 46. It was within a week of the close of the month of July that a hackney cabriolet, number unrecorded, was seen to proceed at a rapid pace up Goswell Street. Three people were squeezed into it besides the driver, who sat in his own particular little dickie at the side. Over the apron were hung two shawls belonging to two small, vixenish-lunking ladies under the apron, between whom, compressed into a very small compass, was stowed away a gentleman of heavy and subdued demeanor, who, whenever he ventured to make an observation, was snapped up short by one of the vixenish-ladies before mentioned. Lastly, the two vixenish-ladies and the heavy gentleman were giving the driver contradictory directions, all tending to the one point, that he should stop at Mrs. Bardell's door, which the heavy gentleman in direct opposition to and defiance of the vixenish-ladies contended was a green door and not a yellow one. Stop at the house with the green door, driver, said the heavy gentleman. Oh, you perverse creedor, exclaimed one of the vixenish-ladies, drive to the house with the yellow door, cabman. Upon this, the cab man, who, in a sudden effort to pull up at the house with the green door, had pulled the horse up so high that he nearly pulled him backward into the cabriolet, let the animal's forelegs down to the ground again and paused. Now, where am I to pull up? inquired the driver. Settle it among yourselves, all I ask is bear. Here the contest was renewed with increased violence, and the horse being troubled with a fly on his nose, the cab man who mainly employed his leisure in lashing him about on the head on the counter-irritation principle. Most wots carries the day, said one of the vixenish-ladies at length, the house with the yellow door, cabman. But after the cabriolet had dashed up in splendid style to the house with the yellow door, making, as one of the vixenish-ladies triumphantly said, actorally more noise than if one had come in one's own carriage. And after the driver had dismounted to assist the ladies in getting out, the small roundhead of Master Thomas Bardell was thrust out of the one-pair window of a house with the red door a few numbers off. Agra-waiting thing, said the vixenish-lady last, mentioned, darting a withering glance at the heavy gentleman. My dear, it's not my fault, said the gentleman. Don't talk to me, you creed-or, don't, retorted the lady. The house with the red door, cabman. Oh, if ever a woman was troubled with a roughenly creed-or that takes a pride and a pleasure in disgracing his wife on every possible occasion of four strangers, I am that woman. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, rattles, said the other little woman, who was no other than Mrs. Cluppins. What have I been a-doing of, asked Mr. Rattle? Don't talk to me, don't you brute, for fear I should be provoked to forget my sect and strike you, said Mrs. Rattle. While this dialogue was going on, the driver was most ignominiously leading the horse by the bridle up to the house with the red door, which Master Bardell had already opened. Here was a mean and low way of arriving at a friend's house, no dashing up with all the fire and fury of the animal, no jumping down of the driver, no loud knocking at the door, no opening of the apron with a crash at the very last moment for fear of the ladies sitting in a draft, and then the man handing the shawls out afterwards, as if he were a private coachman. The whole edge of the thing had been taken off, it was flatter than walking. Well, Tommy, said Mrs. Cluppins, how's your poor dear mother? Oh, she's very well, replied Master Bardell. She's in the front parlor, all ready. I'm ready, too, I am. Here Master Bardell put his hands in his pockets and jumped off and on the bottom step of the door. Is anybody else going, Tommy? said Mrs. Cluppins, arranging her pellerine. Mrs. Saunders is going, she is, replied Tommy. I'm going, too, I am. Drat, the boy, said little Mrs. Cluppins. He thinks of nobody but himself. Here, Tommy, dear, well, said Master Bardell. Who else is it going, lovey, said Mrs. Cluppins, in an insinuating manner? Oh, Mrs. Rogers is it going, replied Master Bardell, opening his eyes very wide as he delivered the intelligence. What? The lady has taken the lodgings, ejaculated Mrs. Cluppins. Master Bardell put his hands deeper down into his pockets and nodded exactly thirty-five times to imply that it was the lady lodger and no other. Bless us, said Mrs. Cluppins, it's quite a party. Ah, if you knew what was in the cupboard you'd say so, replied Master Bardell. What is there, Tommy? said Mrs. Cluppins coaxingly. You'll tell me, Tommy, I know. No, I won't, replied Master Bardell, shaking his head and applying himself to the bottom step again. Drat, the child, muttered Mrs. Cluppins. What a provoking little wretch it is. Come, Tommy, tell your dear Cluppie. Mother said I wasn't, too, rejoined Master Bardell. I'm going to have some, I am. Cheered by this prospect the precocious boy applied himself to his infantile treadmill with increased vigor. The above examination of a child of tender years took place while Mr. and Mrs. Raddle and the cab driver were having an altercation concerning the fare, which, terminating at this point in favor of the cabin, Mrs. Raddle came up tottering. Lock, Mary Ann, what's the matter? said Mrs. Cluppins. It's put me all over in such a tremble, Betsy, replied Mrs. Raddle. Raddle ain't like a man. He leaves everything to me. This was scarcely fair upon the unfortunate Mr. Raddle, who had been thrust aside by his good lady in the commencement of the dispute and peremptorily commanded to hold his tongue. He had no opportunity of defending himself, however, for Mrs. Raddle gave unequivocal signs of fainting, which being perceived from the parlor window, Mrs. Bardell, Mrs. Saunders, the lodger, and the lodger's servant darted precipitantly out and conveyed her into the house, all talking at the same time and giving utterance to various expressions of pity and condolence as if she were one of the most suffering mortals on earth. Being conveyed into the front parlor, she was there deposited on a sofa, and the lady from the first floor running up to the first floor returned with a bottle of salvolatil, which, holding Mrs. Raddle tight round the neck, she applied an all-womanly kindness and pity to her nose, until that lady, with many plunges and struggles, was feigned to declare herself decidedly better. Ah, poor thing, said Mrs. Rogers. I know what her feelings is too well. Ah, poor thing, so do I, said Mrs. Saunders. And then all the ladies moaned in unison and said they knew what it was, and they pitied her from their hearts they did. Even the lodger's little servant, who was thirteen years old and three feet high, murmured her sympathy. But what's been the matter, said Mrs. Bardell? Ah, what has decomposed you, ma'am? inquired Mrs. Rogers. I have been a good deal flurried, replied Mrs. Raddle in a reproachful manner. Thereupon the ladies cast indignant glances at Mr. Raddle. Why, the fact is, said that unhappy gentleman, stepping forward, when we alighted at this door a dispute arose but the driver of the cabrioli, a loud scream from his wife at the mention of this word, rendered all further explanation inaudible. You'd better leave us to bring her round, Raddle, said Mrs. Clepins. She'll never get better as long as you're here. All the ladies concurred in this opinion. So Mr. Raddle was pushed out of the room and requested to give himself an airing in the backyard, which he did for about a quarter of an hour when Mrs. Bardell announced to him, with a solemn face, that he might come in now but that he must be very careful how he behaved towards his wife. She knew he didn't mean to be unkind, but Mary Ann was very far from strong, and if he didn't take care he might lose her when he least expected it, which would be a very dreadful reflection for him afterwards. And so on. All this Mr. Raddle heard with great submission and presently returned to the parlor in a most lamb-like manner. Why, Mrs. Rogers, ma'am, said Mrs. Bardell, you've never been introduced, I declare. Mr. Raddle, ma'am, Mrs. Clepins, ma'am, Mrs. Raddle, ma'am. Which is Mrs. Clepins' sister, suggested Mrs. Sanders. Oh, indeed, said Mrs. Rogers graciously, for she was the lodger and her servant was in waiting, so she was more gracious than intimate in right of her position. Oh, indeed! Mrs. Raddle smiled sweetly. Mr. Raddle bowed, and Mrs. Clepins said she was sure she was very happy to have an opportunity of being known to a lady which she had heard so much in favor of as Mrs. Rogers. A compliment which the last-named lady acknowledged with graceful condescension. Well, Mr. Raddle, said Mrs. Bardell. I'm sure you ought to feel very much honored at you and Tommy being the only gentlemen to escort so many ladies all the way to the Spaniards at Hampstead. Don't you think he ought Mrs. Rogers, ma'am? Oh, certainly, ma'am, replied Mrs. Rogers, after whom all the other ladies responded, oh, certainly. Of course I feel it, ma'am, said Mr. Raddle, rubbing his hands and evensing a slight tendency to brighten up a little. Indeed, to tell you the truth, I said, as we was a coming along in the cabrioli, at the recapitulation of the word which awakened so many painful recollections, Mrs. Raddle applied her handkerchief to her eyes again and uttered a half-suppressed scream. So that Mrs. Bardell frowned upon Mr. Raddle to intimate that he had better not say anything more and desired Mrs. Rogers' servant with an air to put the wine on. This was the signal for displaying the hidden treasures of the closet, which comprised sundry plates of oranges and biscuits and a bottle of old crusted port. That, at one and nine, with another of the celebrated East India sherry at fourteen pence, which were all produced in honor of the lodger and afforded unlimited satisfaction to everybody. After great consternation had been excited in the mind of Mrs. Cluppins by an attempt on the part of Tommy to recount how he had been cross-examined regarding the cupboard then in action, which was fortunately nipped in the bud by his imbibing half-a-glass of the old crusted the wrong way and thereby endangering his life for some seconds, the party walked forth in quest of a hamstered stage. This was soon found, and in a couple of hours they all arrived safely in the Spaniard's Tea Gardens, where the luckless Mr. Raddle's very first act nearly occasioned his Good Lady a relapse, it being neither more nor less than to order tea for seven, whereas, as the ladies won in all remarks, what could have been easier than for Tommy to have drank out of anybody's cup or everybody's, if that was all, when the waiter wasn't looking, which would have saved one head of tea and the tea just as good. However, there was no help for it, and the tea tray came with seven cups and saucers and bread and butter on the same scale. Mrs. Bardell was unanimously voted into the chair, and Mrs. Rogers, being stationed on her right hand and Mrs. Raddle on her left, the meal proceeded with great merriment and success. How sweet the country is to be sure, said Mrs. Rogers, I almost wish I lived in it always. Oh, you wouldn't like that, ma'am, replied Mrs. Bardell rather hastily, for it was not at all advisable, with reference to the lodgings, to encourage such notions, you wouldn't like it, ma'am. Oh, I should think you was a deal too lively and sought after to be content with the country, ma'am, said Little Mrs. Cluppins. Perhaps I am, ma'am, perhaps I am, said the First Floor Lodger. For lone people as have got nobody to care for them, or take care of them, or as have been heard in their mind, or that kind of thing, observed Mr. Raddle, plucking up a little cheerfulness and looking round, the country is all very well, the country for a wounded spirit, they say. No of all things in the world that the unfortunate man could have said any would have been preferable to this. Of course Mrs. Bardell burst into tears and requested to be led from the table instantly, upon which the affectionate child began to cry too most dismally. Would anybody believe, ma'am, exclaimed Mrs. Raddle, turning fiercely to the First Floor Lodger, that a woman could be married to such an unmanly creedor, which can tamper with a woman's feelings as he does every hour in the day, ma'am? My dear, remonstrated Mr. Raddle, I didn't mean anything, my dear. You didn't mean, repeated Mrs. Raddle, with great scorn and contempt. Go away! I can't bear the sight in you, you brute! You must not flurry yourself, Mary Ann, interposed Mrs. Cluppins. You really must consider yourself, my dear, which you never do. Now go away, Raddle. There's a good soul, or you'll only aggravate her. You had better take your tea by yourself, sir, indeed, said Mrs. Rogers, again applying the smelling bottle. Mrs. Saunders, who according to custom was very busy with the bread and butter, expressed the same opinion, and Mr. Raddle quietly retired. After this there was a great hoisting up of Master Bardell, who was rather a large size for hugging, into his mother's arms, in which operation he got his boots and the teaboard, and occasioned some confusion among the cups and saucers. But that description of fainting fits, which is contagious among ladies, seldom lasts long. So when he had been well-kissed and a little cried over, Mrs. Bardell recovered, set him down again, wondering how she could have been so foolish and poured out some more tea. It was at this moment that the sound of approaching wheels was heard, and that the ladies, looking up, saw a hackney-coach stop at the garden gate. More company, said Mrs. Saunders. It's a gentleman, said Mrs. Raddle. Well, if it ain't Mr. Jackson, the young man from Dodson and Fogg's, cried Mrs. Bardell, like gracious, surely Mr. Pickwood can't have paid the damages. Or Hofford and Marriage, said Mrs. Cluppins. Dear me, how slow the gentleman is, exclaimed Mrs. Rogers, why doesn't he make haste? As the ladies spoke these words, Mr. Jackson turned from the coach where he had been addressing some observations to a shabby man in black leggings, who had just emerged from the vehicle with a thick ash stick in his hand, and made his way to