he listened, doubtful of his having heard aright, when the cry was
repeated with even greater vehemence than before, and starting to his
feet, he hastened in the direction whence it proceeded.

"The tale told itself at once: some scattered garments lay on the
beach; a human head was just visible above the waves at a little
distance from the shore; and an old man, wringing his hands in agony,
was running to and fro, shrieking for assistance. The invalid, whose
strength was now sufficiently restored, threw off his coat, and rushed
towards the sea, with the intention of plunging in, and dragging the
drowning man ashore.

"'Hasten here, sir, in God's name! help, help, sir, for the love of
Heaven! He is my son, sir, my only son!' said the old man, frantically,
as he advanced to meet him. 'My only son, sir, and he is dying before
his father's eyes!'

"At the first word the old man uttered, the stranger checked himself in
his career, and, folding his arms, stood perfectly motionless.

"'Great God!' exclaimed the old man, recoiling. 'Heyling!'

"The stranger smiled, and was silent.

"'Heyling!' said the old man, wildly. 'My boy, Heyling, my dear boy,
look, look!' gasping for breath, the miserable father pointed to the
spot where the young man was struggling for life.

"'Hark!' said the old man. 'He cries once more. He is alive yet.
Heyling, save him, save him!'

"The stranger smiled again, and remained immovable as a statue.

"'I have wronged you,' shrieked the old man, falling on his knees, and
clasping his hands together. 'Be revenged; take my all, my life; cast
me into the water at your feet, and, if human nature can repress a
struggle, I will die, without stirring hand or foot. Do it, Heyling, do
it, but save my boy, he is so young, Heyling, so young to die!'

"'Listen,' said the stranger, grasping the old man fiercely by the
wrist: 'I will have life for life, and here is +ONE+. _My_ child died,
before his father's eyes, a far more agonising and painful death than
that young slanderer of his sister's worth is meeting while I speak.
You laughed--laughed in your daughter's face, where death had already
set his hand--at our sufferings, then. What think you of them now? See
there, see there!'

"As the stranger spoke he pointed to the sea. A faint cry died away
upon its surface: the last powerful struggle of the dying man agitated
the rippling waves for a few seconds: and the spot where he had gone
down into his early grave, was undistinguishable from the surrounding
water.

"Three years had elapsed, when a gentleman alighted from a private
carriage at the door of a London attorney, then well known as a man of
no great nicety in his professional dealings: and requested a private
interview on business of importance. Although evidently not past the
prime of life, his face was pale, haggard, and dejected; and it did not
require the acute perception of the man of business, to discern at a
glance, that disease or suffering had done more to work a change in his
appearance, than the mere hand of time could have accomplished in twice
the period of his whole life.

"'I wish you to undertake some legal business for me,' said the
stranger.

"The attorney bowed obsequiously, and glanced at a large packet which
the gentleman carried in his hand. His visitor observed the look, and
proceeded.

"'It is no common business,' said he; 'nor have these papers reached my
hands without long trouble and great expense.'

"The attorney cast a still more anxious look at the packet; and his
visitor, untying the string that bound it, disclosed a quantity of
promissory notes, with copies of deeds, and other documents.

"'Upon these papers,' said the client, 'the man whose name they bear,
has raised, as you will see, large sums of money, for some years past.
There was a tacit understanding between him and the men into whose
hands they originally went--and from whom I have by degrees purchased
the whole, for treble and quadruple their nominal value--that these
loans should be from time to time renewed, until a given period had
elapsed. Such an understanding is nowhere expressed. He has sustained
many losses of late; and these obligations accumulating upon him at
once, would crush him to the earth.'

"'The whole amount is many thousands of pounds,' said the attorney,
looking over the papers.

"'It is,' said the client.

"'What are we to do?' inquired the man of business.

"'Do!' replied the client, with sudden vehemence. 'Put every engine of
the law in force, every trick that ingenuity can devise and rascality
execute; fair means and foul; the open oppression of the law, aided by
all the craft of its most ingenious practitioners. I would have him die
a harassing and lingering death. Ruin him, seize and sell his lands and
goods, drive him from house and home, and drag him forth a beggar in
his old age, to die in a common gaol.'

"'But the costs, my dear sir, the costs of all this,' reasoned the
attorney, when he had recovered from his momentary surprise. 'If the
defendant be a man of straw, who is to pay the costs, sir?'

"'Name any sum,' said the stranger, his hand trembling so violently
with excitement, that he could scarcely hold the pen he seized as he
spoke; 'any sum, and it is yours. Don't be afraid to name it, man. I
shall not think it dear, if you gain my object.'

