 Chapter 11 of Tales from Sketches by Boz. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Sketches by Boz by Charles Dickens. Illustrations by George Cruickshank. Chapter 11 of Tales, The Bloomsbury Crisning. Mr. Nicodemus Dumps, or, as his acquaintance called him, Long Dumps, was a bachelor, six feet high, and fifty years old, cross, cadaverous, odd, and ill-natured. He was never happy, but when he was miserable, and always miserable, when he had the best reason to be happy. The only real comfort of his existence was to make everybody about him wretched, then he might be truly said to enjoy life. He was afflicted with the situation in the bank worth five hundred a year, and he rented a first floor furnished at Pentonville, which he originally took because it commanded a dismal prospect of an adjacent churchyard. He was familiar with the face of every tombstone, and the burial service seemed to excite his strongest sympathy. His friend said that he was surly. He insisted he was nervous. They thought him a lucky dog, but he protested that he was the most unfortunate man in the world. Cold as he was, and wretched as he declared himself to be, he was not wholly unsusceptible of attachments. He revered the memory of Hoyle, as he was himself an admirable and imperturbable wist player, and he chuckled with delight at a fretful and impatient adversary. He adored King Herod for his massacre of the innocence, and if he hated one thing more than another, it was a child. However, he could hardly be said to hate anything in particular, because he disliked everything in general. But perhaps his greatest antipathies were cabs, old women, doors that would not shut, musical amateurs, and omnibus cabs. He subscribed to the Society for the Suppression of Vice for the pleasure of putting a stop to any harmless amusements, and he contributed largely towards the support of two itinerant Methodist Parsons in the amiable hope that if circumstances rendered any people happy in the world, they might, for chance, be rendered miserable by fears for the next. Mr. Dumps had a nephew who had been married about a year, and who was somewhat of a favorite with his uncle, because he was an admirable subject to exercise his misery creating powers upon. Mr. Charles Kitterbell was a small, sharp, spare man, with a very large head and a broad, good-humoured countenance. He looked like a faded giant, with a head and face partially restored, and he had a cast in his eye which rendered it quite impossible for anyone with whom he conversed to know where he was looking. His eyes appeared fixed on the wall, and he was staring you out of countenance. In short, there was no catching his eye, and perhaps it is a merciful dispensation of providence that such eyes are not catching. In addition to these characteristics, it may be added that Mr. Charles Kitterbell was one of the most credulous and matter-of-fact little personages that ever took to himself a wife and for himself a house in Great Russell Street, Bedford Square. Uncle Dumps always dropped the Bedford Square, and inserted in you thereof the dreadful word Tottenham Court Road. But no, Uncle, upon my life you must. You must promise to be Godfather, said Mr. Kitterbell, as he sat in conversation with his respected relative one morning. I cannot. Indeed, I cannot, returned Dumps. Well, but why not? Jemima will think it very unkind. It's very little trouble. As of the trouble rejoined the most unhappy man in existence. I don't mind that, but my nerves are in that state. I cannot go through the ceremony. You know I don't like going out. For God's sake, Charles, don't fidget with that stool, so you'll drive me mad. Mr. Kitterbell, quite regardless of his uncle's nerves, had occupied himself for some ten minutes in describing a circle on the floor with one leg of the office stool on which he was seated, keeping the other three up in the air and holding fast on by the desk. I beg your pardon, Uncle, said Kitterbell, quite abashed and suddenly releasing his hold of the desk and bringing the three wandering legs back to the floor with the force sufficient to drive them through it. But come, don't refuse. If it's a boy you know, we must have two Godfathers. If it's a boy, said Dumps, why can't you say at once whether it is a boy or not? I should be very happy to tell you, but it's impossible. I can undertake to say whether it's a girl or a boy if the child isn't born yet. Echoed Dumps, with a gleam of hope lighting up in his legubri's visage. Oh, well, it may be a girl, and then you won't want me, or if it is a boy, it may die before it is christened. I hope not, said the father that expected to be, looking very grave. I hope not, acquiesced Dumps, evidently pleased with the subject. He was beginning to get happy. I hope not, but distressing cases frequently occur during the first two or three days of a child's life. Fits, I am told, are exceedingly common, and alarming convulsions are almost matters of course. Lord Uncle, ejaculated little Kittabelle, gasping for breath. Yes, my landlady was confined, let me see, last Tuesday, an uncommonly fine boy. On the Thursday night the nurse was sitting with him upon her knee before the fire, and he was as well as possible. Suddenly he became black in the face, and alarmingly spasmodic. The medical man was instantly sent for, and every remedy was tried, but, how frightful, interrupted the horror-stricken Kittabelle. The child died, of course. However, your child may not die, and if it should be a boy, and should live to be christened, why, I suppose I must be one of the sponsors. Dumps was evidently good-natured on the faith of his anticipations. Thank you, Uncle, said his agitated nephew, grasping his hand as warmly as if he had done him some essential service. Perhaps I had better not tell Mrs. K what you have mentioned. Why? If she is low-spirited, perhaps, you had better not mention the melancholy case to her, returned Dumps, who, of course, had invented the whole story, though perhaps it would be but doing your duty as a husband to prepare her for the worst. A day or two afterwards, as Dumps was perusing a morning paper at the shop house, which he regularly frequented, the following paragraph met his eyes. Births. On Saturday, the eighteenth-inched, in Great Russell Street, the lady of Charles Kitterbell Esquire, of a son. It is a boy, he exclaimed, dashing down the paper to the astonishment of the waiters. It is a boy. But he speedily regained his composure, as his eyes rested on a paragraph quoting the number of infant deaths from the bills of mortality. Six weeks passed away, and as no communication had been received from the Kitterbells, Dumps was beginning to fatter himself that the child was dead, when the following note painfully resolved his doubts. Great Russell Street, Monday Morning. Dear Uncle, you will be delighted to hear that my dear Jemima has left her room, and that your future godson is getting on capitally. He was very thin at first, but he is getting much larger, and the earth says he is feeling out every day. He cries a good deal, and is a very singular colour, which made Jemima and me rather uncomfortable. But as Nurse says, it's natural, and of course we know nothing about these things yet. We are quite satisfied with what Nurse says. We think he will be a sharp child, and Nurse says she is sure he will, because he never goes to sleep. He will readily believe that we are all very happy, only we