the place where the ladies receded, winding his hair round the brim of his head as he came along. Is anything the matter? Has anything taken place, Mr. Jackson? said Mrs. Bardell, eagerly. Nothing would ever, ma'am, replied Mr. Jackson. How'd he do, ladies? I have to ask pardon ladies for intruding, but the law, ladies, the law. With this apology Mr. Jackson smiled, made a comprehensive bow, and gave his hair another wind. Mrs. Rogers whispered, Mrs. Rattle, that he was really an elegant young man. I called in Goswell Street, resumed Mr. Jackson, and hearing that you were here from the Slavey, took a coach and came on. Our people want you down in the city directly, Mrs. Bardell. Lore, ejaculated that lady, starting at the sudden nature of the communication. Yes, said Mr. Jackson, biting his lip, it's very important in pressing business which can't be postponed on any account. Indeed, Dodson expressly said so, to me, and so did Fogg. I've kept the coach on purpose for you to go back in. How very strange, exclaimed Mrs. Bardell. The ladies agreed that it was very strange, but were unanimously of opinion that it must be very important, or Dodson and Fogg would never have sent, and further that the business being urgent she ought to repair to Dodson and Fogg's without any delay. There was a certain degree of pride and importance about being wanted by one's lawyers in such a monstrous hurry that was by no means displeasing to Mrs. Bardell, especially as it might be reasonably supposed to enhance her consequence in the eyes of the first-floor lodger. She simpered a little, affected extreme vexation and hesitation, and at last arrived at the conclusion that she supposed she must go. But won't you refresh yourself after your walk, Mr. Jackson, said Mrs. Bardell persuasively? Well, really, there ain't much time to lose, replied Jackson. And I've got a friend here, he continued, looking towards the man with the ash stick. Oh, ask your friend to come here, sir, said Mrs. Bardell. Pray, ask your friend here, sir. Why, I think he had rather not, said Mr. Jackson, with some embarrassment of manner. He's not much used to ladies' society, and it makes him bashful. If you'll order the waiter to deliver him anything short, he won't drink it off at once, won't he? Only try him. Mr. Jackson's fingers wandered playfully round his nose at this portion of his discourse to warn his hearers that he was speaking ironically. The waiter was at once dispatched to the bashful gentleman, and the bashful gentleman took something. Mr. Jackson also took something, and the ladies took something for hospitality's sake. Mr. Jackson then said he was afraid it was time to go, upon which Mrs. Saunders, Mrs. Clepins, and Tommy, who it was arranged, should accompany Mrs. Bardell, leaving the others to Mr. Rattle's protection, got into the coach. Isaac, said Jackson, as Mrs. Bardell prepared to get in, looking up at the man with the ash stick, who was seated on the box, smoking a cigar. Well, this is Mrs. Bardell. Oh, I know, that long ago, said the man. Mrs. Bardell got in. Mr. Jackson got in after her, and away they drove. Mrs. Bardell could not help ruminating on what Mr. Jackson's friend had said. Shrewd creatures, those lawyers. Lord bless us, how they find people out. Sad thing about these costs of our peoples, ain't it? said Jackson, when Mrs. Clepins and Mrs. Saunders had fallen asleep. Your bill of costs, I mean. I'm very sorry they can't get them, replied Mrs. Bardell. But if you law gentlemen do these things on speculation, why, you must get a loss now and then, you know. You gave them a cognit for the amount of your costs after the trial, I'm told, said Jackson. Yes, just as a matter of form, replied Mrs. Bardell. Certainly, replied Jackson dryly, quite a matter of form, quite. On they drove, and Mrs. Bardell fell asleep. She was awakened after some time by the stopping of the coach. Bless us, said the lady. Are we at Freeman's Court? We're not going quite so far, replied Jackson. Have the goodness to step out. Mrs. Bardell, not yet thoroughly awake, complied. It was a curious place, a large wall with a gate in the middle and a gas light burning inside. Now ladies cried the man with the ash stick looking into the coach and shaking Mrs. Saunders to wake her. Come, rousing her friend Mrs. Saunders alighted. Mrs. Bardell, leaning on Jackson's arm and leading Tommy by the hand, had already entered the porch. They followed. The room they turned into was even more odd looking than the porch. Such a number of men standing about, and they stared so. What place is this? inquired Mrs. Bardell, pausing. Only one of our public offices replied Jackson, hurrying her through a door and looking round to see that the other women were following. Look sharp, Isaac. Safe and sound replied the man with the ash stick. The door swung heavily after them, and they descended a small flight of steps. Here we are at last, all right and tight, Mrs. Bardell, said Jackson, looking exultingly round. What do you mean, said Mrs. Bardell, with a palpitating heart? Just this, replied Jackson, drawing her a little on one side, don't be frightened, Mrs. Bardell. There never was a more delicate man than Dodson, ma'am, or a more humane man than Fogg. It was their duty in the way of business to take you in execution for them costs, but they were anxious to spare your feelings as much as they could. What a comfort it must be to you to think how it's been done. This is the fleet, ma'am. Wish you good night, Mrs. Bardell. Good night, Tommy. As Jackson hurried away in company with the man with the ash stick, another man with a key in his hand who had been looking on led the bewildered female to a second short flight of steps leading to a doorway. Mrs. Bardell screamed violently. Tommy roared. Mrs. Cluppin shrunk within herself, and Mrs. Saunders made off without more ado. For there stood the injured Mr. Pickwick taking his nightly allowance of air, and beside him lent Samuel Weller, who, seeing Mrs. Bardell, took his hat off with mock reverence while his master turned indignantly on his heel. Don't bother, the woman, said the turned key to Weller. She's just come in. A prisoner, said Sam, quickly replacing his hat. Who's the plaintiffs? What for? Speak up, old feller. Dodson and Fogg replied the man. Execution on Cognitive for Costs. Here, Job! Job! shouted Sam, dashing into the passage. Run to Mr. Perker's Job. I want him directly. I see some good in this. Here's a game. Hooray! There's the governor. But there was no reply to these inquiries. For Job had started furiously off the instant he received his commission, and Mrs. Bardell had fainted in real downright earnest. Chapter 47 is chiefly devoted to matters of business and the temporal advantage of Dodson and Fogg. Mr. Winkle reappears under extraordinary circumstances. Mr. Pickwick's benevolence proves stronger than his obstinacy. Job Trotter, abating nothing of his speed, ran up Holburn, sometimes in the middle of the road, sometimes on the pavement, sometimes in the gutter as the chances of getting along varied with the press of men, women, children, and coaches in each division of the thoroughfare, and regardless of all obstacles, stopped not for an instant until he reached the gate of Grey's Inn. Notwithstanding all the expedition he had used, however, the gate had been closed a good half hour when he reached it, and by the time he had discovered Mr. Perker's laundress, who lived with a married daughter, who had bestowed her hand upon a non-resident waiter, who occupied the one pair of some number in some street closely adjoining to some brewery somewhere behind Grey's Inn Lane, it was within fifteen minutes of closing the prison for the night. Mr. Loudon had still to be ferreted out from the back parlor of the Magpie and Stump, and Job had scarcely accomplished this object and communicated Sam Weller's message when the clock struck ten. There, said Loudon, it's too late now, you can't get in tonight. You've got the key of the street, my friend. Never mind me, replied Job, I can sleep anywhere. But won't it be better to see Mr. Perker to-night so that we may be there the first thing in the morning? Why, responded Loudon, after a little consideration. If it was in anybody else's case, Perker wouldn't be best pleased at my going up to his house. But as it's Mr. Pickwick's, I think I may venture to take a cab and charge it to the office. Deciding on this line of conduct, Mr. Loudon took up his hat and begging the assembled company to appoint a deputy chairman during his temporary absence led the way to the nearest coachstand, summoning the cab of most promising appearance he directed the driver to repair to Montague Place, Russell Square. Mr. Perker had had a dinner party that day, as was testified by the appearance of lights in the drawing room windows, the sound of an improved grand piano and an improvable cabinet voice issuing therefrom, and a rather overpowering smell of meat which pervaded the steps into entry. In fact, a couple of very good country agencies happening to come up to town at the same time, an agreeable little party had been got together to meet them, comprising Mr. Snicks, the life office secretary, Mr. Prozie, the eminent counsel, three solicitors, one commissioner of bankrupts, a special pleader from the temple, a small-eyed, peremptory young gentleman, his pupil who had written a lively book about the law of demises for the vast quantity of marginal notes and references, and several other eminent and distinguished personages. From this society little Mr. Perker detached himself on his clerk being announced in a whisper, and repairing to the dining room there found Mr. Loudon and Job Trotter looking very dim and shadowy by the light of a kitchen candle, which the gentleman who condescended to appear in plush shorts and cottons for a quarterly stipend had with becoming contempt for the clerk and all things appertaining to the office placed upon the table. Now Loudon, said little Mr. Perker, shutting the door, what's the matter? No important letter coming a parcel, is there? No, sir, replied Loudon. This is a messenger from Mr. Pickwick, sir. From Pickwick, eh? said the little man, turning quickly to Job. Well, what is it? Dodson and Fogg have taken Mrs. Bardell in execution for her cost, sir, said Job. No, exclaimed Perker, putting his hands in his pockets and reclining against the sideboard. Yes, said Job. It seems they got a cognit out of her for the amount of them, directly after the trial. By Job, said Perker, taking both hands out of his pockets and striking the knuckles of his right against the palm of his left emphatically. Those are the cleverest scamps I ever had anything to do with. The sharpest practitioners I ever knew, sir, observed Loudon. Sharp! Echoed Perker, there's no knowing where to have them. Very true, sir, there is not, replied Loudon. And then both master and man pondered for a few seconds with animated countenances, as if they were reflecting upon one of the most beautiful and ingenious discoveries that the intellect of man had ever made. When they had in some measure recovered from their trance of admiration, Job Trotter discharged himself of the rest of his commission. Perker nodded his head thoughtfully and pulled out his watch. At ten precisely I will be there, said the little man. Sam is quite right, tell him so. Will you take a glass of wine, Loudon? No, thank you, sir. You mean yes, I think, said the little man, turning to the sideboard for a decanter in glasses. As Loudon did mean yes, he said no more on the subject, but inquired of Job in an audible whisper, whether the portrait of Perker, which hung opposite the fireplace, wasn't a wonderful likeness, to which Job of course replied that it was. The wine, being by this time poured out, Loudon drank to Mrs. Perker and the children, and Job to Perker. The gentleman in the plush shorts and cottons, considering it no part of his duty to show the people from the office out, consistently declined to answer the bell, and they showed themselves out. The attorney betook himself to his drawing-room, the clerk to the magpie and stump, and Job to Covent Garden Market to spend the night in a vegetable basket. Punctually at the appointed hour next morning, the good-humored little attorney tapped at Mr. Pickwick's door, which was opened with great alacrity by Sam Weller. Mr. Perker, sir, said Sam, announcing the visitor to Mr. Pickwick, who was sitting at the window in a thoughtful attitude. Very glad you've looked in accidentally, sir. I rather think the governor wants to have a word and a half with you, sir. Perker bestowed a look of intelligence on Sam, intimating that he understood he was not to say he had been sent for, and beckoning him to approach, whispered briefly in his ear. You don't mean that air, sir, said Sam, starting back an excessive surprise. Perker nodded and smiled. Mr. Samuel Weller looked at the little lawyer, then at Mr. Pickwick, then at the ceiling, then at Perker again, grinned, laughed outright, and finally catching up his hat from the carpet, without further explanation, disappeared. What does this mean, inquired Mr. Pickwick, looking at Perker with astonishment? What has put Sam into this extraordinary state? Oh, nothing, nothing, replied Perker. Come, my dear sir, draw up your chair to the table. I have a good deal to say to you. What papers are those, inquired Mr. Pickwick, as the little man deposited on the table a small bundle of documents tied with red tape? The papers in Bardell and Pickwick, replied Perker, undoing the knot with his teeth. Mr. Pickwick grated the legs of his chair against the ground and, throwing himself into it, folded his hands and looked sternly, if Mr. Pickwick ever could look sternly, at his legal friend. You don't like to hear the name of the cause, said the little man, still busying himself with the knot? No, I do not indeed, replied Mr. Pickwick. Sorry for that, resumed Perker, because it will form the subject of our conversation. I would rather that the subject should never be mentioned between us, Perker, interposed Mr. Pickwick hastily. Poo-poo, my dear sir, said the little man, untying the bundle, and glancing eagerly at Mr. Pickwick out