"The attorney named a large sum, at hazard, as the advance he should
require to secure himself against the possibility of loss; but more
with the view of ascertaining how far his client was really disposed
to go, than with any idea that he would comply with the demand. The
stranger wrote a cheque upon his banker, for the whole amount, and left
him.

"The draft was duly honoured, and the attorney, finding that his
strange client might be safely relied upon, commenced his work in
earnest. For more than two years afterwards, Mr. Heyling would sit
whole days together, in the office, poring over the papers as they
accumulated, and reading again and again, his eyes gleaming with joy,
the letters of remonstrance, the prayers for a little delay, the
representations of the certain ruin in which the opposite party must
be involved, which poured in, as suit after suit, and process after
process, was commenced. To all applications for a brief indulgence,
there was but one reply--the money must be paid. Land, house,
furniture, each in its turn, was taken under some one of the numerous
executions which were issued; and the old man himself would have been
immured in prison had he not escaped the vigilance of the officers, and
fled.

"The implacable animosity of Heyling, so far from being satiated by
the success of his persecution, increased a hundredfold with the ruin
he inflicted. On being informed of the old man's flight, his fury was
unbounded. He gnashed his teeth with rage, tore the hair from his head,
and assailed with horrid imprecations the men who had been entrusted
with the writ. He was only restored to comparative calmness by repeated
assurances of the certainty of discovering the fugitive. Agents were
sent in quest of him, in all directions; every stratagem that could be
invented was resorted to, for the purpose of discovering his place of
retreat; but it was all in vain. Half a year had passed over, and he
was still undiscovered.

"At length, late one night, Heyling, of whom nothing had been seen for
many weeks before, appeared at his attorney's private residence, and
sent up word that a gentleman wished to see him instantly. Before the
attorney, who had recognised his voice from above stairs, could order
the servant to admit him, he had rushed up the staircase, and entered
the drawing-room pale and breathless. Having closed the door, to
prevent being overheard, he sunk into a chair, and said, in a low voice:

"'Hush! I have found him at last.'

"'No!' said the attorney. 'Well done, my dear sir; well done.'

"'He lies concealed in a wretched lodging in Camden Town,' said
Heyling. 'Perhaps it is as well we _did_ lose sight of him, for he has
been living alone there, in the most abject misery, all the time, and
he is poor--very poor.'

"'Very good,' said the attorney. 'You will have the caption made
to-morrow, of course?'

"'Yes,' replied Heyling. 'Stay! No! The next day. You are surprised at
my wishing to postpone it,' he added, with a ghastly smile; 'but I had
forgotten. The next day is an anniversary in his life: let it be done
then.'

"'Very good,' said the attorney. 'Will you write down instructions for
the officer?'

"'No; let him meet me here, at eight in the evening, and I will
accompany him, myself.'

"They met on the appointed night, and, hiring a hackney coach, directed
the driver to stop at that corner of the old Pancras Road, at which
stands the parish workhouse. By the time they alighted there, it was
quite dark; and, proceeding by the dead wall in front of the Veterinary
Hospital, they entered a small by-street, which is, or was at that
time, called Little College Street, and which, whatever it may be now,
was in those days a desolate place enough, surrounded by little else
than fields and ditches.

"Having drawn the travelling cap he had on half over his face,
and muffled himself in his cloak, Heyling stopped before the
meanest-looking house in the street, and knocked gently at the door. It
was opened at once by a woman, who dropped a curtsey of recognition,
and Heyling, whispering the officer to remain below, crept gently
up-stairs, and, opening the door of the front room, entered at once.

"The object of his search and his unrelenting animosity, now a decrepid
old man, was seated at a bare deal table, on which stood a miserable
candle. He started on the entrance of the stranger, and rose feebly to
his feet.

"'What now, what now?' said the old man. 'What fresh misery is this?
What do you want here?'

"'A word with _you_,' replied Heyling. As he spoke, he seated himself
at the other end of the table, and, throwing off his cloak and cap,
disclosed his features.

"The old man seemed instantly deprived of the power of speech. He fell
backward in his chair, and, clasping his hands together, gazed on the
apparition with a mingled look of abhorrence and fear.

"'This day six years,' said Heyling, 'I claimed the life you owed me
for my child's. Beside the lifeless form of your daughter, old man, I
swore to live a life of revenge. I have never swerved from my purpose
for a moment's space; but if I had, one thought of her uncomplaining,
suffering look, as she drooped away, or of the starving face of our
innocent child, would have nerved me to my task. My first act of
requital you well remember: this is my last.'

