 Chapter 28 A Good Humoured Christmas Chapter, containing an account of a wedding, and some other sports besides, which, although in their way, even as good customs as marriage itself, are not quite so religiously kept up in these degenerate times. As brisk as bees, if not altogether as light as fair is, did the four Pickwickians assemble on the morning of the twenty-second day of December, in the year of grace in which these their faithfully recorded adventures were undertaken and accomplished. Christmas was close at hand in all his bluff and hearty honesty. It was the season of hospitality, merriment, and open-heartedness the old year was preparing like an ancient philosopher to call his friends around him, and amidst the sound of feasting and revelry, to pass gently and calmly away. Gay and merry was the time, and right gay and merry were at least four of the numerous hearts that were gladdened by its coming. And numerous indeed are the hearts to which Christmas brings a brief season of happiness and enjoyment. How many families, whose members have been dispersed and scattered far and wide in the restless struggles of life, are then reunited and meet once again in that happy state of companionship and mutual goodwill, which is a source of such pure and unalloyed delight, and one so incompatible with the cares and sorrows of the world, that the religious belief of the most civilised nations and the rude traditions of the roughest savages alike number it among the first joys of a future condition of existence provided for the blessed and happy. How many old recollections, and how many dormant sympathies, does Christmas time awake? We write these words now, many miles distant from the spot at which, year after year, we met on that day, a merry and joyous circle. Many of the hearts that throb so gladly, then, have ceased to beat. Many of the looks that shone so brightly, then, have ceased to glow. The hands we grasped have grown cold. The eyes we sought have hid their luster in the grave, and yet the old house, the room, the merry voices and smiling faces, the jest, the laugh, the most minute and trivial circumstances connected with those happy meetings, crowd upon our mind at each recurrence of the season, as if the last assemblage had been but yesterday. Happy Christmas! That can win us back to the delusions of our childish days, that can recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth, that can transport the sailor and the traveller thousands of miles away back to his own fireside, and his quiet home. But we are so taken up and occupied with the good qualities of this Saint Christmas, that we are keeping Mr. Pickwick and his friends waiting in the cold on the outside of the Muggleton Coach, which they have just attained well wrapped up in great coats, shawls and comforters. The pork mantos and carpet bags have been stowed away, and Mr. Weller and the guard are endeavouring to insinuate into the fore boot a huge codfish, several sizes too large for it, which is snugly packed up in a long brown basket, with a layer of straw over the top, and which has been left to the last in order that he may repose in safety on the half dozen barrels of real native oysters, or the property of Mr. Pickwick, which have been arranged in regular order at the bottom of the receptacle. The interest displayed in Mr. Pickwick's countenance is most intense, as Mr. Weller and the guard try to squeeze the codfish into the boot, first head first, and then tail first, and then top upward and then bottom upward, and then sideways and then longways, all of which Artifices the Implacable Codfish sturdily resists, until the guard accidentally hits him in the very middle of the basket, whereupon he suddenly disappears into the boot, and with him the head and shoulders of the guard himself, who, not calculating upon so sudden a cessation of the passive resistance of the codfish, experiences a very unexpected shock to the unsmotherable delight of all the porters and bystanders. Upon this Mr. Pickwick smiles with great good humour, and, drawing a shilling from his waistcoat pocket, begs the guard, as he picks himself out of the boot, to drink his health in a glass of hot brandy and water, at which the guard smiles too, and messes Snotgrass, Winkle, and Tubman, all smiling company. The guard and Mr. Weller disappear for five minutes, most probably to get the hot brandy and water, for they smell very strongly of it when they return, the coachman mounts to the box, Mr. Weller jumps up behind, the Pickwickians pull their coats round their legs and their shawls over their noses, the helpers pull the horse-cloths off, the coachman shouts out a cheery, all right, and away they go. They have rumbled through the streets and jolted over the stones, and at length reach the wide and open country. The wheels skim over the hard and frosty ground, and the horses bursting into a canter at a smart crack of the whip, step along the road as if the load behind them, coach, passengers, codfish, oyster barrels, and all, were but a feather at their heels. They have descended a gentle slope, and enter upon a level as compact and dry as a solid block of marble, two miles long. Another crack of the whip, and off they speed at a smart gallop, the horses tossing their heads and rattling the harness, as if in acceleration at the rapidity of the motion, while the coachman holding whip and reins in one hand, takes off his hat with the other, and resting it on his knees, pulls out his handkerchief, and wipes his forehead, partly because he has a habit of doing it, and partly because it's as well to show the passengers how cool he is, and what an easy thing it is to drive fore in hand when you have had as much practice as he has. Having done this very leisurely, otherwise the effect would be materially impaired. He replaces his handkerchief, pulls on his hat, adjusts his glove, squares his elbows, cracks the whip again, and on they speed more merrily than before. A few small houses scattered on either side of the road betoke the entrance to some town or village. The lively notes of the guard's key bugle vibrate in the clear cold air, and wake up the old gentleman inside, who, carefully letting down the window-sash halfway, and standing sentry over the air, takes a short peep out, and then carefully pulling it up again, informs the other inside that they're going to change directly. One which the other inside wakes himself up, and determines to postpone his next nap until after the stoppage. Again the bugle sounds lustily forth, and rouses the cottage's wife and children, who peep out at the house door, and watch the coach till it turns the corner, when they once more crouch round the blazing fire, and throw on another log of wood against farther comes home. While farther himself, a full mile off, has just exchanged a friendly nod with the coachman, and turned round to take a good long stare at the vehicle, as it whirls away. And now the bugle plays a lively air as the coach rattles through the ill-paved streets of a country town, and the coachman undoing the buckle which keeps his ribbons together prepares to throw them off the moment he stops. Mr. Pickwick emerges from his coat-collar, and looks about him with great curiosity, perceiving which the coachman informs Mr. Pickwick of the name of the town, and tells him it was Market Day yesterday, both of which pieces of information Mr. Pickwick retails to his fellow passengers. Whereupon they emerge from their coat-collars too, and look about them also. Mr. Winkle, who sits at the extreme edge, with one leg dangling in the air, is nearly precipitated into the street, as the coach twists round the sharp corner by the cheese munger shop, and turns into the marketplace. And before Mr. Snodgrass, who sits next to him, has recovered from his alarm, they pull up at the in-yard, where the fresh horses with cloths on are already waiting. The coachman throws down the reins and gets down himself, and the other outside passengers drop down also, except those who have no great confidence in their ability to get up again. And they remain where they are, and stamp their feet against the coach to warm them, looking with longing eyes and red-noses at the bright fire in the inn-bar, and the sprigs of holly with red berries which ornament the window. But the guard has delivered at the corn-dealer shop the brown paper-packet he took out of the little pouch which hangs over his shoulders by a leaven-strap, and has seen the horses carefully put to, and has thrown on the pavement the saddle which was brought from London on the coach-roof, and has assisted in the conference between the coachman and the hostler about the grey mare that hurt her offside leg last Tuesday, and he and Mr. Weller are all right behind and the coachman is all right in front, and the old gentleman inside who has kept the window down full two inches all this time has pulled it up again, and the cloths are off, and they are all ready for starting, except the two stout gentleman whom the coachman inquires after with some impatience. Hereupon the coachman, and the guard, and Sam Weller, and Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snoggrass, and all the hostlers, and every one of the idlers, who are more in number than all the others put together, shout for the missing gentleman as loud as they can ball. A distant response is heard from the yard, and Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman come running down it quite out of breath, for they have been having a glass of ale apiece, and Mr. Pickwick's fingers are so cold that he has been full five minutes before he could find the Sixmans to pay for it. The coachman shouts and admonitry, now then, gentlemen. The guard re-echoes it. The old gentleman inside thinks it a very extraordinary thing that people will get down when they know there isn't time for it. Mr. Pickwick struggles up on one side, Mr. Tupman