of the corners of his eyes. It must be mentioned. I have come here on purpose. Now, are you ready to hear what I have to say, my dear sir? No hurry, if you are not I can wait. I have this morning's paper here. Your time shall be mine, there. Hereupon the little man threw one leg over the other and made a show of beginning to read with great composure and application. Well, well, said Mr. Pickwick, with a sigh, but softening into a smile at the same time. Say what you have to say. It's the old story, I suppose. With a difference, my dear sir, with a difference, rejoined Perker, deliberately folding up the paper and putting it into his pocket again. Mrs. Bardell, the plaintiff in the action, is within these walls, sir. I know it, was Mr. Pickwick's reply. Very good, retorted Perker. And you know how she comes here, I suppose. I mean, on what grounds and at whose suit? Yes, at least I have heard Sam's account of the matter, said Mr. Pickwick, with affected carelessness. Sam's account of the matter, replied Perker, is I will venture to say a perfectly correct one. Well now, my dear sir, the first question I have to ask is whether this woman is to remain here. To remain here, echoed Mr. Pickwick. To remain here, my dear sir, rejoined Perker, leaning back in his chair and looking steadily at his client. How can you ask me? said that gentleman. It rests with Dodson and Fogg. You know that very well. I know nothing of the kind, retorted Perker firmly. It does not rest with Dodson and Fogg. You know the men, my dear sir, as well as I do. It rests solely, wholly, and entirely with you. With me, ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, rising nervously from his chair and receding himself directly afterwards, the little man gave a double knock on the lid of his snuff box, opened it, took a great pinch, shut it up again, and repeated the words with you. I say, my dear sir, resumed the little man, who seemed to gather confidence from the snuff. I say that her speedy liberation or perpetual imprisonment rests with you and with you alone. Hear me out, my dear sir, if you please, and do not be so very energetic, for it will only put you into a perspiration and do no good whatever. I say, continued Perker, checking off each position on a different finger, as he laid it down. I say that nobody but you can rescue her from this den of wretchedness, and that you can only do that by paying the costs of this suit, both of plaintive and defendant, into the hands of these Freeman Court Sharks. Now pray be quiet, my dear sir. Mr. Pickwick, whose face had been undergoing most surprising changes during this speech, and was evidently on the verge of a strong burst of indignation, calmed his wrath as well as he could. Perker, strengthening his argumentative powers with another pinch of snuff, proceeded, I have seen the woman this morning. By paying the costs, you can obtain a full release and discharge from the damages. And further, this, I know, is a far greater object of consideration with you, my dear sir. A voluntary statement, under her hand, in the form of a letter to me, that this business was, from the very first, fomented and encouraged and brought about by these mendads and in fog, that she deeply regrets ever having been the instrument of annoyance or injury to you, and that she entreats me to intercede with you and implore your pardon. If I pay her costs for her, said Mr. Pickwick indignantly, a valuable document indeed. No if in the case, my dear sir, said Perker triumphantly, there is the very letter I speak of, brought to my office by another woman at nine o'clock this morning, before I had set foot in this place or held any communication with Mrs. Bardell upon my honour. Selecting the letter from the bundle, the little lawyer laid it at Mr. Pickwick's elbow and took snuff for two consecutive minutes without winking. Is this all you have to say to me, inquired Mr. Pickwick mildly? Not quite, replied Perker. I cannot undertake to say at this moment, whether the wording of the cognit, the nature of the ostensible consideration, and the proof we can get together about the whole conduct of the suit, will be sufficient to justify an indictment for conspiracy. I fear not, my dear sir. They are too clever for that, I doubt. I do mean to say, however, that the whole facts, taken together, will be sufficient to justify you in the minds of all reasonable men. And now, my dear sir, I put it to you. This one hundred and fifty pounds, or whatever it may be, taken in round numbers, is nothing to you. A jury had decided against you, while their verdict is wrong, but still they decided as they thought right, and it is against you. You have now an opportunity, on easy terms, of placing yourself in a much higher position than you ever could by remaining here, which would only be imputed by people who didn't know you, to sheer dogged wrong-headed brutal obstinacy. Nothing else, my dear sir, believe me. Can you hesitate to avail yourself of it, when it restores you to your friends, your old pursuits, your health and amusements, when it liberates your faithful and detached servant, whom you otherwise doomed to imprisonment for the whole of your life, and above all, when it enables you to take the very magnanimous revenge, which I know, my dear sir, is one after your own heart, of releasing this woman from a scene of misery and debauchery to which no man should ever be consigned, if I had my will, but the inflection of which, on any woman, is even more frightful and barbarous. Now I ask you, my dear sir, not only as your legal advisor, but as your very true friend, will you let slip the occasion of attaining all these objects, and doing all this good, for the paltry consideration of a few pounds finding their way into the pockets of a couple of rascals, to whom it makes no manner of difference, except that the more they gain, the more they'll seek, and so the sooner be led into some piece of navery that must end in a crash? And I have put these considerations to you, my dear sir, very feebly and imperfectly, but I ask you to think of them. Turn them over in your mind as long as you please. I wait here most patiently for your answer. Before Mr. Pickwick could reply, before Mr. Perker had taken one twentieth part of the snuff, with which so unusually long in address, imperatively required to be followed up, there was a low murmuring of voices outside, and then a hesitating knock at the door. Dear, dear, exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who had been evidently roused by his friend's appeal, what an annoyance that door is! Who is that? Me, sir, replied Sam Weller, putting in his head. I can't speak to you just now, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick. I am engaged at this moment, Sam. Beg your pardon, sir, rejoined Mr. Weller. But here's a lady here, sir, as says she's something very particular to disclose. I can't see any lady, replied Mr. Pickwick, whose mind was filled with visions of Mrs. Bardell. I wouldn't make too sure of that, sir, urged Mr. Weller, shaking his head. A few note who was near, sir, I rather think you'd change your note, as the hawk remarked to himself that the cheerful laugh then he heard the robin-red breast a-singin' round the corner. Who is it? inquired Mr. Pickwick. Will you see her, sir? asked Mr. Weller, holding the door in his hand, as if he had some curious live animal on the other side. I suppose I must, said Mr. Pickwick, looking at Perker. Well then, all in to begin, cried Sam, sound the gong, drop the curtain, and enter the two conspirators. As Sam Weller spoke, he threw the door open, and there rushed tumultuously into the room Mr. Nathaniel Winkle, leading after him by the hand, the identical young lady, who at Dingley Dell had worn the boots with the fur round the tops, and who, now a very pleasing compound of blushes and confusion, and lilac silk and a smart bonnet and a rich lace veil, looked prettier than ever. Miss Aravella Allen, exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, rising from his chair. No, replied Mr. Winkle, dropping on his knees. Mrs. Winkle. Pardon, my dear friend, pardon. Mr. Pickwick could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses, and perhaps would not have done so, but for the corroborative testimony afforded by the smiling countenance of Perker, and the bodily presence in the background of Sam and the pretty housemaid, who appeared to contemplate the proceedings with the liveliest satisfaction. Oh, Mr. Pickwick, said Aravella in a low voice, as if alarmed at the silence. Can you forgive my imprudence? Mr. Pickwick returned no verbal response to this appeal, but he took off his spectacles in great haste, and, seizing both the young lady's hands in his, kissed her a great number of times—perhaps a greater number than was absolutely necessary—and then, still retaining one of her hands, told Mr. Winkle he was an audacious young dog and bade him get up. This, Mr. Winkle, who had been for some seconds scratching his nose with the brim of his hat in a penitent manner, did. Whereupon Mr. Pickwick slapped him on the back several times, and then shook hands heartily with Perker, who, not to be behind hand in the compliments of the occasion, saluted both the bride and the pretty housemaid with right goodwill, and, having rung Mr. Winkle's hand most cordially, wound up his demonstrations of joy by taking snuff enough to set any half-dozen men with ordinarily constructed noses as sneezing for life. Why, my dear girl, said Mr. Pickwick, how has all this come about? Come, sit down and let me hear it all. How well she looks, doesn't she, Perker? added Mr. Pickwick, surveying Arabella's face with a look of as much pride and exultation as if she had been his daughter. Delightful, my dear sir, replied the little man. If I were not a married man myself, I should be disposed to envy you, you dog. Thus expressing himself, the little lawyer gave Mr. Winkle a poke in the chest, which that gentleman reciprocated, after which they both laughed very loudly, but not so loudly as Mr. Samuel Weller, who had just relieved his feelings by kissing the pretty housemaid under cover of the covered door. I can never be grateful enough to you, Sam, I am sure, said Arabella, with a sweetest smile imaginable. I shall not forget your exertions in the garden at Clifton. Don't say nothing whatever about it, ma'am, replied Sam. I only assisted Nader, ma'am, as the doctor said to the boy's mother, after he'd led him to death. Mary, my dear, sit down, said Mr. Pickwick, cutting short these compliments. Now then, how long have you been married, eh? Arabella looked bashfully at her lord and master, who replied, Only three days. Only three days, eh? said Mr. Pickwick. Why, what have you been doing these three months? Ah, to be sure, interposed perker. Come, account for this idleness. You see, Mr. Pickwick's only astonishment is that it wasn't all over months ago. Why, the fact is, replied Mr. Winkle, looking at his blushing young wife, that I could not persuade Bella to run away for a long time. And when I had persuaded her, it was a long time more before we could find an opportunity. Mary had to give a month's mourning, too, before she could leave her place next door, and we couldn't possibly have done it without her assistance. Upon my word, exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who by this time had resumed his spectacles, and was looking from Arabella to Winkle, and from Winkle to Arabella, with as much delight depicted in his countenance as warm-heartedness and kindly feeling can communicate to the human face. Upon my word, you seem to have been very systematic in your proceedings. And is your brother acquainted with all this, my dear? Oh, no, no, replied Arabella, changing color. Dear Mr. Pickwick, he must only know it from you, from your lips alone. He is so violent, so prejudiced, and has been so anxious in behalf of his friend Mr. Sawyer, added Arabella, looking down, that I fear the consequences dreadfully. Ah, to be sure, said Perker Gravely, you must take this matter in hand for them, my dear sir. These young men will respect you when they would listen to nobody else. You must prevent mischief, my dear sir, hot blood, hot blood. And the little man took a warning pinch and shook his head doubtfully. You forget my love, said Mr. Pickwick gently. You forget that I am a prisoner. No, indeed I do not, my dear sir, replied Arabella. I never have forgotten it. I have never ceased to think how great your sufferings must have been in this shocking place. But I hoped that what no consideration for yourself would induce you to do, a regard to our happiness might. If my brother hears of this, first from you, I feel certain we shall be reconciled. He is my only relation in the world, Mr. Pickwick, and unless you plead for me, I fear I have lost even him. I have done wrong, very, very wrong, I know. Here poor Arabella hid her face in her handkerchief and wept bitterly. Mr. Pickwick's nature was a good deal worked upon by these same tears. But when Mrs. Winkle, drying her eyes, took to coaxing and in treating in the sweetest tones of a very sweet voice, he became particularly restless and evidently undecided how to act, as was evinced by sundry nervous rubbings of his spectacle glasses, nose, tights, head, and gaiters. Taking advantage of these symptoms of indecision, Mr. Perker, to whom it appeared the young couple had driven straight that morning, urged with legal point and shrewdness that Mr. Winkle, Sr., was still unacquainted with the important rise in life's flight of steps which his son had taken. That the future expectations of the said son depended entirely upon the said Winkle, Sr., continuing to regard him with undiminished feelings of affection and attachment, which it was very unlikely he would if this great event were long kept a secret from him. That Mr. Pickwick, repairing to Bristol to seek Mr. Allen, might with equal reason repair to Birmingham to seek Mr. Winkle, Sr. Lastly, that Mr. Winkle, Sr., had good right and title to consider Mr. Pickwick as in some degree the guardian and advisor of his son, and that it consequently behoved that gentleman and was indeed, due to his personal character, to