"The old man shivered, and his hands dropped powerless by his side.

"'I leave England to-morrow,' said Heyling, after a moment's pause.
'To-night I consign you to the living death to which you devoted her--a
hopeless prison----'

"He raised his eyes to the old man's countenance, and paused. He lifted
the light to his face, set it gently down, and left the apartment.

"'You had better see to the old man,' he said to the woman, as he
opened the door, and motioned the officer to follow him into the
street. 'I think he is ill.' The woman closed the door, ran hastily
upstairs, and found him lifeless.

"Beneath a plain grave-stone, in one of the most peaceful and secluded
churchyards in Kent, where wild flowers mingle with the grass, and the
soft landscape around forms the fairest spot in the garden of England,
lie the bones of the young mother and her gentle child. But the ashes
of the father do not mingle with theirs; nor, from that night forward,
did the attorney ever gain the remotest clue to the subsequent history
of his queer client."

As the old man concluded his tale, he advanced to a peg in one corner,
and taking down his hat and coat, put them on with great deliberation;
and, without saying another word, walked slowly away. As the gentleman
with the Mosaic studs had fallen asleep, and the major part of the
company were deeply occupied in the humorous process of dropping
melted tallow-grease into his brandy and water, Mr. Pickwick departed
unnoticed, and having settled his own score, and that of Mr. Weller,
issued forth, in company with that gentleman, from beneath the portal
of the Magpie and Stump.

CHAPTER XXII

  _Mr. Pickwick Journeys to Ipswich, and meets with a Romantic
    Adventure with a Middle-aged Lady in Yellow Curl-papers_

"That 'ere your governor's luggage, Sammy?" inquired Mr. Weller of his
affectionate son, as he entered the yard of the Bull Inn, Whitechapel,
with a travelling bag and a small portmanteau.

"You might ha' made a worser guess than that, old feller," replied Mr.
Weller the younger, setting down his burden in the yard, and sitting
himself down upon it afterwards. "The governor hisself 'll be down here
presently."

"He's a cabbin' it, I suppose?" said the father.

"Yes, he's a havin' two mile o' danger at eightpence," responded the
son. "How's mother-in-law this mornin'?"

"Queer, Sammy, queer," replied the elder Mr. Weller, with impressive
gravity. "She's been gettin' rayther in the Methodistical order lately,
Sammy; and she is uncommon pious, to be sure. She's too good a creetur
for me, Sammy. I feel I don't deserve her."

"Ah," said Mr. Samuel, "that's wery self-denyin' o' you."

"Wery," replied his parent, with a sigh. "She's got hold o' some
inwention for grown-up people being born again, Sammy; the new birth,
I thinks they calls it. I should wery much like to see that system in
haction, Sammy. I should wery much like to see your mother-in-law born
again. Wouldn't I put her out to nurse!"

"What do you think them women does t'other day," continued Mr. Weller,
after a short pause, during which he had significantly struck the side
of his nose with his fore-finger some half-dozen times. "What do you
think they does, t'other day, Sammy?"

"Don't know," replied Sam; "what?"