are a little worn out for want of rest, as he keeps us awake all night, but this we must expect, Nurse says, for the first six or eight months. He has been vaccinated, but in consequence of the operation being rather awkwardly performed, some small particles of glass were introduced into the arm, with the matter. Perhaps this may in some degree account for his being rather fractious, at least, so Nurse says. We propose to have him christened at twelve o'clock on Friday at St George's Church in Hart Street, by the name of Frederick Charles William. Pray, don't be later than a quarter before twelve. We shall have a very few friends in the evening, and of course we shall see you. I am sorry to say the dear boy appears rather restless and uneasy today. The cause I fear is fever. Believe me, dear uncle, yours affectionately, Charles Kitterbell. P.S. I open this note to say that we have just discovered the cause of little Frederick's restlessness. It is not fever as I apprehended, but a small pin which Nurse accidentally stuck in his leg yesterday evening. We have taken it out, and he appears more composed, though he still sobs a good deal. It is almost unnecessary to say that the perusal of the above interesting statement was no great relief to the mind of the hypochondrical dumps. It was impossible to recede, however, and so he put the best face, that is to say an uncommonly miserable one, upon the matter, and purchased a handsome silver mug for the infant Kitterbell, upon which he ordered the initials FCWK, with the customary untrained grapevine-looking flourishes and a large full stop to be engraved forthwith. Monday was a fine day, Tuesday was delightful, Wednesday was equal to either, and Thursday was finer than ever. Four successive fine days in London. Hackney Coachman became revolutionary, and crossing sweepers began to doubt the existence of the first cause. The Morning Herald informed its readers that an old woman in Camden Town had been heard to say that the finest of the season was unprecedented in the memory of the oldest inhabitant, and his LinkedIn clocks, with large families and small salaries, left off their black gaiters, disdained to carry their once-green cotton umbrellas, and walked to town in the conscious pride of white stockings and cleanly brushed bluechairs. Dumps beheld all this with an eye of supreme contempt. His triumph was at hand. He knew that if it had been fine for four weeks instead of four days, it would rain when he went out. He was legubriously happy in the conviction that Friday would be a wretched day, and so it was. I knew how it would be, said Dumps, as he turned round opposite the mansion house at half-past eleven on the Friday morning. I knew how it would be. I am concerned, and that's enough. And certainly the appearance of the day was sufficient to depress the spirits of a much more boy-hearted individual than himself. It had rained, without a moment's cessation, since eight o'clock. Everybody that passed up Cheepside and down Cheepside looked wet, cold and dirty. All sorts of forgotten and long-concealed umbrellas had been put into requisition. Perhaps wished about, with a fare as carefully boxed up behind two glazed calico curtains as any mysterious picture in any one of Mrs. Radcliffe's castles. Omnibus horses smoked like steam engines. Nobody thought of standing up under daughter arches. They were painfully convinced it was a hopeless case, and so everybody went hastily along, jumbling and jostling and swearing and perspiring, and slipping about like amateur skaters behind wooden chairs on the serpentine on a frosty Sunday. Dump's paused. He could not think of walking, being rather smart for the christening. If he took a cab, he was sure to be split, and a Hackney coach was too expensive for his economical ideas. An Omnibus was waiting at the opposite corner. It was a desperate case. He had never heard of an Omnibus upsetting or running away, and if the cad did knock him down, he could pull him up in return. "'Now, sir,' cried the young gentleman who officiated his cad to the lands of the village, which was the name of the machine just noticed. Dump's crossed. "'This way, sir,' shouted the driver of the Harkaway, pulling up his vehicle immediately across the door of the opposition, "'This way, sir, he's full.' Dump's hesitated, whereupon the lands of the village commenced pouring out a torrent of abuse against the Harkaway, but the conductor of the Admiral Napier settled the contest in the most satisfactory manner for all parties, by seizing Dump's round the waist and thrusting him into the middle of his vehicle, which had just come up, and only wanted the sixteenth inside. "'All right,' said the Admiral, and off the thing thundered like a fire engine, at full gallop, with the kidnapped customer inside, standing in the position of a half doubled-up bootjack, and falling about with every jerk of the machine, first on the one side and then on the other, like a jack in the green on Mayday, setting to the lady with a brass ladle. "'For heaven's sake, where am I to sit?' inquired the miserable man of an old gentleman in whose stomach he had just fallen for the fourth time. "'Anyway, but on my chest, sir,' replied the old gentleman in a surly tone. Perhaps the box would soothe the gentleman better, suggested a very damp, loyus clark in a pink shirt and smirking countens. After a great deal of struggling and falling about, Dump's at last managed to squeeze himself into a seat, which in addition to the slight disadvantage of being between a window that would not shut and a door that must be open, placed him in close contact with the passenger who had been walking about all the morning without an umbrella, and who looked as if he had spent the day in a full water-butt, only wetter. "'Don't bang the door, so,' said Dump's to the conductor, as he shut it after letting out four of the passengers. "'I am very nervous. It destroys me.' "'Did Guelman say anything?' replied the cad, thrusting his head and trying to look as if he didn't understand the request. "'I told you not to bang the door, so,' repeated Dump's, with an expression of countens like the little nave of clubs and convulsions. "'Oh, vai! It's rather a singular circumstance about this here, dorsa, that it won't shut without banging,' replied the conductor, and he opened the door very wide and shut it again with a terrific bang, in proof of the assertion. "'I beg your pardon, sir,' said a little prim wheezing old gentleman, sitting opposite Dump's. "'I beg your pardon, but have you ever observed, when you have been in an omnibus on a wet day, that four people out of five always come in with large cotton umbrellas, without a handle at the top, or the brass spike at the bottom?' "'Why, sir,' returned Dump's, as he heard the clock strike twelve. "'It never occurred to me before, but now you mention it. "'I—' "'Hollol, hollol,' shouted the persecuted individual, as the omnibus dashed past Drury Lane, where he had directed to be set down. "'Where is the cad?' "'I think he's on the box, sir,' said the young gentleman before noticed in pink shirt, which looked like a white one, ruled with red ink. "'I want to be set down,' said Dump's, in a faint voice, overcome by his previous efforts. "'I think these cad's want to be set down,' returned the attorney's clock, chuckling at his sally. "'Hollol,' cried Dump's again, "'Hollol,' echoed the passengers, the omnibus passed St. George's church. "'Hold