on the other, Mr. Winkle cries, all right, and off they start. Shalls are pulled up, coat collars are readjusted, the pavement ceases, the houses disappear, and they are once again dashing along the open road, with the fresh clear air blowing in their faces, and gladdening their very hearts within them. Such was the progress of Mr. Pickwick and his friends by the Muggleton Telegraph on their way to Dingley Dell, and at three o'clock that afternoon they all stood high and dry, safe and sound, pale and hearty, upon these steps of the blue lion, having taken on the road quite enough of ale and brandy to enable them to bid defiance to the frost that was binding up the earth in its iron fetters, and weaving its beautiful net work upon the trees and hedges. Mr. Pickwick was busily engaged in counting the barrels of oysters and superintending the disinternment of the codfish, when he felt himself gently pulled by the skirts of the coat. Looking round he discovered that the individual who resorted to this mode of catching his attention was none other than Mr. Wardle's favourite page, better known to the readers of this unvarnished history by the distinguishing appellation of the fat boy. Ah-ha! said Mr. Pickwick. Ah-ha! said the fat boy. As he said it he glanced from the codfish to the oyster barrels and chuckled joyously. He was fatter than ever. Well, you look rosy enough, my young friend, said Mr. Pickwick. I've been asleep. Right in front of the tap room fire, replied the fat boy, who had heated himself to the colour of a new chimney-pot in the course of an hour's nap. Master sent me over with the shay cart to carry your luggage up to the house. He'd ascent some saddle-horses, but he thought you'd rather walk being a cold day. Ah, yes, yes, said Mr. Pickwick hastily, for he remembered how they had travelled over nearly the same ground on a previous occasion. Ah, yes, we would rather walk. Here, sir. Sir? said Mr. Weller. Help Mr. Wardle serve and to put the packages into the cart, and then ride on with him. We will walk forward at once. Having given this direction and settled with the coachman, Mr. Pickwick and his three friends struck into the footpath across the fields and walked briskly away, leaving Mr. Weller and the fat boy confronted together for the first time. Sam looked at the fat boy with great astonishment, but without saying a word, and began to stow the luggage rapidly away in the cart, while the fat boy stood quietly by, and seemed to think it a very interesting sort of thing to see Mr. Weller working by himself. There, said Sam, throwing in the last carpet bag, there we are. Yes, said the fat boy, in a very satisfied tone, there they are. Well, young 20-stun, said Sam, you're a nice specimen of a prized boy. You are. Thank he, said the fat boy. He ain't got nothing on your mind as makes you fret yourself, have you? inquired Sam. Not as I knows on, replied the fat boy. I should rather have thought to look at you that you was a labourer under an unrequited attachment to some young woman, said Sam. The fat boy shook his head. Fell, says Sam. I am glad to hear it. Did you ever drink anything? I likes eating better, replied the boy. Ah, said Sam, I should have supposed that, but what I mean is, should you like a drop of anything as it warm you? But I suppose you never was cold with all the emulastic fixtures, was you? Sometimes, replied the boy, and I likes a drop of something when it's good. Oh, you do, do you? said Sam. Come this way, then. The blue lion-tap was soon gained, and the fat boy swallowed a glass of liquor without so much as winking. A feat which considerably advanced him in Mr Weller's good opinion. Mr Weller, having transacted a similar amount of business on his own account, they got into the cart. Can you drive? said the fat boy. I should rather think so, replied Sam. There, then, said the fat boy, putting the reins in his hand, and pointing up a lane. It's as straight as you can go, you can't miss it. With these words the fat boy laid himself affectionately down by the side of the codfish, and placing an oyster barrel under his head for a pillow, fell asleep instantaneously. Well, said Sam, of all the cool boys I ever set my eyes on, this here young gentleman is the coolest. Come on, wake up, young dropsy. But as young dropsy evinced no symptoms of returning animation, Sam Weller sat himself down in front of the cart, and starting the old horse with a jerk of the rain jogged steadily on towards the man of arm. Meanwhile Mr. Pickwick and his friends, having walked their blood into active circulation, proceeded cheerfully on. The paths were hard, the grass was crisp and frosty, the air had a fine dry bracing coldness, and the rapid approach of the grey twilight, slate-coloured is a better term in frosty weather, made them look forward with pleasant anticipation to the comforts which awaited them at their hospitable entertainers. It was the sort of afternoon that might induce a couple of elderly gentlemen in a lonely field to take off their great coats and play at leapfrog in pure lightness of heart and gaiety. And we firmly believe that had Mr. Tupman at that moment proffered a back, Mr. Pickwick would have accepted his offer with the utmost avidity. However, Mr. Tupman did not volunteer any such accommodation, and the friends walked on conversing merrily. As they turned into a lane they had to cross, the sound of many voices burst upon their ears, and before they had even had time to form a guest to whom they belonged, they walked into the very centre of a party who were expecting their arrival. A fact which was first noticed to the Pickwickians by the loud hurrah! which burst from old wardle's lips when they appeared in sight. First there was wardle himself looking if that were possible more jolly than ever. Then there were Bella and her faithful trundle, and lastly there were Emily and some eight or ten young ladies who had all come down to the wedding which was to take place next day, and who were in as happy and important a state as young ladies usually are on such momentous occasions, and they were all and one startling the fields and lanes far and wide with their frolic and laughter. The ceremony of introduction under such circumstances was very soon performed, or we should rather say that the introduction was soon over without any ceremony at all. In two minutes thereafter Mr Pickwick was joking with the young ladies who wouldn't come over the style while he looked, or who, having pretty feet and unexceptionable ankles, preferred standing on the top rail for five minutes or so, declaring that they were too frightened to move with as much ease and absence of reserve or constraint as if he had known them for life. It is worthy of remark, too, that Mr Snodgrass offered Emily far more assistance than the absolute terrors of the style, although it was full three feet high and had only a couple of stepping stones, would seem to require, while one black-eyed young lady in a very nice pair of boots with fur round the top was observed to scream very loudly when Mr Winkle offered to help her over. All this was very snug and pleasant, and when the difficulties of the style were at last surmounted and they once more entered on the open field, old wardle informed Pickwick how they had all been down in a body to inspect the furniture and fittings up of the house which the young couple were to tenant after the Christmas holidays. At which communication, Bella and Trundle both coloured up as red as the fat boy after the taproom fire, and the young lady with the black eyes and the fur round the boots whispered something in Emily's ear and then glanced archly at Mr Snodgrass, to which Emily responded that she was a foolish girl, but turned very red notwithstanding. And Mr Snodgrass, who was as modest as all great geniuses usually are, felt the crimson rising to the crown of his head and devoutly wished in the innermost recesses of his own heart that the young lady aforesaid with her black eyes and her archness and her boots with the fur round the top were all comfortably deposited in the adjacent county. But if they were social and happy outside the house, what was the warmth and cordiality of their reception when they reached the farm? The very servants grinned with pleasure at sight of Mr Pickwick, and Emma bestowed a half-demure, half-imputant and all pretty look of recognition on Mr Tupman, which was enough to make the statue of Bonaparte in the passage unfold his arms and clasp her within them. The old lady was seated with customary state in the front parlour, but she was rather cross and by consequence most particularly deaf. She never went out herself, and like a great many other ladies of the same stamp she was apt to consider it an act of domestic treason if anybody else took the liberty of doing what she couldn't. So bless her old soul. She sat as upright as she could in her great chair and looked as fierce as might be, and that was benevolent after all. Mother, said Wardle, Mr Pickwick, you recollect him. Have a mind, replied the old lady with great dignity. Don't trouble Mr Pickwick about an old creature like me. Nobody cares about me now, and he's very natural, they shouldn't. Here the old lady tossed her head and smoothed down her lavender-coloured silk-dress with trembling hands. Come, come, madam, said Mr Pickwick. I can't let you cut an old friend in this way. I have come down expressly to have a long talk and another rubber with you, and we'll show these boys and girls how to dance a minuet before they're eight and forty hours older. The old lady was rapidly giving way, but she did not like to do it all at once, so she only said, Ah, I can't hear him. Nonsense, mother, said Wardle. Come, come, don't be cross, there's a good soul. Recollect, Bella, come. You must keep her spirits up, poor girl. The good old lady heard this, for her lip quivered as her son said it. But age has its