"Goes and gets up a grand tea-drinkin' for a feller they calls their
shepherd," said Mr. Weller. "I was a standing starin' in at the pictur
shop down at our place, when I sees a little bill about it; 'tickets
half-a-crown. All applications to be made to the committee. Secretary,
Mrs. Weller;' and when I got home there was the committee a sittin'
in our back parlour. Fourteen women; I wish you could ha' heard 'em,
Sammy. There they was, a passin' resolutions, and wotin' supplies, and
all sorts o' games. Well, what with your mother-in-law a worrying me
to go, and what with my looking for'ard to seein' some queer starts
if I did, I put my name down for a ticket; at six o'clock on the
Friday evenin' I dresses myself out wery smart, and off I goes with
the old 'ooman, and up we walks into a fust floor where there was
tea things for thirty, and a whole lot o' women as begins whisperin'
to one another, and lookin' at me, as if they'd never seen a rayther
stout gen'lm'n of eight-and-fifty afore. By-and-bye, there comes a
great bustle down-stairs, and a lanky chap with a red nose and a white
neckcloth rushes up, and sings out, 'Here's the shepherd a coming to
wisit his faithful flock;' and in comes a fat chap in black, vith a
great white face, a smilin' avay like clockwork. Such goin's on, Sammy!
'The kiss of peace,' says the shepherd; and then he kissed the women
all round, and ven he'd done, the man vith the red nose began. I was
just a thinkin' whether I hadn't better begin too--'specially as there
was a wery nice lady a sittin' next me--ven in comes the tea, and your
mother-in-law, as had been makin' the kettle bile down-stairs. At it
they went, tooth and nail. Such a precious loud hymn, Sammy, while the
tea was a brewing; such a grace, such eatin' and drinkin'! I wish you
could ha' seen the shepherd walkin' into the ham and muffins. I never
see such a chap to eat and drink; never. The red-nosed man warn't by
no means the sort of person you'd like to grub by contract, but he
was nothin' to the shepherd. Well; arter the tea was over, they sang
another hymn, and then the shepherd began to preach: and wery well he
did it, considerin' how heavy them muffins must have lied on his chest.
Presently he pulls up, all of a sudden, and hollers out, 'Where is
the sinner? where is the mis'rable sinner?' Upon which, all the women
looked at me, and began to groan as if they was a dying. I thought it
was rather sing'ler, but hows'ever, I says nothing. Presently he pulls
up again, and lookin' wery hard at me, says, 'Where is the sinner?
where is the mis'rable sinner?' and all the women groans again, ten
times louder than afore. I got rather wild at this, so I takes a step
or two for'ard and says, 'My friend,' says I, 'did you apply that 'ere
obserwation to me?' 'Stead of begging my pardon as any gent'lm'n would
ha' done, he got more abusive than ever: called me a wessel, Sammy--a
wessel of wrath--and all sorts o' names. So my blood being reg'larly
up, I first give him two or three for himself, and then two or three
more to hand over to the man with the red nose, and walked off. I wish
you could ha' heard how the women screamed, Sammy, ven they picked up
the shepherd from under the table--Hallo! here's the governor, the size
of life."

As Mr. Weller spoke, Mr. Pickwick dismounted from a cab, and entered
the yard.

"Fine mornin', sir," said Mr. Weller senior.

"Beautiful indeed," replied Mr. Pickwick.

"Beautiful indeed," echoed a red-haired man with an inquisitive nose
and blue spectacles, who had unpacked himself from a cab at the same
moment as Mr. Pickwick. "Going to Ipswich, sir?"

"I am," replied Mr. Pickwick.

"Extraordinary coincidence. So am I."

Mr. Pickwick bowed.

"Going outside?" said the red-haired man.

Mr. Pickwick bowed again.

"Bless my soul, how remarkable--I am going outside, too," said the
red-haired man: "we are positively going together." And the red-haired
man, who was an important-looking, sharp-nosed, mysterious-spoken
personage, with a bird-like habit of giving his head a jerk every
time he said anything, smiled as if he had made one of the strangest
discoveries that ever fell to the lot of human wisdom.

"I am happy in the prospect of your company, sir," said Mr. Pickwick.

"Ah," said the new-comer, "it's a good thing for both of us, isn't it?
Company, you see--company is--is--it's a very different thing from
solitude--ain't it?"

"There's no denying that 'ere," said Mr. Weller, joining in the
conversation, with an affable smile. "That's what I call a self-evident
proposition, as the dog's-meat man said, when the housemaid told him he
warn't a gentleman."

"Ah," said the red-haired man, surveying Mr. Weller from head to foot
with a supercilious look. "Friend of yours, sir?"

"Not exactly a friend," replied Mr. Pickwick in a low tone. "The fact
is, he is my servant, but I allow him to take a good many liberties;
for, between ourselves, I flatter myself he is an original, and I am
rather proud of him."

"Ah," said the red-haired man, "that, you see, is a matter of taste.
I am not fond of anything original; I don't like it; don't see the
necessity for it. What's your name, sir?"

"Here is my card, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick, much amused by the
abruptness of the question, and the singular manner of the stranger.

"Ah," said the red-haired man, placing the card in his pocket-book,
"Pickwick; very good. I like to know a man's name, it saves so much
trouble. That's my card, sir, Magnus, you will perceive, sir--Magnus is
my name. It's rather a good name, I think, sir?"

"A very good name, indeed," said Mr. Pickwick, wholly unable to repress
a smile.

"Yes, I think it is," resumed Mr. Magnus. "There's a good name before
it, too, you will observe. Permit me, sir--if you hold the card a
little slanting, this way, you catch the light upon the up-stroke.
There--Peter Magnus--sounds well, I think, sir?"