hard,' said the conductor, "'I'm bloated if we hadn't forgot the gentleman as of as to be set down at Drury Lane. "'Now, sir, make haste, if you please,' he added, opening the door and assisting Dump's out, with as much coolness as if it was all right. "'Dump's' indignation was for once getting the better of his cynical equanimity. "'Drury Lane,' he grasped, with the voice of a boy in a cold bath for the first time. "'Drury Lane, sir?' "'Yes, sir.' "'Third turning on the right-hand side, sir.' Dump's' passion was paramount. He clutched his umbrella and was striding off with the first determination of not paying the fare. The cad, by a remarkable coincidence, happened to entertain a directly contrary opinion, and everyone knows how far the altercation would have proceeded if he had not been most ably and satisfactorily brought to a close by the driver. "'Hollol,' said that respected person, standing up on the box and leading with one hand on the roof of the omnibus. "'Hollol, Tom, tell the gentleman, if so be, as he feels aggrieved. We will take him up to the edgier, edgware, road, for nothing, and set him down at Dury Lane when he comes back. He can't reject that, anyhow.' The argument was irresistible. Dump's paid the disputed sixpence, and in a quarter of an hour was on the staircase of No. 14 Great Russell Street. Everything indicated that preparations were making for the reception of a few friends in the evening. Two dozen extra tumblers, and four ditto wine glasses, looking anything but transparent, with little bits of straw in them on the slab in the passage, just arrived. There was a great smell of nutmeg, port wine, and almonds on the staircase. The covers were taken off the stair carpet, and the figure of Venus on the first landing looked as if she were ashamed of the composition candle in her right hand, which contrasted beautifully with the lamp-black drapery of the Goddess of Love. The female servant, who looked very warm and bustling, ushered dumps into a front drawing room, very prettily furnished with a plentiful sprinkling of little baskets, paper table mats, china watchmen, pink and gold albums, and rainbow-bound little books on the different tables. "'Our uncle,' said Mr. Kitterbell, "'how do you do? Allow me, jumeima, my dear, my uncle. I think you've seen, jumeima, before, sir. Have had the pleasure, returned big dumps, his turn and look, making it doubtful whether in his life he had ever experienced the sensation.' "'I'm sure,' said Mrs. Kitterbell, with a languid smile and slight cough. I'm sure, hm, any friend of Charles's, hm, much less a relation is.' "'I knew you'd say so, my love,' said little Kitterbell, who, while he appeared to be gazing on the opposite houses, was looking at his wife with a most affectionate air. "'Bless you!' The last two words were accompanied with a simper and a squeeze of the hand, which stirred up all uncle dumps's bile. "'Jane, tell nurse to bring down baby,' said Mrs. Kitterbell, addressing the servant. Mrs. Kitterbell was a tall, thin young lady, with very light hair and a particularly white face. One of those young women, who almost invariably, though one hardly knows why, recalled to one's mind the idea of a cold, fillet of veal. Out went the servant, and in came the nurse, with a remarkably small parcel in her arms, packed up in a blue mantle trimmed with white fur. This was the baby. "'Now, uncle,' said Mr. Kitterbell, lifting up that part of the mantle which covered the infant's face, with an air of great triumph, who do you think he's like? Hee-hee! Yes, who?' said Mrs. K, putting her arm through her husbands, and looking up into dumps's face, with an expression of as much interest as she was capable of displaying. "'Good God! how small he is!' cried the amiable uncle, starting back with a well-famed surprise, remarkably small indeed. "'Do you think so?' inquired poor little Kitterbell, rather alarmed. "'He's a monster to what he was, ain't he, nurse?' "'He's a dear,' said the nurse, squeezing the child and evading the question, not because she scrupled to disguise the fact, but because she couldn't afford to throw away the chance of dumps's half-crown.' "'Well, but who is he like?' inquired little Kitterbell. Dumps looked at the little pink heap before him, and only thought at the moment of the best mode of mortifying the youthful parents. "'I really don't know who he's like,' he answered, very well knowing the reply expected of him. "'Don't you think he's like me?' inquired his nephew with a knowing air. "'Oh, decidedly not,' returned Dumps, with an emphasis not to be misunderstood. "'Decidedly not like you. Oh, certainly not.' "'Like Jemima?' asked Kitterbell faintly. "'Oh, dear, no, not in the least. I'm no judge, of course, in such cases. But I really think he's more like one of those little carved representations that one sometimes sees blowing a trumpet on a tombstone.' The nurse stooped down over the child, and with great difficulty prevented an explosion of mirth, Pa and Ma looked almost as miserable as their amiable uncle. "'Well,' said the disappointed little father, "'you'll be better able to tell what he's like, but by and by. You shall see him this evening with his mantle off.' "'Thank you,' said Dumps, feeling particularly grateful. "'Now, my love,' said Kitterbell to his wife. "'It's time we were off. We're to meet the other godfather and the godmother at the church, uncle. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson from over the way. Uncommonly nice people. My love, are you well wrapped up?' "'Yes, dear. Are you sure you won't have another shawl?' inquired the anxious husband. No sweet returned the charming mother, accepting Dumps' pro-offered arm, and the little party entered the hackney coach that was to take them to the church. Dumps amusing Mrs. Kitterbell by expatiating largely on the danger of measles, thrush, teeth-cutting, and other interesting diseases to which children are subject. The ceremony, which occupied about five minutes, passed off without anything particular occurring. The clergyman had to dine some distance from town, and had two churches, three christenings, and a funeral to perform in something less than an hour. The godfathers and godmother, therefore, promised to renounce the devil and all his works, and all that sort of thing, as little Kitterbell said, in less than no time. And, with the exception of Dumps nearly letting the child fall in the font when he handed it to the clergyman, the whole affair went off in the usual business-like matter-of-course manner, and Dumps re-entered the bank gates at two o'clock with a heavy heart and the painful conviction that he was regularly booked for an evening party. Evening came, and so did Dumps' pumps, black-silt stockings, or white cravat, which he had ordered to be forwarded, per boy, from Pentonville. The depressed godfather dressed himself at a friend's counting-house, from Wentz, with his spirits fifty degrees below proof, he sallied forth, as the weather had cleared up, and the evening was tolerably fine, to walk to Great Russell Street. Slowly he paced up Cheepside, Newgate Street, down Snow Hill, and up Hoburn, Ditto, looking as grim as the figurehead of a man of war, and finding out fresh causes of misery at every step. As he was crossing the corner of Hatten Garden, a man apparently intoxicated, rushed against him, and would have knocked him down, had he not been providentially caught by a very