen to smile, and never +mingled in their revelries or rejoicings. Brave, humane, and +generous, he was beloved by all. He was pitied too by those who +knew his story, and these were so many that when he walked along +the streets alone at dusk, even the rude common people doffed their +caps and mingled a rough air of sympathy with their respect. + +One night in May - it was her birthnight, and twenty years since +she had left her home - Hugh Graham sat in the room she had +hallowed in his boyish days. He was now a gray-haired man, though +still in the prime of life. Old thoughts had borne him company for +many hours, and the chamber had gradually grown quite dark, when he +was roused by a low knocking at the outer door. + +He hastened down, and opening it saw by the light of a lamp which +he had seized upon the way, a female figure crouching in the +portal. It hurried swiftly past him and glided up the stairs. He +looked for pursuers. There were none in sight. No, not one. + +He was inclined to think it a vision of his own brain, when +suddenly a vague suspicion of the truth flashed upon his mind. He +barred the door, and hastened wildly back. Yes, there she was, - +there, in the chamber he had quitted, - there in her old innocent, +happy home, so changed that none but he could trace one gleam of +what she had been, - there upon her knees, - with her hands clasped +in agony and shame before her burning face. + +'My God, my God!' she cried, 'now strike me dead! Though I have +brought death and shame and sorrow on this roof, O, let me die at +home in mercy!' + +There was no tear upon her face then, but she trembled and glanced +round the chamber. Everything was in its old place. Her bed +looked as if she had risen from it but that morning. The sight of +these familiar objects, marking the dear remembrance in which she +had been held, and the blight she had brought upon herself, was +more than the woman's better nature that had carried her there +could bear. She wept and fell upon the ground. + +A rumour was spread about, in a few days' time, that the Bowyer's +cruel daughter had come home, and that Master Graham had given her +lodging in his house. It was rumoured too that he had resigned her +fortune, in order that she might bestow it in acts of charity, and +that he had vowed to guard her in her solitude, but that they were +never to see each other more. These rumours greatly incensed all +virtuous wives and daughters in the ward, especially when they +appeared to receive some corroboration from the circumstance of +Master Graham taking up his abode in another tenement hard by. The +estimation in which he was held, however, forbade any questioning +on the subject; and as the Bowyer's house was close shut up, and +nobody came forth when public shows and festivities were in +progress, or to flaunt in the public walks, or to buy new fashions +at the mercers' booths, all the well-conducted females agreed among +themselves that there could be no woman there. + +These reports had scarcely died away when the wonder of every good +citizen, male and female, was utterly absorbed and swallowed up by +a Royal Proclamation, in which her Majesty, strongly censuring the +practice of wearing long Spanish rapiers of preposterous length (as +being a bullying and swaggering custom, tending to bloodshed and +public disorder), commanded that on a particular day therein named, +certain grave citizens should repair to the city gates, and there, +in public, break all rapiers worn or carried by persons claiming +admission, that exceeded, though it were only by a quarter of an +inch, three standard feet in length. + +Royal Proclamations usually take their course, let the public +wonder never so much. On the appointed day two citizens of high +repute took up their stations at each of the gates, attended by a +party of the city guard, the main body to enforce the Queen's will, +and take custody of all such rebels (if any) as might have the +temerity to dispute it: and a few to bear the standard measures +and instruments for reducing all unlawful sword-blades to the +prescribed dimensions. In pursuance of these arrangements, Master +Graham and another were posted at Lud Gate, on the hill before St. +Paul's. + +A pretty numerous company were gathered together at this spot, for, +besides the officers in attendance to enforce the proclamation, +there was a motley crowd of lookers-on of various degrees, who +raised from time to time such shouts and cries as the circumstances +called forth. A spruce young courtier was the first who +approached: he unsheathed a weapon of burnished steel that shone +and glistened in the sun, and handed it with the newest air to the +officer, who, finding it exactly three feet long, returned it with +a bow. Thereupon the gallant raised his hat and crying, 'God save +the Queen!' passed on amidst the plaudits of the mob. Then came +another - a better courtier still - who wore a blade but two feet +long, whereat the people laughed, much to the disparagement of his +honour's dignity. Then came a third, a sturdy old officer of the +army, girded with a rapier at least a foot and a half beyond her +Majesty's pleasure; at him they raised a great shout, and most of +the spectators (but especially those who were armourers or cutlers) +laughed very heartily at the breakage which would ensue. But they +were disappointed; for the old campaigner, coolly unbuckling his +sword and bidding his servant carry it home again, passed through +unarmed, to the great indignation of all the beholders. They +relieved themselves in some degree by hooting a tall blustering +fellow with a prodigious weapon, who stopped short on coming in +sight of the preparations, and after a little consideration turned +back again. But all this time no rapier had been broken, although +it was high noon, and all cavaliers of any quality or appearance +were taking their way towards Saint Paul's churchyard. + +During these proceedings, Master Graham had stood apart, strictly +confining himself to the duty imposed upon him, and taking little +heed of anything beyond. He stepped forward now as a richly- +dressed gentleman on foot, followed by a single attendant, was seen +advancing up the hill. + +As this person drew nearer, the crowd stopped their clamour, and +bent forward with eager looks. Master Graham standing alone in the +gateway, and the stranger coming slowly towards him, they seemed, +as it were, set face to face. The nobleman (for he looked one) had +a haughty and disdainful air, which bespoke the slight estimation +in which he held the citizen. The citizen, on the other hand, +preserved the resolute bearing of one who was not to be frowned +down or daunted, and who cared very little for any nobility but +that of worth and manhood. It was perhaps some consciousness on +the part of each, of these feelings in the other, that infused a +more stern expression into their regards as they came closer +together. + +'Your rapier, worthy sir!' + +At the instant that he pronounced these words Graham started, and +falling back some paces, laid his hand upon the dagger in his belt. + +'You are the man whose horse I used to hold before the Bowyer's +door? You are that man? Speak!' + +'Out, you 'prentice hound!' said the other. + +'You are he! I know you well now!' cried Graham. 'Let no man step +between us two, or I shall be his murderer.' With that he drew his +dagger, and rushed in upon him. + +The stranger had drawn his weapon from the scabbard ready for the +scrutiny, before a word was spoken. He made a thrust at his +assailant, but the dagger which Graham clutched in his left hand +being the dirk in use at that time for parrying such blows, +promptly turned the point aside. They closed. The dagger fell +rattling on the ground, and Graham, wresting his adversary's sword +from his grasp, plunged it through his heart. As he drew it out it +snapped in two, leaving a fragment in the dead man's body. + +All this passed so swiftly that the bystanders looked on without an +effort to interfere; but the man was no sooner down than an uproar +broke forth which rent the air. The attendant rushing through the +gate proclaimed that his master, a nobleman, had been set upon and +slain by a citizen; the word quickly spread from mouth to mouth; +Saint Paul's Cathedral, and every book-shop, ordinary, and smoking- +house in the churchyard poured out its stream of cavaliers and +their followers, who mingling together in a dense tumultuous body, +struggled, sword in hand, towards the spot. + +With equal impetuosity, and stimulating each other by loud cries +and shouts, the citizens and common people took up the quarrel on +their side, and encircling Master Graham a hundred deep, forced him +from the gate. In vain he waved the broken sword above his head, +crying that he would die on London's threshold for their sacred +homes. They bore him on, and ever keeping him in the midst, so +that no man could attack him, fought their way into the city. + +The clash of swords and roar of voices, the dust and heat and +pressure, the trampling under foot of men, the distracted looks and +shrieks of women at the windows above as they recognised their +relatives or lovers in the crowd, the rapid tolling of alarm-bells, +the furious rage and passion of the scene, were fearful. Those +who, being on the outskirts of each crowd, could use their weapons +with effect, fought desperately, while those behind, maddened with +baffled rage, struck at each other over the heads of those before +them, and crushed their own fellows. Wherever the broken sword was +seen above the people's heads, towards that spot the cavaliers made +a new rush. Every one of these charges was marked by sudden gaps +in the throng where men were trodden down, but as fast as they were +made, the tide swept over them, and still the multitude pressed on +again, a confused mass of swords, clubs, staves, broken plumes, +fragments of rich cloaks and doublets, and angry, bleeding faces, +all mixed up together in inextricable disorder. + +The design of the people was to force Master Graham to take refuge +in his dwelling, and to defend it until the authorities could +interfere, or they could gain time for parley. But either from +ignorance or in the confusion of the moment they stopped at his old +house, which was closely shut. Some time was lost in beating the +doors open and passing him to the front. About a score of the +boldest of the other party threw themselves into the torrent while +this was being done, and reaching the door at the same moment with +himself cut him off from his defenders. + +'I never will turn in such a righteous cause, so help me Heaven!' +cried Graham, in a voice that at last made itself heard, and +confronting them as he spoke. 'Least of all will I turn upon this +threshold which owes its desolation to such men as ye. I give no +quarter, and I will have none! Strike!' + +For a moment they stood at bay. At that moment a shot from an +unseen hand, apparently fired by some person who had gained access +to one of the opposite houses, struck Graham in the brain, and he +fell dead. A low wail was heard in the air, - many people in the +concourse cried that they had seen a spirit glide across the little +casement window of the Bowyer's house - + +A dead silence succeeded. After a short time some of the flushed +and heated throng laid down their arms and softly carried the body +within doors. Others fell off or slunk away in knots of two or +three, others whispered together in groups, and before a numerous +guard which then rode up could muster in the street, it was nearly +empty. + +Those who carried Master Graham to the bed up-stairs were shocked +to see a woman lying beneath the window with her hands clasped +together. After trying to recover her in vain, they laid her near +the citizen, who still retained, tightly grasped in his right hand, +the first and last sword that was broken that day at Lud Gate. + + +The Giant uttered these concluding words with sudden precipitation; +and on the instant the strange light which had filled the hall +faded away. Joe Toddyhigh glanced involuntarily at the eastern +window, and saw the first pale gleam of morning. He turned his +head again towards the other window in which the Giants had been +seated. It was empty. The cask of wine was gone, and he could +dimly make out that the two great figures stood mute and motionless +upon their pedestals. + +After rubbing his eyes and wondering for full half an hour, during +which time he observed morning come creeping on apace, he yielded +to the drowsiness which overpowered him and fell into a refreshing +slumber. When he awoke it was broad day; the building was open, +and workmen were busily engaged in removing the vestiges of last +night's feast. + +Stealing gently down the little stairs, and assuming the air of +some early lounger who had dropped in from the street, he walked up +to the foot of each pedestal in turn, and attentively examined the +figure it supported. There could be no doubt about the features of +either; he recollected the exact expression they had worn at +different passages of their conversation, and recognised in every +line and lineament the Giants of the night. Assured that it was no +vision, but that he had heard and seen with his own proper senses, +he walked forth, determining at all hazards to conceal himself in +the Guildhall again that evening. He further resolved to sleep all +day, so that he might be very wakeful and vigilant, and above all +that he might take notice of the figures at the precise moment of +their becoming animated and subsiding into their old state, which +he greatly reproached himself for not having done already. + + +CORRESPONDENCE TO MASTER HUMPHREY + + +'SIR, - Before you proceed any further in your account of your +friends and what you say and do when you meet together, excuse me +if I proffer my claim to be elected to one of the vacant chairs in +that old room of yours. Don't reject me without full +consideration; for if you do, you will be sorry for it afterwards - +you will, upon my life. + +'I enclose my card, sir, in this letter. I never was ashamed of my +name, and I never shall be. I am considered a devilish gentlemanly +fellow, and I act up to the character. If you want a reference, +ask any of the men at our club. Ask any fellow who goes there to +write his letters, what sort of conversation mine is. Ask him if +he thinks I have the sort of voice that will suit your deaf friend +and make him hear, if he can hear anything at all. Ask the +servants what they think of me. There's not a rascal among 'em, +sir, but will tremble to hear my name. That reminds me - don't you +say too much about that housekeeper of yours; it's a low subject, +damned low. + +'I tell you what, sir. If you vote me into one of those empty +chairs, you'll have among you a man with a fund of gentlemanly +information that'll rather astonish you. I can let you into a few +anecdotes about some fine women of title, that are quite high life, +sir - the tiptop sort of thing. I know the name of every man who +has been out on an affair of honour within the last five-and-twenty +years; I know the private particulars of every cross and squabble +that has taken place upon the turf, at the gaming-table, or +elsewhere, during the whole of that time. I have been called the +gentlemanly chronicle. You may consider yourself a lucky dog; upon +my soul, you may congratulate yourself, though I say so. + +'It's an uncommon good notion that of yours, not letting anybody +know where you live. I have tried it, but there has always been an +anxiety respecting me, which has found me out. Your deaf friend is +a cunning fellow to keep his name so close. I have tried that too, +but have always failed. I shall be proud to make his acquaintance +- tell him so, with my compliments. + +'You must have been a queer fellow when you were a child, +confounded queer. It's odd, all that about the picture in your +first paper - prosy, but told in a devilish gentlemanly sort of +way. In places like that I could come in with great effect with a +touch of life - don't you feel that? + +'I am anxiously waiting for your next paper to know whether your +friends live upon the premises, and at your expense, which I take +it for granted is the case. If I am right in this impression, I +know a charming fellow (an excellent companion and most delightful +company) who will be proud to join you. Some years ago he seconded +a great many prize-fighters, and once fought an amateur match +himself; since then he has driven several mails, broken at +different periods all the lamps on the right-hand side of Oxford- +street, and six times carried away every bell-handle in Bloomsbury- +square, besides turning off the gas in various thoroughfares. In +point of gentlemanliness he is unrivalled, and I should say that +next to myself he is of all men the best suited to your purpose. + +'Expecting your reply, + +'I am, + +'&c. &c.' + + +Master Humphrey informs this gentleman that his application, both +as it concerns himself and his friend, is rejected. + + + +CHAPTER II - MASTER HUMPHREY, FROM HIS CLOCK-SIDE IN THE CHIMNEY- +CORNER + + + +MY old companion tells me it is midnight. The fire glows brightly, +crackling with a sharp and cheerful sound, as if it loved to burn. +The merry cricket on the hearth (my constant visitor), this ruddy +blaze, my clock, and I, seem to share the world among us, and to be +the only things awake. The wind, high and boisterous but now, has +died away and hoarsely mutters in its sleep. I love all times and +seasons each in its turn, and am apt, perhaps, to think the present +one the best; but past or coming I always love this peaceful time +of night, when long-buried thoughts, favoured by the gloom and +silence, steal from their graves, and haunt the scenes of faded +happiness and hope. + +The popular faith in ghosts has a remarkable affinity with the +whole current of our thoughts at such an hour as this, and seems to +be their necessary and natural consequence. For who can wonder +that man should feel a vague belief in tales of disembodied spirits +wandering through those places which they once dearly affected, +when he himself, scarcely less separated from his old world than +they, is for ever lingering upon past emotions and bygone times, +and hovering, the ghost of his former self, about the places and +people that warmed his heart of old? It is thus that at this quiet +hour I haunt the house where I was born, the rooms I used to tread, +the scenes of my infancy, my boyhood, and my youth; it is thus that +I prowl around my buried treasure (though not of gold or silver), +and mourn my loss; it is thus that I revisit the ashes of +extinguished fires, and take my silent stand at old bedsides. If +my spirit should ever glide back to this chamber when my body is +mingled with the dust, it will but follow the course it often took +in the old man's lifetime, and add but one more change to the +subjects of its contemplation. + +In all my idle speculations I am greatly assisted by various +legends connected with my venerable house, which are current in the +neighbourhood, and are so numerous that there is scarce a cupboard +or corner that has not some dismal story of its own. When I first +entertained thoughts of becoming its tenant, I was assured that it +was haunted from roof to cellar, and I believe that the bad opinion +in which my neighbours once held me, had its rise in my not being +torn to pieces, or at least distracted with terror, on the night I +took possession; in either of which cases I should doubtless have +arrived by a short cut at the very summit of popularity. + +But traditions and rumours all taken into account, who so abets me +in every fancy and chimes with my every thought, as my dear deaf +friend? and how often have I cause to bless the day that brought us +two together! Of all days in the year I rejoice to think that it +should have been Christmas Day, with which from childhood we +associate something friendly, hearty, and sincere. + +I had walked out to cheer myself with the happiness of others, and, +in the little tokens of festivity and rejoicing, of which the +streets and houses present so many upon that day, had lost some +hours. Now I stopped to look at a merry party hurrying through the +snow on foot to their place of meeting, and now turned back to see +a whole coachful of children safely deposited at the welcome house. +At one time, I admired how carefully the working man carried the +baby in its gaudy hat and feathers, and how his wife, trudging +patiently on behind, forgot even her care of her gay clothes, in +exchanging greeting with the child as it crowed and laughed over +the father's shoulder; at another, I pleased myself with some +passing scene of gallantry or courtship, and was glad to believe +that for a season half the world of poverty was gay. + +As the day closed in, I still rambled through the streets, feeling +a companionship in the bright fires that cast their warm reflection +on the windows as I passed, and losing all sense of my own +loneliness in imagining the sociality and kind-fellowship that +everywhere prevailed. At length I happened to stop before a +Tavern, and, encountering a Bill of Fare in the window, it all at +once brought it into my head to wonder what kind of people dined +alone in Taverns upon Christmas Day. + +Solitary men are accustomed, I suppose, unconsciously to look upon +solitude as their own peculiar property. I had sat alone in my +room on many, many anniversaries of this great holiday, and had +never regarded it but as one of universal assemblage and rejoicing. +I had excepted, and with an aching heart, a crowd of prisoners and +beggars; but THESE were not the men for whom the Tavern doors were +open. Had they any customers, or was it a mere form? - a form, no +doubt. + +Trying to feel quite sure of this, I walked away; but before I had +gone many paces, I stopped and looked back. There was a provoking +air of business in the lamp above the door which I could not +overcome. I began to be afraid there might be many customers - +young men, perhaps, struggling with the world, utter strangers in +this great place, whose friends lived at a long distance off, and +whose means were too slender to enable them to make the journey. +The supposition gave rise to so many distressing little pictures, +that in preference to carrying them home with me, I determined to +encounter the realities. So I turned and walked in. + +I was at once glad and sorry to find that there was only one person +in the dining-room; glad to know that there were not more, and +sorry that he should be there by himself. He did not look so old +as I, but like me he was advanced in life, and his hair was nearly +white. Though I made more noise in entering and seating myself +than was quite necessary, with the view of attracting his attention +and saluting him in the good old form of that time of year, he did +not raise his head, but sat with it resting on his hand, musing +over his half-finished meal. + +I called for something which would give me an excuse for remaining +in the room (I had dined early, as my housekeeper was engaged at +night to partake of some friend's good cheer), and sat where I +could observe without intruding on him. After a time he looked up. +He was aware that somebody had entered, but could see very little +of me, as I sat in the shade and he in the light. He was sad and +thoughtful, and I forbore to trouble him by speaking. + +Let me believe it was something better than curiosity which riveted +my attention and impelled me strongly towards this gentleman. I +never saw so patient and kind a face. He should have been +surrounded by friends, and yet here he sat dejected and alone when +all men had their friends about them. As often as he roused +himself from his reverie he would fall into it again, and it was +plain that, whatever were the subject of his thoughts, they were of +a melancholy kind, and would not be controlled. + +He was not used to solitude. I was sure of that; for I know by +myself that if he had been, his manner would have been different, +and he would have taken some slight interest in the arrival of +another. I could not fail to mark that he had no appetite; that he +tried to eat in vain; that time after time the plate was pushed +away, and he relapsed into his former posture. + +His mind was wandering among old Christmas days, I thought. Many +of them sprung up together, not with a long gap between each, but +in unbroken succession like days of the week. It was a great +change to find himself for the first time (I quite settled that it +WAS the first) in an empty silent room with no soul to care for. I +could not help following him in imagination through crowds of +pleasant faces, and then coming back to that dull place with its +bough of mistletoe sickening in the gas, and sprigs of holly +parched up already by a Simoom of roast and boiled. The very +waiter had gone home; and his representative, a poor, lean, hungry +man, was keeping Christmas in his jacket. + +I grew still more interested in my friend. His dinner done, a +decanter of wine was placed before him. It remained untouched for +a long time, but at length with a quivering hand he filled a glass +and raised it to his lips. Some tender wish to which he had been +accustomed to give utterance on that day, or some beloved name that +he had been used to pledge, trembled upon them at the moment. He +put it down very hastily - took it up once more - again put it down +- pressed his hand upon his face - yes - and tears stole down his +cheeks, I am certain. + +Without pausing to consider whether I did right or wrong, I stepped +across the room, and sitting down beside him laid my hand gently on +his arm. + +'My friend,' I said, 'forgive me if I beseech you to take comfort +and consolation from the lips of an old man. I will not preach to +you what I have not practised, indeed. Whatever be your grief, be +of a good heart - be of a good heart, pray!' + +'I see that you speak earnestly,' he replied, 'and kindly I am very +sure, but - ' + +I nodded my head to show that I understood what he would say; for I +had already gathered, from a certain fixed expression in his face, +and from the attention with which he watched me while I spoke, that +his sense of hearing was destroyed. 