"Very," said Mr. Pickwick.

"Curious circumstance about those initials, sir," said Mr. Magnus.
"You will observe--P.M.--post meridian. In hasty notes to intimate
acquaintance, I sometimes sign myself 'Afternoon.' It amuses my friends
very much, Mr. Pickwick."

"It is calculated to afford them the highest gratification, I should
conceive," said Mr. Pickwick, rather envying the ease with which Mr.
Magnus's friends were entertained.

"Now, gen'lm'n," said the hostler, "coach is ready, if you please."

"Is all my luggage in?" inquired Mr. Magnus.

"All right, sir."

"Is the red bag in?"

"All right, sir."

"And the striped bag?"

"Fore boot, sir."

"And the brown-paper parcel?"

"Under the seat, sir."

"And the leather hat-box?"

"They're all in, sir."

"Now, will you get up?" said Mr. Pickwick.

"Excuse me," replied Magnus, standing on the wheel. "Excuse me, Mr.
Pickwick. I cannot consent to get up, in this state of uncertainty. I
am quite satisfied from that man's manner, that that leather hat-box is
_not_ in."

The solemn protestations of the hostler being wholly unavailing, the
leather hat-box was obliged to be raked up from the lowest depth of the
boot, to satisfy him that it had been safely packed; and after he had
been assured on this head, he felt a solemn presentiment, first, that
the red bag was mislaid, and next that the striped bag had been stolen,
and then that the brown-paper parcel "had come untied." At length, when
he had received ocular demonstration of the groundless nature of each
and every of these suspicions, he consented to climb up to the roof of
the coach, observing that now he had taken everything off his mind, he
felt quite comfortable and happy.

"You're given to nervousness, ain't you, sir?" inquired Mr. Weller
senior, eyeing the stranger askance, as he mounted to his place.

"Yes; I always am rather, about these little matters," said the
stranger, "but I am all right now--quite right."

"Well, that's a blessin'," said Mr. Weller. "Sammy, help your master
up to the box: t'other leg, sir, that's it; give us your hand, sir. Up
with you. You was a lighter weight when you was a boy, sir."

"True enough, that, Mr. Weller," said the breathless Mr. Pickwick,
good-humouredly, as he took his seat on the box beside him.

"Jump up in front, Sammy," said Mr. Weller. "Now Villam, run 'em
out. Take care o' the archvay, gen'lm'n. 'Heads,' as the pieman
says. That'll do, Villam. Let 'em alone." And away went the coach
up Whitechapel, to the admiration of the whole population of that
pretty-densely populated quarter.

"Not a wery nice neighbourhood this, sir," said Sam, with a touch of
the hat, which always preceded his entering into conversation with his
master.

"It is not, indeed, Sam," replied Mr. Pickwick, surveying the crowded
and filthy street through which they were passing.

"It's a wery remarkable circumstance, sir," said Sam, "that poverty and
oysters always seems to go together."

"I don't understand you, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick.

"What I mean, sir," said Sam, "is, that the poorer a place is, the
greater call there seems to be for oysters. Look here, sir; here's a
oyster stall to every half-dozen houses. The street's lined vith 'em.
Blessed if I don't think that ven a man's wery poor, he rushes out of
his lodgings, and eats oysters in reg'lar desperation."

"To be sure he does," said Mr. Weller senior; "and it's just the same
vith pickled salmon!"

"Those are two very remarkable facts, which never occurred to me
before," said Mr. Pickwick. "The very first place we stop at, I'll make
a note of them."

By this time they had reached the turnpike at Mile End; a profound
silence prevailed until they had got two or three miles further on,
when Mr. Weller senior, turning suddenly to Mr. Pickwick, said:

"Wery queer life is a pike-keeper's, sir."

"A what?" said Mr. Pickwick.

"A pike-keeper."

"What do you mean by a pike-keeper?" inquired Mr. Peter Magnus.

"The old 'un means a turnpike keeper, gen'lm'n," observed Mr. Samuel
Weller, in explanation.

"Oh," said Mr. Pickwick, "I see. Yes; very curious life. Very
uncomfortable."

"They're all on 'em men as has met vith some disappointment in life,"
said Mr. Weller senior.

"Ay, ay?" said Mr. Pickwick.

"Yes. Consequence of vich, they retires from the world, and shuts
themselves up in pikes; partly vith the view of being solitary, and
partly to rewenge themselves on mankind, by takin' tolls."

"Dear me," said Mr. Pickwick, "I never knew that before."