gentile young man who happened to be close to him at the time. The shock so disarranged Dumps' nerves, as well as his dress, that he could hardly stand. The gentleman took his arm, and in the kindest manner, walked with him as far as Fernieville's in. Dumps, for about the first time in his life, felt grateful and plight, and he, and the gentlemanly-looking young man, parted with mutual expressions of goodwill. There are at least some well-disposed men in the world ruminated the misanthropical Dumps as he proceeded towards his destination. Rat, tat, ta-ra-ra-ra-rat, knocked a hackney coachman at Kitterbell's door, in imitation of a gentleman's servant, just as Dumps reached it, and out came an old lady in a large toke, and an old gentleman in a blue coat, and three female copies of the old lady in pink dresses and shoes to match. It's a large party, sighed the unhappy godfather, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, and leaning against the area railings. It was some time before the miserable man could muster up courage to knock at the door, and when he did, the smart appearance of a neighbouring greengrocer who had been hired to wait for seven and sixpence, and whose carves alone were worth double the money. The lamp in the passage, and the venus on the landing, added to the hum of many voices, and the sound of a harp and two violins painfully convinced him that his surmises were but too well-founded. How are you? said little Kitterbell, in a greater bustle than ever, bolting out of the little-back parlour with a corkscrew in his hand, and various particles of sawdust, looking like so many inverted commas, on his inexpressibles. Good God! said Dumps, turning into the aforesaid parlour to put his shoes on, which he had brought in his coat pocket, and still more appalled by the sight of seven fresh-drawn corks, and a corresponding number of decanters. How many people are there upstairs? Oh, not above thirty-five. We've had the carpet taken up in the back roaring room, and the piano and card tables are in the front. Jemima thought we'd better have a regular sit-down supper in the front parlour, because of the speechifying and all that. But Lord, Uncle, what's the matter? continued the excited little man, as Dumps stood with one shoe on, rummaging his pockets with the most frightful distortion of visage. What have you lost, your pocketbook? No, returned Dumps, diving first into one pocket and then the other, and speaking in a voice like Desdemona, with the pillow over her mouth. Your card case, snuff box, the key of your lodgings, continued Kittabelle, pouring question on question with the rapidity of lightning. No, no, ejaculated Dumps, still diving eagerly into empty pockets. Not, not the mug you spoke of this morning. Yes, the mug, replied Dumps, sinking into a chair. How could you have done it? inquired Kittabelle. Are you sure you brought it out? Yes, yes, I see it all, said Dumps. Starting up as the idea flashed across his mind. Viscible dog that I am, I was born to suffer. I see it all. It was the gentlemanly looking young man. Mr. Dumps shouted the greengrocer in a stentorian voice, as he ushered the somewhat recovered godfather into the drawing room half an hour after the above declaration. Mr. Dumps, everybody looked to the door, and in came Dumps, feeling about as much out of place as a salmon might supposed to be on a gravel walk. Happy to see you again, said Mrs. Kittabelle, quite unconscious of the unfortunate man's confusion and misery. You must allow me to introduce you to a few of our friends. My mama, Mr. Dumps, my papa and sisters, Dumps seized the hand of the mother, as warmly as if she was his own parent, bowed to the young ladies and against a gentleman behind him, and took no notice whatever of the father, who had been bowing incessantly for three minutes and a quarter. Uncle, said little Kittabelle, after Dumps had been introduced to a select dozen or two, you must let me lead you to the other end of the room to introduce you to my friend Danton, such a splendid fellow, I'm sure you'll like him. This way, Dumps followed as tractably as a tame bear. Mr. Danton was a young man of about five and twenty, with a considerable stock of impudence and a very small share of ideas. He was a great favourite, especially with young ladies, of from sixteen to twenty-six years of age, both inclusive. He could imitate the French horn to admiration, sang comic songs most inimitably, and had the most insinuating way of saying impertinent nothings to his doting female admirers. He had acquired, somehow or other, the reputation of being a great wit, and, accordingly, whenever he opened his mouth, everybody who knew him laughed very heartily. The introduction took place in due form. Mr. Danton bowed and twirled the ladies' handkerchief, which he held in his hand, in the most comic way. Everybody smiled. Very warm, said Dumps, feeling it necessary to say something. Yes, it was warmer yesterday returned the brilliant Mr. Danton, a general laugh. I have great pleasure in congratulating you on your first appearance in the character of a father, sir, he continued, addressing Dumps. Godfather, I mean. The young ladies were convulsed, and the gentleman in ecstasies. A general hum of admiration interrupted the conversation, and announced the entrance of nurse with the baby. An universal rush of the young ladies immediately took place. Girls are always so fond of babies in company. Oh, dear, said one, how sweet cried another, in a low tone of the most enthusiastic admiration. Heavenly, added a third. Oh, what dear little arms, said a fourth, holding up an arm and fist about the size and shape of a leg of foul cleanly picked. Did you ever, said a little cocket with a large bustle, who looked like a French lithograph, appealing to a gentleman in three waistcoats. Did you ever? Never in my life, returned her admirer pulling up his collar. Oh, do let me take it, nurse, cried another young lady, the love. Can it open his eyes, nurse, in quiet another, affecting the utmost innocence? Suffice it to say that the single ladies unanimously voted him an angel, and that the married ones, Nemcon, agreed that he was decidedly the finest baby they had ever beheld, except their own. The quadrules were resumed with great spirit. Mr. Danton was universally admitted to be beyond himself. Several young ladies enchanted the company and gained admirers by singing, We met, I saw her at the fancy fair, and other equally sentimental and interesting ballads. The young men, as Mrs. Kitterbell said, made themselves very agreeable. The girls did not lose their opportunity, and the evening promised to go off excellently. Dumbs didn't mind it. He had devised a plan for himself, a little bit of fun in his own way, and he was almost happy. He played a rubber, and lost every point, Mr. Danton said he could not have lost every point, because he made a point of losing. Everybody laughed tremendously. Dumbs retorted with a better joke, and nobody smiled, with the exception of the host, who seemed to consider it his duty to laugh until he was black in the face at everything. There was only one drawback. The musicians did not play with quite as much spirit as could have been wished. The cause, however, was satisfactorily explained, for it appeared on the testimony of a gentleman who would come up from Graves End in the afternoon, that there had been engaged on board a steamer all day, and had played almost