little infirmities of temper, and she was not quite brought round yet. So she smoothed down the lavender-coloured dress again, and turning to Mr Pickwick said, Ah, Mr Pickwick, young people was very different when he was a girl. No doubt of that, madam, said Mr Pickwick, and that's the reason why I would make much of the few that have any traces of the old stock. And saying this, Mr Pickwick gently pulled Bella towards him, and bestowing a kiss upon her forehead, bade her sit down on the little stool at her grandmother's feet. Whether the expression of her countenance as it was raised towards the old lady's face called up a thought of old times, or whether the old lady was touched by Mr Pickwick's affectionate good nature, or whatever was the cause, she was fairly melted. So she threw herself upon her granddaughter's neck, and all the little ill humour evaporated in a gush of silent tears. A happy party they were that night. Sidate and solemn were the score of rubbers in which Mr Pickwick and the old lady played together. Up Rorius was the mirth of the round table. Long after the ladies had retired, did the hot elder wine well qualified with brandy and spice go round and round and round again, and sound was the sleep and pleasant were the dreams that followed. It is a remarkable fact that those of Mr Snodgrass bore constant reference to Emily Wardle, and that the principal figure in Mr Winkle's visions was a young lady with black eyes and arched smile, and a pair of remarkably nice boots with fur round the tops. Mr Pickwick was awakened early in the morning by a hum of voices and a pattering of feet, sufficient to rouse even the fat boy from his heavy slumbers. He sat up in bed and listened. The female servants and female visitors were running constantly to and fro, and there were such multitudinous demands for hot water, such repeated outcries for needles and thread, and so many half-suppressed entreaties of, oh, do come and tie me, there's a deer! That Mr Pickwick, in his innocence, began to imagine that something dreadful must have occurred when he grew more awake and remembered the wedding. The occasion being an important one, he dressed himself with peculiar care and descended to the breakfast room. There were the female servants in a brand-new uniform of pink muslin gowns with white bows in their caps running about the house in a state of excitement and agitation which would be impossible to describe. The old lady was dressed out in a brocaded gown which had not seen the light for twenty years, saving and accepting such truant rays as had stolen through the chinks in the box in which it had been laid by during the whole time. Mr Trundle was in high feather and spirits, but a little nervous with all. The hearty old landlord was trying to look very cheerful and unconcerned, but failing signally in the attempt. All the girls were in tears and white muslin, except a select two or three who were being honoured with a private view of the bride and bridesmaid upstairs. All the Pickwickians were in most blooming array, and there was a terrific roaring on the grass in front of the house, occasioned by all the men, boys, and hobbledy hoys attached to the farm, each of whom had got a white bow in his buttonhole, and all of whom were cheering with might and main, being incited there too and stimulated therein by the precept and example of Mr Samuel Weller, who had managed to become mighty popular already and was as much at home as if he had been born on the land. A wedding is a licensed subject to joke upon, but there really is no great joke in the matter after all. We speak merely of the ceremony, and beg it to be distinctly understood that we indulge in no hidden sarcasm upon a married life. Mixed up with the pleasure and joy of the occasion, there are many regrets at quitting home, the tears of parting between parent and child, consciousness of leaving the dearest and kindest friends of the happiest portion of human life, to encounter its cares and troubles with others still untried and little known, natural feelings which we would not render this chapel mournful by describing, and which we should be still more unwilling to be supposed to ridicule. Let us briefly say, then, that the ceremony was performed by the old clergyman in the parish church of Dingley-Del, and that Mr Pickwick's name is attached to the register still preserved in the vestry thereof, that the young lady with the black eyes signed her name in a very unsteady and tremulous manner, that Emily's signature, as the other bridesmaid, is nearly illegible, that it all went off in a very admirable style, that the young ladies generally thought it far less shocking than they had expected, and that although the owner of the black eyes and the arch-smile informed Mr Wardle that she was sure she could never submit to anything so dreadful, we have the very best reasons for thinking she was mistaken. To all this we may add that Mr Pickwick was the first who saluted the bride, and that in so doing he threw over her neck a rich gold watch and chain that the mortal eyes but the jewellers had ever beheld before. Then the old church bell rang as gaily as it could, and they all returned to breakfast. Fair does the mince pies go, young opiometer, said Mr Weller to the fat boy, as he assisted in laying out such articles of consumption as had not been duly arranged on the previous night. The fat boy pointed to the destination of the pies. Very good, said Sam, stick a bit of Christmas in them to the dish opposite. There, now we look compact and comfortable, as the farmer said when he cut his little boy's head off to cure him of squinting. As Mr Weller made the comparison, he fell back a step or two to give full effect to it and surveyed the preparations with the utmost satisfaction. Wardle, said Mr Pickwick almost as soon as they were all seated, a glass of wine in honour of this happy occasion. We shall be delighted, my boy, said Wardle. Joel, damn that boy, he's gone to sleep. No, I ain't, sir, replied the fat boy, starting up from a remote corner where, like the patron saint of fat boys, the immortal Horner, seemed devouring a Christmas pie, though not with the coolness and deliberation which characterised that young gentleman's proceedings. Fill, Mr Pickwick's glass! Yes, sir. The fat boy filled Mr Pickwick's glass and then retired behind his master's chair. From wence he watched the play of the knives and forks and the progress of the choice morsels from the dishes to the mouths of the company with a kind of dark and gloomy joy that was most impressive. God bless you, old fellow, said Mr Pickwick. Shame to you, my boy, replied Wardle, and they pledged each other heartily. Mrs Wardle, said Mr Pickwick, we old folk must have a glass of wine together in honour of this joyful event. The old lady was in a state of great grandeur just then, for she was sitting at the top of the table in the brocaded gown with her newly married granddaughter on one side and Mr Pickwick on the other to do the carving. Mr Pickwick had not spoken in a very loud voice, but she understood him at once and drank off a full glass of wine to his long life and happiness, after which the worthy old soul launched forth into a minute and particular account of her own wedding with a dissertation on the fashion of wearing high-heeled shoes and some particulars concerning the life and adventures of the beautiful Lady Tolleym Glower, deceased. At all of which the old lady herself laughed very heartily indeed and so did the young ladies too, for they were wondering amongst themselves what on earth Grandma was talking about. When they laughed the old lady laughed ten times more heartily and said that these always had been considered capital stories which caused them all to laugh again and put the old lady into the very best of humours. Then the cake was cut and passed round the ring the young ladies saved pieces to put under their pillows to dream of their future husbands on and a great deal of blushing and merriment was thereby occasioned. Mr. Miller said Mr. Pickwick to his old acquaintance, the hard-headed gentleman, a glass of wine. With great satisfaction Mr. Pickwick replied the hard-headed gentleman solemnly, You'll take me in, said the benevolent old clergyman and me, interposed his wife, and me, and me, said a couple of poor relations at the bottom of the table who had eaten and drunk very heartily and laughed at everything. Mr. Pickwick expressed his heartfelt desire at every additional suggestion and his eyes beamed with hilarity and cheerfulness. Ladies and gentlemen, said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly rising, Ear, ear, ear, ear, ear, cried Mr. Weller in the excitement of his feelings. Call in all the servants, cried Old Wardle, interposing to prevent the public rebuke which Mr. Weller would otherwise most inducibly have received from his master. Give them a glass of wine each to drink the toast in. Now, Pickwick! Amidst the silence of the company, the whispering of the woman's servants and the awkward embarrassment of the men, Mr. Pickwick proceeded. Ladies and gentlemen, no, I won't say ladies and gentlemen, I'll call you my friends, my dear friends, if the ladies will allow me to take so greater liberty. Here Mr. Pickwick was interrupted by immense applause from the ladies, echoed by the gentlemen, during which the owner of the eyes was distinctly heard to state that she could kiss the dear Mr. Pickwick, whereupon Mr. Winkle gallantly inquired if it couldn't be done by deputy, to which the young lady with the black eyes replied, go away, and occupied the request with a look which said as plainly as a look could, if you can. My dear friends, resumed Mr. Pickwick, I am going to propose the health of the bride and bridegroom. God bless them. Cheers and tears. My young friend Trundle, I believe to be a very excellent and manly fellow, and his wife, I know to be a very amiable