acquaint the aforesaid Winkle, Sr., personally, and by word of mouth, with the whole circumstances of the case and with the share he had taken in the transaction. Mr. Topman and Mr. Snodgrass arrived most opportunity in this stage of the pleadings, and as it was necessary to explain to them all that had occurred, together with the various reasons, pro and con, the whole of the arguments were gone over again, after which everybody urged every argument in his own way and in his own way. And at last Mr. Pickwick, fairly argued and remonstrated out of all his resolutions, and being in imminent danger of being argued and remonstrated out of his wits, caught Arabella in his arms and declaring that she was a very amiable creature and that he didn't know how it was, but he had always been very fond of her from the first, said he could never find it in his heart to stand in the way of young people's happiness, and they might do with him as they pleased. Mr. Weller's first act on hearing this concession was to dispatch Job Trotter to the illustrious Mr. Pell with an authority to deliver to the bearer the formal discharge which his prudent parent had had the foresight to leave in the hands of that learned gentleman in case it should be at any time required on an emergency. His next proceeding was to invest his whole stock of ready money in the purchase of five and twenty gallons of mild porter, which he himself dispensed on the racket-ground to everybody who would partake of it. This done he hurried in diverse parts of the building until he lost his voice and then quietly relapsed into his usual collected and philosophical condition. At three o'clock that afternoon Mr. Pickwick took a last look at his little room and made his way, as well as he could, through the throng of debtors who pressed eagerly forward to shake him by the hand until he reached the lodge steps. He turned here to look about him and his eye lightened as he did so. In all the crowd of one emaciated faces he saw not one which was not happier for his sympathy and charity. Perker, said Mr. Pickwick, beckoning one young man towards him. This is Mr. Jingle whom I spoke to you about. Very good, my dear sir, replied Perker, looking hard at Jingle. You will see me again, young man, tomorrow. I hope you may live to remember and feel deeply what I shall have to communicate, sir. Jingle bowed respectfully, trembled very much as he took Mr. Pickwick's proffered hand and withdrew. Job, you know, I think, said Mr. Pickwick, presenting that gentleman. I know the rascal, replied Perker good humoredly. See after your friend and be in the way tomorrow at one. Do you hear? Now, is there anything more? Nothing, rejoined Mr. Pickwick. You have delivered the little parcel I gave you for your old landlord, Sam. I have, sir, replied Sam. He bust out a crying, sir, and said, You was very generous and thoughtful, and he only wished you could have him inoculated for a galloping consumption for his old friend as had lived here so long was dead, and he'd nowhere as to look for another. Poor fellow, poor fellow, said Mr. Pickwick. God bless you, my friends. As Mr. Pickwick uttered this adieu, the crowd raised a loud shout. Many among them were pressing forward to shake him by the hand again when he drew his arm through Perker's and hurried from the prison, far more sad and melancholy for the moment than when he had first entered it. Alas, how many sad and unhappy beings had he left behind? A happy evening was that for at least one party in the Georgian vulture, and light and cheerful were two of the hearts that emerged from its hospitable door next morning. The owners thereof were Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller, the former of whom was speedily deposited inside a comfortable post-coach with a little dicky behind in which the ladder mounted with great agility. Sir called out Mr. Weller to his master. Well, Sam, replied Mr. Pickwick, thrusting his head out of the window. I wish them horses had been three months and better in the fleet, sir. Why, Sam, inquired Mr. Pickwick. Why, sir, exclaimed Mr. Weller, rubbing his hands, how they would go if they had been. CHAPTER 48 Relates how Mr. Pickwick, with the assistance of Samuel Weller, assayed to soften the heart of Mr. Benjamin Allen and to mollify the wrath of Mr. Robert Sawyer. Mr. Ben Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer sat together in the little surgery behind the shop discussing minced veal and future prospects, when the discourse, not unnaturally, turned upon the practice acquired by Bob the aforesaid and his present chances of deriving a competent independence from the honorable profession to which he had devoted himself, which I think, observed Mr. Bob Sawyer, pursuing the thread of the subject, which I think, Ben, are rather dubious. What's rather dubious, inquired Mr. Ben Allen, at the same time sharpening his intellect with a draft of beer. What's dubious? Why, the chances, responded Mr. Bob Sawyer. I forgot, said Mr. Ben Allen. The beer has reminded me that I forgot, Bob. Yes, they are dubious. It's wonderful how the poor people patronize me, said Mr. Bob Sawyer reflectively. They knock me up at all hours of the night. They take medicine to an extent which I should have conceived impossible. They put on blisters and leeches, but the perseverance worthy of a better cause. They make additions to their families in a manner which is quite awful. Six of those last named little promissory notes all do on the same day, Ben, and all entrusted to me. It's very gratifying, isn't it? Said Mr. Ben Allen, holding his plate for some more minced veal. Oh, very, replied Bob. Only not quite so much, so is the confidence of patients with a shilling or two to spare would be. This business was capitely described in the advertisement, Ben. It is a practice, a very extensive practice. And that's all. Bob, said Mr. Ben Allen, laying down his knife and fork and fixing his eyes on the visage of his friend. Bob, I'll tell you what it is. What is it? inquired Mr. Bob Sawyer. You must make yourself with as little delay as possible, master of Arabella's one thousand pounds. Three percent consolidated bank annuities now standing in her name in the book or books of the governor and company of the Bank of England, added Bob Sawyer, in legal phraseology. Exactly so, said Ben. She has it when she comes of age or marries. She wants a year of coming of age, and if you plucked up a spirit she needed what a month of being married. She's a very charming and delightful creature, quote Mr. Robert Sawyer in reply, and has only one fault that I know of, Ben. It happens, unfortunately, that that single blemish is a want of taste. She don't like me. It's my opinion that she don't know what she does like, said Mr. Ben Allen contemptuously. Perhaps not, remarked Mr. Bob Sawyer, but it's my opinion that she does know what she doesn't like, and that's of more importance. I wish, said Mr. Ben Allen, setting his teeth together and speaking more like a savage warrior who fed on raw wolf's flesh, which he carved with his fingers, than a peaceable young gentleman who ate minced veal with a knife and fork. I wish I knew whether any rascal really has been tampering with her and attempting to engage her affections. I think I should assassinate him, Bob. I'd put a bullet in him if I found him out, said Mr. Sawyer, stopping in the course of a long draft of beer and looking malignantly out of the porter-pot. If that didn't do his business, I'd extract it afterwards and kill him that way. Mr. Benjamin Allen gazed abstractedly on his friend for some minutes in silence and then said, You have never proposed to her point blank, Bob? No, because I saw it would be of no use, replied Mr. Robert Sawyer. You shall do it before you are twenty-four hours older, retorted Ben, with desperate calmness. She shall have you, or I'll know the reason why. I'll exert my authority. Well, said Mr. Bob Sawyer, we shall see. We shall see, my friend, replied Mr. Ben Allen, fiercely. He paused for a few seconds and added in a voice broken by emotion. You have loved her from a child, my friend. You loved her when we were boys at school together, and even then she was wayward and slighted your young feelings. Do you recollect with all the eagerness of a child's love one day pressing upon her acceptance two small caraway seed biscuits and one sweet apple neatly folded into a circular parcel with the leaf of a copybook? I do, replied Bob Sawyer. She slighted that, I think, said Ben Allen. She did, rejoined Bob. She said I had kept the parcel so long in the pockets of my corduroys that the apple was unpleasantly warm. I remember, said Mr. Allen gloomily, upon which we aided ourselves in alternate bites. Bob Sawyer intimated his recollection of the circumstance last alluded to by a melancholy frown, and the two friends remained for some time absorbed, each in his own meditations. While these observations were being exchanged between Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen, and while the boy in the gray livery, marveling at the unwanted prolongation of the dinner, cast an anxious look from time to time towards the glass door, distracted by inward misgivings regarding the amount of minced veal which would be ultimately reserved for his individual cravings. They rolled soberly on through the streets of Bristol a private fly, painted of a sad green color, drawn by a chubby sort of brown horse, and driven by a surly-looking man with his legs dressed like the legs of a groom and his body attired in the coat of a coachman. Such appearances are common to many vehicles belonging to, and maintained by, old ladies of economic habits, and in this vehicle sat an old lady who was its mistress and proprietor. Martin, said the old lady, calling to the surly man out of the front window. Well, said the surly man, touching his hat to the old lady. Mr. Sawyer's, said the old lady. I was going there, said the surly man. The old lady nodded the satisfaction which this proof of the surly man's foresight imparted to her feelings, and the surly man, giving a smart lash to the chubby horse, they all repaired to Mr. Bob Sawyer's together. Martin, said the old lady, when the fly stopped at the door of Mr. Robert Sawyer, late Nakamorf. Well, said Martin, asked the lad to step out and mine the horse. I'm going to mine the horse myself, said Martin, laying his whip on the roof of the fly. I can't permit it on any account, said the old lady. Your testimony will be very important, and I must take you into the house with me. You must not stir from my side during the whole interview. Do you hear? I hear, replied Martin. Well, what are you stopping for? Nothing, replied Martin. So saying, the surly man leisurely descended from the wheel, on which he had been poising himself on the tops of the toes of his right foot, and having summoned the boy in the grand livery, opened the coach door, flung down the steps, and thrusting in a hand enveloped in a dark wash leather glove, pulled out the old lady with as much unconcern in his manner as if she were a band box. Dear me, exclaimed the old lady, I am so flurried. Now I have got here, Martin, that I'm all in a tremble. Mr. Martin coughed behind the dark wash leather gloves, but expressed no sympathy. So the old lady, composing herself, trotted up Mr. Bob Sawyer's steps, and Mr. Martin followed. Immediately on the old ladies entering the shop, Mr. Benjamin Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been putting the spirits in water out of sight and upsetting nauseous drugs to take off the smell of the tobacco smoke, issued hastily forth in a transport of pleasure and affection. My dear aunt, exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen, how kind of you to look in upon us. Mr. Sawyer, aunt, my friend, Mr. Bob Sawyer, whom I have spoken to you about regarding, you know, aunt. And here, Mr. Ben Allen, who was not at the moment extraordinarily sober, added the word aribella in what was meant to be a whisper, but which was an especially audible and distinct tone of speech which nobody could avoid hearing if anybody were so disposed. My dear Benjamin, said the old lady, struggling with a great shortness of breath and trembling from head to foot, don't be alarmed, my dear, but I think I had better speak to Mr. Sawyer alone for a moment, only for one moment. Bob, said Mr. Allen, will you take my aunt into the surgery? Certainly, responded Bob in a most professional voice. Step this way, my dear ma'am, don't be frightened, ma'am, we shall be able to set you to rights in a very short time. I have no doubt, ma'am. Here, my dear ma'am, now then. With this, Mr. Bob Sawyer, having handed the old lady to a chair, shut the door, drew another chair close to her, and waited to hear detailed the symptoms of some disorder from which he saw in perspective a long train of profits and advantages. The first thing the old lady did was to shake her head a great many times and began to cry. Nervous, said Bob Sawyer complacently, camp for julep and water three times a day and composing graft at night. I don't know how to begin, Mr. Sawyer, said the old lady. It is so very painful and distressing. You need not begin, ma'am, rejoined Mr. Bob Sawyer. I can anticipate all you would say. The head is in fault. I should be very sorry to think it was the heart, said the old lady, with a slight groan. Not the slightest danger of that, ma'am, replied Bob Sawyer. The stomach is the primary cause. Mr. Sawyer exclaimed the old lady, starting. Not the least out of it, ma'am, rejoined Bob, looking wondrous wise. Medicine in time, my dear ma'am, would have prevented it all. Mr. Sawyer, said the old lady, more flurry than before. This conduct is either great impertence to one in my situation, sir, or it arises from your not understanding the object of my visit. If it had been in the power of medicine or any foresight I could have used to prevent what has occurred, I should certainly have done so. I had better see my nephew at once, said the old lady, twirling her reticule indignantly and rising as she spoke. Stop a moment, ma'am, said Bob Sawyer. I'm afraid I have not understood you. What is the matter, ma'am? My niece, Mr. Sawyer, said