without cessation all the way to Graves End, and all the way back again. The sit-down supper was excellent. There were four barley-sugar temples on the table, which could have looked beautiful if they had not melted away when the supper began. And the watermill, whose only fault was that, instead of going round, it ran over the tablecloth. Then there were fowls, and tongue, and trifle, and sweets, and lobster salad, and potted beef, and everything. And little Kitterbell came calling out for clean plates, and the clean plates did not come. And then the gentleman, who wanted the plates, said they didn't mind. They'd take the ladies. And then Mrs. Kitterbell applauded their gallantry, and the greengrocer ran about, till he thought his seven and sixpence was very hardly earned. And the young ladies didn't eat much for fear it shouldn't look romantic, and the married ladies eat as much as possible, for fear they shouldn't have enough. And a great deal of wine was drunk, and everybody talked and laughed considerably. Hush, hush, said Mr. Kitterbell, rising and looking very important. My love, this was addressed to his wife at the other end of the table, take care of Mrs. Maxwell, and your mama, and the rest of the married ladies. The gentleman will persuade the young ladies to fill their glasses, I am sure. Ladies and gentlemen, said long dumps, in a very supportful voice, and rueful accent, rising from his chair like the ghost in Don Juan. Will you have the kindness to charge your glasses? I am desirous of proposing a toast. A dead silence ensued, and the glasses were filled. Everybody looked serious. Ladies and gentlemen, slowly continued the ominous dumps. I, here Mr. Danton, imitated two notes from the French horn in a very loud key, which electrified the nervous toast proposer and convulsed his audience. Order, order, said little Kitterbell, endeavouring to suppress his laughter. Order, said the gentleman. Danton, be quiet, said a particular friend on the opposite side of the table. Ladies and gentlemen, resumed dumps, somewhat recovered, and not much disconcerted, for he was always a pretty good hand at a speech. In accordance with what is, I believe, the established usage on these occasions, I, as one of the Godfathers of master Frederick Charles William Kitterbell, hear the speaker's voice faltered, for he remembered the mug, venture to rise to propose a toast. I need hardly say that it is the health and prosperity of that young gentleman, the particular event of whose early life we are here to celebrate, applause. Ladies and gentlemen, it is impossible to suppose that our friends here, whose sincere well wishes we all are, can pass through life without some trials, considerable suffering, severe reflection, and heavy losses. Here the arch trader paused, and slowly drew forth a long white pocket handkerchief. His example was followed by several ladies. That these trials may be long spared them is my most earnest prayer, my most fervent wish, a distinct sob from the grandmother. I hope and trust, ladies and gentlemen, that the infant whose christening we have this evening met to celebrate may not be removed from the arms of his parents by premature decay, several Canberricks were in requisition, that his young and now apparently healthy form may not be wasted by lingering disease. Here Dumps cast a sadonic glance around, for a great sensation was manifest among the married ladies. You, I am sure, will concur with me in wishing that he may lift to be a comfort and a blessing to his parents. Here, here, and an audible sob from Mr. Kitterbell. But should he not be what we could wish? Should he forget, in aftertimes, the duty which he owes to them? Should they unhappily experience that distracting truth, how sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child? Here Mrs. Kitterbell, with her handkerchief to her eyes, and accompanied by several ladies, rushed from the room, and went into violent hysterics in the passage, leaving her better half in almost as bad a condition, and a general impression in Dumps's favour for people like sentiment after all. Its need hardly be added, that this occurrence quite put a stop to the harmony of the evening. Vinegar heartshorn and cold water were now as much in request as Negus' wrapped cakes and bonbons had been a short time before. Mrs. Kitterbell was immediately conveyed to her apartment. The musicians were silenced, flirting ceased, and the company slowly departed. Dumps left the house at the commencement of the bustle, and walked home with a light step, and, for him, a cheerful heart. His landlady, who slept in the next room, had offered to make oath that she heard him laugh in his peculiar manner after he had locked his door. The assertion, however, is so improbable, and bears on the face of it such strong evidence of untruth that it has never obtained credence to this hour. The family of Mr. Kitterbell had considerably increased since the period to which we have referred. He has now two sons and a daughter, and as he expects, at no distant period, to have another addition to his blooming progeny, he is anxious to secure an eligible godfather for the occasion. He is determined, however, to impose upon him two conditions. He must bind himself by a solemn obligation, not to make any speech after supper, and it is indispensable that he should be in no way connected with the most miserable man in the world. End of Chapter 11 of Tales from Sketches by Boz Chapter 12 of Tales from Sketches by Boz This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Nicholas James Bridgewater Sketches by Boz by Charles Dickens Illustrations by George Cruikshank Chapter 12 of Tales The Drunkard's Death We will be bold to say that there is scarcely a man in the constant habit of walking day after day through any of the crowded thoroughfares of London who cannot recollect among the people whom he knows by sight to use a familiar phrase, some being of abject and wretched appearance whom he remembers to have seen in a very different condition, whom he has observed sinking lower and lower by almost imperceptible degrees and the shabbiness and utter destitution of whose appearance at last strike forcibly and painfully upon him as he passes by. Is there any man who has mixed much with society or whose avocations have caused him to mingle at one time or other with a great number of people who cannot call to mind the time when some shabby, miserable wretch in rags and filth who shuffles past him now in all the squalor of disease and poverty with a respectable tradesman or clerk or a man following some thriving pursuit with good prospects and decent means or cannot any of our readers call to mind from among the list of their quantum acquaintance some fallen and degraded man who lingers about the pavement in hungry misery from whom everyone turns coldly away and who preserves himself from sheer starvation nobody knows how? Alas, such cases are of too frequent occurrence to be rare items in any man's experience and but too often arise from one cause drunkenness that fierce rage for the slow, sure poison that oversteps every other consideration that casts aside wife, children, friends happiness and station and hurries its victims madly on to degradation and death some of these men have been impelled by misfortune and misery to the vice that has degraded them the ruin of worldly expectations the death of those they loved the sorrow that slowly consumes but will