and lovely girl, well qualified to transfer to another sphere of action the happiness which for twenty years she has diffused around her in her father's house. Here the fat boy burst forth into stentorium blubberings and was led forth by the coat-collar by Mr. Weller. I wish, added Mr. Pickwick, I wish I was young enough to be her sister's husband. Cheers. But failing that, I am happy to be old enough to be her father. For being so, I shall not be suspected of any latent designs when I say that I admire, esteem, and love them both. Cheers and sobs. The bride's father, our good friend there, is a noble person, and I am proud to know him. Great uproar. He is a kind, excellent, independent, spirited, fine-hearted, hospitable, liberal man, enthusiastic shouts from the poor relations at all the adjectives, and especially at the two last, that his daughter may enjoy all the happiness even he can desire, and that he may derive from the contemplation of her felicity all the gratification of heart and peace of mind which he so well deserves is, I am persuaded, our united wish. So, let us drink their healths and wish them prolonged life and every blessing. Mr. Pickwick concluded amidst a whirlwind of applause, and once more were the lungs of the supernumeraries under Mr. Weller's command brought into active and effective operation. Mr. Wardle proposed Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick proposed the old lady. Mr. Snodgrass proposed Mr. Wardle. Mr. Wardle proposed Mr. Snodgrass. One of the poor relations proposed Mr. Tuppman, and the other poor relation proposed Mr. Winkle. All was happiness and festivity, until the mysterious disappearance of both the poor relations beneath the table warned the party that it was time to adjourn. At dinner they met again, after a five and twenty-mile walk undertaken by the males at Wardle's recommendation to get rid of the effects of the wine at breakfast. Poor relations had kept in bed all day, with the view to attaining the same happy consummation, but as they had been unsuccessful they stopped there. Mr. Weller kept the domestics in a state of perpetual hilarity, and the fat boy divided his time into small alternate allotments of eating and sleeping. The dinner was as hearty and affair as the breakfast, and was quite as noisy without the tears. Then came the dessert and some more toasts. Then came the tea and coffee, and then the ball. The best sitting-room at Manifam was a good long dark-paneled room with a high chimney-piece and a capacious chimney, up which you could have driven one of the new patent cab's wheels and all. At the upper end of the room seated in a shady bower of holly and evergreens were the two best fiddlers and the only harp in all Muggleton. In all sorts of recesses and on all kinds of brackets stood massive old silver candlesticks with four branches each. Carpet was up, the candles burned bright, the fire blazed and crackled on the hearth, and merry voices and light-hearted laughter rang through the room. If any of the old English yeoman had turned into fairies when they died it was just the place in which they would have held their revels. If anything could have added to the interest of this agreeable scene it would have been the remarkable fact of Mr. Pickwick's appearing without his gaiters for the first time within the memory of his oldest friends. "'You mean to dance?' said Wardle. "'Of course I do,' replied Mr. Pickwick. "'Don't you see I am dressed for the purpose?' Mr. Pickwick called attention to his speckled silk stockings and smartly tied pumps. "'You, in silk stockings,' exclaimed Mr. Tapman jocosely. "'And why not, sir? Why not?' said Mr. Pickwick, turning warmly upon him. "'Oh, of course there is no reason why you shouldn't wear them,' responded Mr. Tapman. "'I imagine not, sir.' "'I imagine not,' said Mr. Pickwick, in a very peremptory tone. Mr. Tapman had contemplated a laugh, but he found it was a serious matter, so he looked grave and said they were a pretty pattern. "'I hope they are,' said Mr. Pickwick, fixing his eyes upon his friend. "'You see nothing extraordinary in the stockings. "'As stockings I trust, sir.' "'Oh, certainly not, oh, certainly not,' replied Mr. Tapman. He walked away and Mr. Pickwick's countenance resumed its customary benign expression. "'We are all ready, I believe,' said Mr. Pickwick, who was stationed with the old lady at the top of the dance and had already made four full starts in his excessive anxiety to commence. "'Then begin at once,' said Wardle. "'No.' "'Upstruck the two fiddles and the one harp and off went Mr. Pickwick into hands across when there was a general clapping of hands and a cry of, "'Stop, stop!' "'What's the matter?' said Mr. Pickwick, who was only brought to by the fiddles and harp desisting and could have been stopped by no other earthly power if the house had been on fire. "'Where's Arabella Allen?' cried a dozen voices. "'And Winkle,' added Mr. Tapman. "'Here we are,' exclaimed that gentleman, emerging with his pretty companion from the corner. As he did so, it would have been hard to tell which was the redder in the face he or the young lady with the black eyes. "'What an extraordinary thing it is, Winkle,' said Mr. Pickwick, rather pettishly, that you couldn't have taken your place before.' "'Not at all, extraordinary,' said Mr. Winkle.' "'Well,' said Mr. Pickwick, with a very expressive smile, as his eyes rested on Arabella. "'So I don't know that it was extraordinary, either, after all.' However there was no time to think more about the matter, for the fiddles and harp began in real earnest. Away went Mr. Pickwick, hands across, down the middle to the very end of the room, and halfway up the chimney, back again to the door, pusset everywhere, loud stamp on the floor, ready for the next couple. Off again, all the figure over once more, another stamp to beat out the time, next couple, and the next, and the next again. Never was such going. At last, after they had reached the bottom of the dance, and full fourteen couple after the old lady had retired in an exhausted state, and the clergyman's wife had been substituted in her stead, did that gentleman, when there was no demand whatever on his exertions, keep perpetually dancing in his place, to keep time to the music, smiling on his partner all the while with a blandness of demeanour which baffles all description. Long before Mr. Pickwick was weary of dancing, the newly married couple had retired from the scene. There was a glorious supper downstairs notwithstanding, and a good long sitting after it. And when Mr. Pickwick awoke late the next morning, he had a confused recollection of having, severally and confidentially, invited somewhere about five and forty people to dine with him at the Georgian vulture the very first time they came to London. Which Mr. Pickwick rightly considered a pretty certain indication of his having taken something besides exercise on the previous night. And so your family has games in the kitchen tonight, my dear, has they? inquired Sam of Emma. Yes, Mr. Weller replied Emma, we always have on Christmas Eve. Master wouldn't neglect to keep it up on any account. Your master's a very pretty notion of keeping anything up, my dear, said Mr. Weller. I never see such a sensible sort of man as he is, or such a regular gentleman. Oh, that he is, said the fat boy joining in the conversation. Don't he breed nice pork? The fat youth gave a semi-cannibalic leer at Mr. Weller, as he thought of the roast legs and gravy. Oh, you've woke up at last, have you? said Sam. The fat boy nodded. I'll tell you what it is, young bore constrictor, said Mr. Weller impressively. If you don't sleep a little less and exercise a little more when you come to be a man, you'll lay yourself open to the same sort of personal inconvenience as was inflicted on the old gentleman as wore the pigtail. What did they do to him? inquired the fat boy in a faltering voice. I'm going to tell you, replied Mr. Weller. He was one of the largest patterns as was ever turned out. Regular fat man, as hadn't caught a glimpse of his own shoes for five and forty years. Oh, exclaimed Emma. No, that he hadn't, my dear, said Mr. Weller. And if you'd put an exact model of his own legs on the dining table for him, he wouldn't have known him. Well, he always walks to his office with a wary handsome watch hanging out about a foot and a quarter and a gold watch in his fob as was worth, I'm afraid to say how much. But as much as a watch can be, a large, heavy, round manufacturer stout for a watch as he was for a man and with a big face in proportion. You better not carry that earwatch, says the old gentleman's friends. You'll be robbed on it, says they. Shall I, says he? Yes, you will, says they. I should like to see the thief as could get this earwatch out, for I'm blessed if I ever can. It's such a tight fit, says he. And whenever I've wants to know what's o'clock, I'm obliged to stare into the baker's shops, he says. Well, then he laughs as hearty as if he was a going to pieces and out he walks again with his powdered head and pigtail and strolls down the strand with the chain hanging out further than ever. And the great round watch almost busting through grey cursey smools. There weren't a pickpocket in all Londoners didn't take a pull at that chain but the chain had never break and the watch had never come out so they soon got tired of dragging such an heavy old gentleman along the pavement and he'd go home and laugh till the pigtail vibrated like the pendulum of a Dutch clock. At last, one day the old gentleman was a rolling along and he sees a pickpocket as he known by sight coming up arm in arm with the little boy with a wary large head. It is a game, says the old gentleman to himself there are going to have another try but it won't do. So he begins to chuckle him wary artily when all of a sudden the little boy leaves old of the pickpockets arm and rushes