'There should be a freemasonry +between us,' said I, pointing from himself to me to explain my +meaning; 'if not in our gray hairs, at least in our misfortunes. +You see that I am but a poor cripple.' + +I never felt so happy under my affliction since the trying moment +of my first becoming conscious of it, as when he took my hand in +his with a smile that has lighted my path in life from that day, +and we sat down side by side. + +This was the beginning of my friendship with the deaf gentleman; +and when was ever the slight and easy service of a kind word in +season repaid by such attachment and devotion as he has shown to +me! + +He produced a little set of tablets and a pencil to facilitate our +conversation, on that our first acquaintance; and I well remember +how awkward and constrained I was in writing down my share of the +dialogue, and how easily he guessed my meaning before I had written +half of what I had to say. He told me in a faltering voice that he +had not been accustomed to be alone on that day - that it had +always been a little festival with him; and seeing that I glanced +at his dress in the expectation that he wore mourning, he added +hastily that it was not that; if it had been he thought he could +have borne it better. From that time to the present we have never +touched upon this theme. Upon every return of the same day we have +been together; and although we make it our annual custom to drink +to each other hand in hand after dinner, and to recall with +affectionate garrulity every circumstance of our first meeting, we +always avoid this one as if by mutual consent. + +Meantime we have gone on strengthening in our friendship and regard +and forming an attachment which, I trust and believe, will only be +interrupted by death, to be renewed in another existence. I +scarcely know how we communicate as we do; but he has long since +ceased to be deaf to me. He is frequently my companion in my +walks, and even in crowded streets replies to my slightest look or +gesture, as though he could read my thoughts. From the vast number +of objects which pass in rapid succession before our eyes, we +frequently select the same for some particular notice or remark; +and when one of these little coincidences occurs, I cannot describe +the pleasure which animates my friend, or the beaming countenance +he will preserve for half-an-hour afterwards at least. + +He is a great thinker from living so much within himself, and, +having a lively imagination, has a facility of conceiving and +enlarging upon odd ideas, which renders him invaluable to our +little body, and greatly astonishes our two friends. His powers in +this respect are much assisted by a large pipe, which he assures us +once belonged to a German Student. Be this as it may, it has +undoubtedly a very ancient and mysterious appearance, and is of +such capacity that it takes three hours and a half to smoke it out. +I have reason to believe that my barber, who is the chief authority +of a knot of gossips, who congregate every evening at a small +tobacconist's hard by, has related anecdotes of this pipe and the +grim figures that are carved upon its bowl, at which all the +smokers in the neighbourhood have stood aghast; and I know that my +housekeeper, while she holds it in high veneration, has a +superstitious feeling connected with it which would render her +exceedingly unwilling to be left alone in its company after dark. + +Whatever sorrow my dear friend has known, and whatever grief may +linger in some secret corner of his heart, he is now a cheerful, +placid, happy creature. Misfortune can never have fallen upon such +a man but for some good purpose; and when I see its traces in his +gentle nature and his earnest feeling, I am the less disposed to +murmur at such trials as I may have undergone myself. With regard +to the pipe, I have a theory of my own; I cannot help thinking that +it is in some manner connected with the event that brought us +together; for I remember that it was a long time before he even +talked about it; that when he did, he grew reserved and melancholy; +and that it was a long time yet before he brought it forth. I have +no curiosity, however, upon this subject; for I know that it +promotes his tranquillity and comfort, and I need no other +inducement to regard it with my utmost favour. + +Such is the deaf gentleman. I can call up his figure now, clad in +sober gray, and seated in the chimney-corner. As he puffs out the +smoke from his favourite pipe, he casts a look on me brimful of +cordiality and friendship, and says all manner of kind and genial +things in a cheerful smile; then he raises his eyes to my clock, +which is just about to strike, and, glancing from it to me and back +again, seems to divide his heart between us. For myself, it is not +too much to say that I would gladly part with one of my poor limbs, +could he but hear the old clock's voice. + +Of our two friends, the first has been all his life one of that +easy, wayward, truant class whom the world is accustomed to +designate as nobody's enemies but their own. Bred to a profession +for which he never qualified himself, and reared in the expectation +of a fortune he has never inherited, he has undergone every +vicissitude of which such an existence is capable. He and his +younger brother, both orphans from their childhood, were educated +by a wealthy relative, who taught them to expect an equal division +of his property; but too indolent to court, and too honest to +flatter, the elder gradually lost ground in the affections of a +capricious old man, and the younger, who did not fail to improve +his opportunity, now triumphs in the possession of enormous wealth. +His triumph is to hoard it in solitary wretchedness, and probably +to feel with the expenditure of every shilling a greater pang than +the loss of his whole inheritance ever cost his brother. + +Jack Redburn - he was Jack Redburn at the first little school he +went to, where every other child was mastered and surnamed, and he +has been Jack Redburn all his life, or he would perhaps have been a +richer man by this time - has been an inmate of my house these +eight years past. He is my librarian, secretary, steward, and +first minister; director of all my affairs, and inspector-general +of my household. He is something of a musician, something of an +author, something of an actor, something of a painter, very much of +a carpenter, and an extraordinary gardener, having had all his life +a wonderful aptitude for learning everything that was of no use to +him. He is remarkably fond of children, and is the best and +kindest nurse in sickness that ever drew the breath of life. He +has mixed with every grade of society, and known the utmost +distress; but there never was a less selfish, a more tender- +hearted, a more enthusiastic, or a more guileless man; and I dare +say, if few have done less good, fewer still have done less harm in +the world than he. By what chance Nature forms such whimsical +jumbles I don't know; but I do know that she sends them among us +very often, and that the king of the whole race is Jack Redburn. + +I should be puzzled to say how old he is. His health is none of +the best, and he wears a quantity of iron-gray hair, which shades +his face and gives it rather a worn appearance; but we consider him +quite a young fellow notwithstanding; and if a youthful spirit, +surviving the roughest contact with the world, confers upon its +possessor any title to be considered young, then he is a mere +child. The only interruptions to his careless cheerfulness are on +a wet Sunday, when he is apt to be unusually religious and solemn, +and sometimes of an evening, when he has been blowing a very slow +tune on the flute. On these last-named occasions he is apt to +incline towards the mysterious, or the terrible. As a specimen of +his powers in this mood, I refer my readers to the extract from the +clock-case which follows this paper: he brought it to me not long +ago at midnight, and informed me that the main incident had been +suggested by a dream of the night before. + +His apartments are two cheerful rooms looking towards the garden, +and one of his great delights is to arrange and rearrange the +furniture in these chambers, and put it in every possible variety +of position. During the whole time he has been here, I do not +think he has slept for two nights running with the head of his bed +in the same place; and every time he moves it, is to be the last. +My housekeeper was at first well-nigh distracted by these frequent +changes; but she has become quite reconciled to them by degrees, +and has so fallen in with his humour, that they often consult +together with great gravity upon the next final alteration. +Whatever his arrangements are, however, they are always a pattern +of neatness; and every one of the manifold articles connected with +his manifold occupations is to be found in its own particular +place. Until within the last two or three years he was subject to +an occasional fit (which usually came upon him in very fine +weather), under the influence of which he would dress himself with +peculiar care, and, going out under pretence of taking a walk, +disappeared for several days together. At length, after the +interval between each outbreak of this disorder had gradually grown +longer and longer, it wholly disappeared; and now he seldom stirs +abroad, except to stroll out a little way on a summer's evening. +Whether he yet mistrusts his own constancy in this respect, and is +therefore afraid to wear a coat, I know not; but we seldom see him +in any other upper garment than an old spectral-looking dressing- +gown, with very disproportionate pockets, full of a miscellaneous +collection of odd matters, which he picks up wherever he can lay +his hands upon them. + +Everything that is a favourite with our friend is a favourite with +us; and thus it happens that the fourth among us is Mr. Owen Miles, +a most worthy gentleman, who had treated Jack with great kindness +before my deaf friend and I encountered him by an accident, to +which I may refer on some future occasion. Mr. Miles was once a +very rich merchant; but receiving a severe shock in the death of +his wife, he retired from business, and devoted himself to a quiet, +unostentatious life. He is an excellent man, of thoroughly +sterling character: not of quick apprehension, and not without +some amusing prejudices, which I shall leave to their own +development. He holds us all in profound veneration; but Jack +Redburn he esteems as a kind of pleasant wonder, that he may +venture to approach familiarly. He believes, not only that no man +ever lived who could do so many things as Jack, but that no man +ever lived who could do anything so well; and he never calls my +attention to any of his ingenious proceedings, but he whispers in +my ear, nudging me at the same time with his elbow: 'If he had +only made it his trade, sir - if he had only made it his trade!' + +They are inseparable companions; one would almost suppose that, +although Mr. Miles never by any chance does anything in the way of +assistance, Jack could do nothing without him. Whether he is +reading, writing, painting, carpentering, gardening, flute-playing, +or what not, there is Mr. Miles beside him, buttoned up to the chin +in his blue coat, and looking on with a face of incredulous +delight, as though he could not credit the testimony of his own +senses, and had a misgiving that no man could be so clever but in a +dream. + +These are my friends; I have now introduced myself and them. + + + +THE CLOCK-CASE + + + +A CONFESSION FOUND IN A PRISON IN THE TIME OF CHARLES THE SECOND + + + +I held a lieutenant's commission in his Majesty's army, and served +abroad in the campaigns of 1677 and 1678. The treaty of Nimeguen +being concluded, I returned home, and retiring from the service, +withdrew to a small estate lying a few miles east of London, which +I had recently acquired in right of my wife. + +This is the last night I have to live, and I will set down the +naked truth without disguise. I was never a brave man, and had +always been from my childhood of a secret, sullen, distrustful +nature. I speak of myself as if I had passed from the world; for +while I write this, my grave is digging, and my name is written in +the black-book of death. + +Soon after my return to England, my only brother was seized with +mortal illness. This circumstance gave me slight or no pain; for +since we had been men, we had associated but very little together. +He was open-hearted and generous, handsomer than I, more +accomplished, and generally beloved. Those who sought my +acquaintance abroad or at home, because they were friends of his, +seldom attached themselves to me long, and would usually say, in +our first conversation, that they were surprised to find two +brothers so unlike in their manners and appearance. It was my +habit to lead them on to this avowal; for I knew what comparisons +they must draw between us; and having a rankling envy in my heart, +I sought to justify it to myself. + +We had married two sisters. This additional tie between us, as it +may appear to some, only estranged us the more. His wife knew me +well. I never struggled with any secret jealousy or gall when she +was present but that woman knew it as well as I did. I never +raised my eyes at such times but I found hers fixed upon me; I +never bent them on the ground or looked another way but I felt that +she overlooked me always. It was an inexpressible relief to me +when we quarrelled, and a greater relief still when I heard abroad +that she was dead. It seems to me now as if some strange and +terrible foreshadowing of what has happened since must have hung +over us then. I was afraid of her; she haunted me; her fixed and +steady look comes back upon me now, like the memory of a dark +dream, and makes my blood run cold. + +She died shortly after giving birth to a child - a boy. When my +brother knew that all hope of his own recovery was past, he called +my wife to his bedside, and confided this orphan, a child of four +years old, to her protection. He bequeathed to him all the +property he had, and willed that, in case of his child's death, it +should pass to my wife, as the only acknowledgment he could make +her for her care and love. He exchanged a few brotherly words with +me, deploring our long separation; and being exhausted, fell into a +slumber, from which he never awoke. + +We had no children; and as there had been a strong affection +between the sisters, and my wife had almost supplied the place of a +mother to this boy, she loved him as if he had been her own. The +child was ardently attached to her; but he was his mother's image +in face and spirit, and always mistrusted me. + +I can scarcely fix the date when the feeling first came upon me; +but I soon began to be uneasy when this child was by. I never +roused myself from some moody train of thought but I marked him +looking at me; not with mere childish wonder, but with something of +the purpose and meaning that I had so often noted in his mother. +It was no effort of my fancy, founded on close resemblance of +feature and expression. I never could look the boy down. He +feared me, but seemed by some instinct to despise me while he did +so; and even when he drew back beneath my gaze - as he would when +we were alone, to get nearer to the door - he would keep his bright +eyes upon me still. + +Perhaps I hide the truth from myself, but I do not think that, when +this began, I meditated to do him any wrong. I may have thought +how serviceable his inheritance would be to us, and may have wished +him dead; but I believe I had no thought of compassing his death. +Neither did the idea come upon me at once, but by very slow +degrees, presenting itself at first in dim shapes at a very great +distance, as men may think of an earthquake or the last day; then +drawing nearer and nearer, and losing something of its horror and +improbability; then coming to be part and parcel - nay nearly the +whole sum and substance - of my daily thoughts, and resolving +itself into a question of means and safety; not of doing or +abstaining from the deed. + +While this was going on within me, I never could bear that the +child should see me looking at him, and yet I was under a +fascination which made it a kind of business with me to contemplate +his slight and fragile figure and think how easily it might be +done. Sometimes I would steal up-stairs and watch him as he slept; +but usually I hovered in the garden near the window of the room in +which he learnt his little tasks; and there, as he sat upon a low +seat beside my wife, I would peer at him for hours together from +behind a tree; starting, like the guilty wretch I was, at every +rustling of a leaf, and still gliding back to look and start again. + +Hard by our cottage, but quite out of sight, and (if there were any +wind astir) of hearing too, was a deep sheet of water. I spent +days in shaping with my pocket-knife a rough model of a boat, which +I finished at last and dropped in the child's way. Then I withdrew +to a secret place, which he must pass if he stole away alone to +swim this bauble, and lurked there for his coming. He came neither +that day nor the next, though I waited from noon till nightfall. I +was sure that I had him in my net, for I had heard him prattling of +the toy, and knew that in his infant pleasure he kept it by his +side in bed. I felt no weariness or fatigue, but waited patiently, +and on the third day he passed me, running joyously along, with his +silken hair streaming in the wind, and he singing - God have mercy +upon me! - singing a merry ballad, - who could hardly lisp the +words. + +I stole down after him, creeping under certain shrubs which grow in +that place, and none but devils know with what terror I, a strong, +full-grown man, tracked the footsteps of that baby as he approached +the water's brink. I was close upon him, had sunk upon my knee and +raised my hand to thrust him in, when he saw my shadow in the +stream and turned him round. + +His mother's ghost was looking from his eyes. The sun burst forth +from behind a cloud; it shone in the bright sky, the glistening +earth, the clear water, the sparkling drops of rain upon the +leaves. There were eyes in everything. The whole great universe +of light was there to see the murder done. I know not what he +said; he came of bold and manly blood, and, child as he was, he did +not crouch or fawn upon me. I heard him cry that he would try to +love me, - not that he did, - and then I saw him running back +towards the house. The next I saw was my own sword naked in my +hand, and he lying at my feet stark dead, - dabbled here and there +with blood, but otherwise no different from what I had seen him in +his sleep - in the same attitude too, with his cheek resting upon +his little hand. + +I took him in my arms and laid him - very gently now that he was +dead - in a thicket. My wife was from home that day, and would not +return until the next. Our bedroom window, the only sleeping-room +on that side of the house, was but a few feet from the ground, and +I resolved to descend from it at night and bury him in the garden. +I had no thought that I had failed in my design, no thought that +the water would be dragged and nothing found, that the money must +now lie waste, since I must encourage the idea that the child was +lost or stolen. All my thoughts were bound up and knotted together +in the one absorbing necessity of hiding what I had done. + +How I felt when they came to tell me that the child was missing, +when I ordered scouts in all directions, when I gasped and trembled +at every one's approach, no tongue can tell or mind of man +conceive. I buried him that night. When I parted the boughs and +looked into the dark thicket, there was a glow-worm shining like +the visible spirit of God upon the murdered child. I glanced down +into his grave when I had placed him there, and still it gleamed +upon his breast; an eye of fire looking up to Heaven in +supplication to the stars that watched me at my work. + +I had to meet my wife, and break the news, and give her hope that +the child would soon be found. All this I did, - with some +appearance, I suppose, of being sincere, for I was the object of no +suspicion. This done, I sat at the bedroom window all day long, +and watched the spot where the dreadful secret lay. + +It was in a piece of ground which had been dug up to be newly +turfed, and which I had chosen on that account, as the traces of my +spade were less likely to attract attention. The men who laid down +the grass must have thought me mad. I called to them continually +to expedite their work, ran out and worked beside them, trod down +the earth with my feet, and hurried them with frantic eagerness. +They had finished their task before night, and then I thought +myself comparatively safe. + +I slept, - not as men do who awake refreshed and cheerful, but I +did sleep, passing from vague and shadowy dreams of being hunted +down, to visions of the plot of grass, through which now a hand, +and now a foot, and now the head itself was starting out. At this +point I always woke and stole to the window, to make sure that it +was not really so. That done, I crept to bed again; and thus I +spent the night in fits and starts, getting up and lying down full +twenty times, and dreaming the same dream over and over again, - +which was far worse than lying awake, for every dream had a whole +night's suffering of its own. Once I thought the child was alive, +and that I had never tried to kill him. To wake from that dream +was the most dreadful agony of all. + +The next day I sat at the window again, never once taking my eyes +from the place, which, although it was covered by the grass, was as +plain to me - its shape, its size, its depth, its jagged sides, and +all - as if it had been open to the light of day. When a servant +walked across it, I felt as if he must sink in; when he had passed, +I looked to see that his feet had not worn the edges. If a bird +lighted there, I was in terror lest by some tremendous +interposition it should be instrumental in the discovery; if a +breath of air sighed across it, to me it whispered murder. There +was not a sight or a sound - how ordinary, mean, or unimportant +soever - but was fraught with fear. And in this state of ceaseless +watching I spent three days. + +On the fourth there came to the gate one who had served with me +abroad, accompanied by a brother officer of his whom I had never +seen. I felt that I could not bear to be out of sight of the +place. It was a summer evening, and I bade my people take a table +and a flask of wine into the garden. Then I sat down WITH MY CHAIR +UPON THE GRAVE, and being assured that nobody could disturb it now +without my knowledge, tried to drink and talk. + +They hoped that my wife was well, - that she was not obliged to +keep her chamber, - that they had not frightened her away. What +could I do but tell them with a faltering tongue about the child? +The officer whom I did not know was a down-looking man, and kept +his eyes upon the ground while I was speaking. Even that terrified +me. I could not divest myself of the idea that he saw something +there which caused him to suspect the truth. I asked him hurriedly +if he supposed that - and stopped. 'That the child has been +murdered?' said he, looking mildly at me: 'O no! what could a man +gain by murdering a poor child?' I could have told him what a man +gained by such a deed, no one better: but I held my peace and +shivered as with an ague. + +Mistaking my emotion, they were endeavouring to cheer me with the +hope that the boy would certainly be found, - great cheer that was +for me! - when we heard a low deep howl, and presently there sprung +over the wall two great dogs, who, bounding into the garden, +repeated the baying sound we had heard before. + +'Bloodhounds!' cried my visitors. + +What need to tell me that! I had never seen one of that kind in +all my life, but I knew what they were and for what purpose they +had come. I grasped the elbows of my chair, and neither spoke nor +moved. + +'They are of the genuine breed,' said the man whom I had known +abroad, 'and being out for exercise have no doubt escaped from +their keeper.' + +Both he and his friend turned to look at the dogs, who with their +noses to the ground moved restlessly about, running to and fro, and +up and down, and across, and round in circles, careering about like +wild things, and all this time taking no notice of us, but ever and +again repeating the yell we had heard already, then dropping their +noses to the ground again and tracking earnestly here and there. +They now began to snuff the earth more eagerly than they had done +yet, and although they were still very restless, no longer beat +about in such wide circuits, but kept near to one spot, and +constantly diminished the distance between themselves and me. + +At last they came up close to the great chair on which I sat, and +raising their frightful howl once more, tried to tear away the +wooden rails that kept them from the ground beneath. I saw how I +looked, in the faces of the two who were with me. + +'They scent some prey,' said they, both together. + +'They scent no prey!' cried I. + +'In Heaven's name, move!' said the one I knew, very earnestly, 'or +you will be torn to pieces.' + +'Let them tear me from limb to limb, I'll never leave this place!' +cried I. 'Are dogs to hurry men to shameful deaths? Hew them +down, cut them in pieces.' + +'There is some foul mystery here!' said the officer whom I did not +know, drawing his sword. 