"Fact, sir," said Mr. Weller; "if they was gen'lm'n you'd call 'em
misanthropes, but as it is, they only takes to pike-keepin'."

With such conversation, possessing the inestimable charm of blending
amusement with instruction, did Mr. Weller beguile the tediousness of
the journey, during the greater part of the day. Topics of conversation
were never wanting, for even when any pause occurred in Mr. Weller's
loquacity, it was abundantly supplied by the desire evinced by Mr.
Magnus to make himself acquainted with the whole of the personal
history of his fellow-travellers, and his loudly-expressed anxiety at
every stage, respecting the safety and well-being of the two bags, the
leather hat-box, and the brown-paper parcel.

In the main street of Ipswich, on the left-hand side of the way, a
short distance after you have passed through the open space fronting
the Town Hall, stands an inn known far and wide by the appellation
of the Great White Horse, rendered the more conspicuous by a stone
statue of some rampacious animal with flowing mane and tail, distantly
resembling an insane cart-horse, which is elevated above the principal
door. The Great White Horse is famous in the neighbourhood, in the same
degree as a prize ox, or county-paper-chronicled turnip, or unwieldy
pig--for its enormous size. Never were such labyrinths of uncarpeted
passages, such clusters of mouldy, ill-lighted rooms, such huge numbers
of small dens for eating or sleeping in, beneath any one roof, as are
collected together between the four walls of the Great White Horse at
Ipswich.

It was at the door of this overgrown tavern that the London coach
stopped, at the same hour every evening; and it was from this same
London coach, that Mr. Pickwick, Sam Weller, and Mr. Peter Magnus
dismounted, on the particular evening to which this chapter of our
history bears reference.

"Do you stop here, sir?" inquired Mr. Peter Magnus, when the striped
bag, and the red bag, and the brown-paper parcel, and the leather
hat-box, had all been deposited in the passage. "Do you stop here, sir?"

"I do," said Mr. Pickwick.

"Dear me," said Mr. Magnus, "I never knew anything like these
extraordinary coincidences. Why, I stop here too. I hope we dine
together?"

"With pleasure," replied Mr. Pickwick. "I am not quite certain whether
I have any friends here or not, though. Is there any gentleman of the
name of Tupman here, waiter?"

A corpulent man, with a fortnight's napkin under his arm, and coeval
stockings on his legs, slowly desisted from his occupation of staring
down the street, on this question being put to him by Mr. Pickwick;
and, after minutely inspecting that gentleman's appearance, from
the crown of his hat to the lowest button of his gaiters, replied
emphatically:

"No."

"Nor any gentleman of the name of Snodgrass?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.

"No."

"Nor Winkle?"

"No."

"My friends have not arrived to-day, sir," said Mr. Pickwick. "We will
dine alone, then. Show us a private room, waiter."

On this request being preferred, the corpulent man condescended to
order the boots to bring in the gentlemen's luggage; and preceding them
down a long dark passage, ushered them into a large, badly-furnished
apartment, with a dirty grate, in which a small fire was making a
wretched attempt to be cheerful, but was fast sinking beneath the
dispiriting influence of the place. After the lapse of an hour, a
bit of fish and a steak were served up to the travellers, and when
the dinner was cleared away, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Peter Magnus drew
their chairs up to the fire, and having ordered a bottle of the worst
possible port wine, at the highest possible price, for the good of the
house, drank brandy and water for their own.

Mr. Peter Magnus was naturally of a very communicative disposition, and
the brandy and water operated with wonderful effect in warming into
life the deepest hidden secrets of his bosom. After sundry accounts
of himself, his family, his connexions, his friends, his jokes, his
business, and his brothers (most talkative men have a great deal to
say about their brothers), Mr. Peter Magnus took a blue view of Mr.
Pickwick through his coloured spectacles for several minutes, and then
said, with an air of modesty:

"And what do you think--what _do_ you think, Mr. Pickwick--I have come
down here for?"

"Upon my word," said Mr. Pickwick, "it is wholly impossible for me to
guess; on business, perhaps?"

"Partly right, sir," replied Mr. Peter Magnus, "but partly wrong, at
the same time: try again, Mr. Pickwick."

"Really," said Mr. Pickwick, "I must throw myself on your mercy, to
tell me or not, as you may think best; for I should never guess, if I
were to try all night."

"Why, then, he--he--he!" said Mr. Peter Magnus, with a bashful titter,
"what should you think, Mr. Pickwick, if I had come down here, to make
a proposal, sir, eh? He--he--he!"