head foremost straight into the old gentleman's stomach and for a moment doubles him right up with the pain. Murder says the old gentleman alright so says the pickpocket a whispering in his ear and when he comes straight again the watch and chain was gone and what's worse than that the old gentleman's digestion was all wrong ever afterwards to the wary last day of his life so just you look about you young fella and take care you don't get too fat. As Mr Weller concluded this moral tale with which the fat boy appeared much affected they all three repaired to the large kitchen in which the family were by this time assembled according to ancient custom on Christmas Eve observed by Old Wardle's forefathers from time immemorial. From the centre of the ceiling of this kitchen Old Wardle had just suspended with his own hands a huge branch of mistletoe and this same branch of mistletoe instantaneously gave rise to a scene of general and most delightful struggling and confusion in the midst of which Mr Pickwick with a gallantry that would have done honour to a descendant of Lady Tominglauer herself took the old lady by the hand led her beneath the mystic branch and saluted her in all courtesy and decorum. The old lady submitted to this piece of practical politeness with all the dignity which befitted so important and serious a solemnity. But the younger ladies not being so thoroughly imbued with a superstitious veneration for the custom or imagining that the value of a salute is very much enhanced if it cost a little trouble to obtain it screamed and struggled and ran into corners and threatened and remonstrated and did everything but leave the room until some of the less adventurous gentlemen were on the point of dissisting when they all at once found it useless to resist any longer and submitted to be kissed with a good grace. Mr Winkle kissed the young lady with the black eyes and Mr Snodgrass kissed Emily and Mr Weller not being particular about the form of being under the mistletoe kissed Emma and the other female servants just as he caught them. As to the poor relations they kissed everybody not even accepting the plain apportions of the young lady's visitors who in their excessive confusion ran right under the mistletoe as soon as was hung up without knowing it. Wardle stood with his back to the fire surveying the whole scene with the utmost satisfaction and the fat boy took the opportunity of appropriating to his own use and summarily devouring a particularly fine mince pie that had carefully been put by for somebody else. Now the screaming had subsisted and faces were in a glow and curls in a tangle and Mr Pickwick, after kissing the old lady as before mentioned was standing under the mistletoe looking with a very pleased countenance on all that was passing around him. When the young lady with the black eyes after a little whispering with the other young ladies made a sudden dart forward and putting her arm round Mr Pickwick's neck saluted him affectionately on the left cheek and before Mr Pickwick distinctly knew what was the matter he was surrounded by the whole body and kissed by every one of them. It was a pleasant thing to see Mr Pickwick in the centre of the group now pulled this way and then that and first kissed on the chin and then on the nose and then on the spectacles and to hear the peals of laughter which were raised on every side. But it was a still more pleasing thing to see Mr Pickwick blinded shortly afterwards with a silk handkerchief falling up against the wall and scrambling into corners through all the mysteries of blind man's buff with the utmost relish for the game until at last he caught one of the poor relations and then had to evade the blind man himself which he did with a nimbleness and agility that elicited the admiration and applause of all beholders. The poor relations caught the people who they thought would like it and when the game flagged got caught themselves. When they all tired of blind man's buff there was a great game at Snapdragon and when fingers enough were burned with that and all the raisins were gone they sat down by the huge fire of blazing logs to a substantial supper and a mighty bowl of wassail something smaller than an ordinary wash house copper in which the hot apples were hissing and bubbling with a rich look and a jolly sound that were perfectly irresistible. This said Mr. Pickwick looking around him this is indeed comfort. Our invariable custom replied Mr. Wardle everybody sits down with us on Christmas Eve as you see them now servants and all and here we wait till the clock strikes twelve to usher Christmas in and beguile the time with forfeits and old stories trundle on my boy rake up the fire up flew the bright sparks in myriads as the logs were stirred the deep red blaze sent forth a rich glow that penetrated into the farthest corner of the room and cast its cheerful tint on every face come said Wardle a song, a Christmas song I'll give you one in default of a better Bravo! said Mr. Pickwick fill up! said Wardle it will be two hours good before you see the bottom of the bowl through the deep rich colour of the wassail fill up all around and now for the song thus saying the merry old gentleman in a good round sturdy voice commenced without more ado a Christmas carol I care not for spring on his fickle wing let the bosoms and buds be born he woos them a mane with his treacherous reign and he scatters them air the morn and in constant elf he knows not himself nor his own changing mind an arrow he'll smile in your face and with rye grimace he'll wither your youngest flower let the summer sun to his bright home run he shall never be sought by me when he's dimmed by a cloud I can laugh aloud and care not how sulky he be for his darling child is the madness wild that sports in fierce fever's train and when love is too strong it don't last long as many have found to their pain a mild harvest night by the tranquil light of the modest and gentle moon has a far sweet as sheen for me I wean than the broad and unblashing noon but every leaf awakens my grief as it lieeth beneath the tree so let autumn air be never so fair it by no means agrees with me but my song I trowel out for Christ must out the hearty the true and the bold a bumper I drain and with might and main give three cheers for this Christmas old we'll usher him in with a merry din that shall gladden his joyous heart and we'll keep him up while there's bite or sup and in fellowship good wheel part in his fine honest pride he scorns to hide one jot of his hard weather scars there no disgrace for there's much the same trace on the cheeks of our bravest towers then again I sing till the roof doth ring and it echoes from wall to wall to the stout old white fair welcome to night as the king of the seasons all this song was tumultuously applauded for friends and dependents make a capital audience and the poor relations especially were in perfect ecstasies of rapture again was the fire replenished and again went the wasale round how it snows said one of the men in a low tone snows does it said Wardle rough cold night sir replied the man and there's a wind got up that drifts it across the fields in a thick white cloud what does gem say inquired the old lady there ain't anything the matter is there no no mother reply Wardle he says there's a snow drift and a wind that's piercing cold I should know that by the way it rumbles in the chimney our said the old lady there was just such a wind and just such a fall of snow a good many years back I recollect just five years before your poor father died it was a Christmas Eve too and how you remember that on that very night he told us the story about the garblins that carried away old Gabriel Grubb the story about what said Mr. Pickwick oh nothing nothing replied Wardle about an old sexton that the good people down here supposed to have been carried away by garblins suppose ejaculated the old lady is there anybody hardy enough to disbelieve it suppose haven't you heard ever since you were a child that he was carried away by the garblins and don't you know he was very well mother he was if you like said Wardle laughing he was carried away by the garblins pickwick and there is an end of the matter no no said Mr. Pickwick not an end of it I assure you for I must hear how and why and all about it Wardle smiled as every head was bent forward to here and filling out the wasail with no stinted hand nodded a health to Mr. Pickwick and began as follows but bless our editorial heart what a long chapter we have been betrayed into we had quite forgotten all such petty restrictions as chapters we solemnly declare so here goes to give the goblin affair start in a new one a clear stage and no favour for the goblins ladies and gentlemen if you please this is the end of chapter 28 recording by Alan chant of tumbridge Kent England on the 7th of April 2007 w w w dot seven oaks prep dot Kent dot sch dot UK this is a LibriVox recording or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Seven Little Australians by Ethel Turner Chapter 21 when the sun went down such a sunset down at the foot of the grass hill there was a flame-coloured sky with purple soft clouds masked in banks high up with a dying glory met the paling blue the belt of trees had grown black and stretched somber motionless arms against the orange background all the wind had died and the air hung crated with the strange silence of the bush and at the top of the hill just within the doorway of the little brown hut her wide eyes on the wonderful heavens Judy lay dying she was very quiet now though she had been talking talking of all sorts of things she told them she had no pain at all only I shall die when they move me she said Meg was sitting in a little heap on the floor beside her she had never moved her eyes from the face like in Tosh's she had never opened her white lips to say one word outside the bullock stood motionless against