the old lady, your friend's sister. Yes, ma'am, said Bob, all impatient. For the old lady, although much agitated, spoke with the most tantalizing deliberation as old ladies often do. Yes, ma'am. Left my home, Mr. Sawyer, three days ago on a pretended visit to my sister, another aunt of hers, who keeps the large boarding school just beyond the third milestone, where there is a very large labyrinthum tree and an oak gate, said the old lady, stopping in this place to dry her eyes. Oh, devil, take the labyrinthum tree, ma'am, said Bob, quite forgetting his professional dignity and his anxiety. Get on a little faster, put a little more steam on, ma'am, pray. This morning, said the old lady slowly, this morning she came back, ma'am, I suppose, said Bob with great animation. Did she come back? No, she did not. She wrote, replied the old lady. What did she say, inquired Bob eagerly. She said, Mr. Sawyer, replied the old lady. And it is this I want to prepare Benjamin's mind for, gently and by degrees. She said that she was, I have got the letter in my pocket, Mr. Sawyer, but my glasses are in the carriage, and I should only waste your time if I attempted to point out the passage to you without them. She said in short, Mr. Sawyer, that she was married. What? Said, or rather shouted, Mr. Bob Sawyer. Married, repeated the old lady. Mr. Bob Sawyer stopped to hear no more, but darting from the surgery into the outer shop, cried in a stentorian voice, Ben, my boy, she's bolted. Mr. Ben Allen, who had been slumbering behind the counter with his head half a foot or so below his knees, no sooner heard this appalling communication than he made a precipitant rush at Mr. Martin, and twisting his hand in the neckcloth of that taciturn servitor, expressed an obliging intention of choking him where he stood. This intention, with a promptitude often the effect of desperation, he at once commenced carrying into execution with much vigor and surgical skill. Mr. Martin, who was a man of few words and possessed but little power of eloquence or persuasion, submitted to this operation with a very calm and agreeable expression of countenance for some seconds, finding, however, that it threatened speedily to lead to a result which would place it beyond his power to claim any wages, bored or otherwise, in all time to come, he muttered an inarticulate remonstrance and felled Mr. Benjamin Allen to the ground. As that gentleman had his hands entangled in his cravat, he had no alternative but to follow him to the floor. There they both lay struggling when the shop door opened and the party was increased by the arrival of two most unexpected visitors, to Witt, Mr. Pickwick, and Mr. Samuel Weller. The impression at once produced on Mr. Weller's mind by what he saw was that Mr. Martin was hired by the establishment of Sawyer, late Nakamorf, to take strong medicine or to go into fits and be experimentalized upon, or to swallow poison now and then with a view of testing the efficacy of some new antidotes, or to do something or other to promote the great science of medicine and gratify the ardent spirit of inquiry burning in the bosoms of its two young professors. So without presuming to interfere, Sam stood perfectly still and looked on as if he were mildly interested in the result of the then-pending experiment. Not so, Mr. Pickwick. He at once threw himself on the astonished combatants with his accustomed energy and loudly called upon the bystanders to interpose. This roused Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been hitherto quite paralyzed by the frenzy of his companion. With that gentleman's assistance, Mr. Pickwick raised Ben Allen to his feet. Mr. Martin, finding himself alone on the floor, got up and looked about him. Mr. Allen, said Mr. Pickwick, what is the matter, sir? Never mind, sir, replied Mr. Allen with haughty defiance. What is it? inquired Mr. Pickwick, looking at Bob Sawyer. Is he unwell? Before Bob could reply, Mr. Ben Allen seized Mr. Pickwick by the hand and murmured in sorrowful accents, My sister, my dear sir, my sister. Oh, is that all? said Mr. Pickwick. We shall easily arrange that matter, I hope. Your sister is safe and well, and I am here, my dear sir, to Sorry to do anything, as may cause an interruption to such very pleasant proceedings, as the king said, when he dissolved the parliament, interposed Mr. Weller, who had been peeping through the glass door. But there's another experiment here, sir. Here's a winterable old lady, a lion on the carpet waiting for dissection, or galwanism, or some other rewiving and scientific invention. I forgot, exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen. It is my aunt. Dear me, said Mr. Pickwick, poor lady. Gently, Sam, gently. Strange sedivation for one of the family, observed Sam Weller, hoisting the aunt into a chair. Now deputies saw bones, bring out the walletilly. The latter observation was addressed to the boy in gray, who, having handed over the fly to the care of the streetkeeper, had come back to see what all the noise was about. Between the boy in gray and Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen, who, having frightened his aunt into a fainting fit, was affectionately solicitous for her recovery, the old lady was at length restored to consciousness. Then Mr. Ben Allen, turning with a puzzled countenance to Mr. Pickwick, asked him what he was about to say when he had been so alarmingly interrupted. We are all friends here, I presume, said Mr. Pickwick, clearing his voice, and looking towards the man of few words with the surly countenance who drove the fly with the chubby horse. This reminded Mr. Bob Sawyer that the boy in gray was looking on, with eyes wide open and greedy ears. The incipient chemist, having been lifted up by his coat collar and dropped outside the door, Bob Sawyer assured Mr. Pickwick that he might speak without reserve. Your sister, my dear sir, said Mr. Pickwick, turning to Benjamin Allen, is in London well and happy. Her happiness is no object to me, sir, said Benjamin Allen with a flourish of the hand. Her husband is an object to me, sir, said Bob Sawyer. He should be an object to me, sir, at twelve paces and a pretty object I'll make of him, sir, a mean-spirited scoundrel. This, as it stood, was a very pretty denunciation and magnanimous with all. But Mr. Bob Sawyer rather weakened its effect by winding up with some general observations concerning the punching of heads and knocking out of eyes, which were commonplace by comparison. Stay, sir, said Mr. Pickwick. Before you apply those epithets to the gentleman in question, consider dispassionately the extent of his fault and above all remember that he is a friend of mine. What? said Mr. Bob Sawyer. His name, cried Ben Allen, his name. Mr. Nathaniel Winkle, said Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Benjamin Allen deliberately crushed his spectacles beneath the heel of his boot and, having picked up the pieces and put them into three separate pockets, folded his arms, bit his lips, and looked in a threatening manner at the bland features of Mr. Pickwick. Then it's you, is it, sir, who have encouraged and brought about this match, inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen at length. And it's this gentleman's servant, I suppose, interrupt of the old lady, who has been skulking about my house and endeavouring to entrap my servants to conspire against their mistress, Martin. Well, said the surly man, coming forward. Is that the young man you saw in the lane whom you told me about this morning? Mr. Martin, who, as it has already appeared, was a man of few words, looked at Sam Weller, nodded his head and growled forth. That's the man. Mr. Weller, who was never proud, gave a smile of friendly recognition as his eyes encountered those of the surly groom, and admitted in courteous terms that he had known him afore. And this is the faithful creature, exclaimed Mr. Ben Allen, whom I had nearly suffocated. Mr. Pickwick, how dare you allow your fellow to be employed in the abduction of my sister. I demand that you explain this matter, sir. Explain it, sir, cried Mr. Bob Sawyer fiercely. It's a conspiracy, said Ben Allen. A regular plant, added Mr. Bob Sawyer. A disgraceful imposition, observed the old lady. Nothing but a do, remarked Martin. Pray hear me, urged Mr. Pickwick, as Mr. Ben Allen fell into a chair that patients were bled in and gave way to his pocket handkerchief. I have rendered no assistance in this matter beyond being present at one interview between the young people, which I could not prevent, and from which I conceived my presence would remove any slight coloring of impropriety that it might otherwise have had. This is the whole share I have had in the transaction, and I had no suspicion that an immediate marriage was even contemplated. Though mine, added Mr. Pickwick hastily checking himself, mind I do not say I should have prevented it if I had known that it was intended. You hear that, all of you? You hear that? said Mr. Ben Allen. I hope they do, mildly observed Mr. Pickwick looking round, and, added that gentleman, his color mounting as he spoke, I hope they hear this, sir, also. That from what has been stated to me, sir, I assert that you were by no means justified in attempting to force your sister's inclinations as you did, and that you should rather have endeavored by your kindness and forbearance to have supplied the place of other, nearer relations whom she had never known from a child. As regards my young friend, I must beg to add that in every point of worldly advantage he is at least on an equal footing with yourself, if not on a much better one, and that unless I hear this question discussed with becoming temper and moderation I decline hearing any more set upon the subject. I wish to make a very few remarks in addition to what has been put forward by the honorable gentleman as has just give over, said Mr. Weller, stepping forth, which is this here. A individual in company has called me a feller. That has nothing whatever to do with the matter, Sam, and to propose Mr. Pickwick, pray hold your tongue. I ain't going to say nothing on that air pint, sir, replied Sam, but merely this here. Perhaps that gentleman may think as there was a priori attachment, but there warn't nothing of the sort, for the young lady said in the very beginning of the keeping company that she couldn't abide him. Nobody's cut him out, and it had have been just the very same for him if the young lady had never seen Mr. Winkle. That's what I wish to say, sir, and I hope I've now made that air gentleman's mind easy. A short pause followed these consolatory remarks of Mr. Weller. Then Mr. Ben Allen, rising from his chair, protested that he would never see Arabella's face again, while Mr. Bob Sawyer, despite Sam's flattering assurance, vowed dreadful vengeance on the happy bridegroom. But just when matters were at their height and threatening to remain so, Mr. Pickwick found a powerful assistant in the old lady, who evidently much struck by the mode in which he had advocated her niece's cause, ventured to approach Mr. Benjamin Allen with a few comforting reflections, of which the chief were that after all, perhaps, it was while it was no worse. The least said the soonest mended, and upon her word she did not know that it was so very bad after all. What was over couldn't be begun, and what couldn't be cured must be endured, with various other assurances of the like novel and strengthening description. To all of these Mr. Benjamin Allen replied that he meant no disrespect to his aunt or anybody there. But if it were all the same to them, and they would allow him to have his own way, he would rather have the pleasure of hating his sister till death and after it. At length, when this determination had been announced half a hundred times, the old lady, suddenly bridling up and looking very majestic, wished to know what she had done that no respect was to be paid to her years or station, and that she should be obliged to beg and pray in that way of her own nephew, whom she remembered about five and twenty years before he was born, and whom she had known personally when he had a tooth in his head to say nothing of her presence on the first occasion of his having his hair cut and assistance at numerous other times in ceremonies during his babyhood of sufficient importance to found a claim upon his affection, obedience, and sympathies for ever. While the good lady was bestowing this objugation on Mr. Ben Allen, Bob Sawyer and Mr. Pickwick had retired in close conversation to the inner room, where Mr. Sawyer was observed to apply himself several times to the mouth of a black bottle, under the influence of which his features gradually assumed a cheerful and even jovial expression. And at last he emerged from the room, bottle in hand, and remarking that he was very sorry to say he had been making a fool of himself, begged to propose the health and happiness of Mr. and Mrs. Winkle, whose felicity so far from envying he would be the first to congratulate them upon. Hearing this, Mr. Ben Allen suddenly arose from his chair and seizing the black bottle drank the toast so heartily that the liquor being strong he became nearly as black in the face as the bottle. Finally the black bottle went round till it was empty, and there was so much shaking of hands and interchanging of compliments that even the metal-visaged Mr. Martin condescended to smile. And now, said Bob Sawyer, rubbing his hands, will have a jolly night. I am sorry, said Mr. Pickwick, that I must return to my inn. I have not been accustomed to fatigue lately, and my journey has tired me exceedingly. You'll take some tea, Mr. Pickwick, said the old lady, with irresistible sweetness. Thank you, I would rather not, replied that gentleman. The truth is that the old lady's evidently increasing admiration was Mr. Pickwick's principal inducement for going away. He thought of Mrs. Bardell, in every glance of the old lady's eyes, threw him into a cold perspiration. As Mr. Pickwick could, by no means, be prevailed upon to stay, it was arranged at once, on his own proposition, that Mr. Benjamin Allen should accompany him on his journey to the Elder Mr. Winkles, and that