not break the heart has driven them wild and they present the hideous spectacle of madmen slowly dying by their own hands but by far the greater part have willfully and with open eyes plunged into the gulf from which the man who once enters it never rises more but into which he sinks deeper and deeper down until recovery is hopeless such a man as this once stood by the bedside of his dying wife while his children knelt around and mingled loud bursts of grief with their innocent prayers the room was scantily and meanly furnished and it needed but a glance at the pale form from which the light of life was fast passing away to know that grief and want and anxious care had been busy at the heart for many a weary year an elderly woman with her face bathed in tears was supporting the head of the dying woman her daughter on her arm but it was not towards her that the face was turned it was not her hand that the cold and trembling fingers clasped they pressed the husband's arm the eyes so soon to be closed in death rested on his face and the man shook beneath their gaze his dress was slovenly and disordered his face inflamed his eyes bloodshot and heavy he had been summoned from some wild debauch to the bed of sorrow and death a shaded lamp by the bedside cast a dim light on the figures around and left the remainder of the room in thick deep shadow the silence of night prevailed without the house and the stillness of death was in the chamber a watch hung over the mantle shelf its low ticking was the only sound that broke the profound quiet but it was a solemn one for well they knew who heard it that before it had recorded the passing of another hour it would beat the knell of a departed spirit it is a dreadful thing to wait and watch for the approach of death to know that hope is gone and recovery impossible and to sit and count the dreary hours through long long nights such nights as only watches by the bed of sickness know it chills the blood to hear the dearest secrets of the heart the pent up hidden secrets of many years poured forth by the unconscious helpless being before you and to think how little the reserve and cunning of a whole life will avail when fever and delirium tear off the mask at last strange tales have been told in the wanderings of dying men tales so full of guilt and crime that those who stood by the sick person's couch have fled in horror and a fright lest they should be scared to madness by what they heard and saw and many a wretch has died alone raving of deeds the very name of which has driven the boldest man away but no such ravings were to be heard at the bedside by which the children knelt their half stifled sobs and moaning alone broke the silence of the lonely chamber and when at last the mother's grasp relaxed and turning one look from the children to the father she vainly strove to speak and fell backward on the pillow all were so calm and tranquil that she seemed to sink to sleep they lent over her they called upon her name softly at first and then in the loud and piercing tones of desperation but there was no reply they listened for her breath but no sound came they felt for the palpitation of the heart but no faint throb responded to the touch that heart was broken and she was dead the husband sunk into a chair by the bedside and clasped his hands upon his burning forehead he gazed from child to child but when a weeping eye met his he quailed beneath its look no word of comfort was whispered in his ear no look of kindness lighted on his face all shrunk from and avoided him and when at last he staggered from the room no one sought to follow or console the widower the time had been when many a friend would have crowded round him in his affliction and many a heart felt condolence would have met him in his grief where were they now one by one friends relations the communist acquaintance even had fallen off from and deserted the drunkard his wife alone had clung to him in good and evil in sickness and poverty and how had he rewarded her he had reeled from the tavern to her bedside in time to see her die he rushed from the house and walked swiftly through the streets remorse fear shame all crowded on his mind stupefied with drink and bewildered with the scene he had just witnessed he re-entered the tavern he had quitted shortly before glass succeeded glass his blood mounted and his brain world round death everyone must die and why not she she was too good for him her relations had often told him so curses on them had they not deserted her and left her to wind away the time at home well she was dead and happy perhaps it was better as it was another glass one more hurrah it was a merry life while it lasted and he would make the most of it time went on the three children who were left to him grew up and were children no longer the father remained the same poorer shabbier and more disillute looking but the same confirmed an irreclaimable drunkard the boys had long ago run wild in the streets and left him the girl alone remained but she worked hard and words or blows could always procure him something for the tavern so he went on in the old course and a merry life he led one night as early as 10 o'clock for the girl had been sick for many days and there was consequently little to spend at the public house he bent his steps homeward be thinking himself that if he would have her able to earn money it would be as well to apply to the parish surgeon or at all events to take the trouble of inquiring what ailed her which he had not yet thought it worthwhile to do it was a wet december night the wind blew piercing cold and the rain poured heavily down he begged a few half pence from a passerby and having bought a small loaf for it was his interest to keep the girl alive if he could he shuffled onwards as fast as the wind and rain would allow him at the back of fleet street and lying between it and the water side are several mean and narrow courts which form a portion of white friars it was to one of these that he directed his steps the alley into which he turned might for filth and misery have competed with the darkest corner of this ancient sanctuary in its dirtiest and most lawless time the houses varying from two stories in height to four were stained with every indescribable hue that long exposure to the weather damp and rottenness can impart to tenements composed originally of the roughest and coarsest materials the windows were patched with paper and stuffed with the foulest rags the doors were falling from their hinges poles with lines on which to dry clothes projected from every casement and sounds of quarrelling or drunkenness issued from every room the solitary oil lamp in the center of the court had been blown out either by the violence of the wind or the act of some inhabitant who had excellent reasons for objecting to his residence being rendered too conspicuous and the only light which fell upon the broken and uneven pavement was derived from the miserable candles that here and there twinkled in the rooms of such of the more fortunate residents as could afford to indulge in so expensive a luxury a gutter ran down the center of the alley all the sluggish odors of which had been called forth by the rain and as the wind whistled through the old houses the doors and shutters creaked upon their hinges and the windows shook in their frames with a violence which every moment seemed to threaten the destruction of the whole place the man whom we have