the sky Judy said they looked like stuffed ones having their portrait taken she smiled the least little bit but Meg said, don't unrived two of the men had gone on superfluous errands for help the others stood some distance away talking in subdued voices there was nothing for them to do even talking a rare thing for him he had soothed the general off to sleep and laid him in the bunk with the blue blanket tucked around him and he had made a billy of hot strong tea and asked the children, with tears in his eyes to drink some, but none of them would baby had fallen to sleep on the floor her arms clasped tightly around Judy's lace-up boot Bunty was standing with a stunned look on his white face behind the stretcher his eyes were on his sister's hair but he did not let them wander to her face for fear of what he should see there Nelly was moving all the time now to the fence to strain her eyes down the road where the evening shadows lay heavily now to fling herself face downward behind the hut and say make her better, God God, make her better make her better oh, can't you make her better Gray grew the shadows round the little hut the Bullock's outlines had faded and only an indistinct mass of soft black loomed across the light behind the trees the fire was going out here and there were yellow vivid streaks yet but the flaming sun edge had dipped beyond the world and the purple delicate veil was dropping down a curlew's note broke the silence wild, mournful, unearthly Meg shivered and sat up straight Judy's brow grew damp her eyes dilated her lips trembled Meg, she said in a whisper that cut the air oh, Meg, I'm frightened Meg, I'm so frightened said Meg's heart Meg, say something Meg, help me look at the dark, Meg Meg, I can't die oh, why don't they be quick Nelly flew to the fence again then to say make her better, God oh, please, God Meg, I can't think of anything to say can't you say something, Meg aren't there prayers about the dying in the prayer book I forget, say something, Meg Meg's lips moved but her tongue uttered no word Meg, I'm so frightened I can't think of anything but for what we are about to receive and that's grace, isn't it and there's nothing in our father that would do either Meg, I wish we'd gone to Sunday school and learnt things look at the dark, Meg oh, Meg, hold my hands heaven won't be dark Meg's lips said even when speech came it was only a halting, stereotyped phrase that fell from them if it's all gold and diamonds I don't want to go the child was crying now oh, Meg, I want to be alive how do you like to die, Meg when you're only 13 think how lonely I'll be without you all oh, Meg oh, Pip, Pip, oh baby now she just streamed down her cheeks her chest rose and fell I'll say something, Meg hymns, anything half the book of hymns ancient and modern danced across Meg's brain which one could she think of that would bring quiet into those feverish eyes that were fastened on her face with such a frightening, imploring look then she opened her lips come unto me, ye weary and I will give you rest I'm not weary, I don't want to rest Judy said in a fretful tone again, Meg tried my God, my Father, while I stray far from my home on life's rough way oh, teach me from my heart to save I will be done that's for old people said the little tired voice he won't expect me to say it then Meg remembered the most beautiful him in the world and said the first and last verses without a break in her voice abide with me fast falls the eventide the darkness deepens Lord with me abide when other helpers fail and comforts flee help of the helpless oh, abide with me oh thy cross before my closing eyes shine through the gloom and point me to the skies heaven's morning breaks and earth's vain shadows flee in death oh Lord abide with me oh, and Judy dear we are forgetting there's mother Judy dear you won't be lonely can't you remember mother's eyes little Judy Judy grew quiet and still more quiet she shut her eyes so she could not see the gathering shadows Meg's arms were round her Meg's cheek was on her brow Nell was holding her hands baby her feet Bunty's lips were on her hair like that they went with her right to the great valley where there are no lights even for stumbling childish feet the shadows were cold and smote upon their hearts they could feel the wind from the strange waters on their brows but only she who was about to cross heard the low lapping of the waves just as her feet touched the water there was a figure in the doorway Judy said a wild voice and Pip brushed them aside and fell down beside her Judy Judy Judy the light flickered back in her eyes she kissed him with pale lips once, twice she gave him both her hands and her last smile over them all and with a little shudder she slipped away End of Chapter 21 Chapter 22 and last she seemed a thing that could not feel the touch of earthly years no motion has she now no force she neither hears nor sees rolled round in earth's diurnal course with rocks and stones and trees they went home again and Esther who all her days would go the softlier, sadlier because of the price that had been paid for the life of her little sweet son the very air of Yarrahappany seemed to crush them and hang heavy on their souls so when the captain who had hurried up to see the last of his poor little girl asked if they would like to go home they all said yes there was a green space of ground on a hilltop behind the cottage and a clump of wattle trees dark green now and gold crowned and gracious in the spring this is where they left little Judy all around it Mr. Hassell had white tall palings put the short grave was in the shady corner of it the place looked like a tiny churchyard in a children's country where there had been only one death or a green fair field with one little garden bed Meg was glad the little mound looked to the east the suns died behind it the orange and yellow and purple suns she could not bear to watch ever again while she lived but away in the east they rose tenderly always and the light crept up across the sky to the hilltop in delicate pinks and trembling blues and brightening grays but never fiery yellow streaks that made the eyes ache with hot tears there was a moon making it white and beautiful when they said goodbye to it on the last day they plucked a blade or two of grass each from the fresh turfs and turned away nobody cried the loneliness of the far moon and pale hanging stars the faint wind stirring the wattles held back their tears till they had closed the little gate behind them and left her alone on the quiet hilltop then they went back to misrule each to pick up the thread of life and go on with the weaving that must be done or hearts would break every day Meg had grown older she would never be quite so young again as she had been before that red sunset sank into her soul and her eyes such tears as she had wept clear the sight till life becomes a thing more distinct and far reaching Nellie and she went to church the first Sunday after their return Aldeth was a few pews away light sold as ever dressed in gay attire flashing smiling coquettish glances across to the Courtney's pew and the Graham sitting just behind how far away Meg had grown from her it seemed years since she had been engrossed in farming the dip of umbrella skirts and the best method of making the hands white years since she had tried a trembling prentice hand at flotations years almost since she had given the little blue ribbon at Yarra Happany that was doing more good than she dreamed of Alan looked at her from his pew the little figure in its sorrowful black the shining hair hanging in a plat no longer frizzed at the end the chasen droop of the young lips the wistful sadness of the blue eyes he could hardly realize it was the little scatterbrained girl who had written that letter and stolen away through the darkness to meet his graceless young brother he clasped her hand when church was over his grey eyes with the quick moisture in them made up for the clumsy stumbling words of sympathy he tried to speak let us be friends always, Miss Meg he said as they parted at the misrule gate yes, let us, said Meg and the firm frank friendship became a beautiful thing in both their lives strengthened her heart a beautiful thing in both their lives strengthening Meg and making the boy gentler Pip became his laughing high-spirited self again as even the most loving boy will thanks to the merciful making of young hearts but he used to get sudden fits of depression at times and disappear all at once in the midst of a game of cricket or football or from the table when the noise was at its highest Bunty presented to the world just as grimy of face as of old and hands even more grubby for he had taken a mechanical turn of late and spent his spare moments in manufacturing printing machines so called and fearful wonderful engines out of an old stove and some pots and rusty frying pans rescued from the rubber sheep but he did not tell quite so many stories in these days that deep sunset had stolen even into his young heart and whenever he felt inclined to say I never, it wasn't me, it wasn't my fault a tangle of dark curls rose before him just as they had lain that night when he had not dead to move his eyes away from them baby's legs engrossed her very much at present for she had just been promoted from socks to stockings and all who remember the occasion in their own lives will realise the importance of it to her Nell seemed to grow prettier every day Pip had his hands full with trying to keep her from growing conceited if brotherly rubs and snubs availed anything she ought to have been as lowly minded as if she had had red hair and a nose of heavenward bent Esther said she wished she could buy a few extra years, a stern brow and dignity in large quantities from some place or other there might be some chance then of misrule resuming its baptismal and unexciting name of the river-house but oddly