'In King Charles's name, assist me to +secure this man.' + +They both set upon me and forced me away, though I fought and bit +and caught at them like a madman. After a struggle, they got me +quietly between them; and then, my God! I saw the angry dogs +tearing at the earth and throwing it up into the air like water. + +What more have I to tell? That I fell upon my knees, and with +chattering teeth confessed the truth, and prayed to be forgiven. +That I have since denied, and now confess to it again. That I have +been tried for the crime, found guilty, and sentenced. That I have +not the courage to anticipate my doom, or to bear up manfully +against it. That I have no compassion, no consolation, no hope, no +friend. That my wife has happily lost for the time those faculties +which would enable her to know my misery or hers. That I am alone +in this stone dungeon with my evil spirit, and that I die to- +morrow. + + + +CORRESPONDENCE + + + +Master Humphrey has been favoured with the following letter written +on strongly-scented paper, and sealed in light-blue wax with the +representation of two very plump doves interchanging beaks. It +does not commence with any of the usual forms of address, but +begins as is here set forth. + + +Bath, Wednesday night. + +Heavens! into what an indiscretion do I suffer myself to be +betrayed! To address these faltering lines to a total stranger, +and that stranger one of a conflicting sex! - and yet I am +precipitated into the abyss, and have no power of self-snatchation +(forgive me if I coin that phrase) from the yawning gulf before me. + +Yes, I am writing to a man; but let me not think of that, for +madness is in the thought. You will understand my feelings? O +yes, I am sure you will; and you will respect them too, and not +despise them, - will you? + +Let me be calm. That portrait, - smiling as once he smiled on me; +that cane, - dangling as I have seen it dangle from his hand I know +not how oft; those legs that have glided through my nightly dreams +and never stopped to speak; the perfectly gentlemanly, though false +original, - can I be mistaken? O no, no. + +Let me be calmer yet; I would be calm as coffins. You have +published a letter from one whose likeness is engraved, but whose +name (and wherefore?) is suppressed. Shall I breathe that name! +Is it - but why ask when my heart tells me too truly that it is! + +I would not upbraid him with his treachery; I would not remind him +of those times when he plighted the most eloquent of vows, and +procured from me a small pecuniary accommodation; and yet I would +see him - see him did I say - HIM - alas! such is woman's nature. +For as the poet beautifully says - but you will already have +anticipated the sentiment. Is it not sweet? O yes! + +It was in this city (hallowed by the recollection) that I met him +first; and assuredly if mortal happiness be recorded anywhere, then +those rubbers with their three-and-sixpenny points are scored on +tablets of celestial brass. He always held an honour - generally +two. On that eventful night we stood at eight. He raised his eyes +(luminous in their seductive sweetness) to my agitated face. 'CAN +you?' said he, with peculiar meaning. I felt the gentle pressure +of his foot on mine; our corns throbbed in unison. 'CAN you?' he +said again; and every lineament of his expressive countenance added +the words 'resist me?' I murmured 'No,' and fainted. + +They said, when I recovered, it was the weather. I said it was the +nutmeg in the negus. How little did they suspect the truth! How +little did they guess the deep mysterious meaning of that inquiry! +He called next morning on his knees; I do not mean to say that he +actually came in that position to the house-door, but that he went +down upon those joints directly the servant had retired. He +brought some verses in his hat, which he said were original, but +which I have since found were Milton's; likewise a little bottle +labelled laudanum; also a pistol and a sword-stick. He drew the +latter, uncorked the former, and clicked the trigger of the pocket +fire-arm. He had come, he said, to conquer or to die. He did not +die. He wrested from me an avowal of my love, and let off the +pistol out of a back window previous to partaking of a slight +repast. + +Faithless, inconstant man! How many ages seem to have elapsed +since his unaccountable and perfidious disappearance! Could I +still forgive him both that and the borrowed lucre that he promised +to pay next week! Could I spurn him from my feet if he approached +in penitence, and with a matrimonial object! Would the blandishing +enchanter still weave his spells around me, or should I burst them +all and turn away in coldness! I dare not trust my weakness with +the thought. + +My brain is in a whirl again. You know his address, his +occupations, his mode of life, - are acquainted, perhaps, with his +inmost thoughts. You are a humane and philanthropic character; +reveal all you know - all; but especially the street and number of +his lodgings. The post is departing, the bellman rings, - pray +Heaven it be not the knell of love and hope to + +BELINDA. + +P.S. Pardon the wanderings of a bad pen and a distracted mind. +Address to the Post-office. The bellman, rendered impatient by +delay, is ringing dreadfully in the passage. + +P.P.S. I open this to say that the bellman is gone, and that you +must not expect it till the next post; so don't be surprised when +you don't get it. + + +Master Humphrey does not feel himself at liberty to furnish his +fair correspondent with the address of the gentleman in question, +but he publishes her letter as a public appeal to his faith and +gallantry. + + + +CHAPTER III - MASTER HUMPHREY'S VISITOR + + + +WHEN I am in a thoughtful mood, I often succeed in diverting the +current of some mournful reflections, by conjuring up a number of +fanciful associations with the objects that surround me, and +dwelling upon the scenes and characters they suggest. + +I have been led by this habit to assign to every room in my house +and every old staring portrait on its walls a separate interest of +its own. Thus, I am persuaded that a stately dame, terrible to +behold in her rigid modesty, who hangs above the chimney-piece of +my bedroom, is the former lady of the mansion. In the courtyard +below is a stone face of surpassing ugliness, which I have somehow +- in a kind of jealousy, I am afraid - associated with her husband. +Above my study is a little room with ivy peeping through the +lattice, from which I bring their daughter, a lovely girl of +eighteen or nineteen years of age, and dutiful in all respects save +one, that one being her devoted attachment to a young gentleman on +the stairs, whose grandmother (degraded to a disused laundry in the +garden) piques herself upon an old family quarrel, and is the +implacable enemy of their love. With such materials as these I +work out many a little drama, whose chief merit is, that I can +bring it to a happy end at will. I have so many of them on hand, +that if on my return home one of these evenings I were to find some +bluff old wight of two centuries ago comfortably seated in my easy +chair, and a lovelorn damsel vainly appealing to his heart, and +leaning her white arm upon my clock itself, I verily believe I +should only express my surprise that they had kept me waiting so +long, and never honoured me with a call before. + +I was in such a mood as this, sitting in my garden yesterday +morning under the shade of a favourite tree, revelling in all the +bloom and brightness about me, and feeling every sense of hope and +enjoyment quickened by this most beautiful season of Spring, when +my meditations were interrupted by the unexpected appearance of my +barber at the end of the walk, who I immediately saw was coming +towards me with a hasty step that betokened something remarkable. + +My barber is at all times a very brisk, bustling, active little +man, - for he is, as it were, chubby all over, without being stout +or unwieldy, - but yesterday his alacrity was so very uncommon that +it quite took me by surprise. For could I fail to observe when he +came up to me that his gray eyes were twinkling in a most +extraordinary manner, that his little red nose was in an unusual +glow, that every line in his round bright face was twisted and +curved into an expression of pleased surprise, and that his whole +countenance was radiant with glee? I was still more surprised to +see my housekeeper, who usually preserves a very staid air, and +stands somewhat upon her dignity, peeping round the hedge at the +bottom of the walk, and exchanging nods and smiles with the barber, +who twice or thrice looked over his shoulder for that purpose. I +could conceive no announcement to which these appearances could be +the prelude, unless it were that they had married each other that +morning. + +I was, consequently, a little disappointed when it only came out +that there was a gentleman in the house who wished to speak with +me. + +'And who is it?' said I. + +The barber, with his face screwed up still tighter than before, +replied that the gentleman would not send his name, but wished to +see me. I pondered for a moment, wondering who this visitor might +be, and I remarked that he embraced the opportunity of exchanging +another nod with the housekeeper, who still lingered in the +distance. + +'Well!' said I, 'bid the gentleman come here.' + +This seemed to be the consummation of the barber's hopes, for he +turned sharp round, and actually ran away. + +Now, my sight is not very good at a distance, and therefore when +the gentleman first appeared in the walk, I was not quite clear +whether he was a stranger to me or otherwise. He was an elderly +gentleman, but came tripping along in the pleasantest manner +conceivable, avoiding the garden-roller and the borders of the beds +with inimitable dexterity, picking his way among the flower-pots, +and smiling with unspeakable good humour. Before he was half-way +up the walk he began to salute me; then I thought I knew him; but +when he came towards me with his hat in his hand, the sun shining +on his bald head, his bland face, his bright spectacles, his fawn- +coloured tights, and his black gaiters, - then my heart warmed +towards him, and I felt quite certain that it was Mr. Pickwick. + +'My dear sir,' said that gentleman as I rose to receive him, 'pray +be seated. Pray sit down. Now, do not stand on my account. I +must insist upon it, really.' With these words Mr. Pickwick gently +pressed me down into my seat, and taking my hand in his, shook it +again and again with a warmth of manner perfectly irresistible. I +endeavoured to express in my welcome something of that heartiness +and pleasure which the sight of him awakened, and made him sit down +beside me. All this time he kept alternately releasing my hand and +grasping it again, and surveying me through his spectacles with +such a beaming countenance as I never till then beheld. + +'You knew me directly!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'What a pleasure it is +to think that you knew me directly!' + +I remarked that I had read his adventures very often, and his +features were quite familiar to me from the published portraits. +As I thought it a good opportunity of adverting to the +circumstance, I condoled with him upon the various libels on his +character which had found their way into print. Mr. Pickwick shook +his head, and for a moment looked very indignant, but smiling again +directly, added that no doubt I was acquainted with Cervantes's +introduction to the second part of Don Quixote, and that it fully +expressed his sentiments on the subject. + +'But now,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'don't you wonder how I found you +out?' + +'I shall never wonder, and, with your good leave, never know,' said +I, smiling in my turn. 'It is enough for me that you give me this +gratification. I have not the least desire that you should tell me +by what means I have obtained it.' + +'You are very kind,' returned Mr. Pickwick, shaking me by the hand +again; 'you are so exactly what I expected! But for what +particular purpose do you think I have sought you, my dear sir? +Now what DO you think I have come for?' + +Mr. Pickwick put this question as though he were persuaded that it +was morally impossible that I could by any means divine the deep +purpose of his visit, and that it must be hidden from all human +ken. Therefore, although I was rejoiced to think that I had +anticipated his drift, I feigned to be quite ignorant of it, and +after a brief consideration shook my head despairingly. + +'What should you say,' said Mr. Pickwick, laying the forefinger of +his left hand upon my coat-sleeve, and looking at me with his head +thrown back, and a little on one side, - 'what should you say if I +confessed that after reading your account of yourself and your +little society, I had come here, a humble candidate for one of +those empty chairs?' + +'I should say,' I returned, 'that I know of only one circumstance +which could still further endear that little society to me, and +that would be the associating with it my old friend, - for you must +let me call you so, - my old friend, Mr. Pickwick.' + +As I made him this answer every feature of Mr. Pickwick's face +fused itself into one all-pervading expression of delight. After +shaking me heartily by both hands at once, he patted me gently on +the back, and then - I well understood why - coloured up to the +eyes, and hoped with great earnestness of manner that he had not +hurt me. + +If he had, I would have been content that he should have repeated +the offence a hundred times rather than suppose so; but as he had +not, I had no difficulty in changing the subject by making an +inquiry which had been upon my lips twenty times already. + +'You have not told me,' said I, 'anything about Sam Weller.' + +'O! Sam,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'is the same as ever. The same +true, faithful fellow that he ever was. What should I tell you +about Sam, my dear sir, except that he is more indispensable to my +happiness and comfort every day of my life?' + +'And Mr. Weller senior?' said I. + +'Old Mr. Weller,' returned Mr. Pickwick, 'is in no respect more +altered than Sam, unless it be that he is a little more opinionated +than he was formerly, and perhaps at times more talkative. He +spends a good deal of his time now in our neighbourhood, and has so +constituted himself a part of my bodyguard, that when I ask +permission for Sam to have a seat in your kitchen on clock nights +(supposing your three friends think me worthy to fill one of the +chairs), I am afraid I must often include Mr. Weller too.' + +I very readily pledged myself to give both Sam and his father a +free admission to my house at all hours and seasons, and this point +settled, we fell into a lengthy conversation which was carried on +with as little reserve on both sides as if we had been intimate +friends from our youth, and which conveyed to me the comfortable +assurance that Mr. Pickwick's buoyancy of spirit, and indeed all +his old cheerful characteristics, were wholly unimpaired. As he +had spoken of the consent of my friends as being yet in abeyance, I +repeatedly assured him that his proposal was certain to receive +their most joyful sanction, and several times entreated that he +would give me leave to introduce him to Jack Redburn and Mr. Miles +(who were near at hand) without further ceremony. + +To this proposal, however, Mr. Pickwick's delicacy would by no +means allow him to accede, for he urged that his eligibility must +be formally discussed, and that, until this had been done, he could +not think of obtruding himself further. The utmost I could obtain +from him was a promise that he would attend upon our next night of +meeting, that I might have the pleasure of presenting him +immediately on his election. + +Mr. Pickwick, having with many blushes placed in my hands a small +roll of paper, which he termed his 'qualification,' put a great +many questions to me touching my friends, and particularly Jack +Redburn, whom he repeatedly termed 'a fine fellow,' and in whose +favour I could see he was strongly predisposed. When I had +satisfied him on these points, I took him up into my room, that he +might make acquaintance with the old chamber which is our place of +meeting. + +'And this,' said Mr. Pickwick, stopping short, 'is the clock! Dear +me! And this is really the old clock!' + +I thought he would never have come away from it. After advancing +towards it softly, and laying his hand upon it with as much respect +and as many smiling looks as if it were alive, he set himself to +consider it in every possible direction, now mounting on a chair to +look at the top, now going down upon his knees to examine the +bottom, now surveying the sides with his spectacles almost touching +the case, and now trying to peep between it and the wall to get a +slight view of the back. Then he would retire a pace or two and +look up at the dial to see it go, and then draw near again and +stand with his head on one side to hear it tick: never failing to +glance towards me at intervals of a few seconds each, and nod his +head with such complacent gratification as I am quite unable to +describe. His admiration was not confined to the clock either, but +extended itself to every article in the room; and really, when he +had gone through them every one, and at last sat himself down in +all the six chairs, one after another, to try how they felt, I +never saw such a picture of good-humour and happiness as he +presented, from the top of his shining head down to the very last +button of his gaiters. + +I should have been well pleased, and should have had the utmost +enjoyment of his company, if he had remained with me all day, but +my favourite, striking the hour, reminded him that he must take his +leave. I could not forbear telling him once more how glad he had +made me, and we shook hands all the way down-stairs. + +We had no sooner arrived in the Hall than my housekeeper, gliding +out of her little room (she had changed her gown and cap, I +observed), greeted Mr. Pickwick with her best smile and courtesy; +and the barber, feigning to be accidentally passing on his way out, +made him a vast number of bows. When the housekeeper courtesied, +Mr. Pickwick bowed with the utmost politeness, and when he bowed, +the housekeeper courtesied again; between the housekeeper and the +barber, I should say that Mr. Pickwick faced about and bowed with +undiminished affability fifty times at least. + +I saw him to the door; an omnibus was at the moment passing the +corner of the lane, which Mr. Pickwick hailed and ran after with +extraordinary nimbleness. When he had got about half-way, he +turned his head, and seeing that I was still looking after him and +that I waved my hand, stopped, evidently irresolute whether to come +back and shake hands again, or to go on. The man behind the +omnibus shouted, and Mr. Pickwick ran a little way towards him: +then he looked round at me, and ran a little way back again. Then +there was another shout, and he turned round once more and ran the +other way. After several of these vibrations, the man settled the +question by taking Mr. Pickwick by the arm and putting him into the +carriage; but his last action was to let down the window and wave +his hat to me as it drove off. + +I lost no time in opening the parcel he had left with me. The +following were its contents:- + + + +MR. PICKWICK'S TALE + + + +A good many years have passed away since old John Podgers lived in +the town of Windsor, where he was born, and where, in course of +time, he came to be comfortably and snugly buried. You may be sure +that in the time of King James the First, Windsor was a very quaint +queer old town, and you may take it upon my authority that John +Podgers was a very quaint queer old fellow; consequently he and +Windsor fitted each other to a nicety, and seldom parted company +even for half a day. + +John Podgers was broad, sturdy, Dutch-built, short, and a very hard +eater, as men of his figure often are. Being a hard sleeper +likewise, he divided his time pretty equally between these two +recreations, always falling asleep when he had done eating, and +always taking another turn at the trencher when he had done +sleeping, by which means he grew more corpulent and more drowsy +every day of his life. Indeed it used to be currently reported +that when he sauntered up and down the sunny side of the street +before dinner (as he never failed to do in fair weather), he +enjoyed his soundest nap; but many people held this to be a +fiction, as he had several times been seen to look after fat oxen +on market-days, and had even been heard, by persons of good credit +and reputation, to chuckle at the sight, and say to himself with +great glee, 'Live beef, live beef!' It was upon this evidence that +the wisest people in Windsor (beginning with the local authorities +of course) held that John Podgers was a man of strong, sound sense, +not what is called smart, perhaps, and it might be of a rather lazy +and apoplectic turn, but still a man of solid parts, and one who +meant much more than he cared to show. This impression was +confirmed by a very dignified way he had of shaking his head and +imparting, at the same time, a pendulous motion to his double chin; +in short, he passed for one of those people who, being plunged into +the Thames, would make no vain efforts to set it afire, but would +straightway flop down to the bottom with a deal of gravity, and be +highly respected in consequence by all good men. + +Being well to do in the world, and a peaceful widower, - having a +great appetite, which, as he could afford to gratify it, was a +luxury and no inconvenience, and a power of going to sleep, which, +as he had no occasion to keep awake, was a most enviable faculty, - +you will readily suppose that John Podgers was a happy man. But +appearances are often deceptive when they least seem so, and the +truth is that, notwithstanding his extreme sleekness, he was +rendered uneasy in his mind and exceedingly uncomfortable by a +constant apprehension that beset him night and day. + +You know very well that in those times there flourished divers evil +old women who, under the name of Witches, spread great disorder +through the land, and inflicted various dismal tortures upon +Christian men; sticking pins and needles into them when they least +expected it, and causing them to walk in the air with their feet +upwards, to the great terror of their wives and families, who were +naturally very much disconcerted when the master of the house +unexpectedly came home, knocking at the door with his heels and +combing his hair on the scraper. These were their commonest +pranks, but they every day played a hundred others, of which none +were less objectionable, and many were much more so, being improper +besides; the result was that vengeance was denounced against all +old women, with whom even the king himself had no sympathy (as he +certainly ought to have had), for with his own most Gracious hand +he penned a most Gracious consignment of them to everlasting wrath, +and devised most Gracious means for their confusion and slaughter, +in virtue whereof scarcely a day passed but one witch at the least +was most graciously hanged, drowned, or roasted in some part of his +dominions. Still the press teemed with strange and terrible news +from the North or the South, or the East or the West, relative to +witches and their unhappy victims in some corner of the country, +and the Public's hair stood on end to that degree that it lifted +its hat off its head, and made its face pale with terror. + +You may believe that the little town of Windsor did not escape the +general contagion. The inhabitants boiled a witch on the king's +birthday and sent a bottle of the broth to court, with a dutiful +address expressive of their loyalty. The king, being rather +frightened by the present, piously bestowed it upon the Archbishop +of Canterbury, and returned an answer to the address, wherein he +gave them golden rules for discovering witches, and laid great +stress upon certain protecting charms, and especially horseshoes. +Immediately the towns-people went to work nailing up horseshoes +over every door, and so many anxious parents apprenticed their +children to farriers to keep them out of harm's way, that it became +quite a genteel trade, and flourished exceedingly. + +In the midst of all this bustle John Podgers ate and slept as +usual, but shook his head a great deal oftener than was his custom, +and was observed to look at the oxen less, and at the old women +more. He had a little shelf put up in his sitting-room, whereon +was displayed, in a row which grew longer every week, all the +witchcraft literature of the time; he grew learned in charms and +exorcisms, hinted at certain questionable females on broomsticks +whom he had seen from his chamber window, riding in the air at +night, and was in constant terror of being bewitched. At length, +from perpetually dwelling upon this one idea, which, being alone in +his head, had all its own way, the fear of witches became the +single passion of his life. He, who up to that time had never +known what it was to dream, began to have visions of witches +whenever he fell asleep; waking, they were incessantly present to +his imagination likewise; and, sleeping or waking, he had not a +moment's peace. He began to set witch-traps in the highway, and +was often seen lying in wait round the corner for hours together, +to watch their effect. These engines were of simple construction, +usually consisting of two straws disposed in the form of a cross, +or a piece of a Bible cover with a pinch of salt upon it; but they +were infallible, and if an old woman chanced to stumble over them +(as not unfrequently happened, the chosen spot being a broken and +stony place), John started from a doze, pounced out upon her, and +hung round her neck till assistance arrived, when she was +immediately carried away and drowned. By dint of constantly +inveigling old ladies and disposing of them in this summary manner, +he acquired the reputation of a great public character; and as he +received no harm in these pursuits beyond a scratched face or so, +he came, in the course of time, to be considered witch-proof. + +There was but one person who entertained the least doubt of John +Podgers's gifts, and that person was his own nephew, a wild, roving +young fellow of twenty who had been brought up in his uncle's house +and lived there still, - that is to say, when he was at home, which +was not as often as it might have been. As he was an apt scholar, +it was he who read aloud every fresh piece of strange and terrible +intelligence that John Podgers bought; and this he always did of an +evening in the little porch in front of the house, round which the +neighbours would flock in crowds to hear the direful news, - for +people like to be frightened, and when they can be frightened for +nothing and at another man's expense, they like it all the better. + +One fine midsummer evening, a group of persons were gathered in +this place, listening intently to Will Marks (that was the nephew's +name), as with his cap very much on one side, his arm coiled slyly +round the waist of a pretty girl who sat beside him, and his face +screwed into a comical expression intended to represent extreme +gravity, he read - with Heaven knows how many embellishments of his +own - a dismal account of a gentleman down in Northamptonshire +under the influence of witchcraft and taken forcible possession of +by the Devil, who was playing his very self with him. John +Podgers, in a high sugar-loaf hat and short cloak, filled the +opposite seat, and surveyed the auditory with a look of mingled +pride and horror very edifying to see; while the hearers, with +their heads thrust forward and their mouths open, listened and +trembled, and hoped there was a great deal more to come. Sometimes +Will stopped for an instant to look round upon his eager audience, +and then, with a more comical expression of face than before and a +settling of himself comfortably, which included a squeeze of the +young lady before mentioned, he launched into some new wonder +surpassing all the others. + +The setting sun shed his last golden rays upon this little party, +who, absorbed in their present occupation, took no heed of the +approach of night, or the glory in which the day went down, when +the sound of a horse, approaching at a good round trot, invading +the silence of the hour, caused the reader to make a sudden stop, +and the listeners to raise their heads in wonder. Nor was their +wonder diminished when a horseman dashed up to the porch, and +abruptly checking his steed, inquired where one John Podgers dwelt. + +'Here!' cried a dozen voices, while a dozen hands pointed out +sturdy John, still basking in the terrors of the pamphlet. + +The rider, giving his bridle to one of those who surrounded him, +dismounted, and approached John, hat in hand, but with great haste. + +'Whence come ye?' said John. + +'From Kingston, master.' + +'And wherefore?' + +'On most pressing business.' + +'Of what nature?' + +'Witchcraft.' + +Witchcraft! Everybody looked aghast at the breathless messenger, +and the breathless messenger looked equally aghast at everybody - +except Will Marks, who, finding himself unobserved, not only +squeezed the young lady again, but kissed her twice. Surely he +must have been bewitched himself, or he never could have done it - +and the young lady too, or she never would have let him. + +'Witchcraft!' cried Will, drowning the sound of his last kiss, +which was rather a loud one. + +The messenger turned towards him, and with a frown repeated the +word more solemnly than before; then told his errand, which was, in +brief, that the people of Kingston had been greatly terrified for +some nights past by hideous revels, held by witches beneath the +gibbet within a mile of the town, and related and deposed to by +chance wayfarers who had passed within ear-shot of the spot; that +the sound of their voices in their wild orgies had been plainly +heard by many persons; that three old women laboured under strong +suspicion, and that precedents had been consulted and solemn +council had, and it was found that to identify the hags some single +person must watch upon the spot alone; that no single person had +the courage to perform the task; and that he had been despatched +express to solicit John Podgers to undertake it that very night, as +being a man of great renown, who bore a charmed life, and was proof +against unholy spells. + +John received this communication with much composure, and said in a +few words, that it would have afforded him inexpressible pleasure +to do the Kingston people so slight a service, if it were not for +his unfortunate propensity to fall asleep, which no man regretted +more than himself upon the present occasion, but which quite +settled the question. Nevertheless, he said, there WAS a gentleman +present (and here he looked very hard at a tall farrier), who, +having been engaged all his life in the manufacture of horseshoes, +must be quite invulnerable to the power of witches, and who, he had +no doubt, from his own reputation for bravery and good-nature, +would readily accept the commission. The farrier politely thanked +him for his good opinion, which it would always be his study to +deserve, but added that, with regard to the present little matter, +he couldn't think of it on any account, as his departing on such an +errand would certainly occasion the instant death of his wife, to +whom, as they all knew, he was tenderly attached. Now, so far from +this circumstance being notorious, everybody had suspected the +reverse, as the farrier was in the habit of beating his lady rather +more than tender husbands usually do; all the married men present, +however, applauded his resolution with great vehemence, and one and +all declared that they would stop at home and die if needful (which +happily it was not) in defence of their lawful partners. + +This burst of enthusiasm over, they began to look, as by one +consent, toward Will Marks, who, with his cap more on one side than +ever, sat watching the proceedings with extraordinary unconcern. +He had never been heard openly to express his disbelief in witches, +but had often cut such jokes at their expense as left it to be +inferred; publicly stating on several occasions that he considered +a broomstick an inconvenient charger, and one especially unsuited +to the dignity of the female character, and indulging in other free +remarks of the same tendency, to the great amusement of his wild +companions. + +As they looked at Will they began to whisper and murmur among +themselves, and at length one man cried, 'Why don't you ask Will +Marks?' + +As this was what everybody had been thinking of, they all took up +the word, and cried in concert, 'Ah! why don't you ask Will?' + +'HE don't care,' said the farrier. + +'Not he,' added another voice in the crowd. + +'He don't believe in it, you know,' sneered a little man with a +yellow face and a taunting nose and chin, which he thrust out from +under the arm of a long man before him. + +'Besides,' said a red-faced gentleman with a gruff voice, 'he's a +single man.' + +'That's the point!' said the farrier; and all the married men +murmured, ah! that was it, and they only wished they were single +themselves; they would show him what spirit was, very soon. + +The messenger looked towards Will Marks beseechingly. + +'It will be a wet night, friend, and my gray nag is tired after +yesterday's work - ' + +Here there was a general titter. + +'But,' resumed Will, looking about him with a smile, 'if nobody +else puts in a better claim to go, for the credit of the town I am +your man, and I would be, if I had to go afoot. In five minutes I +shall be in the saddle, unless I am depriving any worthy gentleman +here of the honour of the adventure, which I wouldn't do for the +world.' + +But here arose a double difficulty, for not only did John Podgers +combat the resolution with all the words he had, which were not +many, but the young lady combated it too with all the tears she +had, which were very many indeed. Will, however, being inflexible, +parried his uncle's objections with a joke, and coaxed the young +lady into a smile in three short whispers. As it was plain that he +set his mind upon it, and would go, John Podgers offered him a few +first-rate charms out of his own pocket, which he dutifully +declined to accept; and the young lady gave him a kiss, which he +also returned. + +'You see what a rare thing it is to be married,' said Will, 'and +how careful and considerate all these husbands are. There's not a +man among them but his heart is leaping to forestall me in this +adventure, and yet a strong sense of duty keeps him back. The +husbands in this one little town are a pattern to the world, and so +must the wives be too, for that matter, or they could never boast +half the influence they have!' + +Waiting for no reply to this sarcasm, he snapped his fingers and +withdrew into the house, and thence into the stable, while some +busied themselves in refreshing the messenger, and others in +baiting his steed. In less than the specified time he returned by +another way, with a good cloak hanging over his arm, a good sword +girded by his side, and leading his good horse caparisoned for the +journey. + +'Now,' said Will, leaping into the saddle at a bound, 'up and away. +Upon your mettle, friend, and push on. Good night!' + +He kissed his hand to the girl, nodded to his drowsy uncle, waved +his cap to the rest - and off they flew pell-mell, as if all the +witches in England were in their horses' legs. They were out of +sight in a minute. + +The men who were left behind shook their heads doubtfully, stroked +their chins, and shook their heads again. The farrier said that +certainly Will Marks was a good horseman, nobody should ever say he +denied that: but he was rash, very rash, and there was no telling +what the end of it might be; what did he go for, that was what he +wanted to know? He wished the young fellow no harm, but why did he +go? Everybody echoed these words, and shook their heads again, +having done which they wished John Podgers good night, and +straggled home to bed. + +The Kingston people were in their first sleep when Will Marks and +his conductor rode through the town and up to the door of a house +where sundry grave functionaries were assembled, anxiously +expecting the arrival of the renowned Podgers. They were a little +disappointed to find a gay young man in his place; but they put the +best face upon the matter, and gave him full instructions how he +was to conceal himself behind the gibbet, and watch and listen to +the witches, and how at a certain time he was to burst forth and +cut and slash among them vigorously, so that the suspected parties +might be found bleeding in their beds next day, and thoroughly +confounded. They gave him a great quantity of wholesome advice +besides, and - which was more to the purpose with Will - a good +supper. All these things being done, and midnight nearly come, +they sallied forth to show him the spot where he was to keep his +dreary vigil. + +The night was by this time dark and threatening. There was a +rumbling of distant thunder, and a low sighing of wind among the +trees, which was very dismal. The potentates of the town kept so +uncommonly close to Will that they trod upon his toes, or stumbled +against his ankles, or nearly tripped up his heels at every step he +took, and, besides these annoyances, their teeth chattered so with +fear, that he seemed to be accompanied by a dirge of castanets. + +At last they made a halt at the opening of a lonely, desolate +space, and, pointing to a black object at some distance, asked Will +if he saw that, yonder. + +'Yes,' he replied. 'What then?' + +Informing him abruptly that it was the gibbet where he was to +watch, they wished him good night in an extremely friendly manner, +and ran back as fast as their feet would carry them. + +Will walked boldly to the gibbet, and, glancing upwards when he +came under it, saw - certainly with satisfaction - that it was +empty, and that nothing dangled from the top but some iron chains, +which swung mournfully to and fro as they were moved by the breeze. +After a careful survey of every quarter he determined to take his +station with his face towards the town; both because that would +place him with his back to the wind, and because, if any trick or +surprise were attempted, it would probably come from that direction +in the first instance. Having taken these precautions, he wrapped +his cloak about him so that it left the handle of his sword free, +and ready to his hand, and leaning against the gallows-tree with +his cap not quite so much on one side as it had been before, took +up his position for the night. + + + +SECOND CHAPTER OF MR. PICKWICK'S TALE + + + +We left Will Marks leaning under the gibbet with his face towards +the town, scanning the distance with a keen eye, which sought to +pierce the darkness and catch the earliest glimpse of any person or +persons that might approach towards him. But all was quiet, and, +save the howling of the wind as it swept across the heath in gusts, +and the creaking of the chains that dangled above his head, there +was no sound to break the sullen stillness of the night. After +half an hour or so this monotony became more disconcerting to Will +than the most furious uproar would have been, and he heartily +wished for some one antagonist with whom he might have a fair +stand-up fight, if it were only to warm himself. + +Truth to tell, it was a bitter wind, and seemed to blow to the very +heart of a man whose blood, heated but now with rapid riding, was +the more sensitive to the chilling blast. Will was a daring +fellow, and cared not a jot for hard knocks or sharp blades; but he +could not persuade himself to move or walk about, having just that +vague expectation of a sudden assault which made it a comfortable +thing to have something at his back, even though that something +were a gallows-tree. He had no great faith in the superstitions of +the age, still such of them as occurred to him did not serve to +lighten the time, or to render his situation the more endurable. +He remembered how witches were said to repair at that ghostly hour +to churchyards and gibbets, and such-like dismal spots, to pluck +the bleeding mandrake or scrape the flesh from dead men's bones, as +choice ingredients for their spells; how, stealing by night to +lonely places, they dug graves with their finger-nails, or anointed +themselves before riding in the air, with a delicate pomatum made +of the fat of infants newly boiled. These, and many other fabled +practices of a no less agreeable nature, and all having some +reference to the circumstances in which he was placed, passed and +repassed in quick succession through the mind of Will Marks, and +adding a shadowy dread to that distrust and watchfulness which his +situation inspired, rendered it, upon the whole, sufficiently +uncomfortable. As he had foreseen, too, the rain began to descend +heavily, and driving before the wind in a thick mist, obscured even +those few objects which the darkness of the night had before +imperfectly revealed. + +'Look!' shrieked a voice. 'Great Heaven, it has fallen down, and +stands erect as if it lived!' + +The speaker was close behind him; the voice was almost at his ear. +Will threw off his cloak, drew his sword, and darting swiftly +round, seized a woman by the wrist, who, recoiling from him with a +dreadful shriek, fell struggling upon her knees. Another woman, +clad, like her whom he had grasped, in mourning garments, stood +rooted to the spot on which they were, gazing upon his face with +wild and glaring eyes that quite appalled him. + +'Say,' cried Will, when they had confronted each other thus for +some time, 'what are ye?' + +'Say what are YOU,' returned the woman, 'who trouble even this +obscene resting-place of the dead, and strip the gibbet of its +honoured burden? Where is the body?' + +He looked in wonder and affright from the woman who questioned him +to the other whose arm he clutched. + +'Where is the body?' repeated the questioner more firmly than +before. 'You wear no livery which marks you for the hireling of +the government. You are no friend to us, or I should recognise +you, for the friends of such as we are few in number. What are you +then, and wherefore are you here?' + +'I am no foe to the distressed and helpless,' said Will. 'Are ye +among that number? ye should be by your looks.' + +'We are!' was the answer. + +'Is it ye who have been wailing and weeping here under cover of the +night?' said Will. + +'It is,' replied the woman sternly; and pointing, as she spoke, +towards her companion, 'she mourns a husband, and I a brother. +Even the bloody law that wreaks its vengeance on the dead does not +make that a crime, and if it did 'twould be alike to us who are +past its fear or favour.' + +Will glanced at the two females, and could barely discern that the +one whom he addressed was much the elder, and that the other was +young and of a slight figure. Both were deadly pale, their +garments wet and worn, their hair dishevelled and streaming in the +wind, themselves bowed down with grief and misery; their whole +appearance most dejected, wretched, and forlorn. A sight so +different from any he had expected to encounter touched him to the +quick, and all idea of anything but their pitiable condition +vanished before it. + +'I am a rough, blunt yeoman,' said Will. 'Why I came here is told +in a word; you have been overheard at a distance in the silence of +the night, and I have undertaken a watch for hags or spirits. I +came here expecting an adventure, and prepared to go through with +any. If there be aught that I can do to help or aid you, name it, +and on the faith of a man who can be secret and trusty, I will +stand by you to the death.' + +'How comes this gibbet to be empty?' asked the elder female. + +'I swear to you,' replied Will, 'that I know as little as yourself. +But this I know, that when I came here an hour ago or so, it was as +it is now; and if, as I gather from your question, it was not so +last night, sure I am that it has been secretly disturbed without +the knowledge of the folks in yonder town. Bethink you, therefore, +whether you have no friends in league with you or with him on whom +the law has done its worst, by whom these sad remains have been +removed for burial.' + +The women spoke together, and Will retired a pace or two while they +conversed apart. He could hear them sob and moan, and saw that +they wrung their hands in fruitless agony. He could make out +little that they said, but between whiles he gathered enough to +assure him that his suggestion was not very wide of the mark, and +that they not only suspected by whom the body had been removed, but +also whither it had been conveyed. When they had been in +conversation a long time, they turned towards him once more. This +time the younger female spoke. + +'You have offered us your help?' + +'I have.' + +'And given a pledge that you are still willing to redeem?' + +'Yes. So far as I may, keeping all plots and conspiracies at arm's +length.' + +'Follow us, friend.' + +Will, whose self-possession was now quite restored, needed no +second bidding, but with his drawn sword in his hand, and his cloak +so muffled over his left arm as to serve for a kind of shield +without offering any impediment to its free action, suffered them +to lead the way. Through mud and mire, and wind and rain, they +walked in silence a full mile. At length they turned into a dark +lane, where, suddenly starting out from beneath some trees where he +had taken shelter, a man appeared, having in his charge three +saddled horses. One of these (his own apparently), in obedience to +a whisper from the women, he consigned to Will, who, seeing that +they mounted, mounted also. Then, without a word spoken, they rode +on together, leaving the attendant behind. + +They made no halt nor slackened their pace until they arrived near +Putney. At a large wooden house which stood apart from any other +they alighted, and giving their horses to one who was already +waiting, passed in by a side door, and so up some narrow creaking +stairs into a small panelled chamber, where Will was left alone. +He had not been here very long, when the door was softly opened, +and there entered to him a cavalier whose face was concealed +beneath a black mask. + +Will stood upon his guard, and scrutinised this figure from head to +foot. The form was that of a man pretty far advanced in life, but +of a firm and stately carriage. His dress was of a rich and costly +kind, but so soiled and disordered that it was scarcely to be +recognised for one of those gorgeous suits which the expensive +taste and fashion of the time prescribed for men of any rank or +station. + +He was booted and spurred, and bore about him even as many tokens +of the state of the roads as Will himself. All this he noted, +while the eyes behind the mask regarded him with equal attention. +This survey over, the cavalier broke silence. + +'Thou'rt young and bold, and wouldst be richer than thou art?' + +'The two first I am,' returned Will. 'The last I have scarcely +thought of. But be it so. Say that I would be richer than I am; +what then?' + +'The way lies before thee now,' replied the Mask. + +'Show it me.' + +'First let me inform thee, that thou wert brought here to-night +lest thou shouldst too soon have told thy tale to those who placed +thee on the watch.' + +'I thought as much when I followed,' said Will. 'But I am no blab, +not I.' + +'Good,' returned the Mask. 'Now listen. He who was to have +executed the enterprise of burying that body, which, as thou hast +suspected, was taken down to-night, has left us in our need.' + +Will nodded, and thought within himself that if the Mask were to +attempt to play any tricks, the first eyelet-hole on the left-hand +side of his doublet, counting from the buttons up the front, would +be a very good place in which to pink him neatly. + +'Thou art here, and the emergency is desperate. I propose his task +to thee. Convey the body (now coffined in this house), by means +that I shall show, to the Church of St. Dunstan in London to-morrow +night, and thy service shall be richly paid. Thou'rt about to ask +whose corpse it is. Seek not to know. I warn thee, seek not to +know. Felons hang in chains on every moor and heath. Believe, as +others do, that this was one, and ask no further. The murders of +state policy, its victims or avengers, had best remain unknown to +such as thee.' + +'The mystery of this service,' said Will, 'bespeaks its danger. +What is the reward?' + +'One hundred golden unities,' replied the cavalier. 'The danger to +one who cannot be recognised as the friend of a fallen cause is not +great, but there is some hazard to be run. Decide between that and +the reward.' + +'What if I refuse?' said Will. + +'Depart in peace, in God's name,' returned the Mask in a melancholy +tone, 'and keep our secret, remembering that those who brought thee +here were crushed and stricken women, and that those who bade thee +go free could have had thy life with one word, and no man the +wiser.' + +Men were readier to undertake desperate adventures in those times +than they are now. In this case the temptation was great, and the +punishment, even in case of detection, was not likely to be very +severe, as Will came of a loyal stock, and his uncle was in good +repute, and a passable tale to account for his possession of the +body and his ignorance of the identity might be easily devised. + +The cavalier explained that a coveted cart had been prepared for +the purpose; that the time of departure could be arranged so that +he should reach London Bridge at dusk, and proceed through the City +after the day had closed in; that people would be ready at his +journey's end to place the coffin in a vault without a minute's +delay; that officious inquirers in the streets would be easily +repelled by the tale that he was carrying for interment the corpse +of one who had died of the plague; and in short showed him every +reason why he should succeed, and none why he should fail. After a +time they were joined by another gentleman, masked like the first, +who added new arguments to those which had been already urged; the +wretched wife, too, added her tears and prayers to their calmer +representations; and in the end, Will, moved by compassion and +good-nature, by a love of the marvellous, by a mischievous +anticipation of the terrors of the Kingston people when he should +be missing next day, and finally, by the prospect of gain, took +upon himself the task, and devoted all his energies to its +successful execution. + +The following night, when it was quite dark, the hollow echoes of +old London Bridge responded to the rumbling of the cart which +contained the ghastly load, the object of Will Marks' care. +Sufficiently disguised to attract no attention by his garb, Will +walked at the horse's head, as unconcerned as a man could be who +was sensible that he had now arrived at the most dangerous part of +his undertaking, but full of boldness and confidence. + +It was now eight o'clock. After nine, none could walk the streets +without danger of their lives, and even at this hour, robberies and +murder were of no uncommon occurrence. The shops upon the bridge +were all closed; the low wooden arches thrown across the way were +like so many black pits, in every one of which ill-favoured fellows +lurked in knots of three or four; some standing upright against the +wall, lying in wait; others skulking in gateways, and thrusting out +their uncombed heads and scowling eyes: others crossing and +recrossing, and constantly jostling both horse and man to provoke a +quarrel; others stealing away and summoning their companions in a +low whistle. Once, even in that short passage, there was the noise +of scuffling and the clash of swords behind him, but Will, who knew +the City and its ways, kept straight on and scarcely turned his +head. + +The streets being unpaved, the rain of the night before had +converted them into a perfect quagmire, which the splashing water- +spouts from the gables, and the filth and offal cast from the +different houses, swelled in no small degree. These odious matters +being left to putrefy in the close and heavy air, emitted an +insupportable stench, to which every court and passage poured forth +a contribution of its own. Many parts, even of the main streets, +with their projecting stories tottering overhead and nearly +shutting out the sky, were more like huge chimneys than open ways. +At the corners of some of these, great bonfires were burning to +prevent infection from the plague, of which it was rumoured that +some citizens had lately died; and few, who availing themselves of +the light thus afforded paused for a moment to look around them, +would have been disposed to doubt the existence of the disease, or +wonder at its dreadful visitations. + +But it was not in such scenes as these, or even in the deep and +miry road, that Will Marks found the chief obstacles to his +progress. There were kites and ravens feeding in the streets (the +only scavengers the City kept), who, scenting what he carried, +followed the cart or fluttered on its top, and croaked their +knowledge of its burden and their ravenous appetite for prey. +There were