"Think! That you are very likely to succeed," replied Mr. Pickwick,
with one of his beaming smiles.

"Ah!" said Mr. Magnus. "But do you really think so, Mr. Pickwick? Do
you, though?"

"Certainly," said Mr. Pickwick.

"No; but you're joking, though?"

"I am not, indeed."

"Why, then," said Mr. Magnus, "to let you into a little secret, _I_
think so too. I don't mind telling you, Mr. Pickwick, although I'm
dreadful jealous by nature--horrid--that the lady is in this house."
Here Mr. Magnus took off his spectacles, on purpose to wink, and then
put them on again.

"That's what you were running out of the room for, before dinner, then,
so often?" said Mr. Pickwick, archly.

"Hush! Yes, you're right, that was it; not such a fool as to see her,
though."

"No!"

"No; wouldn't do, you know, after having just come off a journey.
Wait till to-morrow, sir; double the chance then. Mr. Pickwick, sir,
there is a suit of clothes in that bag, and a hat in that box, which I
expect, in the effect they will produce, will be invaluable to me, sir."

"Indeed!" said Mr. Pickwick.

"Yes; you must have observed my anxiety about them to-day. I do not
believe that such another suit of clothes, and such a hat, could be
bought for money, Mr. Pickwick."

Mr. Pickwick congratulated the fortunate owner of the irresistible
garments, on their acquisition; and Mr. Peter Magnus remained for a few
moments apparently absorbed in contemplation.

"She's a fine creature," said Mr. Magnus.

"Is she?" said Mr. Pickwick.

"Very," said Mr. Magnus, "very. She lives about twenty miles from here,
Mr. Pickwick. I heard she would be here to-night and all to-morrow
forenoon, and came down to seize the opportunity. I think an inn is a
good sort of a place to propose to a single woman in, Mr. Pickwick. She
is more likely to feel the loneliness of her situation in travelling,
perhaps, than she would be at home. What do you think, Mr. Pickwick?"

"I think it very probable," replied that gentleman.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick," said Mr. Peter Magnus, "but I am
naturally rather curious; what may _you_ have come down here for?"

"On a far less pleasant errand, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick, the colour
mounting to his face at the recollection. "I have come down here, sir,
to expose the treachery and falsehood of an individual, upon whose
truth and honour I placed implicit reliance."

"Dear me," said Mr. Peter Magnus, "that's very unpleasant. It is a
lady, I presume? Eh? ah! Sly, Mr. Pickwick, sly. Well, Mr. Pickwick,
sir, I wouldn't probe your feelings for the world. Painful subjects,
these, sir, very painful. Don't mind me, Mr. Pickwick, if you wish to
give vent to your feelings. I know what it is to be jilted, sir; I have
endured that sort of thing three or four times."

"I am much obliged to you, for your condolence on what you presume to
be my melancholy case," said Mr. Pickwick, winding up his watch, and
laying it on the table, "but----"

"No, no," said Mr. Peter Magnus, "not a word more: it's a painful
subject. I see, I see. What's the time, Mr. Pickwick?"

"Past twelve."

"Dear me, it's time to go to bed. It will never do, sitting here. I
shall be pale to-morrow, Mr. Pickwick."

At the bare notion of such a calamity, Mr. Peter Magnus rang the
bell for the chamber-maid; and the striped bag, the red bag, the
leathern hat-box, and the brown-paper parcel, having been conveyed
to his bed-room, he retired in company with a japanned candlestick,
to one side of the house, while Mr. Pickwick, and another japanned
candlestick, were conducted, through a multitude of tortuous windings,
to another.

"This is your room, sir," said the chamber-maid.

"Very well," replied Mr. Pickwick, looking round him. It was a
tolerably large double-bedded room, with a fire; upon the whole, a more
comfortable-looking apartment than Mr. Pickwick's short experience of
the accommodations of the Great White Horse had led him to expect.

"Nobody sleeps in the other bed, of course?" said Mr. Pickwick.

"Oh no, sir."

"Very good. Tell my servant to bring me up some hot water at half-past
eight in the morning, and that I shall not want him any more to-night."

"Yes, sir." And bidding Mr. Pickwick good-night, the chamber-maid
retired, and left him alone.