the coach should be at the door at nine o'clock next morning. He then took his leave, and followed by Samuel Weller repaired to the bush. It is worthy of remark that Mr. Martin's face was horribly convulsed as he shook hands with Sam at party. And that he gave vent to a smile and an oath, simultaneously, from which tokens it has been inferred by those who were best acquainted with that gentleman's peculiarities, that he expressed himself much pleased with Mr. Weller's society, and requested the honour of his further acquaintance. Shall I order a private room, sir? inquired Sam, when they reached the bush. Why, no, Sam, replied Mr. Pickwick, as I dined in the coffee-room, and shall go to bed soon, and is hardly worthwhile. See who there is in the traveller's room, Sam. Mr. Weller departed on his errand, and presently returned to say that there was only a gentleman with one eye, and that he and the landlord were drinking a bowl of bishop together. I will join them, said Mr. Pickwick. He is a queer customer of the van Eyed Bun, sir, observed Mr. Weller as he led the way. He is a gammon in that air, landlord, he is, sir, till he don't rightly know whether he is a standing on the soles of his boots or the crown of his hat. The individual, to whom this observation referred, was sitting at the upper end of the room when Mr. Pickwick entered, and was smoking a large Dutch pipe with his eye intently fixed on the round face of the landlord, a jolly-looking old personage, to whom he had recently been relating some tale of wonder, as was testified by Sundry disjointed exclamations of, well, I wouldn't have believed it, the strangest thing I ever heard, couldn't have supposed it possible, and other expressions of astonishment which burst spontaneously from his lips as he returned the fixed gaze of the one-eyed man. Servant, sir, said the one-eyed man to Mr. Pickwick, fine night, sir. Very much so indeed, replied Mr. Pickwick, as the waiter placed the small decanter of Brandy in some hot water before him. While Mr. Pickwick was mixing his brandy and water, the one-eyed man looked round at him earnestly from time to time, and at length said, I think I've seen you before. I don't recollect you, rejoined Mr. Pickwick. I daresay not, said the one-eyed man. You didn't know me, but I knew two friends of yours that were stopping at the peacock at Eaton's Will at the time of the election. Oh, indeed, exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. Yes, rejoined the one-eyed man. I mentioned a little circumstance to them about a friend of mine of the name of Tom Smart. Perhaps you've heard them speak of it. Often, rejoined Mr. Pickwick, smiling, he was your uncle, I think. No, no, only a friend of my uncle's, replied the one-eyed man. He was a wonderful man, that uncle of yours, though, remarked the landlord shaking his head. Well, I think he was. I think I may say he was, answered the one-eyed man. I could tell you a story about that same uncle, gentlemen, that would rather surprise you. Could you, said Mr. Pickwick, let us hear it by all means. The one-eyed bagman ladled out a glass of negus from the bowl and drank it, smoked a long whiff out of the Dutch pipe, and then, calling to Sam Weller, who was lingering near the door, that he needn't go away unless he wanted to because the story was no secret, fixed his eye upon the landlords, and proceeded, in the words of the next chapter. End of Chapter 48 Chapter 49 of the Pickwick Papers by Charles Stickens This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Deborah Lynn. The Pickwick Papers by Charles Stickens Chapter 49 Containing the Story of the Bagman's Uncle My uncle, gentlemen, said the bagman, was one of the merriest, pleasantest, cleverest fellows that ever lived. I wish you had known him, gentlemen. On second thoughts, gentlemen, I don't wish you had known him, for if you had, you would have been in awe by this time in the ordinary course of nature, if not dead, at all events so near it as to have taken to stopping at home and giving up company, which would have deprived me of the inestimable pleasure of addressing you at this moment. Gentlemen, I wish your fathers and mothers had known my uncle. They would have been amazingly fond of him, especially your respectable mothers. I know they would. If any two of his numerous virtues predominated over the many that adorned his character, I should say they were his mixed punch and his after supper song. Excuse my dwelling on these melancholy recollections of departed worth. You won't see a man like my uncle every day in the week. I've always considered it a great point in my uncle's character, gentlemen, that he was the intimate friend and companion of Tom's smart of the great house of Bilson and Slum, Catet and Street City. My uncle collected for Tigan and Welps, but for a long time he went pretty near the same journey as Tom, and the very first night they met my uncle took a fancy for Tom, and Tom took a fancy for my uncle. They made a bet of a new hat before they had known each other half an hour, who should brew the best quart of punch and drink at the quickest. My uncle was judged to have won the making, but Tom's smart beat him in the drinking by about half a salt spoon full. They took another quart apiece to drink each other's health in, and were staunch friends ever afterwards. There is a destiny in these things, gentlemen, we can't help it. In personal appearance my uncle was a trifle shorter than the middle size. He was a thought stouter, too, than the ordinary run of people, and perhaps his face might be a shade redder. He had the jolliest face you ever saw, gentlemen, something like punch for the handsome nose and chin. His eyes were always twinkling and sparkling with good humor, and a smile, not one of your unmeaning wooden grins, but a real, merry, hearty, good-tempered smile, was perpetually on his countenance. He was pitched out of his gig once, and knocked head first against a milestone. There he lay stunned, and so cut about the face with some gravel, which had been heaped up alongside it, that he used my uncle's own strong expression if his mother could have revisited the earth she wouldn't have known him. Indeed, when I come to think of the matter, gentlemen, I feel pretty sure she wouldn't, for she died when my uncle was two years and seven months old, and I think it's very likely that even without the gravel his top boots would have puzzled the good lady not a little, to say nothing of his jolly red face. However, there he lay, and I have heard my uncle say many a time that the man said, who picked him up, that he was smiling as merrily as if he had tumbled out for a treat, and that after they had bled him, the first faint glimmerings of returning animation, were his jumping up in bed, bursting out into a loud laugh, kissing the young woman who held the basin, and demanding a mutton chop and a pickled walnut. He was very fond of pickled walnuts, gentlemen. He said he always found that taken without vinegar they relished the beer. My uncle's great journey was in the fall of the leaf, at which time he collected debts and took orders in the north, going from London to Edinburgh, from Edinburgh to Glasgow, from Glasgow back to Edinburgh, and thence to London by the smack. You were to understand that his second visit to Edinburgh was for his own pleasure. He used to go back for a week just to look up his old friends, and what with breakfasting with this one, lunching with that, dining with the third and supping with another, a pretty tight week he used to make of it. I don't know whether any of you, gentlemen, ever partook of a real substantial hospitable scotch breakfast, and then went out to a slight lunch of a bushel of oysters, a dozen or so a bottled ale, and a noggin or two of whiskey to close up with. If you ever did, you will agree with me that it requires a pretty strong head to go out to dinner and supper afterwards. But bless your hearts and eyebrows, all this sort of thing was nothing to my uncle. He was so well seasoned that it was mere child's play. I have heard him say that he could see the dundee people out any day and walk home afterwards without staggering. And yet the dundee people have a strong heads and a strong punch, gentlemen, as you are likely to meet with between the poles. I have heard of a Glasgow man and a dundee man drinking against each other for fifteen hours at a sitting. They were both suffocated as nearly as could be ascertained at the same moment. But with this trifling exception, gentlemen, they were not a bit the worse for it. One night, within four and twenty hours of the time when he had settled to take shipping for London, my uncle sucked at the house of a very old friend of his, a Bailey McSumpthing in four syllables after it, who lived in the old town of Edinburgh. There were the Bailey's wife and the Bailey's three daughters and the Bailey's grown-up son and three or four stout, bushy-eye-browed, canny old scotch fellows that the Bailey had got together to do honour to my uncle and help to make merry. It was a glorious supper. There was kippard salmon and fin and haddocks, and a lamb's head and a haggis, a celebrated scotch dish, gentlemen, which my uncle used to say always looked to him when it came to table very much like a cupid's stomach, and a great many other things besides that I forget the names of, but very good things notwithstanding. The lassies were pretty and agreeable. The Bailey's wife was one of the best creatures that ever lived, and my uncle was in thoroughly good queue. The consequence of which was that the young ladies tittered and giggled and the old lady laughed out loud, and the Bailey and the other old fellows roared till they were red in the face the whole mortal time. I don't quite recollect how many tumblers of whiskey-totty each man drank after supper, but this I know, that about one o'clock in the morning the Bailey's grown-up son became insensible while attempting the first verse of Willie Brew to Peck-a-Mott, and he having been for half an hour before the only other man visible above the mahogany, it occurred to my uncle that it was almost time to think about going, especially as drinking had set in at seven o'clock, in order that he might get home in a decent hour. But thinking it might not be quite polite to go just then, my uncle voted himself into the chair, mixed another glass, rose to propose his own health, addressed himself in a neat and complimentary speech, and drank the toast with great enthusiasm. Still nobody woke, so my uncle took a little drop more, neat this time, to prevent the totty from disagreeing with him, and laying violent hands on his hat sallied forth into the street. It was a wild, gusty night when my uncle closed the Bailey's door, and settling his hat firmly on his head to prevent the wind from taking it, thrust his hands into his pockets, and looking upward took a short survey of the state of the weather. The clouds were drifting over the moon at their giddiest speed, at one time wholly obscuring her, at another, suffering her to burst forth in full splendor, and shed her light on all the objects around. Anon, driving over her again, with increased velocity, and shrouding everything in darkness. Really, this won't do, said my uncle, addressing himself to the weather, as if he felt himself personally offended. This is not at all the kind of thing for my voyage, it will not do at any price, said my uncle, very impressively. Having repeated this several times, he recovered his balance with some difficulty, for he was rather giddy with looking up into the sky so long, and walked merrily on. The Bailey's house was in the cannon gate, and my uncle was going to the other end of Leith Walk, rather better than a mile's journey. On either side of him, there shot up against the dark sky, tall gaunt, straggling houses, with time-stained fronts and windows that seemed to have shared the lot of eyes and mortals, and who have grown dim and sunken with age. Six, seven, eight story high were the houses, story piled upon story as children build with cards, throwing their dark shadows over the roughly paved road, and making the dark night darker. A few oil lamps were scattered at long distances, but they only served to mark the dirty entrance to some narrow close, or to show where a common stare communicated by steep and intricate windings with the various flats above. Glancing at all these things with the air of a man who had seen them too often before, to think them worthy of much notice now, my uncle walked up the middle of the street with a thumb in each waistcoat pocket, indulging from time to time in various snatches of song, chanted forth with such goodwill and spirit that the quiet honest folk started from their first sleep and they trembling in bed till the sound died away in the distance. When, satisfying themselves that it was only some drunk couldn't near do well finding his way home, they covered themselves up warm and fell asleep again. I am particular in describing how my uncle walked up the middle of the street with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, gentlemen, because as he often used to say, and with great reason too, there is nothing at all extraordinary in this story unless you distinctly understand at the beginning that he was not by any means of a marvellous or romantic turn. Gentlemen, my uncle walked on with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, taking the middle of the street to himself and singing now a verse of a love song and then a verse of a drinking one, and when he was tired of both whistling melodiously until he reached the North Bridge, which at this point connects the old and new towns of Edinburgh. Here he stopped for a minute to look at the strange irregular clusters of lights piled one above the other and twinkling a far off so high that they looked like stars gleaming from the castle walls on the one side and the kelton hill on the other as if they illuminated veritable castles in the air while the old picturesque town slept heavily on in gloom and darkness below. Its palace and chapel of holy rude guarded day and night as a friend of my uncle's used to say by old Arthur's seat towering surly and dark like