distant fires, where the poor wood and plaster tenements +wasted fiercely, and whither crowds made their way, clamouring +eagerly for plunder, beating down all who came within their reach, +and yelling like devils let loose. There were single-handed men +flying from bands of ruffians, who pursued them with naked weapons, +and hunted them savagely; there were drunken, desperate robbers +issuing from their dens and staggering through the open streets +where no man dared molest them; there were vagabond servitors +returning from the Bear Garden, where had been good sport that day, +dragging after them their torn and bleeding dogs, or leaving them +to die and rot upon the road. Nothing was abroad but cruelty, +violence, and disorder. + +Many were the interruptions which Will Marks encountered from these +stragglers, and many the narrow escapes he made. Now some stout +bully would take his seat upon the cart, insisting to be driven to +his own home, and now two or three men would come down upon him +together, and demand that on peril of his life he showed them what +he had inside. Then a party of the city watch, upon their rounds, +would draw across the road, and not satisfied with his tale, +question him closely, and revenge themselves by a little cuffing +and hustling for maltreatment sustained at other hands that night. +All these assailants had to be rebutted, some by fair words, some +by foul, and some by blows. But Will Marks was not the man to be +stopped or turned back now he had penetrated so far, and though he +got on slowly, still he made his way down Fleet-street and reached +the church at last. + +As he had been forewarned, all was in readiness. Directly he +stopped, the coffin was removed by four men, who appeared so +suddenly that they seemed to have started from the earth. A fifth +mounted the cart, and scarcely allowing Will time to snatch from it +a little bundle containing such of his own clothes as he had thrown +off on assuming his disguise, drove briskly away. Will never saw +cart or man again. + +He followed the body into the church, and it was well he lost no +time in doing so, for the door was immediately closed. There was +no light in the building save that which came from a couple of +torches borne by two men in cloaks, who stood upon the brink of a +vault. Each supported a female figure, and all observed a profound +silence. + +By this dim and solemn glare, which made Will feel as though light +itself were dead, and its tomb the dreary arches that frowned +above, they placed the coffin in the vault, with uncovered heads, +and closed it up. One of the torch-bearers then turned to Will, +and stretched forth his hand, in which was a purse of gold. +Something told him directly that those were the same eyes which he +had seen beneath the mask. + +'Take it,' said the cavalier in a low voice, 'and be happy. Though +these have been hasty obsequies, and no priest has blessed the +work, there will not be the less peace with thee thereafter, for +having laid his bones beside those of his little children. Keep +thy own counsel, for thy sake no less than ours, and God be with +thee!' + +'The blessing of a widowed mother on thy head, good friend!' cried +the younger lady through her tears; 'the blessing of one who has +now no hope or rest but in this grave!' + +Will stood with the purse in his hand, and involuntarily made a +gesture as though he would return it, for though a thoughtless +fellow, he was of a frank and generous nature. But the two +gentlemen, extinguishing their torches, cautioned him to be gone, +as their common safety would be endangered by a longer delay; and +at the same time their retreating footsteps sounded through the +church. He turned, therefore, towards the point at which he had +entered, and seeing by a faint gleam in the distance that the door +was again partially open, groped his way towards it and so passed +into the street. + +Meantime the local authorities of Kingston had kept watch and ward +all the previous night, fancying every now and then that dismal +shrieks were borne towards them on the wind, and frequently winking +to each other, and drawing closer to the fire as they drank the +health of the lonely sentinel, upon whom a clerical gentleman +present was especially severe by reason of his levity and youthful +folly. Two or three of the gravest in company, who were of a +theological turn, propounded to him the question, whether such a +character was not but poorly armed for single combat with the +Devil, and whether he himself would not have been a stronger +opponent; but the clerical gentleman, sharply reproving them for +their presumption in discussing such questions, clearly showed that +a fitter champion than Will could scarcely have been selected, not +only for that being a child of Satan, he was the less likely to be +alarmed by the appearance of his own father, but because Satan +himself would be at his ease in such company, and would not scruple +to kick up his heels to an extent which it was quite certain he +would never venture before clerical eyes, under whose influence (as +was notorious) he became quite a tame and milk-and-water character. + +But when next morning arrived, and with it no Will Marks, and when +a strong party repairing to the spot, as a strong party ventured to +do in broad day, found Will gone and the gibbet empty, matters grew +serious indeed. The day passing away and no news arriving, and the +night going on also without any intelligence, the thing grew more +tremendous still; in short, the neighbourhood worked itself up to +such a comfortable pitch of mystery and horror, that it is a great +question whether the general feeling was not one of excessive +disappointment, when, on the second morning, Will Marks returned. + +However this may be, back Will came in a very cool and collected +state, and appearing not to trouble himself much about anybody +except old John Podgers, who, having been sent for, was sitting in +the Town Hall crying slowly, and dozing between whiles. Having +embraced his uncle and assured him of his safety, Will mounted on a +table and told his story to the crowd. + +And surely they would have been the most unreasonable crowd that +ever assembled together, if they had been in the least respect +disappointed with the tale he told them; for besides describing the +Witches' Dance to the minutest motion of their legs, and performing +it in character on the table, with the assistance of a broomstick, +he related how they had carried off the body in a copper caldron, +and so bewitched him, that he lost his senses until he found +himself lying under a hedge at least ten miles off, whence he had +straightway returned as they then beheld. The story gained such +universal applause that it soon afterwards brought down express +from London the great witch-finder of the age, the Heaven-born +Hopkins, who having examined Will closely on several points, +pronounced it the most extraordinary and the best accredited witch- +story ever known, under which title it was published at the Three +Bibles on London Bridge, in small quarto, with a view of the +caldron from an original drawing, and a portrait of the clerical +gentleman as he sat by the fire. + +On one point Will was particularly careful: and that was to +describe for the witches he had seen, three impossible old females, +whose likenesses never were or will be. Thus he saved the lives of +the suspected parties, and of all other old women who were dragged +before him to be identified. + +This circumstance occasioned John Podgers much grief and sorrow, +until happening one day to cast his eyes upon his house-keeper, and +observing her to be plainly afflicted with rheumatism, he procured +her to be burnt as an undoubted witch. For this service to the +state he was immediately knighted, and became from that time Sir +John Podgers. + +Will Marks never gained any clue to the mystery in which he had +been an actor, nor did any inscription in the church, which he +often visited afterwards, nor any of the limited inquiries that he +dared to make, yield him the least assistance. As he kept his own +secret, he was compelled to spend the gold discreetly and +sparingly. In the course of time he married the young lady of whom +I have already told you, whose maiden name is not recorded, with +whom he led a prosperous and happy life. Years and years after +this adventure, it was his wont to tell her upon a stormy night +that it was a great comfort to him to think those bones, to +whomsoever they might have once belonged, were not bleaching in the +troubled air, but were mouldering away with the dust of their own +kith and kindred in a quiet grave. + + + +FURTHER PARTICULARS OF MASTER HUMPHREY'S VISITOR + + + +Being very full of Mr. Pickwick's application, and highly pleased +with the compliment he had paid me, it will be readily supposed +that long before our next night of meeting I communicated it to my +three friends, who unanimously voted his admission into our body. +We all looked forward with some impatience to the occasion which +would enroll him among us, but I am greatly mistaken if Jack +Redburn and myself were not by many degrees the most impatient of +the party. + +At length the night came, and a few minutes after ten Mr. +Pickwick's knock was heard at the street-door. He was shown into a +lower room, and I directly took my crooked stick and went to +accompany him up-stairs, in order that he might be presented with +all honour and formality. + +'Mr. Pickwick,' said I, on entering the room, 'I am rejoiced to see +you, - rejoiced to believe that this is but the opening of a long +series of visits to this house, and but the beginning of a close +and lasting friendship.' + +That gentleman made a suitable reply with a cordiality and +frankness peculiarly his own, and glanced with a smile towards two +persons behind the door, whom I had not at first observed, and whom +I immediately recognised as Mr. Samuel Weller and his father. + +It was a warm evening, but the elder Mr. Weller was attired, +notwithstanding, in a most capacious greatcoat, and his chin +enveloped in a large speckled shawl, such as is usually worn by +stage coachmen on active service. He looked very rosy and very +stout, especially about the legs, which appeared to have been +compressed into his top-boots with some difficulty. His broad- +brimmed hat he held under his left arm, and with the forefinger of +his right hand he touched his forehead a great many times in +acknowledgment of my presence. + +'I am very glad to see you in such good health, Mr. Weller,' said +I. + +'Why, thankee, sir,' returned Mr. Weller, 'the axle an't broke yet. +We keeps up a steady pace, - not too sewere, but vith a moderate +degree o' friction, - and the consekens is that ve're still a +runnin' and comes in to the time reg'lar. - My son Samivel, sir, as +you may have read on in history,' added Mr. Weller, introducing his +first-born. + +I received Sam very graciously, but before he could say a word his +father struck in again. + +'Samivel Veller, sir,' said the old gentleman, 'has conferred upon +me the ancient title o' grandfather vich had long laid dormouse, +and wos s'posed to be nearly hex-tinct in our family. Sammy, +relate a anecdote o' vun o' them boys, - that 'ere little anecdote +about young Tony sayin' as he WOULD smoke a pipe unbeknown to his +mother.' + +'Be quiet, can't you?' said Sam; 'I never see such a old magpie - +never!' + +'That 'ere Tony is the blessedest boy,' said Mr. Weller, heedless +of this rebuff, 'the blessedest boy as ever I see in MY days! of +all the charmin'est infants as ever I heerd tell on, includin' them +as was kivered over by the robin-redbreasts arter they'd committed +sooicide with blackberries, there never wos any like that 'ere +little Tony. He's alvays a playin' vith a quart pot, that boy is! +To see him a settin' down on the doorstep pretending to drink out +of it, and fetching a long breath artervards, and smoking a bit of +firevood, and sayin', "Now I'm grandfather," - to see him a doin' +that at two year old is better than any play as wos ever wrote. +"Now I'm grandfather!" He wouldn't take a pint pot if you wos to +make him a present on it, but he gets his quart, and then he says, +"Now I'm grandfather!"' + +Mr. Weller was so overpowered by this picture that he straightway +fell into a most alarming fit of coughing, which must certainly +have been attended with some fatal result but for the dexterity and +promptitude of Sam, who, taking a firm grasp of the shawl just +under his father's chin, shook him to and fro with great violence, +at the same time administering some smart blows between his +shoulders. By this curious mode of treatment Mr. Weller was +finally recovered, but with a very crimson face, and in a state of +great exhaustion. + +'He'll do now, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, who had been in some alarm +himself. + +'He'll do, sir!' cried Sam, looking reproachfully at his parent. +'Yes, he WILL do one o' these days, - he'll do for his-self and +then he'll wish he hadn't. Did anybody ever see sich a +inconsiderate old file, - laughing into conwulsions afore company, +and stamping on the floor as if he'd brought his own carpet vith +him and wos under a wager to punch the pattern out in a given time? +He'll begin again in a minute. There - he's a goin' off - I said +he would!' + +In fact, Mr. Weller, whose mind was still running upon his +precocious grandson, was seen to shake his head from side to side, +while a laugh, working like an earthquake, below the surface, +produced various extraordinary appearances in his face, chest, and +shoulders, - the more alarming because unaccompanied by any noise +whatever. These emotions, however, gradually subsided, and after +three or four short relapses he wiped his eyes with the cuff of his +coat, and looked about him with tolerable composure. + +'Afore the governor vith-draws,' said Mr. Weller, 'there is a pint, +respecting vich Sammy has a qvestion to ask. Vile that qvestion is +a perwadin' this here conwersation, p'raps the genl'men vill permit +me to re-tire.' + +'Wot are you goin' away for?' demanded Sam, seizing his father by +the coat-tail. + +'I never see such a undootiful boy as you, Samivel,' returned Mr. +Weller. 'Didn't you make a solemn promise, amountin' almost to a +speeches o' wow, that you'd put that 'ere qvestion on my account?' + +'Well, I'm agreeable to do it,' said Sam, 'but not if you go +cuttin' away like that, as the bull turned round and mildly +observed to the drover ven they wos a goadin' him into the +butcher's door. The fact is, sir,' said Sam, addressing me, 'that +he wants to know somethin' respectin' that 'ere lady as is +housekeeper here.' + +'Ay. What is that?' + +'Vy, sir,' said Sam, grinning still more, 'he wishes to know vether +she - ' + +'In short,' interposed old Mr. Weller decisively, a perspiration +breaking out upon his forehead, 'vether that 'ere old creetur is or +is not a widder.' + +Mr. Pickwick laughed heartily, and so did I, as I replied +decisively, that 'my housekeeper was a spinster.' + +'There!' cried Sam, 'now you're satisfied. You hear she's a +spinster.' + +'A wot?' said his father, with deep scorn. + +'A spinster,' replied Sam. + +Mr. Weller looked very hard at his son for a minute or two, and +then said, + +'Never mind vether she makes jokes or not, that's no matter. Wot I +say is, is that 'ere female a widder, or is she not?' + +'Wot do you mean by her making jokes?' demanded Sam, quite aghast +at the obscurity of his parent's speech. + +'Never you mind, Samivel,' returned Mr. Weller gravely; 'puns may +be wery good things or they may be wery bad 'uns, and a female may +be none the better or she may be none the vurse for making of 'em; +that's got nothing to do vith widders.' + +'Wy now,' said Sam, looking round, 'would anybody believe as a man +at his time o' life could be running his head agin spinsters and +punsters being the same thing?' + +'There an't a straw's difference between 'em,' said Mr. Weller. +'Your father didn't drive a coach for so many years, not to be ekal +to his own langvidge as far as THAT goes, Sammy.' + +Avoiding the question of etymology, upon which the old gentleman's +mind was quite made up, he was several times assured that the +housekeeper had never been married. He expressed great +satisfaction on hearing this, and apologised for the question, +remarking that he had been greatly terrified by a widow not long +before, and that his natural timidity was increased in consequence. + +'It wos on the rail,' said Mr. Weller, with strong emphasis; 'I wos +a goin' down to Birmingham by the rail, and I wos locked up in a +close carriage vith a living widder. Alone we wos; the widder and +me wos alone; and I believe it wos only because we WOS alone and +there wos no clergyman in the conwayance, that that 'ere widder +didn't marry me afore ve reached the half-way station. Ven I think +how she began a screaming as we wos a goin' under them tunnels in +the dark, - how she kept on a faintin' and ketchin' hold o' me, - +and how I tried to bust open the door as was tight-locked and +perwented all escape - Ah! It was a awful thing, most awful!' + +Mr. Weller was so very much overcome by this retrospect that he was +unable, until he had wiped his brow several times, to return any +reply to the question whether he approved of railway communication, +notwithstanding that it would appear from the answer which he +ultimately gave, that he entertained strong opinions on the +subject. + +'I con-sider,' said Mr. Weller, 'that the rail is unconstitootional +and an inwaser o' priwileges, and I should wery much like to know +what that 'ere old Carter as once stood up for our liberties and +wun 'em too, - I should like to know wot he vould say, if he wos +alive now, to Englishmen being locked up vith widders, or with +anybody again their wills. Wot a old Carter would have said, a old +Coachman may say, and I as-sert that in that pint o' view alone, +the rail is an inwaser. As to the comfort, vere's the comfort o' +sittin' in a harm-cheer lookin' at brick walls or heaps o' mud, +never comin' to a public-house, never seein' a glass o' ale, never +goin' through a pike, never meetin' a change o' no kind (horses or +othervise), but alvays comin' to a place, ven you come to one at +all, the wery picter o' the last, vith the same p'leesemen standing +about, the same blessed old bell a ringin', the same unfort'nate +people standing behind the bars, a waitin' to be let in; and +everythin' the same except the name, vich is wrote up in the same +sized letters as the last name, and vith the same colours. As to +the Honour and dignity o' travellin', vere can that be vithout a +coachman; and wot's the rail to sich coachmen and guards as is +sometimes forced to go by it, but a outrage and a insult? As to +the pace, wot sort o' pace do you think I, Tony Veller, could have +kept a coach goin' at, for five hundred thousand pound a mile, paid +in adwance afore the coach was on the road? And as to the ingein, +- a nasty, wheezin', creakin', gaspin', puffin', bustin' monster, +alvays out o' breath, vith a shiny green-and-gold back, like a +unpleasant beetle in that 'ere gas magnifier, - as to the ingein as +is alvays a pourin' out red-hot coals at night, and black smoke in +the day, the sensiblest thing it does, in my opinion, is, ven +there's somethin' in the vay, and it sets up that 'ere frightful +scream vich seems to say, "Now here's two hundred and forty +passengers in the wery greatest extremity o' danger, and here's +their two hundred and forty screams in vun!"' + +By this time I began to fear that my friends would be rendered +impatient by my protracted absence. I therefore begged Mr. +Pickwick to accompany me up-stairs, and left the two Mr. Wellers in +the care of the housekeeper, laying strict injunctions upon her to +treat them with all possible hospitality. + + + +CHAPTER IV - THE CLOCK + + + +As we were going up-stairs, Mr. Pickwick put on his spectacles, +which he had held in his hand hitherto; arranged his neckerchief, +smoothed down his waistcoat, and made many other little +preparations of that kind which men are accustomed to be mindful +of, when they are going among strangers for the first time, and are +anxious to impress them pleasantly. Seeing that I smiled, he +smiled too, and said that if it had occurred to him before he left +home, he would certainly have presented himself in pumps and silk +stockings. + +'I would, indeed, my dear sir,' he said very seriously; 'I would +have shown my respect for the society, by laying aside my gaiters.' + +'You may rest assured,' said I, 'that they would have regretted +your doing so very much, for they are quite attached to them.' + +'No, really!' cried Mr. Pickwick, with manifest pleasure. 'Do you +think they care about my gaiters? Do you seriously think that they +identify me at all with my gaiters?' + +'I am sure they do,' I replied. + +'Well, now,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that is one of the most charming +and agreeable circumstances that could possibly have occurred to +me!' + +I should not have written down this short conversation, but that it +developed a slight point in Mr. Pickwick's character, with which I +was not previously acquainted. He has a secret pride in his legs. +The manner in which he spoke, and the accompanying glance he +bestowed upon his tights, convince me that Mr. Pickwick regards his +legs with much innocent vanity. + +'But here are our friends,' said I, opening the door and taking his +arm in mine; 'let them speak for themselves. - Gentlemen, I present +to you Mr. Pickwick.' + +Mr. Pickwick and I must have been a good contrast just then. I, +leaning quietly on my crutch-stick, with something of a care-worn, +patient air; he, having hold of my arm, and bowing in every +direction with the most elastic politeness, and an expression of +face whose sprightly cheerfulness and good-humour knew no bounds. +The difference between us must have been more striking yet, as we +advanced towards the table, and the amiable gentleman, adapting his +jocund step to my poor tread, had his attention divided between +treating my infirmities with the utmost consideration, and +affecting to be wholly unconscious that I required any. + +I made him personally known to each of my friends in turn. First, +to the deaf gentleman, whom he regarded with much interest, and +accosted with great frankness and cordiality. He had evidently +some vague idea, at the moment, that my friend being deaf must be +dumb also; for when the latter opened his lips to express the +pleasure it afforded him to know a gentleman of whom he had heard +so much, Mr. Pickwick was so extremely disconcerted, that I was +obliged to step in to his relief. + +His meeting with Jack Redburn was quite a treat to see. Mr. +Pickwick smiled, and shook hands, and looked at him through his +spectacles, and under them, and over them, and nodded his head +approvingly, and then nodded to me, as much as to say, 'This is +just the man; you were quite right;' and then turned to Jack and +said a few hearty words, and then did and said everything over +again with unimpaired vivacity. As to Jack himself, he was quite +as much delighted with Mr. Pickwick as Mr. Pickwick could possibly +be with him. Two people never can have met together since the +world began, who exchanged a warmer or more enthusiastic greeting. + +It was amusing to observe the difference between this encounter and +that which succeeded, between Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Miles. It was +clear that the latter gentleman viewed our new member as a kind of +rival in the affections of Jack Redburn, and besides this, he had +more than once hinted to me, in secret, that although he had no +doubt Mr. Pickwick was a very worthy man, still he did consider +that some of his exploits were unbecoming a gentleman of his years +and gravity. Over and above these grounds of distrust, it is one +of his fixed opinions, that the law never can by possibility do +anything wrong; he therefore looks upon Mr. Pickwick as one who has +justly suffered in purse and peace for a breach of his plighted +faith to an unprotected female, and holds that he is called upon to +regard him with some suspicion on that account. These causes led +to a rather cold and formal reception; which Mr. Pickwick +acknowledged with the same stateliness and intense politeness as +was displayed on the other side. Indeed, he assumed an air of such +majestic defiance, that I was fearful he might break out into some +solemn protest or declaration, and therefore inducted him into his +chair without a moment's delay. + +This piece of generalship was perfectly successful. The instant he +took his seat, Mr. Pickwick surveyed us all with a most benevolent +aspect, and was taken with a fit of smiling full five minutes long. +His interest in our ceremonies was immense. They are not very +numerous or complicated, and a description of them may be comprised +in very few words. As our transactions have already been, and must +necessarily continue to be, more or less anticipated by being +presented in these pages at different times, and under various +forms, they do not require a detailed account. + +Our first proceeding when we are assembled is to shake hands all +round, and greet each other with cheerful and pleasant looks. +Remembering that we assemble not only for the promotion of our +happiness, but with the view of adding something to the common +stock, an air of languor or indifference in any member of our body +would be regarded by the others as a kind of treason. We have +never had an offender in this respect; but if we had, there is no +doubt that he would be taken to task pretty severely. + +Our salutation over, the venerable piece of antiquity from which we +take our name is wound up in silence. The ceremony is always +performed by Master Humphrey himself (in treating of the club, I +may be permitted to assume the historical style, and speak of +myself in the third person), who mounts upon a chair for the +purpose, armed with a large key. While it is in progress, Jack +Redburn is required to keep at the farther end of the room under +the guardianship of Mr. Miles, for he is known to entertain certain +aspiring and unhallowed thoughts connected with the clock, and has +even gone so far as to state that if he might take