followed into this den walked on in the darkness sometimes stumbling into the main gutter and at others into some branch repositories of garbage which had been formed by the rain until he reached the last house in the court the door or rather what was left of it stood a jar for the convenience of the numerous lodgers and he proceeded to grope his way up the old and broken stair to the attic story he was within a step or two of his room door when it opened and a girl whose miserable and emaciated appearance was only to be equalled by that of the candle which she shaded with her hand peeped anxiously out is that you father said the girl who else should it be replied the man gruffly what are you trembling at it's little enough that i've had to drink today for there's no drink without money and no money without work what the devil's the matter with the girl i am not well father not at all well said the girl bursting into tears ah replied the man in the tone of a person who is compelled to admit a very unpleasant fact to which he would rather remain blind if he could you must get bit or somehow for we must have money you must go to the parish doctor and make him give you some medicine they're paid for it damn them what are you standing before the door for let me come in can't you father whispered the girl shutting the door behind her and placing herself before it william has come back oh said the man with a start hush replied the girl william brother william and what does he want said the man with an effort at composure money meat drink he's come to the wrong shop for that if he does give me the candle give me the candle fool i ain't gonna hurt him he snatched the candle from her hand and walked into the room sitting on an old box with his head resting on his hand and his eyes fixed on a wretched cinder fire that was smouldering on the hearth was a young man of about two and twenty miserably clad in an old course jacket and trousers he started up when his father entered force in the door mary said the young man hastily farson the door you look as if you didn't know me father it's long enough since you drove me from home you may well forget me and what are you want here now said the father sitting himself on a stool on the other side of the fireplace what are you want here now shelter replied the son i'm in trouble that's enough if i'm caught i shall swing that's certain caught i shall be unless i stop here that's as certain and there's an end of it you mean a say you've been robbing or murdering then said the father yes i do replied the son does it surprise you father he looked steadily in the man's face but he withdrew his eyes and bent them on the ground where's your brothers he said after a long pause where they'll never trouble you replied his son john's gone america and enri's dead dead said the father with a shudder which even he could not express dead replied the young man he died in my arms shot like a dog by a gamekeeper he staggered back i caught him and his blood trickled down my hands it poured out from his side like water he was weak and it blinded him but he threw himself down on his knees on the grass and prayed at god that if his mother was in heaven he would hear her prayers for pardon for her youngest son it was a favorite boy will he said and i am glad to think now that when she was dying though i was a very young child then and my little art was almost bursting i knelt down at the foot of the bed and thanked god for having made me so fond of her as to have never once done anything to bring the tears into her eyes oh will why was she taken away and father left there's his dying words father said the young man make the best you can of him you struck him across the face in a drunken fit the morning we ran away and he is the end of it the girl wept aloud and the father sinking his head upon his knees rocked himself to and fro if i am taken said the young man i shall be carried back into the country andung for that man's murder they cannot trace me here without your assistance father for all i know you may give me up to justice but unless you do ear i stop until i can venture to escape abroad for two whole days all three remained in the wretched room without stirring out on the third evening however the girl was worse than she had been yet and the few scraps of food they had were gone it was indispensable necessary that somebody should go out and as the girl was too weak and ill the father went just at nightfall he got some medicine for the girl and a trifle in the way of pecuniary assistance on his way back he earned six pence by holding a horse and he turned homewards with enough money to supply their most pressing wants for two or three days to come he had to pass the public house he lingered for an instant walked past it turned back again lingered once more and finally slunk in two men whom he had not observed were on the watch they were on the point of giving up their search in despair when his loitering attracted their attention and when he entered the public house they followed him you'll drink with me master said one of them proffering him a glass of liquor and may two said the other replenishing the glass as soon as it was drained of its contents the man thought of his hungry children and his sons danger but they were nothing to the drunkard he did drink and his reason left him a wet night warden whispered one of the men in his ear as he at length turned to go away after spending in liquor one half of the money on which perhaps his daughter's life depended the riot sought a night for our friends in hiding master warden whispered the other sit down here said the one who had spoken first drawing him into a corner we have been looking out at the youngen we came to tell him it's all right now but we couldn't find him because we hadn't got the precise direction but that ain't strange for I don't think he noted himself when he come to London did he no he didn't reply the father the two men exchanged glances there's a vessel down at the docks to sail at midnight when it's high water resume the first speaker and we'll put him on board his passage is taken in another name and what's better than that it's paid for it's lucky we met you very said the second capital luck said the first with a wink to his companion great replied the second with a slight nod of intelligence another gloss here quick said the first speaker and in five minutes more the father had unconsciously yielded up his own son into the hangman's hands slowly and heavily the time dragged along as the brother and sister in their miserable hiding place listened in anxious suspense to the slightest sound at length a heavy footstep was heard upon the stair it approached nearer it reached the landing and the father staggered into the room the girl saw that he was intoxicated and advanced with the candle in her hand to meet him she stopped short gave a loud scream and fell senseless on the ground she had caught sight of the shadow of a man reflected on the floor they both rushed in and in another instant the young man was a prisoner and handcuffed very quietly done said one of the men to his companion thanks to the old man lift up the girl tom come come it's no use crying young woman it's all over now and can't be helped the young man stooped for an instant over the girl and then turned fiercely round upon his father who had reeled against the wall and was gazing on the group with drunken stupidity listener