some gruff genius over the ancient city he has watched so long. I say, gentlemen, my uncle stopped here for a minute to look about him and then, paying a compliment to the weather which had little cleared up, though the moon was sinking, walked on again as royally as before, keeping the middle of the road with great dignity and looking as if he would very much like to meet with somebody who would dispute possession of it with him. There was nobody at all disposed to contest the point, as it happened, and so on he went with his thumbs and his waist coat pockets like a lamb. When my uncle reached the end of Leith Walk he had to cross a pretty large piece of waste ground which separated him from a short street which he had to turn down to go direct to his lodging. Now in this piece of waste ground there was at that time an enclosure belonging to some wheelwright who contracted with the post office for the purchase of old worn out male coaches. And my uncle being very fond of coaches, old, young, or middle aged, all at once took it into his head to step out of his road for no other purpose than to peep between the palings at these males, about a dozen of which he remembered to have seen crowded together in a very forlorn and dismantled state inside. My uncle was a very enthusiastic and fatic sort of person, gentlemen, so finding that he could not obtain a good peep between the palings he got over them and sitting himself quietly down on an old axle tree began to contemplate the male coaches with a deal of gravity. There might be a dozen of them or there might be more. My uncle was never quite certain on this point and being a man of very scrupulous veracity about numbers didn't like to say there they stood all huddled together in the most desolate condition imaginable. The doors had been torn from their hinges and removed. The linings had been stripped off, only a shred hanging here and there by a rusty nail. The lamps were gone, the poles had long since vanished, the iron work was rusty, the paint was worn away, the wind whistled through the chinks and the bare woodwork, and the rain which had collected on the roofs fell drop by drop into the insides with a hollow and melancholy sound. They were the decaying skeletons of departed males and in that lonely place at that time of night they looked chill and dismal. My uncle rested his head upon his hands and thought of the busy bustling people who had rattled about years before in the old coaches and were now as silent and changed. He thought of the numbers of people to whom one of these crazy moldering vehicles had borne night after night for many years and through all weathers the anxiously expected intelligence, the eagerly looked for remittance, the promised assurance of health and safety, the sudden announcement of sickness and death, the merchant, the lover, the wife, the widow, the mother, the schoolboy, the very child who tottered to the door at the postman's knock. How had they all looked forward to the arrival of the old coach? And where were they all now? Gentlemen, my uncle used to say that he thought all this at the time, but I rather suspect he learned it out of some book afterwards, for he distinctly stated that he fell into a kind of dose as he sat on the old axeltree looking at the decayed male coaches, and that he was suddenly awakened by some deep church bell striking too. Now my uncle was never a fast thinker, and if he had thought all these things I am quite certain it would have taken him till full half past two o'clock at the very least. I am therefore decidedly of opinion, gentlemen, that my uncle fell into a kind of dose without having thought about anything at all. Be this as it may, a church bell struck too. My uncle woke, rubbed his eyes, and jumped up in astonishment. In one instant, after the clock struck too, the whole of this deserted and quiet spot had become a scene of most extraordinary life and animation. The male coach doors were on their hinges, the lining was replaced, the iron work was as good as new, the paint was restored, the lamps were alight, cushions and great coats were on every coach box, porters were thrusting parcels into every boot, guards were stowing away leather bags, hostlers were dashing pales of water against the renovated wheels, numbers of men were pushing about fixing poles into every coach, passengers arrived, portmantos were handed up, horses were put too. In short it was perfectly clear that every male there was to be off directly. Gentlemen, my uncle opened his eyes so wide at all this that to the very last moment of his life he used to wonder how it fell out that he had ever been able to shut him again. Now then, said a voice, as my uncle felt a hand on his shoulder, your book for one inside you'd better get in. I booked, said my uncle, turning round. Yes, certainly. My uncle, gentlemen, could say nothing. He was so very much astonished. The queerest thing of all was that although there was such a crowd of persons and although fresh faces were pouring in every moment, there was no telling where they came from. They seemed to start up in some strange manner from the ground or the air and disappear in the same way. When a porter had put his luggage in the coach and received his fare, he turned round and was gone. And before my uncle had well begun to wonder what had become of him, half a dozen fresh ones started up and staggered along under the weight of parcels which seemed big enough to crush them. The passengers were all dressed so oddly too. Large, broad, skirted, laced coats with great cuffs and no collars and wigs, gentlemen, great formal wigs with a tie behind. My uncle could make nothing of it. Now are you going to get in? Said the person who had addressed my uncle before. He was dressed as a mail-guard with a wig on his head and most enormous cuffs to his coat and had a lantern in one hand and a huge blunder-bus in the other, which he was going to stow away in his little arm-chest. Are you going to get in, Jack Martin? Said the guard, holding the lantern to my uncle's face. Hello? said my uncle, falling back a step or two. That's familiar. It's so on the way, Bill, said the guard. Isn't there a mister before it? Said my uncle. For he felt, gentlemen, that for a guard he didn't know to call him Jack Martin was a liberty which the post office wouldn't have sanctioned if they had known it. No, there is not, rejoined the guard coolly. Is the fare paid? inquired my uncle. Of course it is, rejoined the guard. It is, is it? said my uncle. Then here goes which coach. This, said the guard, pointing to an old-fashioned Edinburgh and London mail which had the steps down in the door open. Stop. Here are the other passengers. Let them get in first. As the guard spoke, there all at once appeared right in front of my uncle a young gentleman in a powdered wig and a sky blue coat trimmed with silver made very full and broad in the skirts which were lined with buckram. Tigan and welps were in the printed calico and waistcoat piece line, gentlemen, so my uncle knew all the materials at once. He wore knee breeches and the kind of leggings rolled up over his silk stockings and shoes with buckles. He had ruffles at his wrists, a three-cornered hat on his head, and a long taper sword by his side. The flaps of his waistcoat came halfway down his thighs and the ends of his cravat reached to his waist. He stalked gravely to the coach door, pulled off his hat, and held it above his head at arm's length, cocking his little finger in the air at the same time as some affected people do when they take a cup of tea. Then he drew his feet together and made a low grave bow and then put out his left hand. My uncle was just going to step forward and shake it heartily when he perceived that these attentions were directed not towards him but to a young lady who just then appeared at the foot of the steps, attired in an old-fashioned green velvet dress with a long waist and stomacher. She had no bonnet on her head, gentlemen, which was muffled in a black silk hood, but she looked round for an instant as she prepared to get into the coach, and such a beautiful face as she disclosed my uncle had never seen, not even in a picture. She got into the coach holding up her dress with one hand, and as my uncle always said with a round oath when he told the story, he wouldn't have believed it possible that legs and feet could have been brought to such a state of perfection unless he had seen them with his own eyes. But in this one glimpse of the beautiful face my uncle saw that the young lady cast an imploring look upon him and that she appeared terrified and distressed. He noticed, too, that the young fellow in the powdered wig notwithstanding his show of gallantry, which was all very fine and grand, clasped her tight by the wrist when she got in and followed himself immediately afterwards. An uncommonly ill-looking fellow in a close brown wig and a plum-colored suit wearing a very large sword and boots up to his hips belonged to the party, and when he set himself down next to the young lady who shrank into a corner at his approach, my uncle was confirmed in his original impression that something dark and mysterious was going forward, or, as he always said himself, that there was a screw loose somewhere. It's quite surprising how quickly he made up his mind to help the lady at any peril if she needed any help. Death and lightning exclaimed the young gentleman laying his hand upon his sword as my uncle entered the coach. Blood and thunder roared the other gentleman. With this he whipped his sword out and made a lunge at my uncle without further ceremony. My uncle had no weapon about him, but with great dexterity he snatched the ill-looking gentleman's three-cornered hat from his head and receiving the point of his sword right through the crown, squeezed the sides together and held it tight. Pink him behind, cried the ill-looking gentleman to his companion as he struggled to regain his sword. He had better not, cried my uncle, displaying the heel of one of his shoes in a threatening manner. I'll kick his brains out if he has any, or fracture his skull if he hasn't. Exerting all his strength at this moment, my uncle wrenched the ill-looking man's sword from his grasp and flung it clean out of the coach window, upon which the younger gentleman vociferated death and lightning again and laid his hand upon the hilt of his sword in a very fierce manner, but didn't draw it. Perhaps, gentlemen, as my uncle used to say with a smile, perhaps he was afraid of alarming the lady. Now, gentlemen, said my uncle, taking his seat deliberately, I don't want to have any death with or without lightning in a lady's presence. And we have had quite blood and thundering enough for one journey, so if you please we'll sit in our places like quiet insides. Here, guard, pick up that gentleman's carving-knife. As quickly as my uncle said the words, the guard appeared at the coach window with the gentleman's sword in his hand. He held up his lantern and looked earnestly in my uncle's face as he handed it in. When, by its light, my uncle saw to his great surprise that an immense crowd of male coach guards swarmed round the window, every one of whom had his eyes earnestly fixed upon him, too. He had never seen such a sea of white faces, red bodies, and earnest eyes in all his born days. This is the strangest sort of thing I ever had anything to do with, thought my uncle. Allow me to return you your hat, sir. The ill-looking gentleman received his three-cornered hat in silence, looked at the hole in the middle with an inquiring air, and finally stuck it on the top of his wig with a solemnity, the effect of which was a trifle impaired by his sneezing violently at the moment and jerking it off again. All right, cried the guard with the lantern, mounting into his little seat behind. Away they went. My uncle peeped out of the coach window as they emerged from the yard and observed that the other males, with coachmen, guards, horses, and passengers complete, were driving round and round in circles at a slow trot of about five miles an hour. My uncle burned with indignation, gentlemen. As a commercial man, he felt that the mailbags were not to be trifled with, and he resolved to memorialize the post-office on the subject the very instant he reached London. At present, however, his thoughts were occupied with the young lady who sat in the farthest corner of the coach with her face muffled closely in her hood. The gentleman with the sky blue coat sitting opposite to her, the other man in the plum-colored suit by her side, and both watching her intently. If she so much as rustled the folds of her hood, he could hear the ill-looking man clap his hand upon his sword, and he could tell by the other's breathing it was so dark he couldn't see his face that he was looking as big as if he were going to devour her at a mouthful. This roused my uncle more and more, and he resolved come what might to see the end of it. He had a great admiration for bright eyes and sweet faces and pretty legs and feet. In short, he was fond of the whole sex. It runs in our family, gentlemen, so am I. Many were the devices which my uncle practiced to attract the lady's attention. Or at all events to engage the mysterious gentleman in conversation. They were all in vain. The gentleman wouldn't talk and the lady didn't dare. He thrust his head out of the coach window at intervals and bawled out to know why they didn't go faster, but he called till he was hoarse. Nobody paid the least attention to him. He leaned back in the coach and thought of the beautiful face and the feet and legs. This answered better, it wiled away the time and kept him from wondering where he was going and how it was that he found himself in such an odd situation. Not that this would have worried him much anyway. He was a mighty free and easy roving Devil May Care sort of person was my uncle, gentlemen. All of a sudden the coach stopped. Hello, said my uncle, what's in the wind now? A light here, said the guard, letting down the steps. Here, cried my uncle, here rejoined the guard. I'll do nothing of the sort, said my uncle. Very well, then stop where you are, said the guard. I will, said my uncle. Do, said