the works out +for a day or two, he thinks he could improve them. We pardon him +his presumption in consideration of his good intentions, and his +keeping this respectful distance, which last penalty is insisted +on, lest by secretly wounding the object of our regard in some +tender part, in the ardour of his zeal for its improvement, he +should fill us with dismay and consternation. + +This regulation afforded Mr. Pickwick the highest delight, and +seemed, if possible, to exalt Jack in his good opinion. + +The next ceremony is the opening of the clock-case (of which Master +Humphrey has likewise the key), the taking from it as many papers +as will furnish forth our evening's entertainment, and arranging in +the recess such new contributions as have been provided since our +last meeting. This is always done with peculiar solemnity. The +deaf gentleman then fills and lights his pipe, and we once more +take our seats round the table before mentioned, Master Humphrey +acting as president, - if we can be said to have any president, +where all are on the same social footing, - and our friend Jack as +secretary. Our preliminaries being now concluded, we fall into any +train of conversation that happens to suggest itself, or proceed +immediately to one of our readings. In the latter case, the paper +selected is consigned to Master Humphrey, who flattens it carefully +on the table and makes dog's ears in the corner of every page, +ready for turning over easily; Jack Redburn trims the lamp with a +small machine of his own invention which usually puts it out; Mr. +Miles looks on with great approval notwithstanding; the deaf +gentleman draws in his chair, so that he can follow the words on +the paper or on Master Humphrey's lips as he pleases; and Master +Humphrey himself, looking round with mighty gratification, and +glancing up at his old clock, begins to read aloud. + +Mr. Pickwick's face, while his tale was being read, would have +attracted the attention of the dullest man alive. The complacent +motion of his head and forefinger as he gently beat time, and +corrected the air with imaginary punctuation, the smile that +mantled on his features at every jocose passage, and the sly look +he stole around to observe its effect, the calm manner in which he +shut his eyes and listened when there was some little piece of +description, the changing expression with which he acted the +dialogue to himself, his agony that the deaf gentleman should know +what it was all about, and his extraordinary anxiety to correct the +reader when he hesitated at a word in the manuscript, or +substituted a wrong one, were alike worthy of remark. And when at +last, endeavouring to communicate with the deaf gentleman by means +of the finger alphabet, with which he constructed such words as are +unknown in any civilised or savage language, he took up a slate and +wrote in large text, one word in a line, the question, 'How - do - +you - like - it?' - when he did this, and handing it over the table +awaited the reply, with a countenance only brightened and improved +by his great excitement, even Mr. Miles relaxed, and could not +forbear looking at him for the moment with interest and favour. + +'It has occurred to me,' said the deaf gentleman, who had watched +Mr. Pickwick and everybody else with silent satisfaction - 'it has +occurred to me,' said the deaf gentleman, taking his pipe from his +lips, 'that now is our time for filling our only empty chair.' + +As our conversation had naturally turned upon the vacant seat, we +lent a willing ear to this remark, and looked at our friend +inquiringly. + +'I feel sure,' said he, 'that Mr. Pickwick must be acquainted with +somebody who would be an acquisition to us; that he must know the +man we want. Pray let us not lose any time, but set this question +at rest. Is it so, Mr. Pickwick?' + +The gentleman addressed was about to return a verbal reply, but +remembering our friend's infirmity, he substituted for this kind of +answer some fifty nods. Then taking up the slate and printing on +it a gigantic 'Yes,' he handed it across the table, and rubbing his +hands as he looked round upon our faces, protested that he and the +deaf gentleman quite understood each other, already. + +'The person I have in my mind,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'and whom I +should not have presumed to mention to you until some time hence, +but for the opportunity you have given me, is a very strange old +man. His name is Bamber.' + +'Bamber!' said Jack. 'I have certainly heard the name before.' + +'I have no doubt, then,' returned Mr. Pickwick, 'that you remember +him in those adventures of mine (the Posthumous Papers of our old +club, I mean), although he is only incidentally mentioned; and, if +I remember right, appears but once.' + +'That's it,' said Jack. 'Let me see. He is the person who has a +grave interest in old mouldy chambers and the Inns of Court, and +who relates some anecdotes having reference to his favourite theme, +- and an odd ghost story, - is that the man?' + +'The very same. Now,' said Mr. Pickwick, lowering his voice to a +mysterious and confidential tone, 'he is a very extraordinary and +remarkable person; living, and talking, and looking, like some +strange spirit, whose delight is to haunt old buildings; and +absorbed in that one subject which you have just mentioned, to an +extent which is quite wonderful. When I retired into private life, +I sought him out, and I do assure you that the more I see of him, +the more strongly I am impressed with the strange and dreamy +character of his mind.' + +'Where does he live?' I inquired. + +'He lives,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'in one of those dull, lonely old +places with which his thoughts and stories are all connected; quite +alone, and often shut up close for several weeks together. In this +dusty solitude he broods upon the fancies he has so long indulged, +and when he goes into the world, or anybody from the world without +goes to see him, they are still present to his mind and still his +favourite topic. I may say, I believe, that he has brought himself +to entertain a regard for me, and an interest in my visits; +feelings which I am certain he would extend to Master Humphrey's +Clock if he were once tempted to join us. All I wish you to +understand is, that he is a strange, secluded visionary, in the +world but not of it; and as unlike anybody here as he is unlike +anybody elsewhere that I have ever met or known.' + +Mr. Miles received this account of our proposed companion with +rather a wry face, and after murmuring that perhaps he was a little +mad, inquired if he were rich. + +'I never asked him,' said Mr. Pickwick. + +'You might know, sir, for all that,' retorted Mr. Miles, sharply. + +'Perhaps so, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, no less sharply than the +other, 'but I do not. Indeed,' he added, relapsing into his usual +mildness, 'I have no means of judging. He lives poorly, but that +would seem to be in keeping with his character. I never heard him +allude to his circumstances, and never fell into the society of any +man who had the slightest acquaintance with them. I have really +told you all I know about him, and it rests with you to say whether +you wish to know more, or know quite enough already.' + +We were unanimously of opinion that we would seek to know more; and +as a sort of compromise with Mr. Miles (who, although he said 'Yes +- O certainly - he should like to know more about the gentleman - +he had no right to put himself in opposition to the general wish,' +and so forth, shook his head doubtfully and hemmed several times +with peculiar gravity), it was arranged that Mr. Pickwick should +carry me with him on an evening visit to the subject of our +discussion, for which purpose an early appointment between that +gentleman and myself was immediately agreed upon; it being +understood that I was to act upon my own responsibility, and to +invite him to join us or not, as I might think proper. This solemn +question determined, we returned to the clock-case (where we have +been forestalled by the reader), and between its contents, and the +conversation they occasioned, the remainder of our time passed very +quickly. + +When we broke up, Mr. Pickwick took me aside to tell me that he had +spent a most charming and delightful evening. Having made this +communication with an air of the strictest secrecy, he took Jack +Redburn into another corner to tell him the same, and then retired +into another corner with the deaf gentleman and the slate, to +repeat the assurance. It was amusing to observe the contest in his +mind whether he should extend his confidence to Mr. Miles, or treat +him with dignified reserve. Half a dozen times he stepped up +behind him with a friendly air, and as often stepped back again +without saying a word; at last, when he was close at that +gentleman's ear and upon the very point of whispering something +conciliating and agreeable, Mr. Miles happened suddenly to turn his +head, upon which Mr. Pickwick skipped away, and said with some +fierceness, 'Good night, sir - I was about to say good night, sir, +- nothing more;' and so made a bow and left him. + +'Now, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, when he had got down-stairs. + +'All right, sir,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Hold hard, sir. Right arm +fust - now the left - now one strong conwulsion, and the great- +coat's on, sir.' + +Mr. Pickwick acted upon these directions, and being further +assisted by Sam, who pulled at one side of the collar, and Mr. +Weller, who pulled hard at the other, was speedily enrobed. Mr. +Weller, senior, then produced a full-sized stable lantern, which he +had carefully deposited in a remote corner, on his arrival, and +inquired whether Mr. Pickwick would have 'the lamps alight.' + +'I think not to-night,' said Mr. Pickwick. + +'Then if this here lady vill per-mit,' rejoined Mr. Weller, 'we'll +leave it here, ready for next journey. This here lantern, mum,' +said Mr. Weller, handing it to the housekeeper, 'vunce belonged to +the celebrated Bill Blinder as is now at grass, as all on us vill +be in our turns. Bill, mum, wos the hostler as had charge o' them +two vell-known piebald leaders that run in the Bristol fast coach, +and vould never go to no other tune but a sutherly vind and a +cloudy sky, which wos consekvently played incessant, by the guard, +wenever they wos on duty. He wos took wery bad one arternoon, +arter having been off his feed, and wery shaky on his legs for some +veeks; and he says to his mate, "Matey," he says, "I think I'm a- +goin' the wrong side o' the post, and that my foot's wery near the +bucket. Don't say I an't," he says, "for I know I am, and don't +let me be interrupted," he says, "for I've saved a little money, +and I'm a-goin' into the stable to make my last vill and +testymint." "I'll take care as nobody interrupts," says his mate, +"but you on'y hold up your head, and shake your ears a bit, and +you're good for twenty years to come." Bill Blinder makes him no +answer, but he goes avay into the stable, and there he soon +artervards lays himself down a'tween the two piebalds, and dies, - +previously a writin' outside the corn-chest, "This is the last vill +and testymint of Villiam Blinder." They wos nat'rally wery much +amazed at this, and arter looking among the litter, and up in the +loft, and vere not, they opens the corn-chest, and finds that he'd +been and chalked his vill inside the lid; so the lid was obligated +to be took off the hinges, and sent up to Doctor Commons to be +proved, and under that 'ere wery instrument this here lantern was +passed to Tony Veller; vich circumstarnce, mum, gives it a wally in +my eyes, and makes me rekvest, if you vill be so kind, as to take +partickler care on it.' + +The housekeeper graciously promised to keep the object of Mr. +Weller's regard in the safest possible custody, and Mr. Pickwick, +with a laughing face, took his leave. The bodyguard followed, side +by side; old Mr. Weller buttoned and wrapped up from his boots to +his chin; and Sam with his hands in his pockets and his hat half +off his head, remonstrating with his father, as he went, on his +extreme loquacity. + +I was not a little surprised, on turning to go up-stairs, to +encounter the barber in the passage at that late hour; for his +attendance is usually confined to some half-hour in the morning. +But Jack Redburn, who finds out (by instinct, I think) everything +that happens in the house, informed me with great glee, that a +society in imitation of our own had been that night formed in the +kitchen, under the title of 'Mr. Weller's Watch,' of which the +barber was a member; and that he could pledge himself to find means +of making me acquainted with the whole of its future proceedings, +which I begged him, both on my own account and that of my readers, +by no means to neglect doing. + + + +CHAPTER V - MR. WELLER'S WATCH + + + +IT SEEMS that the housekeeper and the two Mr. Wellers were no +sooner left together on the occasion of their first becoming +acquainted, than the housekeeper called to her assistance Mr. +Slithers the barber, who had been lurking in the kitchen in +expectation of her summons; and with many smiles and much sweetness +introduced him as one who would assist her in the responsible +office of entertaining her distinguished visitors. + +'Indeed,' said she, 'without Mr. Slithers I should have been placed +in quite an awkward situation.' + +'There is no call for any hock'erdness, mum,' said Mr. Weller with +the utmost politeness; 'no call wotsumever. A lady,' added the old +gentleman, looking about him with the air of one who establishes an +incontrovertible position, - 'a lady can't be hock'erd. Natur' has +otherwise purwided.' + +The housekeeper inclined her head and smiled yet more sweetly. The +barber, who had been fluttering about Mr. Weller and Sam in a state +of great anxiety to improve their acquaintance, rubbed his hands +and cried, 'Hear, hear! Very true, sir;' whereupon Sam turned +about and steadily regarded him for some seconds in silence. + +'I never knew,' said Sam, fixing his eyes in a ruminative manner +upon the blushing barber, - 'I never knew but vun o' your trade, +but HE wos worth a dozen, and wos indeed dewoted to his callin'!' + +'Was he in the easy shaving way, sir,' inquired Mr. Slithers; 'or +in the cutting and curling line?' + +'Both,' replied Sam; 'easy shavin' was his natur', and cuttin' and +curlin' was his pride and glory. His whole delight wos in his +trade. He spent all his money in bears, and run in debt for 'em +besides, and there they wos a growling avay down in the front +cellar all day long, and ineffectooally gnashing their teeth, vile +the grease o' their relations and friends wos being re-tailed in +gallipots in the shop above, and the first-floor winder wos +ornamented vith their heads; not to speak o' the dreadful +aggrawation it must have been to 'em to see a man alvays a walkin' +up and down the pavement outside, vith the portrait of a bear in +his last agonies, and underneath in large letters, "Another fine +animal wos slaughtered yesterday at Jinkinson's!" Hows'ever, there +they wos, and there Jinkinson wos, till he wos took wery ill with +some inn'ard disorder, lost the use of his legs, and wos confined +to his bed, vere he laid a wery long time, but sich wos his pride +in his profession, even then, that wenever he wos worse than usual +the doctor used to go down-stairs and say, "Jinkinson's wery low +this mornin'; we must give the bears a stir;" and as sure as ever +they stirred 'em up a bit and made 'em roar, Jinkinson opens his +eyes if he wos ever so bad, calls out, "There's the bears!" and +rewives agin.' + +'Astonishing!' cried the barber. + +'Not a bit,' said Sam, 'human natur' neat as imported. Vun day the +doctor happenin' to say, "I shall look in as usual to-morrow +mornin'," Jinkinson catches hold of his hand and says, "Doctor," he +says, "will you grant me one favour?" "I will, Jinkinson," says +the doctor. "Then, doctor," says Jinkinson, "vill you come +unshaved, and let me shave you?" "I will," says the doctor. "God +bless you," says Jinkinson. Next day the doctor came, and arter +he'd been shaved all skilful and reg'lar, he says, "Jinkinson," he +says, "it's wery plain this does you good. Now," he says, "I've +got a coachman as has got a beard that it 'ud warm your heart to +work on, and though the footman," he says, "hasn't got much of a +beard, still he's a trying it on vith a pair o' viskers to that +extent that razors is Christian charity. If they take it in turns +to mind the carriage when it's a waitin' below," he says, "wot's to +hinder you from operatin' on both of 'em ev'ry day as well as upon +me? you've got six children," he says, "wot's to hinder you from +shavin' all their heads and keepin' 'em shaved? you've got two +assistants in the shop down-stairs, wot's to hinder you from +cuttin' and curlin' them as often as you like? Do this," he says, +"and you're a man agin." Jinkinson squeedged the doctor's hand and +begun that wery day; he kept his tools upon the bed, and wenever he +felt his-self gettin' worse, he turned to at vun o' the children +who wos a runnin' about the house vith heads like clean Dutch +cheeses, and shaved him agin. Vun day the lawyer come to make his +vill; all the time he wos a takin' it down, Jinkinson was secretly +a clippin' avay at his hair vith a large pair of scissors. "Wot's +that 'ere snippin' noise?" says the lawyer every now and then; +"it's like a man havin' his hair cut." "It IS wery like a man +havin' his hair cut," says poor Jinkinson, hidin' the scissors, and +lookin' quite innocent. By the time the lawyer found it out, he +was wery nearly bald. Jinkinson wos kept alive in this vay for a +long time, but at last vun day he has in all the children vun arter +another, shaves each on 'em wery clean, and gives him vun kiss on +the crown o' his head; then he has in the two assistants, and arter +cuttin' and curlin' of 'em in the first style of elegance, says he +should like to hear the woice o' the greasiest bear, vich rekvest +is immediately complied with; then he says that he feels wery happy +in his mind and vishes to be left alone; and then he dies, +previously cuttin' his own hair and makin' one flat curl in the +wery middle of his forehead.' + +This anecdote produced an extraordinary effect, not only upon Mr. +Slithers, but upon the housekeeper also, who evinced so much +anxiety to please and be pleased, that Mr. Weller, with a manner +betokening some alarm, conveyed a whispered inquiry to his son +whether he had gone 'too fur.' + +'Wot do you mean by too fur?' demanded Sam. + +'In that 'ere little compliment respectin' the want of hock'erdness +in ladies, Sammy,' replied his father. + +'You don't think she's fallen in love with you in consekens o' +that, do you?' said Sam. + +'More unlikelier things have come to pass, my boy,' replied Mr. +Weller in a hoarse whisper; 'I'm always afeerd of inadwertent +captiwation, Sammy. If I know'd how to make myself ugly or +unpleasant, I'd do it, Samivel, rayther than live in this here +state of perpetival terror!' + +Mr. Weller had, at that time, no further opportunity of dwelling +upon the apprehensions which beset his mind, for the immediate +occasion of his fears proceeded to lead the way down-stairs, +apologising as they went for conducting him into the kitchen, which +apartment, however, she was induced to proffer for his +accommodation in preference to her own little room, the rather as +it afforded greater facilities for smoking, and was immediately +adjoining the ale-cellar. The preparations which were already made +sufficiently proved that these were not mere words of course, for +on the deal table were a sturdy ale-jug and glasses, flanked with +clean pipes and a plentiful supply of tobacco for the old gentleman +and his son, while on a dresser hard by was goodly store of cold +meat and other eatables. At sight of these arrangements Mr. Weller +was at first distracted between his love of joviality and his +doubts whether they were not to be considered as so many evidences +of captivation having already taken place; but he soon yielded to +his natural impulse, and took his seat at the table with a very +jolly countenance. + +'As to imbibin' any o' this here flagrant veed, mum, in the +presence of a lady,' said Mr. Weller, taking up a pipe and laying +it down again, 'it couldn't be. Samivel, total abstinence, if YOU +please.' + +'But I like it of all things,' said the housekeeper. + +'No,' rejoined Mr. Weller, shaking his head, - 'no.' + +'Upon my word I do,' said the housekeeper. 'Mr. Slithers knows I +do.' + +Mr. Weller coughed, and notwithstanding the barber's confirmation +of the statement, said 'No' again, but more feebly than before. +The housekeeper lighted a piece of paper, and insisted on applying +it to the bowl of the pipe with her own fair hands; Mr. Weller +resisted; the housekeeper cried that her fingers would be burnt; +Mr. Weller gave way. The pipe was ignited, Mr. Weller drew a long +puff of smoke, and detecting himself in the very act of smiling on +the housekeeper, put a sudden constraint upon his countenance and +looked sternly at the candle, with a determination not to +captivate, himself, or encourage thoughts of captivation in others. +From this iron frame of mind he was roused by the voice of his son. + +'I don't think,' said Sam, who was smoking with great composure and +enjoyment, 'that if the lady wos agreeable it 'ud be wery far out +o' the vay for us four to make up a club of our own like the +governors does up-stairs, and let him,' Sam pointed with the stem +of his pipe towards his parent, 'be the president.' + +The housekeeper affably declared that it was the very thing she had +been thinking of. The barber said the same. Mr. Weller said +nothing, but he laid down his pipe as if in a fit of inspiration, +and performed the following manoeuvres. + +Unbuttoning the three lower buttons of his waistcoat and pausing +for a moment to enjoy the easy flow of breath consequent upon this +process, he laid violent hands upon his watch-chain, and slowly and +with extreme difficulty drew from his fob an immense double-cased +silver watch, which brought the lining of the pocket with it, and +was not to be disentangled but by great exertions and an amazing +redness of face. Having fairly got it out at last, he detached the +outer case and wound it up with a key of corresponding magnitude; +then put the case on again, and having applied the watch to his ear +to ascertain that it was still going, gave it some half-dozen hard +knocks on the table to improve its performance. + +'That,' said Mr. Weller, laying it on the table with its face +upwards, 'is the title and emblem o' this here society. Sammy, +reach them two stools this vay for the wacant cheers. Ladies and +gen'lmen, Mr. Weller's Watch is vound up and now a-goin'. Order!' + +By way of enforcing this proclamation, Mr. Weller, using the watch +after the manner of a president's hammer, and remarking with great +pride that nothing hurt it, and that falls and concussions of all +kinds materially enhanced the excellence of the works and assisted +the regulator, knocked the table a great many times, and declared +the association formally constituted. + +'And don't let's have no grinnin' at the cheer, Samivel,' said Mr. +Weller to his son, 'or I shall be committin' you to the cellar, and +then p'r'aps we may get into what the 'Merrikins call a fix, and +the English a qvestion o' privileges.' + +Having uttered this friendly caution, the President settled himself +in his chair with great dignity, and requested that Mr. Samuel +would relate an anecdote. + +'I've told one,' said Sam. + +'Wery good, sir; tell another,' returned the chair. + +'We wos a talking jist now, sir,' said Sam, turning to Slithers, +'about barbers. Pursuing that 'ere fruitful theme, sir, I'll tell +you in a wery few words a romantic little story about another +barber as p'r'aps you may never have heerd.' + +'Samivel!' said Mr. Weller, again bringing his watch and the table +into smart collision, 'address your obserwations to the cheer, sir, +and not to priwate indiwiduals!' + +'And if I might rise to order,' said the barber in a soft voice, +and looking round him with a conciliatory smile as he leant over +the table, with the knuckles of his left hand resting upon it, - +'if I MIGHT rise to order, I would suggest that "barbers" is not +exactly the kind of language which is agreeable and soothing to our +feelings. You, sir, will correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe +there IS such a word in the dictionary as hairdressers.' + +'Well, but suppose he wasn't a hairdresser,' suggested Sam. + +'Wy then, sir, be parliamentary and call him vun all the more,' +returned his father. 'In the same vay as ev'ry gen'lman in another +place is a Honourable, ev'ry barber in this place is a hairdresser. +Ven you read the speeches in the papers, and see as vun gen'lman +says of another, "the Honourable member, if he vill allow me to +call him so," you vill understand, sir, that that means, "if he +vill allow me to keep up that 'ere pleasant and uniwersal +fiction."' + +It is a common remark, confirmed by history and experience, that +great men rise with the circumstances in which they are placed. +Mr. Weller came out so strong in his capacity of chairman, that Sam +was for some time prevented from speaking by a grin of surprise, +which held his faculties enchained, and at last subsided in a long +whistle of a single note. Nay, the old gentleman appeared even to +have astonished himself, and that to no small extent, as was +demonstrated by the vast amount of chuckling in which he indulged, +after the utterance of these lucid remarks. + +'Here's the story,' said Sam. 