enough no one echoed the wish the captain never smoked at the end of the side veranda now the ill-kept lawn made him see always a little figure in a pink frock and battered hat mowing the grass and the blaze of sunlight Judy's death made his six living children dearer to his heart though he showed his affection very little more the general grew chubbier and more adorable every day he lived it is no exaggeration to say they all worshipped him now in his little kingly babyhood for the dear life had been twice given and the second time it was Judy's gift and priceless therefore my pen has been moving heavily slowly for these last two chapters and refuses to run lightly freely again just yet so I will lay it aside or I shall sadden you some day if you would care to hear it I should like to tell you of my young Australians again slipping a little space of years until then farewell and adieu end of chapter 22 end of Seven Little Australians by Ethel Turner this recording is in the public domain this is a Librivox recording all Librivox recordings are in the public domain for more information auto-volunteer please visit Librivox.org this recording by Chris Hughes ReadEar.blogspot.com three men in a boat by Jerome K. Jerome Chapter 9 George is introduced to work he thenish instincts of toe lines ungrateful conduct of a double-skulling skiff towers and toad a use discovered for lovers strange disappearance of an elderly lady much haste less speed being towed by girls exciting sensation the missing lock or the haunted river music saved we made George work now we got him he did not want to work of course that goes without saying he had a hard time in the city so he explained Harris, whose callous in his nature and not prone to pity, said ah! and now you're going to have a hard time on the river for a change change is good for everyone out you get he could not in conscience not even George's conscience object though he did suggest that perhaps it would be better for him to stop in the boat and get tea ready while Harris and I towed because getting tea was such a worrying work and Harris and I looked tired the only reply we made to this however was to pass him over the tow line and he took it and stepped out there is something very strange and unaccountable about a tow line you roll it up with as much patience and care as you take to fold up a new pair of trousers and five minutes afterwards when you pick it up it is one ghastly soul revolting tangle I do not wish to be insulting but I firmly believe that if you took an average tow line and stretched it out across the middle of a field and then turned your back on it for 30 seconds that when you look round again you found that it had got itself all together in a heap in the middle of the field and had twisted itself up and tied itself into knots and lost its two ends and become all loops and it would take you a good half hour sitting down on the grass and swearing all the while to disentangle it again this is my opinion of tow lines in general of course there may be honourable exceptions I do not say that there are not there may be tow lines that are a credit to their profession conscientious, respectable tow lines tow lines that do not imagine they are crochet work and try to knit themselves up into anti-macassas the instant they're left to themselves I say there may be such tow lines I sincerely hope there are but I have not met with them this tow line I taken in myself just before we got to the log I would not let Harris touch it because he is careless I had looped it round slowly and cautiously and tied it up in the middle and folded it in two and laid it down gently at the bottom of the boat Harris had lifted it up scientifically and had put it into George's hand George had taken it firmly and held it away from him and had begun to unravel it as if he were taking the swaddling clothes off a newborn infant and before he'd unwound it a dozen yards the thing was more like a badly made doormat than anything else it is always the same there's no connection with it the man on the bank who's trying to disentangle it thinks all the fault lies with the man who rolled it up and when a man on the river thinks a thing he says it what have you been trying to do with it make a fishing net of it you've made a nice mess you have why couldn't you wind it up properly you silly dummy he grunts from time to time as he struggles wildly with it and lays it out flat on the towpath and runs round and round it trying to find the end on the other hand the man who wound it up thinks the whole cause of the muddle of the man who's trying to unwind it it was all right when you took it he exclaimed indignantly why don't you think what you're doing you go about things in such a slap-dash style you get a scaffolding pole entangled you would and they feel so angry with one another that they would like to hang each other with the thing ten minutes go by and the first man gives a yell and goes mad and dances on the rope and tries to pull it straight by seizing hold of the first piece that comes to his hand and hauling at it then the second man climbs out of the boat and comes to help him and they get in each other's way and hinder one another they both get hold of the same bit of line and pull at it in opposite directions and wonder where it is caught in the end they do get it clear and then turn round and find the boat and it's drifted off and is making straight for the weir this really happened once to my own knowledge it was up by bovny, one rather windy morning we were pulling downstream and as we came round the bend they were looking at each other with as bewildered and helplessly miserable expression as I've ever witnessed on any human countenance before or since and they held a long tow line between them it was clear that something had happened so we eased up and asked them what was the matter why, our boat's gone off they replied in an indignant tone we just got out to disentangle the tow line and when we looked round it was gone and they seemed hurt at what they evidently regarded as a mean and ungrateful act on the part of the boat we found the truant for them half a mile further down held by some rushes and we brought it back to them I bet they did not give that boat another chance for a week I shall never forget the picture of those two men walking up and down the bank with a tow line looking for their boat one sees a good many funny incidents up the river in connection with towing one of the most common is the sight of a couple of towers long, deep in an animated discussion while the man in the boat, a hundred yards behind them is vainly shrieking to them to stop and making frantic signs of distress with a skull something has gone wrong the rudder has come off, or the boat hook has slipped overboard or his hat has dropped into the water and is floating rapidly downstream he calls to them to stop quite gently and politely at first I stop a minute will you he shouts cheerily I've dropped my hat overboard I might so affably this time then I can found you you dunderheaded idiots I stop, oh you after that he springs up and dances about and roars himself red in the face and curses everything he knows and the small boys on the bank stop and jeer at him and pitch stones at him as he's pulling along past them at the rate of four miles an hour and can't get out much of this sort of trouble would be saved if those who are towing would keep remembering that they are towing it's best to let one person tow when two are doing it they get chattering and forget and the boat itself offering as it does but little resistance is of no real service in reminding them of the fact as an example of how utterly oblivious a pair of towers can be to their work George told us later on in the evening when we were discussing the subject after supper of a very curious instance he and three other men so he said were sculling a very heavily laden boat up from Maidenhead one evening and a little above Coocamlock they noticed a fellow and a girl walking along the towpath both deep in an apparently interesting and absorbing conversation they were carrying a boat hook between them and attached to the boat hook was a tow line which trailed behind them its end in the water no boat was near no boat was in sight there must have been a boat attached to that tow line at some time or other that was certain but what had become of it what ghastly fate had overtaken it and those who'd been left in it was buried in mystery whatever the accident may have been however it had in no way disturbed the young lady and gentlemen who were towing they had the boat hook and they had the line and that seemed to be all they thought necessary to their work George was about to call out and wake them up but at that moment a bright idea flashed across him he got the hitcher instead and reached over and drew in the end of the tow line and they made a loop in it and put it over the mast and then they tied it up the skulls and went in and sat down in the stern and lit their pipes and that young man and young woman towed those four hulking chaps and a heavy boat up to Marlowe George said he never saw so much thoughtful sadness concentrated into one glance before as when at the lock two miles they'd been towing the wrong boat George fancied that if it had not been for the restraining influence of the sweet woman at his side the young man might have given way to violent language the maiden was the first to recover from her surprise and when she did she clasped her hands and said wildly oh Henry then where is auntie did they ever recover the old lady asked Harris George replied he did not know another example of the dangerous want of sympathy between Toa and Toad was witnessed by George and myself once up near Walton it was where the towpath shells gently down into the water and we were camping on the opposite bank noticing things in general by and by a small boat came