the guard. The passengers had regarded this colloquy with great attention and finding that my uncle was determined not to alight, the younger man squeezed past him to hand the lady out. At this moment the ill-looking man was inspecting the hole in the crown of his three-cornered hat. As the young lady brushed past, she dropped one of her gloves into my uncle's hand and softly whispered with her lips so close to his face that he felt her warm breath on his nose the single word help. Gentlemen, my uncle leaped out of the coach at once with such violence that it rocked on the springs again. Oh, you've thought better of it, have you? said the guard when he saw my uncle standing on the ground. My uncle looked at the guard for a few seconds in some doubt whether it wouldn't be better to wrench his blunderbuss from him, fire it in the face of the man with a big sword, knock the rest of the company over the head with the stock, snatch up the young lady and go off in the smoke. On second thought however he abandoned this plan as being a shade too melodramatic in the execution and followed the two mysterious men who keeping the lady between them were now entering an old house in front of which the coach had stopped. They turned into the passage and my uncle followed. Of all the ruinous and desolate places my uncle had ever beheld this was the most so. It looked as if it had once been a large house of entertainment but the roof had fallen in in many places and the stairs were steep rugged and broken. There was a huge fireplace in the room into which they walked and the chimney was blackened with smoke but no warm blaze lighted it up now. The white feathery dust of burned wood was still screwed over the hearth but the stove was cold and all was dark and gloomy. Well said my uncle as he looked about him. A male traveling at the rate of six miles and a half an hour and stopping for an indefinite time at such a hole as this is rather an irregular sort of proceeding I fancy. This shall be made known all right to the papers. My uncle said this in a pretty loud voice and in an open unreserved sort of manner with the view of engaging the two strangers in conversation if he could but neither of them took any more notice of him than whispering to each other and scowling at him as they did so. The lady was at the farther end of the room and once she ventured to wave her hand as if beseaching my uncle's assistance. At length the two strangers advanced a little and the conversation began in earnest. You don't know this is a private room I suppose fellow, said the gentleman in sky blue. No I do not fellow, rejoined my uncle, only if this is a private room specially ordered for the occasion I should think the public room must be a very comfortable one. With this my uncle sat himself down in a high back chair and took such an accurate measure of the gentleman with his eyes that Tigan and Welps could have supplied him with printed calico for a suit and not an inch too much or too little from that estimate alone. Quit this room, said both men together grasping their swords. A. said my uncle not at all appearing to comprehend their meaning. Quit the room or you are a dead man, said the ill-looking fellow with the large sword, drawing it at the same time and flourishing it in the air. Down with him, cried the gentleman in sky blue, drawing his sword also and falling back two or three yards down with him. The lady gave a loud scream. Now my uncle was always remarkable for great boldness and great presence of mind. All the time that he had appeared so indifferent to what was going on, he had been looking slyly about for some missile or weapon of defense and at the very instant when the swords were drawn he aspired standing in the chimney corner an old basket hilted rapier and a rusty scabbard. At one bound my uncle caught it in his hand, drew it, flourished it gallantly above his head, called a loud to the lady to keep out of the way hurled the chair at the man in sky blue and the scabbard at the man in plum color and taking advantage of the confusion fell upon them both palmel. Gentlemen, there is an old story, none the worse for being true regarding a fine young Irish gentleman who being asked if he could play the fiddle replied he had no doubt he could but he couldn't exactly say for certain because he had never tried. This is not inapplicable to my uncle and his fencing. He had never had a sword in his hand before except once when he played Richard the Third at a private theater upon which occasion it was arranged with Richmond that he was to be run through from behind without showing fight at all. But here he was cutting and slashing with two experienced swordsmen thrusting and guarding and poking and slicing and acquitting himself in the most manful and dexterous manner possible. Although up to that time he had never been aware that he had the least notion of the science. It only shows how true the old saying is that a man never knows what he can do till he tries gentlemen. The noise of the combat was terrific. Each of the three combatants swearing like troopers and their swords clashing with as much noise as if all the knives and steels in Newport Market were rattling together at the same time. When it was at its very height the lady to encourage my uncle most probably withdrew her hood entirely from her face and disclosed the countenance of such dazzling beauty that he would have fought against fifty men to win one smile from it and die. He had done wonders before but now he began to powder away like a raving mad giant. At this very moment the gentleman in sky blue turning round and seeing the young lady with her face uncovered vented an exclamation of rage and jealousy and turning his weapon against her beautiful bosom pointed a thrust at her heart which caused my uncle to utter a cry of apprehension that made the building ring. The lady stepped lightly aside and snatching the young man's sword from his hand before he had recovered his balance drove him to the wall and running it through him and the paneling up to the very hilt pinned him there hard and fast. It was a splendid example. My uncle with a loud shout of triumph and a strength that was irresistible made his adversary retreat in the same direction and plunging the old rapier into the very center of a large red flower in the pattern of his waistcoat nailed him beside his friend. There they both stood, gentlemen jerking their arms and legs about in agony like the toy shop figures that are moved by a piece of pack-thread. My uncle always said afterwards that this was one of the surest means he knew of for disposing of an enemy but it was liable to one objection on the ground of expense in as much as it involved the loss of a sword for every man disabled. The mail! The mail! cried the lady running up to my uncle and throwing her beautiful arms round his neck. We may yet escape. May! cried my uncle Why, my dear, there's nobody else to kill, is there? My uncle was rather disappointed, gentlemen, for he thought a little quiet bit of love-making would be agreeable after the slaughtering if it were only to change the subject. We have not an instant to lose here, said the young lady. He, pointing to the young gentleman in sky-blue, is the only son of the powerful Marquis of Filettaville. Well then, my dear, I'm afraid he'll never come to the title, said my uncle, looking coolly at the young gentleman as he stood fixed up against the wall in the cock-shape or fashion that I have described. You have cut off the end-tail, my love. I have been torn from my home and my friends by these villains, said the young lady, her features glowing with indignation. That wretch would have married me by violence in another hour. Confound his impudence, said my uncle, bestowing a very contemptuous look on the dying air of Filettaville. As you may guess from what you have seen, said the young lady, the party were prepared to murder me if I appealed to anyone for assistance. If their accomplices find us, here we are lost. Two minutes hence may be too late. The mail. With these words overpowered by her feelings and the exertion of sticking the young Marquis of Filettaville, she sank into my uncle's arms. My uncle caught her up and bore her to the house door. There stood the mail with four long-tailed, flowing-mained black horses ready-harnessed, but no coachman, no guard, no hustler even at the horse's heads. Gentlemen, I hope I do know injustice to my uncle's memory when I expressed my opinion that although he was a bachelor, he had held some ladies in his arms before this time. I believe, indeed, that he had rather a habit of kissing barmaids, and I know that in one or two instances he had been seen by credible witnesses to hug a landlady in a very perceptible manner. I mention the circumstance to show what a very uncommon sort of person this beautiful young lady must have been to have affected my uncle in the way she did. He used to say that as her long dark hair trailed over his arm and her beautiful dark eyes fixed themselves upon his face when she recovered, he felt so strange and nervous that his legs trembled beneath him. But who can look in a sweet, soft pair of dark eyes without feeling queer? I can't, gentlemen. I am afraid to look at some eyes I know and that's the truth of it. You will never leave me, murmured the young lady. Never, said my uncle and he meant it, too. My dear preserver, exclaimed the young lady, my dear kind brave preserver. Don't, said my uncle, interrupting her. Why, inquired the young lady, because your mouth looks so beautiful when you speak, rejoined my uncle, that I'm afraid I shall be rude enough to kiss it. The young lady put up her hand as if to caution my uncle not to do so and said, no, she didn't say anything. She smiled. When you are looking at a pair of the most delicious lips in the world and see them gently break into a roguish smile, if you are very near them and nobody else by, you cannot better testify your admiration of their beautiful form and color than by kissing them at once. My uncle did so, and I honour him for it. Hark, cried the young lady, starting, the noise of wheels and horses. So it is, said my uncle, listening. He had a good ear for wheels and the trampling of hooves. But there appeared to be so many horses and carriages rattling towards them from a distance that it was impossible to form a guess at their number. The sound was like that of fifty breaks with six blood cattle in each. We are pursued, cried the young lady, clasping her hands. We are pursued. I have no hope but in you. There was such an expression of terror in her beautiful face that my uncle made up his mind at once. He lifted her into the coach, told her not to be frightened, pressed his lips to hers once more, and then, advising her to drop the window to keep the cold air out, mounted to the box. Stay, love, cried the young lady. What's the matter, said my uncle from the coach box? I want to speak to you, said the young lady. Only a word, only one word, dearest. Must I get down, inquired my uncle? The lady made no answer, but she smiled again. Such a smile, gentlemen. It beat the other one all to nothing. My uncle descended from his perch in a twinkling. What is it, my dear, said my uncle, looking in at the coach window? The lady happened to bend forward at the same time, and my uncle thought she looked more beautiful than she had done yet. He was very close to her just then, gentlemen, so he really ought to know. What is it, my dear, said my uncle? Will you never love anyone but me? Never marry anyone beside, said the young lady. My uncle swore a great oath that he never would marry anybody else, and the young lady drew in her head and pulled up the window. He jumped upon the box, squared his elbows, adjusted the ribbons, seized the whip, which lay on the roof, gave one flip to the off-leader, and away went the four long, tailed, flowing, maimed black horses, at fifteen good English miles an hour, with the old male coach behind them. Phew, how they tore along! The noise behind grew louder. The faster the old male went, the faster came the pursuers. Men, horses, dogs were leagued in the pursuit. The noise was frightful, but above all rose the voice of the young lady, urging my uncle on and shrieking, faster, faster! The world passed the dark trees, as feathers would be swept before a hurricane. Houses, gates, churches, haystacks, objects of every kind they shot by with the velocity and noise, like roaring waters suddenly let loose. But still the noise of pursuit grew louder, and still my uncle could hear the young lady wildly screaming, faster, faster! My uncle plied whip and rain, and the horses flew onward till they were white with foam, and yet the noise behind increased, and yet the young lady cried, faster, faster! My uncle gave a loud stamp on the boot in the energy of the moment, and found that it was gray morning, and he was sitting in the wheel-rights yard in the box of an old Edinburgh male, shivering with the cold and wet, and stamping his feet to warm them. He got down and looked eagerly inside for the beautiful young lady. Alas, there was neither door nor seat to the coach. It was a mere shell. Of course, my uncle knew very well that there was some mystery in the matter, and that everything had passed exactly as he used to relate it. He remained staunch to the great oath he had sworn to the beautiful young lady, refusing several eligible landlady's on her account, and dying a bachelor at last. He always said what a curious thing it was that he should have found out by such a mere accident as his clamoring over the palings that the ghosts of male coaches and horses, guards, coachmen, and passengers were in the habit of making journeys regularly every night. He used to add that he believed he was the only living person who had ever been taken as a passenger on one of these excursions, and I think he was right, gentlemen. At least I never heard of any other. I wonder what these ghosts of male coaches carry in their bags, said the landlord, who had listened to the whole story with profound attention. The dead letters, of course, said the bagman. Oh, ah, to be sure rejoined the landlord. I never thought of that. End of Chapter 49