'Vunce upon a time there wos a young +hairdresser as opened a wery smart little shop vith four wax +dummies in the winder, two gen'lmen and two ladies - the gen'lmen +vith blue dots for their beards, wery large viskers, oudacious +heads of hair, uncommon clear eyes, and nostrils of amazin' +pinkness; the ladies vith their heads o' one side, their right +forefingers on their lips, and their forms deweloped beautiful, in +vich last respect they had the adwantage over the gen'lmen, as +wasn't allowed but wery little shoulder, and terminated rayther +abrupt in fancy drapery. He had also a many hair-brushes and +tooth-brushes bottled up in the winder, neat glass-cases on the +counter, a floor-clothed cuttin'-room up-stairs, and a weighin'- +macheen in the shop, right opposite the door. But the great +attraction and ornament wos the dummies, which this here young +hairdresser wos constantly a runnin' out in the road to look at, +and constantly a runnin' in again to touch up and polish; in short, +he wos so proud on 'em, that ven Sunday come, he wos always +wretched and mis'rable to think they wos behind the shutters, and +looked anxiously for Monday on that account. Vun o' these dummies +wos a favrite vith him beyond the others; and ven any of his +acquaintance asked him wy he didn't get married - as the young +ladies he know'd, in partickler, often did - he used to say, +"Never! I never vill enter into the bonds of vedlock," he says, +"until I meet vith a young 'ooman as realises my idea o' that 'ere +fairest dummy vith the light hair. Then, and not till then," he +says, "I vill approach the altar." All the young ladies he know'd +as had got dark hair told him this wos wery sinful, and that he wos +wurshippin' a idle; but them as wos at all near the same shade as +the dummy coloured up wery much, and wos observed to think him a +wery nice young man.' + +'Samivel,' said Mr. Weller, gravely, 'a member o' this associashun +bein' one o' that 'ere tender sex which is now immedetly referred +to, I have to rekvest that you vill make no reflections.' + +'I ain't a makin' any, am I?' inquired Sam. + +'Order, sir!' rejoined Mr. Weller, with severe dignity. Then, +sinking the chairman in the father, he added, in his usual tone of +voice: 'Samivel, drive on!' + +Sam interchanged a smile with the housekeeper, and proceeded: + +'The young hairdresser hadn't been in the habit o' makin' this +avowal above six months, ven he en-countered a young lady as wos +the wery picter o' the fairest dummy. "Now," he says, "it's all +up. I am a slave!" The young lady wos not only the picter o' the +fairest dummy, but she was wery romantic, as the young hairdresser +was, too, and he says, "O!" he says, "here's a community o' +feelin', here's a flow o' soul!" he says, "here's a interchange o' +sentiment!" The young lady didn't say much, o' course, but she +expressed herself agreeable, and shortly artervards vent to see him +vith a mutual friend. The hairdresser rushes out to meet her, but +d'rectly she sees the dummies she changes colour and falls a +tremblin' wiolently. "Look up, my love," says the hairdresser, +"behold your imige in my winder, but not correcter than in my art!" +"My imige!" she says. "Yourn!" replies the hairdresser. "But +whose imige is THAT?" she says, a pinting at vun o' the gen'lmen. +"No vun's, my love," he says, "it is but a idea." "A idea! " she +cries: "it is a portrait, I feel it is a portrait, and that 'ere +noble face must be in the millingtary!" "Wot do I hear!" says he, +a crumplin' his curls. "Villiam Gibbs," she says, quite firm, +"never renoo the subject. I respect you as a friend," she says, +"but my affections is set upon that manly brow." "This," says the +hairdresser, "is a reg'lar blight, and in it I perceive the hand of +Fate. Farevell!" Vith these vords he rushes into the shop, breaks +the dummy's nose vith a blow of his curlin'-irons, melts him down +at the parlour fire, and never smiles artervards.' + +'The young lady, Mr. Weller?' said the housekeeper. + +'Why, ma'am,' said Sam, 'finding that Fate had a spite agin her, +and everybody she come into contact vith, she never smiled neither, +but read a deal o' poetry and pined avay, - by rayther slow +degrees, for she ain't dead yet. It took a deal o' poetry to kill +the hair-dresser, and some people say arter all that it was more +the gin and water as caused him to be run over; p'r'aps it was a +little o' both, and came o' mixing the two.' + +The barber declared that Mr. Weller had related one of the most +interesting stories that had ever come within his knowledge, in +which opinion the housekeeper entirely concurred. + +'Are you a married man, sir?' inquired Sam. + +The barber replied that he had not that honour. + +'I s'pose you mean to be?' said Sam. + +'Well,' replied the barber, rubbing his hands smirkingly, 'I don't +know, I don't think it's very likely.' + +'That's a bad sign,' said Sam; 'if you'd said you meant to be vun +o' these days, I should ha' looked upon you as bein' safe. You're +in a wery precarious state.' + +'I am not conscious of any danger, at all events,' returned the +barber. + +'No more wos I, sir,' said the elder Mr. Weller, interposing; +'those vere my symptoms, exactly. I've been took that vay twice. +Keep your vether eye open, my friend, or you're gone.' + +There was something so very solemn about this admonition, both in +its matter and manner, and also in the way in which Mr. Weller +still kept his eye fixed upon the unsuspecting victim, that nobody +cared to speak for some little time, and might not have cared to do +so for some time longer, if the housekeeper had not happened to +sigh, which called off the old gentleman's attention and gave rise +to a gallant inquiry whether 'there wos anythin' wery piercin' in +that 'ere little heart?' + +'Dear me, Mr. Weller!' said the housekeeper, laughing. + +'No, but is there anythin' as agitates it?' pursued the old +gentleman. 'Has it always been obderrate, always opposed to the +happiness o' human creeturs? Eh? Has it?' + +At this critical juncture for her blushes and confusion, the +housekeeper discovered that more ale was wanted, and hastily +withdrew into the cellar to draw the same, followed by the barber, +who insisted on carrying the candle. Having looked after her with +a very complacent expression of face, and after him with some +disdain, Mr. Weller caused his glance to travel slowly round the +kitchen, until at length it rested on his son. + +'Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, 'I mistrust that barber.' + +'Wot for?' returned Sam; 'wot's he got to do with you? You're a +nice man, you are, arter pretendin' all kinds o' terror, to go a +payin' compliments and talkin' about hearts and piercers.' + +The imputation of gallantry appeared to afford Mr. Weller the +utmost delight, for he replied in a voice choked by suppressed +laughter, and with the tears in his eyes, + +'Wos I a talkin' about hearts and piercers, - wos I though, Sammy, +eh?' + +'Wos you? of course you wos.' + +'She don't know no better, Sammy, there ain't no harm in it, - no +danger, Sammy; she's only a punster. She seemed pleased, though, +didn't she? O' course, she wos pleased, it's nat'ral she should +be, wery nat'ral.' + +'He's wain of it!' exclaimed Sam, joining in his father's mirth. +'He's actually wain!' + +'Hush!' replied Mr. Weller, composing his features, 'they're a +comin' back, - the little heart's a comin' back. But mark these +wurds o' mine once more, and remember 'em ven your father says he +said 'em. Samivel, I mistrust that 'ere deceitful barber.' + + + +CHAPTER VI - MASTER HUMPHREY, FROM HIS CLOCK-SIDE IN THE CHIMNEY +CORNER + + + +TWO or three evenings after the institution of Mr. Weller's Watch, +I thought I heard, as I walked in the garden, the voice of Mr. +Weller himself at no great distance; and stopping once or twice to +listen more attentively, I found that the sounds proceeded from my +housekeeper's little sitting-room, which is at the back of the +house. I took no further notice of the circumstance at that time, +but it formed the subject of a conversation between me and my +friend Jack Redburn next morning, when I found that I had not been +deceived in my impression. Jack furnished me with the following +particulars; and as he appeared to take extraordinary pleasure in +relating them, I have begged him in future to jot down any such +domestic scenes or occurrences that may please his humour, in order +that they may be told in his own way. I must confess that, as Mr. +Pickwick and he are constantly together, I have been influenced, in +making this request, by a secret desire to know something of their +proceedings. + +On the evening in question, the housekeeper's room was arranged +with particular care, and the housekeeper herself was very smartly +dressed. The preparations, however, were not confined to mere +showy demonstrations, as tea was prepared for three persons, with a +small display of preserves and jams and sweet cakes, which heralded +some uncommon occasion. Miss Benton (my housekeeper bears that +name) was in a state of great expectation, too, frequently going to +the front door and looking anxiously down the lane, and more than +once observing to the servant-girl that she expected company, and +hoped no accident had happened to delay them. + +A modest ring at the bell at length allayed her fears, and Miss +Benton, hurrying into her own room and shutting herself up, in +order that she might preserve that appearance of being taken by +surprise which is so essential to the polite reception of visitors, +awaited their coming with a smiling countenance. + +'Good ev'nin', mum,' said the older Mr. Weller, looking in at the +door after a prefatory tap. 'I'm afeerd we've come in rayther +arter the time, mum, but the young colt being full o' wice, has +been' a boltin' and shyin' and gettin' his leg over the traces to +sich a extent that if he an't wery soon broke in, he'll wex me into +a broken heart, and then he'll never be brought out no more except +to learn his letters from the writin' on his grandfather's +tombstone.' + +With these pathetic words, which were addressed to something +outside the door about two feet six from the ground, Mr. Weller +introduced a very small boy firmly set upon a couple of very sturdy +legs, who looked as if nothing could ever knock him down. Besides +having a very round face strongly resembling Mr. Weller's, and a +stout little body of exactly his build, this young gentleman, +standing with his little legs very wide apart, as if the top-boots +were familiar to them, actually winked upon the housekeeper with +his infant eye, in imitation of his grandfather. + +'There's a naughty boy, mum,' said Mr. Weller, bursting with +delight, 'there's a immoral Tony. Wos there ever a little chap o' +four year and eight months old as vinked his eye at a strange lady +afore?' + +As little affected by this observation as by the former appeal to +his feelings, Master Weller elevated in the air a small model of a +coach whip which he carried in his hand, and addressing the +housekeeper with a shrill 'ya - hip!' inquired if she was 'going +down the road;' at which happy adaptation of a lesson he had been +taught from infancy, Mr. Weller could restrain his feelings no +longer, but gave him twopence on the spot. + +'It's in wain to deny it, mum,' said Mr. Weller, 'this here is a +boy arter his grandfather's own heart, and beats out all the boys +as ever wos or will be. Though at the same time, mum,' added Mr. +Weller, trying to look gravely down upon his favourite, 'it was +wery wrong on him to want to - over all the posts as we come along, +and wery cruel on him to force poor grandfather to lift him cross- +legged over every vun of 'em. He wouldn't pass vun single blessed +post, mum, and at the top o' the lane there's seven-and-forty on +'em all in a row, and wery close together.' + +Here Mr. Weller, whose feelings were in a perpetual conflict +between pride in his grandson's achievements and a sense of his own +responsibility, and the importance of impressing him with moral +truths, burst into a fit of laughter, and suddenly checking +himself, remarked in a severe tone that little boys as made their +grandfathers put 'em over posts never went to heaven at any price. + +By this time the housekeeper had made tea, and little Tony, placed +on a chair beside her, with his eyes nearly on a level with the top +of the table, was provided with various delicacies which yielded +him extreme contentment. The housekeeper (who seemed rather afraid +of the child, notwithstanding her caresses) then patted him on the +head, and declared that he was the finest boy she had ever seen. + +'Wy, mum,' said Mr. Weller, 'I don't think you'll see a many sich, +and that's the truth. But if my son Samivel vould give me my vay, +mum, and only dis-pense vith his - MIGHT I wenter to say the vurd?' + +'What word, Mr. Weller?' said the housekeeper, blushing slightly. + +'Petticuts, mum,' returned that gentleman, laying his hand upon the +garments of his grandson. 'If my son Samivel, mum, vould only dis- +pense vith these here, you'd see such a alteration in his +appearance, as the imagination can't depicter.' + +'But what would you have the child wear instead, Mr. Weller?' said +the housekeeper. + +'I've offered my son Samivel, mum, agen and agen,' returned the old +gentleman, 'to purwide him at my own cost vith a suit o' clothes as +'ud be the makin' on him, and form his mind in infancy for those +pursuits as I hope the family o' the Vellers vill alvays dewote +themselves to. Tony, my boy, tell the lady wot them clothes are, +as grandfather says, father ought to let you vear.' + +'A little white hat and a little sprig weskut and little knee cords +and little top-boots and a little green coat with little bright +buttons and a little welwet collar,' replied Tony, with great +readiness and no stops. + +'That's the cos-toom, mum,' said Mr. Weller, looking proudly at the +housekeeper. 'Once make sich a model on him as that, and you'd say +he WOS an angel!' + +Perhaps the housekeeper thought that in such a guise young Tony +would look more like the angel at Islington than anything else of +that name, or perhaps she was disconcerted to find her previously- +conceived ideas disturbed, as angels are not commonly represented +in top-boots and sprig waistcoats. She coughed doubtfully, but +said nothing. + +'How many brothers and sisters have you, my dear?' she asked, after +a short silence. + +'One brother and no sister at all,' replied Tony. 'Sam his name +is, and so's my father's. Do you know my father?' + +'O yes, I know him,' said the housekeeper, graciously. + +'Is my father fond of you?' pursued Tony. + +'I hope so,' rejoined the smiling housekeeper. + +Tony considered a moment, and then said, 'Is my grandfather fond of +you?' + +This would seem a very easy question to answer, but instead of +replying to it, the housekeeper smiled in great confusion, and said +that really children did ask such extraordinary questions that it +was the most difficult thing in the world to talk to them. Mr. +Weller took upon himself to reply that he was very fond of the +lady; but the housekeeper entreating that he would not put such +things into the child's head, Mr. Weller shook his own while she +looked another way, and seemed to be troubled with a misgiving that +captivation was in progress. It was, perhaps, on this account that +he changed the subject precipitately. + +'It's wery wrong in little boys to make game o' their grandfathers, +an't it, mum?' said Mr. Weller, shaking his head waggishly, until +Tony looked at him, when he counterfeited the deepest dejection and +sorrow. + +'O, very sad!' assented the housekeeper. 'But I hope no little +boys do that?' + +'There is vun young Turk, mum,' said Mr. Weller, 'as havin' seen +his grandfather a little overcome vith drink on the occasion of a +friend's birthday, goes a reelin' and staggerin' about the house, +and makin' believe that he's the old gen'lm'n.' + +'O, quite shocking!' cried the housekeeper, + +'Yes, mum,' said Mr. Weller; 'and previously to so doin', this here +young traitor that I'm a speakin' of, pinches his little nose to +make it red, and then he gives a hiccup and says, "I'm all right," +he says; "give us another song!" Ha, ha! "Give us another song," +he says. Ha, ha, ha!' + +In his excessive delight, Mr. Weller was quite unmindful of his +moral responsibility, until little Tony kicked up his legs, and +laughing immoderately, cried, 'That was me, that was;' whereupon +the grandfather, by a great effort, became extremely solemn. + +'No, Tony, not you,' said Mr. Weller. 'I hope it warn't you, Tony. +It must ha' been that 'ere naughty little chap as comes sometimes +out o' the empty watch-box round the corner, - that same little +chap as wos found standing on the table afore the looking-glass, +pretending to shave himself vith a oyster-knife.' + +'He didn't hurt himself, I hope?' observed the housekeeper. + +'Not he, mum,' said Mr. Weller proudly; 'bless your heart, you +might trust that 'ere boy vith a steam-engine a'most, he's such a +knowin' young' - but suddenly recollecting himself and observing +that Tony perfectly understood and appreciated the compliment, the +old gentleman groaned and observed that 'it wos all wery shockin' - +wery.' + +'O, he's a bad 'un,' said Mr. Weller, 'is that 'ere watch-box boy, +makin' such a noise and litter in the back yard, he does, waterin' +wooden horses and feedin' of 'em vith grass, and perpetivally +spillin' his little brother out of a veelbarrow and frightenin' his +mother out of her vits, at the wery moment wen she's expectin' to +increase his stock of happiness vith another play-feller, - O, he's +a bad one! He's even gone so far as to put on a pair of paper +spectacles as he got his father to make for him, and walk up and +down the garden vith his hands behind him in imitation of Mr. +Pickwick, - but Tony don't do sich things, O no!' + +'O no!' echoed Tony. + +'He knows better, he does,' said Mr. Weller. 'He knows that if he +wos to come sich games as these nobody wouldn't love him, and that +his grandfather in partickler couldn't abear the sight on him; for +vich reasons Tony's always good.' + +'Always good,' echoed Tony; and his grandfather immediately took +him on his knee and kissed him, at the same time, with many nods +and winks, slyly pointing at the child's head with his thumb, in +order that the housekeeper, otherwise deceived by the admirable +manner in which he (Mr. Weller) had sustained his character, might +not suppose that any other young gentleman was referred to, and +might clearly understand that the boy of the watch-box was but an +imaginary creation, and a fetch of Tony himself, invented for his +improvement and reformation. + +Not confining himself to a mere verbal description of his +grandson's abilities, Mr. Weller, when tea was finished, invited +him by various gifts of pence and halfpence to smoke imaginary +pipes, drink visionary beer from real pots, imitate his grandfather +without reserve, and in particular to go through the drunken scene, +which threw the old gentleman into ecstasies and filled the +housekeeper with wonder. Nor was Mr. Weller's pride satisfied with +even this display, for when he took his leave he carried the child, +like some rare and astonishing curiosity, first to the barber's +house and afterwards to the tobacconist's, at each of which places +he repeated his performances with the utmost effect to applauding +and delighted audiences. It was half-past nine o'clock when Mr. +Weller was last seen carrying him home upon his shoulder, and it +has been whispered abroad that at that time the infant Tony was +rather intoxicated. + + +I was musing the other evening upon the characters and incidents +with which I had been so long engaged; wondering how I could ever +have looked forward with pleasure to the completion of my tale, and +reproaching myself for having done so, as if it were a kind of +cruelty to those companions of my solitude whom I had now +dismissed, and could never again recall; when my clock struck ten. +Punctual to the hour, my friends appeared. + +On our last night of meeting, we had finished the story which the +reader has just concluded. Our conversation took the same current +as the meditations which the entrance of my friends had +interrupted, and The Old Curiosity Shop was the staple of our +discourse. + +I may confide to the reader now, that in connection with this +little history I had something upon my mind; something to +communicate which I had all along with difficulty repressed; +something I had deemed it, during the progress of the story, +necessary to its interest to disguise, and which, now that it was +over, I wished, and was yet reluctant, to disclose. + +To conceal anything from those to whom I am attached, is not in my +nature. I can never close my lips where I have opened my heart. +This temper, and the consciousness of having done some violence to +it in my narrative, laid me under a restraint which I should have +had great difficulty in overcoming, but for a timely remark from +Mr. Miles, who, as I hinted in a former paper, is a gentleman of +business habits, and of great exactness and propriety in all his +transactions. + +'I could have wished,' my friend objected, 'that we had been made +acquainted with the single gentleman's name. I don't like his +withholding his name. It made me look upon him at first with +suspicion, and caused me to doubt his moral character, I assure +you. I am fully satisfied by this time of his being a worthy +creature; but in this respect he certainly would not appear to have +acted at all like a man of business.' + +'My friends,' said I, drawing to the table, at which they were by +this time seated in their usual chairs, 'do you remember that this +story bore another title besides that one we have so often heard of +late?' + +Mr. Miles had his pocket-book out in an instant, and referring to +an entry therein, rejoined, 'Certainly. Personal Adventures of +Master Humphrey. Here it is. I made a note of it at the time.' + +I was about to resume what I had to tell them, when the same Mr. +Miles again interrupted me, observing that the narrative originated +in a personal adventure of my own, and that was no doubt the reason +for its being thus designated. + +This led me to the point at once. + +'You will one and all forgive me,' I returned, 'if for the greater +convenience of the story, and for its better introduction, that +adventure was fictitious. I had my share, indeed, - no light or +trivial one, - in the pages we have read, but it was not the share +I feigned to have at first. The younger brother, the single +gentleman, the nameless actor in this little drama, stands before +you now.' + +It was easy to see they had not expected this disclosure. + +'Yes,' I pursued. 'I can look back upon my part in it with a calm, +half-smiling pity for myself as for some other man. But I am he, +indeed; and now the chief sorrows of my life are yours.' + +I need not say what true gratification I derived from the sympathy +and kindness with which this acknowledgment was received; nor how +often it had risen to my lips before; nor how difficult I had found +it - how impossible, when I came to those passages which touched me +most, and most nearly concerned me - to sustain the character I had +assumed. It is enough to say that I replaced in the clock-case the +record of so many trials, - sorrowfully, it is true, but with a +softened sorrow which was almost pleasure; and felt that in living +through the past again, and communicating to others the lesson it +had helped to teach me, I had been a happier man. + +We lingered so long over the leaves from which I had read, that as +I consigned them to their former resting-place, the hand of my +trusty clock pointed to twelve, and there came towards us upon the +wind the voice of the deep and distant bell of St. Paul's as it +struck the hour of midnight. + +'This,' said I, returning with a manuscript I had taken at the +moment, from the same repository, 'to be opened to such music, +should be a tale where London's face by night is darkly seen, and +where some deed of such a time as this is dimly shadowed out. +Which of us here has seen the working of that great machine whose +voice has just now ceased?' + +Mr. Pickwick had, of course, and so had Mr. Miles. Jack and my +deaf friend were in the minority. + +I had seen it but a few days before, and could not help telling +them of the fancy I had about it. + +I paid my fee of twopence upon entering, to one of the money- +changers who sit within the Temple; and falling, after a few turns +up and down, into the quiet train of thought which such a place +awakens, paced the echoing stones like some old monk whose present +world lay all within its walls. As I looked afar up into the lofty +dome, I could not help wondering what were his reflections whose +genius reared that mighty pile, when, the last small wedge of +timber fixed, the last nail driven into its home for many +centuries, the clang of hammers, and the hum of busy voices gone, +and the Great Silence whole years of noise had helped to make, +reigning undisturbed around, he mused, as I did now, upon his work, +and lost himself amid its vast extent. I could not quite determine +whether the contemplation of it would impress him with a sense of +greatness or of insignificance; but when I remembered how long a +time it had taken to erect, in how short a space it might be +traversed even to its remotest parts, for how brief a term he, or +any of those who cared to bear his name, would live to see it, or +know of its existence, I imagined him far more melancholy than +proud, and looking with regret upon his labour done. With these +thoughts in my mind, I began to ascend, almost unconsciously, the +flight of steps leading to the several wonders of the building, and +found myself before a barrier where another money-taker sat, who +demanded which among them I would choose to see. There were the +stone gallery, he said, and the whispering gallery, the geometrical +staircase, the room of models, the clock - the clock being quite in +my way, I stopped him there, and chose that sight from all the +rest. + +I groped my way into the Turret which it occupies, and saw before +me, in a kind of loft, what seemed to be a great, old oaken press +with folding doors. These being thrown back by the attendant (who +was sleeping when I came upon him, and looked a drowsy fellow, as +though his close companionship with Time had made him quite +indifferent to it), disclosed a complicated crowd of wheels and +chains in iron and brass, - great, sturdy, rattling engines, - +suggestive of breaking a finger put in here or there, and grinding +the bone to powder, - and these were the Clock! Its very pulse, if +I may use the word, was like no other clock. It did not mark the +flight of every moment with a gentle