in sight towed to the water at a tremendous pace by a powerful barge horse on which sat a very small boy scattered about the boat in dreamy and reposeful attitudes to Toad's lay five fellows the man who was steering having a particularly restful appearance I should like to see him pull the wrong line murmured George as they passed and at that precise moment the man did it and the boat rushed up the bank with a noise like the ripping of 40,000 linen sheets two men a hamper and three oars immediately left the boat on the labored side and reclined on the bank and one and a half moments afterwards two other men disembarked from the starboard carrying boat hooks and sails and carpet bags and bottles the last man went on 20 yards further and then got out on his head this seemed to sort of lighten the boat and it went on much easier the small boy shouting at the top of his voice and urging his steed into a gallop the fellows sat up and stared at one another it was some seconds before they realised what had happened to them but when they did they began to shout lustily for the boy to stop he however was too much occupied with the horse to watch them, flying after him until the distance hid them from view I cannot say I was sorry at this mishap indeed I only wish that all the young fools who had their boats towed in this fashion and plenty do could meet with similar misfortunes besides the risk they run themselves they become a danger and an annoyance to every other boat they pass going at the pace they do it is impossible for them to get out of anybody else's way or for anybody else to get out of theirs their line gets hitched across your mast and overturns you or it catches somebody in the boat and either throws them into the water or cuts their face open the best plan is to stand your ground and be prepared to keep them off with the butt end of a mast of all experiences in connection with towing the most exciting is being towed by girls it is a sensation that nobody ought to miss it takes three girls to tow always two hold the rope and the other one runs round and round and giggles they're then baggating themselves tied up they get the line round their legs and have to sit down on the path and undo each other and then they twist it round their necks and are nearly strangled they fix it straight however at last and start off at a run pulling the boat along at quite a dangerous pace at the end of a hundred yards they're naturally breathless and suddenly stop and all sit down on the grass and laugh and your boat drifts out to mid-stream and turns round before you know what's happened or can get hold of a skull and are surprised oh look they say he's gone right out into the middle they pull on pretty steadily for a bit after this and then it all at once occurs to one of them that she will pin up her frock and they ease up for the purpose and the boat runs aground you jump up and push it off and you shout to them not to stop yes what's the matter they shout back don't stop you roar stop go on go on go back Emily and see what it is they want says one and Emily comes back and asks what it is what do you want she says anything happened no you reply it's alright only go on you know don't stop why not why we can't steer if you keep stopping you must keep some way on the boat keep some what some way on the boat moving oh alright I'll tell them are we doing it alright oh yes very nicely indeed only don't stop it doesn't seem difficult at all I thought it was so hard oh no it's simple enough you want to keep on steady at it that's all I see give me out my red shawl it's under the cushion you find the shawl and hand it out and by this time another one has come back and Mary does not want it so they bring it back and have a pocket comb instead it's about 20 minutes before they get off again and at the next corner they see a cow and you have to leave the boat to chivvy the cow out of their way there's never a dull moment in the boat while girls are towing it George got the line right after a while and towed us steadily onto Penton Hook there we discussed the important question of camping we had decided to sleep on board that night just about there or go on past stains it seemed early to think about shutting up then however with the sun still in the heavens and we settled to push straight on for Runnymede three and a half miles further a quiet wooded part of the river where there's good shelter we all wished however afterwards that we'd stopped at Penton Hook three or four miles upstream is a trifle early in the morning but it is a weary pull at the end of a long day you take no interest in the scenery you do not chat and laugh every half mile you cover seems like two you can hardly believe you're only where you are and you're convinced that the map must be wrong and when you've trudged along for what seems to you at least ten miles and still the lock is not in sight you begin to seriously fear that somebody must have sneaked it and run off with it I remember being terribly upset once in the river in a figurative sense I mean I was out with a young lady cousin on my mother's side and we were pulling down to Goring it was rather late and we were anxious to get in at least SHE was anxious to get in it was half past six when we reached Benson's lock and Dusk was drawing on and she began to get excited then she said she must be in to supper I said it was a thing I felt I wanted to be in at two and drew out a map I had with me to see exactly how far it was I saw it was just a mile and a half to the next lock Wallingford and five on from there oh it's all right I said we'll be through the next lock before seven and then there's only one more and I settled down and pulled steadily away we passed the bridge and soon after that I asked if she saw the lock she said no she did not see any lock and I said oh and pulled on another five minutes went by and then I asked her to look again no she said I can't see any signs of a lock you are sure you know a lock when you do see one I asked hesitatingly not wishing to offend her the question did offend her however and she suggested that I had better look for myself so I laid down the skulls and took a view the river stretched out straight before us in the twilight for about a mile not a ghost of a lock was to be seen you don't think we've lost our way do you asked my companion to see how that was possible though as I suggested we might have somehow got into the weir stream and be making for the falls this idea did not comfort her in the least and she began to cry she said we should both be drowned and that it was a judgement on her for coming out with me it seemed an excessive punishment I thought but my cousin thought not and hoped it would all soon be over I tried to reassure her and to make light of the whole affair eventually was that I was not rowing as fast as I fancied I was but that we should soon reach the lock now and I pulled on for another mile then I began to get nervous myself I looked again at the map there was Wallingford Lock clearly marked a mile and a half below Benson's it was a good reliable map and besides I recollected the lock myself I'd been through it twice where were we what had happened to us I began to think it must all be a dream and that I was really asleep in bed and should wake up in a minute and be told it was past ten I asked my cousin if she thought it could be a dream and she replied that she was just about to ask me the same question and then we both wondered if we were both asleep and if so who was the real one that was dreaming and who was the one that was only a dream it got quite interesting I still went on pulling however and still no lock came in sight and the river grew more and more gloomy and mysterious under the gathering shadows of night and things seemed to be getting weird and uncanny I thought of hobgoblins and banshees and will of the wisps and those wicked girls who sit up all night on rocks and lure people into whirlpools and things and I wished I had been a better man and knew more hymns and in the middle of these reflections I heard the blessed strains of played badly on a concertina and knew that we were saved I do not admire the tones of a concertina as a rule but oh how beautiful the music seemed to us both then far, far more beautiful than the voice of Orpheus or the loot of Apollo or anything of that sort could have sounded heavenly melody in our then state of mind would only have still further harrowed us a soul-moving harmony correctly performed we should have taken as a spirit warning and have given up all hope but about the strains of he's god I'm on, jerked spasmodically and with involuntary variations out of a weezy accordion there's something singularly human and reassuring the sweet sounds drew nearer and soon the boat from which they were worked lay alongside us it contained a party of provincial aries and ariads out for a moonlight sail there was not any moon but that was not their fault I never saw more attractive lovable people in all my life I hailed them and asked if they could tell me the way to Wallingford Lock and I explained that I'd been looking for it the last two hours Wallingford Lock they answered, all of you sir that's been done away with for over a year there ain't no Wallingford Lock now sir you're close to cleave now blow me tired if you ain't a gentleman been looking for Wallingford Lock Bill I had never thought of that I wanted to fall upon their necks and bless them but the stream was running too strong just there to allow this I content myself with mere cold-sounding words of gratitude we thanked them over and over again and we said it was a lovely night and we wished them a pleasant trip and I think I invited them all to come and spend a week with me and my cousin said her mother would be so pleased to see them and we sang the soldiers chorus out of Faust and got home in time for supper after all end of chapter 9