may father he said in a tone that made the drunken's flesh creep my brother's blood and mine is on your head i never had kind look or word or care from you and alive or dead i never will forgive you die when you will or i will be with you i speak as a dead man now and i warn you father that as surely as you must one day stand before your maker so surely shall your children be there and in end to cry for judgment against you he raised his manacled hands in a threatening attitude fixed his eyes on his shrinking parent and slowly left the room and neither father nor sister ever beheld him more on this side of the grave when the dim and misty light of a winter's morning penetrated into the narrow court and struggled through the begrimmed window of the wretched room warden awoke from his heavy sleep and found himself alone he rose and looked round him the old flock mattress on the floor was undisturbed everything was just as he remembered to have seen it last and there were no signs of anyone save himself having occupied the room during the night he inquired of the other lodgers and of the neighbors but his daughter had not been seen or heard of he rambled through the streets and scrutinized each wretched face among the crowds that throng them with anxious eyes but his search was fruitless and he returned to his garret when night came on desolate and weary for many days he occupied himself in the same manner but no trace of his daughter did he meet with and no word of her reached his ears at length he gave up the pursuit as hopeless he had long thought of the probability of her leaving him and endeavouring to gain her bread in quiet elsewhere she had left him at last to starve alone he ground his teeth and cursed her he begged his bread from door to door every half penny he could ring from the pity or credulity of those to whom he addressed himself was spent in the old way a year passed over his head the roof of a jail was the only one that had sheltered him for many months he slept under archways and in brick fields anywhere where there was some warmth for shelter from the cold and rain but in the last stage of poverty disease and houseless want he was a drunkard still at last one bitter night he sunk down on a doorstep faint and ill the premature decay of vice and profligacy had worn him to the bone his cheeks were hollow and livid his eyes were sunken and their sight was dim his legs trembled beneath his weight and a cold shiver ran through every limb and now the long forgotten scenes of a misspent life crowded thick and fast upon him he thought of the time when he had a home a happy cheerful home and of those who peopled it and flocked about him then until the forms of his elder children seemed to rise from the grave and stand about him so plain so clear and so distinct they were that he could touch and feel them looks that he had long forgotten were fixed upon him once more voices long since hushed in death sounded in his ears like the music of village bells but it was only for an instant and cold and hunger were gnawing at his heart again he rose and dragged his feeble limbs a few paces further the street was silent and empty the few passengers who passed by at that late hour hurried quickly on and his tremulous voice was lost in the violence of the storm again the heavy chills struck through his frame and his blood seemed to stagnate beneath it he coiled himself up in a projecting doorway and tried to sleep but sleep had fled from his dull and glazed eyes his mind wandered strangely but he was awake and conscious the well-known shout of drunken mirth sounded in his ear the glass was at his lips the board was covered with choice rich food they were before him he could see them all he had but to reach out his hand and take them and though the illusion was reality itself he knew that he was sitting alone in the deserted street watching the raindrops as they pattered on the stones that death was coming upon him by inches and that there were none to care for or help him suddenly he started up in the extremity of terror he had heard his own voice shouting in the night air he knew not what or why hark a groan another his senses were leaving him half formed in incoherent words burst from his lips and his hands sought to tear and lacerate his flesh he was going mad and he shrieked for help till his voice failed him he raised his head and looked up the long dismal street he recollected that outcasts like himself condemned to wander day and night in those dreadful streets had sometimes gone distracted with their own loneliness he remembered to have heard many years before that a homeless wretch had once been found in a solitary corner sharpening a rusty knife to plunge into his own heart preferring death to that endless weary wandering to and fro in an instant his resolve was taken his limbs received new life he ran quickly from the spot and paused not for breath until he reached the riverside he crept softly down the steep stone stairs that lead from the commencement of Waterloo Bridge down to the water's level he crouched into a corner and held his breath as the patrol passed never did prisoners heart throb with the hope of liberty and life half so eagerly as did that of the wretched man at the prospect of death the watch passed close to him but he remained unobserved and after waiting till the sound of footsteps had died away in the distance he cautiously descended and stood beneath the gloomy arch that forms the landing place from the river the tide was in and the water flowed at his feet the rain had ceased the wind was lulled and all was for the moment still and quiet so quiet that the slightest sound on the opposite bank even the rippling of the water against the barges that were murdered there was distinctly audible to his ear the stream stole languidly and sluggishly on strange and fantastic forms rose to the surface and beckoned him to approach dark gleaming eyes peered from the water and seemed to mock his hesitation while hollow murmurs from behind urged him onwards he retreated a few paces took a short run desperate leap and plunged into the river not five seconds had passed when he rose to the water's surface but what a change had taken place in that short time in all his thoughts and feelings life life in any form poverty misery starvation anything but death he fought and struggled with the water that closed over his head and screamed in agonies of terror the curse of his own son rang in his ears the shore but one foot of dry ground he could almost touch the step one hand's breadth nearer and he was saved but the tide bore him onward under the dark arches of the bridge and he sank to the bottom again he rose and struggled for life for one instant for one brief instant the buildings on the river's banks the lights on the bridge through which the current had borne him the black water and the fast flying clouds were distinctly visible once more he sunk and once again he rose bright flames of fire shot up from earth to heaven and reeled before his eyes while the water thundered in his ears and stunned him with its furious roar a week afterwards the body was washed ashore some miles down the river a swollen and disfigured mass unrecognized and unpitted it was born to the grave and there it has long since molded away end of chapter 12 of tales from sketches by boz recording by nicolas james bridgewater recorded in london england end of sketches by boz by charles dickens