second stroke, as though it +would check old Time, and have him stay his pace in pity, but +measured it with one sledge-hammer beat, as if its business were to +crush the seconds as they came trooping on, and remorselessly to +clear a path before the Day of Judgment. + +I sat down opposite to it, and hearing its regular and never- +changing voice, that one deep constant note, uppermost amongst all +the noise and clatter in the streets below, - marking that, let +that tumult rise or fall, go on or stop, - let it be night or noon, +to-morrow or to-day, this year or next, - it still performed its +functions with the same dull constancy, and regulated the progress +of the life around, the fancy came upon me that this was London's +Heart, - and that when it should cease to beat, the City would be +no more. + +It is night. Calm and unmoved amidst the scenes that darkness +favours, the great heart of London throbs in its Giant breast. +Wealth and beggary, vice and virtue, guilt and innocence, repletion +and the direst hunger, all treading on each other and crowding +together, are gathered round it. Draw but a little circle above +the clustering housetops, and you shall have within its space +everything, with its opposite extreme and contradiction, close +beside. Where yonder feeble light is shining, a man is but this +moment dead. The taper at a few yards' distance is seen by eyes +that have this instant opened on the world. There are two houses +separated by but an inch or two of wall. In one, there are quiet +minds at rest; in the other, a waking conscience that one might +think would trouble the very air. In that close corner where the +roofs shrink down and cower together as if to hide their secrets +from the handsome street hard by, there are such dark crimes, such +miseries and horrors, as could be hardly told in whispers. In the +handsome street, there are folks asleep who have dwelt there all +their lives, and have no more knowledge of these things than if +they had never been, or were transacted at the remotest limits of +the world, - who, if they were hinted at, would shake their heads, +look wise, and frown, and say they were impossible, and out of +Nature, - as if all great towns were not. Does not this Heart of +London, that nothing moves, nor stops, nor quickens, - that goes on +the same let what will be done, does it not express the City's +character well? + +The day begins to break, and soon there is the hum and noise of +life. Those who have spent the night on doorsteps and cold stones +crawl off to beg; they who have slept in beds come forth to their +occupation, too, and business is astir. The fog of sleep rolls +slowly off, and London shines awake. The streets are filled with +carriages and people gaily clad. The jails are full, too, to the +throat, nor have the workhouses or hospitals much room to spare. +The courts of law are crowded. Taverns have their regular +frequenters by this time, and every mart of traffic has its throng. +Each of these places is a world, and has its own inhabitants; each +is distinct from, and almost unconscious of the existence of any +other. There are some few people well to do, who remember to have +heard it said, that numbers of men and women - thousands, they +think it was - get up in London every day, unknowing where to lay +their heads at night; and that there are quarters of the town where +misery and famine always are. They don't believe it quite, - there +may be some truth in it, but it is exaggerated, of course. So, +each of these thousand worlds goes on, intent upon itself, until +night comes again, - first with its lights and pleasures, and its +cheerful streets; then with its guilt and darkness. + +Heart of London, there is a moral in thy every stroke! as I look on +at thy indomitable working, which neither death, nor press of life, +nor grief, nor gladness out of doors will influence one jot, I seem +to hear a voice within thee which sinks into my heart, bidding me, +as I elbow my way among the crowd, have some thought for the +meanest wretch that passes, and, being a man, to turn away with +scorn and pride from none that bear the human shape. + + +I am by no means sure that I might not have been tempted to enlarge +upon the subject, had not the papers that lay before me on the +table been a silent reproach for even this digression. I took them +up again when I had got thus far, and seriously prepared to read. + +The handwriting was strange to me, for the manuscript had been +fairly copied. As it is against our rules, in such a case, to +inquire into the authorship until the reading is concluded, I could +only glance at the different faces round me, in search of some +expression which should betray the writer. Whoever he might be, he +was prepared for this, and gave no sign for my enlightenment. + +I had the papers in my hand, when my deaf friend interposed with a +suggestion. + +'It has occurred to me,' he said, 'bearing in mind your sequel to +the tale we have finished, that if such of us as have anything to +relate of our own lives could interweave it with our contribution +to the Clock, it would be well to do so. This need be no restraint +upon us, either as to time, or place, or incident, since any real +passage of this kind may be surrounded by fictitious circumstances, +and represented by fictitious characters. What if we make this an +article of agreement among ourselves?' + +The proposition was cordially received, but the difficulty appeared +to be that here was a long story written before we had thought of +it. + +'Unless,' said I, 'it should have happened that the writer of this +tale - which is not impossible, for men are apt to do so when they +write - has actually mingled with it something of his own endurance +and experience.' + +Nobody spoke, but I thought I detected in one quarter that this was +really the case. + +'If I have no assurance to the contrary,' I added, therefore, 'I +shall take it for granted that he has done so, and that even these +papers come within our new agreement. Everybody being mute, we +hold that understanding if you please.' + +And here I was about to begin again, when Jack informed us softly, +that during the progress of our last narrative, Mr. Weller's Watch +had adjourned its sittings from the kitchen, and regularly met +outside our door, where he had no doubt that august body would be +found at the present moment. As this was for the convenience of +listening to our stories, he submitted that they might be suffered +to come in, and hear them more pleasantly. + +To this we one and all yielded a ready assent, and the party being +discovered, as Jack had supposed, and invited to walk in, entered +(though not without great confusion at having been detected), and +were accommodated with chairs at a little distance. + +Then, the lamp being trimmed, the fire well stirred and burning +brightly, the hearth clean swept, the curtains closely drawn, the +clock wound up, we entered on our new story. + + +It is again midnight. My fire burns cheerfully; the room is filled +with my old friend's sober voice; and I am left to muse upon the +story we have just now finished. + +It makes me smile, at such a time as this, to think if there were +any one to see me sitting in my easy-chair, my gray head hanging +down, my eyes bent thoughtfully upon the glowing embers, and my +crutch - emblem of my helplessness - lying upon the hearth at my +feet, how solitary I should seem. Yet though I am the sole tenant +of this chimney-corner, though I am childless and old, I have no +sense of loneliness at this hour; but am the centre of a silent +group whose company I love. + +Thus, even age and weakness have their consolations. If I were a +younger man, if I were more active, more strongly bound and tied to +life, these visionary friends would shun me, or I should desire to +fly from them. Being what I am, I can court their society, and +delight in it; and pass whole hours in picturing to myself the +shadows that perchance flock every night into this chamber, and in +imagining with pleasure what kind of interest they have in the +frail, feeble mortal who is its sole inhabitant. + +All the friends I have ever lost I find again among these visitors. +I love to fancy their spirits hovering about me, feeling still some +earthly kindness for their old companion, and watching his decay. +'He is weaker, he declines apace, he draws nearer and nearer to us, +and will soon be conscious of our existence.' What is there to +alarm me in this? It is encouragement and hope. + +These thoughts have never crowded on me half so fast as they have +done to-night. Faces I had long forgotten have become familiar to +me once again; traits I had endeavoured to recall for years have +come before me in an instant; nothing is changed but me; and even I +can be my former self at will. + +Raising my eyes but now to the face of my old clock, I remember, +quite involuntarily, the veneration, not unmixed with a sort of +childish awe, with which I used to sit and watch it as it ticked, +unheeded in a dark staircase corner. I recollect looking more +grave and steady when I met its dusty face, as if, having that +strange kind of life within it, and being free from all excess of +vulgar appetite, and warning all the house by night and day, it +were a sage. How often have I listened to it as it told the beads +of time, and wondered at its constancy! How often watched it +slowly pointing round the dial, and, while I panted for the eagerly +expected hour to come, admired, despite myself, its steadiness of +purpose and lofty freedom from all human strife, impatience, and +desire! + +I thought it cruel once. It was very hard of heart, to my mind, I +remember. It was an old servant even then; and I felt as though it +ought to show some sorrow; as though it wanted sympathy with us in +our distress, and were a dull, heartless, mercenary creature. Ah! +how soon I learnt to know that in its ceaseless going on, and in +its being checked or stayed by nothing, lay its greatest kindness, +and the only balm for grief and wounded peace of mind. + +To-night, to-night, when this tranquillity and calm are on my +spirits, and memory presents so many shifting scenes before me, I +take my quiet stand at will by many a fire that has been long +extinguished, and mingle with the cheerful group that cluster round +it. If I could be sorrowful in such a mood, I should grow sad to +think what a poor blot I was upon their youth and beauty once, and +now how few remain to put me to the blush; I should grow sad to +think that such among them as I sometimes meet with in my daily +walks are scarcely less infirm than I; that time has brought us to +a level; and that all distinctions fade and vanish as we take our +trembling steps towards the grave. + +But memory was given us for better purposes than this, and mine is +not a torment, but a source of pleasure. To muse upon the gaiety +and youth I have known suggests to me glad scenes of harmless mirth +that may be passing now. From contemplating them apart, I soon +become an actor in these little dramas, and humouring my fancy, +lose myself among the beings it invokes. + +When my fire is bright and high, and a warm blush mantles in the +walls and ceiling of this ancient room; when my clock makes +cheerful music, like one of those chirping insects who delight in +the warm hearth, and are sometimes, by a good superstition, looked +upon as the harbingers of fortune and plenty to that household in +whose mercies they put their humble trust; when everything is in a +ruddy genial glow, and there are voices in the crackling flame, and +smiles in its flashing light, other smiles and other voices +congregate around me, invading, with their pleasant harmony, the +silence of the time. + +For then a knot of youthful creatures gather round my fireside, and +the room re-echoes to their merry voices. My solitary chair no +longer holds its ample place before the fire, but is wheeled into a +smaller corner, to leave more room for the broad circle formed +about the cheerful hearth. I have sons, and daughters, and +grandchildren, and we are assembled on some occasion of rejoicing +common to us all. It is a birthday, perhaps, or perhaps it may be +Christmas time; but be it what it may, there is rare holiday among +us; we are full of glee. + +In the chimney-comer, opposite myself, sits one who has grown old +beside me. She is changed, of course; much changed; and yet I +recognise the girl even in that gray hair and wrinkled brow. +Glancing from the laughing child who half hides in her ample +skirts, and half peeps out, - and from her to the little matron of +twelve years old, who sits so womanly and so demure at no great +distance from me, - and from her again, to a fair girl in the full +bloom of early womanhood, the centre of the group, who has glanced +more than once towards the opening door, and by whom the children, +whispering and tittering among themselves, WILL leave a vacant +chair, although she bids them not, - I see her image thrice +repeated, and feel how long it is before one form and set of +features wholly pass away, if ever, from among the living. While I +am dwelling upon this, and tracing out the gradual change from +infancy to youth, from youth to perfect growth, from that to age, +and thinking, with an old man's pride, that she is comely yet, I +feel a slight thin hand upon my arm, and, looking down, see seated +at my feet a crippled boy, - a gentle, patient child, - whose +aspect I know well. He rests upon a little crutch, - I know it +too, - and leaning on it as he climbs my footstool, whispers in my +ear, 'I am hardly one of these, dear grandfather, although I love +them dearly. They are very kind to me, but you will be kinder +still, I know.' + +I have my hand upon his neck, and stoop to kiss him, when my clock +strikes, my chair is in its old spot, and I am alone. + +What if I be? What if this fireside be tenantless, save for the +presence of one weak old man? From my house-top I can look upon a +hundred homes, in every one of which these social companions are +matters of reality. In my daily walks I pass a thousand men whose +cares are all forgotten, whose labours are made light, whose dull +routine of work from day to day is cheered and brightened by their +glimpses of domestic joy at home. Amid the struggles of this +struggling town what cheerful sacrifices are made; what toil +endured with readiness; what patience shown and fortitude displayed +for the mere sake of home and its affections! Let me thank Heaven +that I can people my fireside with shadows such as these; with +shadows of bright objects that exist in crowds about me; and let me +say, 'I am alone no more.' + +I never was less so - I write it with a grateful heart - than I am +to-night. Recollections of the past and visions of the present +come to bear me company; the meanest man to whom I have ever given +alms appears, to add his mite of peace and comfort to my stock; and +whenever the fire within me shall grow cold, to light my path upon +this earth no more, I pray that it may be at such an hour as this, +and when I love the world as well as I do now. + + +THE DEAF GENTLEMAN FROM HIS OWN APARTMENT + + +Our dear friend laid down his pen at the end of the foregoing +paragraph, to take it up no more. I little thought ever to employ +mine upon so sorrowful a task as that which he has left me, and to +which I now devote it. + +As he did not appear among us at his usual hour next morning, we +knocked gently at his door. No answer being given, it was softly +opened; and then, to our surprise, we saw him seated before the +ashes of his fire, with a little table I was accustomed to set at +his elbow when I left him for the night at a short distance from +him, as though he had pushed it away with the idea of rising and +retiring to his bed. His crutch and footstool lay at his feet as +usual, and he was dressed in his chamber-gown, which he had put on +before I left him. He was reclining in his chair, in his +accustomed posture, with his face towards the fire, and seemed +absorbed in meditation, - indeed, at first, we almost hoped he was. + +Going up to him, we found him dead. I have often, very often, seen +him sleeping, and always peacefully, but I never saw him look so +calm and tranquil. His face wore a serene, benign expression, +which had impressed me very strongly when we last shook hands; not +that he had ever had any other look, God knows; but there was +something in this so very spiritual, so strangely and indefinably +allied to youth, although his head was gray and venerable, that it +was new even in him. It came upon me all at once when on some +slight pretence he called me back upon the previous night to take +me by the hand again, and once more say, 'God bless you.' + +A bell-rope hung within his reach, but he had not moved towards it; +nor had he stirred, we all agreed, except, as I have said, to push +away his table, which he could have done, and no doubt did, with a +very slight motion of his hand. He had relapsed for a moment into +his late train of meditation, and, with a thoughtful smile upon his +face, had died. + +I had long known it to be his wish that whenever this event should +come to pass we might be all assembled in the house. I therefore +lost no time in sending for Mr. Pickwick and for Mr. Miles, both of +whom arrived before the messenger's return. + +It is not my purpose to dilate upon the sorrow and affectionate +emotions of which I was at once the witness and the sharer. But I +may say, of the humbler mourners, that his faithful housekeeper was +fairly heart-broken; that the poor barber would not be comforted; +and that I shall respect the homely truth and warmth of heart of +Mr. Weller and his son to the last moment of my life. + +'And the sweet old creetur, sir,' said the elder Mr. Weller to me +in the afternoon, 'has bolted. Him as had no wice, and was so free +from temper that a infant might ha' drove him, has been took at +last with that 'ere unawoidable fit o' staggers as we all must come +to, and gone off his feed for ever! I see him,' said the old +gentleman, with a moisture in his eye, which could not be mistaken, +- 'I see him gettin', every journey, more and more groggy; I says +to Samivel, "My boy! the Grey's a-goin' at the knees;" and now my +predilictions is fatally werified, and him as I could never do +enough to serve or show my likin' for, is up the great uniwersal +spout o' natur'.' + +I was not the less sensible of the old man's attachment because he +expressed it in his peculiar manner. Indeed, I can truly assert of +both him and his son, that notwithstanding the extraordinary +dialogues they held together, and the strange commentaries and +corrections with which each of them illustrated the other's speech, +I do not think it possible to exceed the sincerity of their regret; +and that I am sure their thoughtfulness and anxiety in anticipating +the discharge of many little offices of sympathy would have done +honour to the most delicate-minded persons. + +Our friend had frequently told us that his will would be found in a +box in the Clock-case, the key of which was in his writing-desk. +As he had told us also that he desired it to be opened immediately +after his death, whenever that should happen, we met together that +night for the fulfilment of his request. + +We found it where he had told us, wrapped in a sealed paper, and +with it a codicil of recent date, in which he named Mr. Miles and +Mr. Pickwick his executors, - as having no need of any greater +benefit from his estate than a generous token (which he bequeathed +to them) of his friendship and remembrance. + +After pointing out the spot in which he wished his ashes to repose, +he gave to 'his dear old friends,' Jack Redburn and myself, his +house, his books, his furniture, - in short, all that his house +contained; and with this legacy more ample means of maintaining it +in its present state than we, with our habits and at our terms of +life, can ever exhaust. Besides these gifts, he left to us, in +trust, an annual sum of no insignificant amount, to be distributed +in charity among his accustomed pensioners - they are a long list - +and such other claimants on his bounty as might, from time to time, +present themselves. And as true charity not only covers a +multitude of sins, but includes a multitude of virtues, such as +forgiveness, liberal construction, gentleness and mercy to the +faults of others, and the remembrance of our own imperfections and +advantages, he bade us not inquire too closely into the venial +errors of the poor, but finding that they WERE poor, first to +relieve and then endeavour - at an advantage - to reclaim them. + +To the housekeeper he left an annuity, sufficient for her +comfortable maintenance and support through life. For the barber, +who had attended him many years, he made a similar provision. And +I may make two remarks in this place: first, that I think this +pair are very likely to club their means together and make a match +of it; and secondly, that I think my friend had this result in his +mind, for I have heard him say, more than once, that he could not +concur with the generality of mankind in censuring equal marriages +made in later life, since there were many cases in which such +unions could not fail to be a wise and rational source of happiness +to both parties. + +The elder Mr. Weller is so far from viewing this prospect with any +feelings of jealousy, that he appears to be very much relieved by +its contemplation; and his son, if I am not mistaken, participates +in this feeling. We are all of opinion, however, that the old +gentleman's danger, even at its crisis, was very slight, and that +he merely laboured under one of those transitory weaknesses to +which persons of his temperament are now and then liable, and which +become less and less alarming at every return, until they wholly +subside. I have no doubt he will remain a jolly old widower for +the rest of his life, as he has already inquired of me, with much +gravity, whether a writ of habeas corpus would enable him to settle +his property upon Tony beyond the possibility of recall; and has, +in my presence, conjured his son, with tears in his eyes, that in +the event of his ever becoming amorous again, he will put him in a +strait-waistcoat until the fit is past, and distinctly inform the +lady that his property is 'made over.' + +Although I have very little doubt that Sam would dutifully comply +with these injunctions in a case of extreme necessity, and that he +would do so with perfect composure and coolness, I do not apprehend +things will ever come to that pass, as the old gentleman seems +perfectly happy in the society of his son, his pretty daughter-in- +law, and his grandchildren, and has solemnly announced his +determination to 'take arter the old 'un in all respects;' from +which I infer that it is his intention to regulate his conduct by +the model of Mr. Pickwick, who will certainly set him the example +of a single life. + +I have diverged for a moment from the subject with which I set out, +for I know that my friend was interested in these little matters, +and I have a natural tendency to linger upon any topic that +occupied his thoughts or gave him pleasure and amusement. His +remaining wishes are very briefly told. He desired that we would +make him the frequent subject of our conversation; at the same +time, that we would never speak of him with an air of gloom or +restraint, but frankly, and as one whom we still loved and hoped to +meet again. He trusted that the old house would wear no aspect of +mourning, but that it would be lively and cheerful; and that we +would not remove or cover up his picture, which hangs in our +dining-room, but make it our companion as he had been. His own +room, our place of meeting, remains, at his desire, in its +accustomed state; our seats are placed about the table as of old; +his easy-chair, his desk, his crutch, his footstool, hold their +accustomed places, and the clock stands in its familiar corner. We +go into the chamber at stated times to see that all is as it should +be, and to take care that the light and air are not shut out, for +on that point he expressed a strong solicitude. But it was his +fancy that the apartment should not be inhabited; that it should be +religiously preserved in this condition, and that the voice of his +old companion should be heard no more. + +My own history may be summed up in very few words; and even those I +should have spared the reader but for my friend's allusion to me +some time since. I have no deeper sorrow than the loss of a child, +- an only daughter, who is living, and who fled from her father's +house but a few weeks before our friend and I first met. I had +never spoken of this even to him, because I have always loved her, +and I could not bear to tell him of her error until I could tell +him also of her sorrow and regret. Happily I was enabled to do so +some time ago. And it will not be long, with Heaven's leave, +before she is restored to me; before I find in her and her husband +the support of my declining years. + +For my pipe, it is an old relic of home, a thing of no great worth, +a poor trifle, but sacred to me for her sake. + +Thus, since the death of our venerable friend, Jack Redburn and I +have been the sole tenants of the old house; and, day by day, have +lounged together in his favourite walks. Mindful of his +injunctions, we have long been able to speak of him with ease and +cheerfulness, and to remember him as he would be remembered. From +certain allusions which Jack has dropped, to his having been +deserted and cast off in early life, I am inclined to believe that +some passages of his youth may possibly be shadowed out in the +history of Mr. Chester and his son, but seeing that he avoids the +subject, I have not pursued it. + +My task is done. The chamber in which we have whiled away so many +hours, not, I hope, without some pleasure and some profit, is +deserted; our happy hour of meeting strikes no more; the chimney- +corner has grown cold; and MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK has stopped for +ever. + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg eText Master Humphrey's Clock + diff --git a/old/mhmph10.zip b/old/mhmph10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..623d1b6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/mhmph10.zip |