Mr. Pickwick sat himself down in a chair before the fire, and fell
into a train of rambling meditations. First he thought of his friends,
and wondered when they would join him; then his mind reverted to Mrs.
Martha Bardell; and from that lady it wandered, by a natural process,
to the dingy counting-house of Dodson and Fogg. From Dodson and
Fogg's it flew off at a tangent, to the very centre of the history of
the queer client; and then it came back to the Great White Horse at
Ipswich, with sufficient clearness to convince Mr. Pickwick that he was
falling asleep. So he roused himself, and began to undress, when he
recollected he had left his watch on the table down-stairs.

Now, this watch was a special favourite with Mr. Pickwick, having been
carried about beneath the shadow of his waistcoat, for a greater number
of years than we feel called upon to state at present. The possibility
of going to sleep, unless it were ticking gently beneath his pillow,
or in the watch-pocket over his head, had never entered Mr. Pickwick's
brain. So as it was pretty late now, and he was unwilling to ring his
bell at that hour of the night, he slipped on his coat, of which he had
just divested himself, and taking the japanned candlestick in his hand,
walked quietly down-stairs.

The more stairs Mr. Pickwick went down, the more stairs there seemed
to be to descend, and again and again, when Mr. Pickwick got into some
narrow passage, and began to congratulate himself on having gained the
ground-floor, did another flight of stairs appear before his astonished
eyes. At last he reached a stone hall, which he remembered to have
seen when he entered the house. Passage after passage did he explore;
room after room did he peep into; at length, as he was on the point of
giving up the search in despair, he opened the door of the identical
room in which he had spent the evening, and beheld his missing property
on the table.

Mr. Pickwick seized the watch in triumph, and proceeded to retrace his
steps to his bed-chamber. If his progress downward had been attended
with difficulties and uncertainty, his journey back was infinitely
more perplexing. Rows of doors, garnished with boots of every shape,
make, and size, branched off in every possible direction. A dozen times
did he softly turn the handle of some bed-room door which resembled
his own, when a gruff cry from within of "Who the devil's that?" or
"What do you want here?" caused him to steal away, on tiptoe, with a
perfectly marvellous celerity. He was reduced to the verge of despair,
when an open door attracted his attention. He peeped in. Right at last!
There were the two beds, whose situation he perfectly remembered,
and the fire still burning. His candle, not a long one when he first
received it, had flickered away in the drafts of air through which he
had passed, and sank into the socket as he closed the door after him.
"No matter," said Mr. Pickwick, "I can undress myself just as well by
the light of the fire."

The bedsteads stood one on each side of the door; and on the inner side
of each was a little path, terminating in a rush-bottomed chair, just
wide enough to admit of a person's getting into or out of bed, on that
side, if he or she thought proper. Having carefully drawn the curtains
of his bed on the outside, Mr. Pickwick sat down on the rush-bottomed
chair, and leisurely divested himself of his shoes and gaiters. He then
took off and folded up his coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, and slowly
drawing on his tasselled night-cap, secured it firmly on his head, by
tying beneath his chin the strings which he always had attached to
that article of dress. It was at this moment that the absurdity of his
recent bewilderment struck upon his mind. Throwing himself back in the
rush-bottomed chair, Mr. Pickwick laughed to himself so heartily, that
it would have been quite delightful to any man of well-constituted mind
to have watched the smiles that expanded his amiable features as they
shone forth from beneath the night-cap.

"It is the best idea," said Mr. Pickwick to himself, smiling till he
almost cracked the night-cap strings: "it is the best idea, my losing
myself in this place, and wandering about those staircases, that I ever
heard of. Droll, droll, very droll." Here Mr. Pickwick smiled again,
a broader smile than before, and was about to continue the process of
undressing, in the best possible humour, when he was suddenly stopped
by a most unexpected interruption; to wit, the entrance into the room
of some person with a candle, who, after locking the door, advanced to
the dressing-table, and set down the light upon it.

The smile that played on Mr. Pickwick's features was instantaneously
lost in a look of the most unbounded and wonder-stricken surprise. The
person, whoever it was, had come in so suddenly and with so little
noise, that Mr. Pickwick had had no time to call out, or oppose their
entrance. Who could it be? A robber? Some evil-minded person who had
seen him come up-stairs with a handsome watch in his hand, perhaps.
What was he to do?

The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse of his
mysterious visitor with the least danger of being seen himself, was by
creeping on to the bed, and peeping out from between the curtains on
the opposite side. To this manoeuvre he accordingly resorted. Keeping
the curtains carefully closed with his hand, so that nothing more of
him could be seen than his face and night-cap, and putting on his
spectacles, he mustered up courage, and looked out.

Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. Standing before a
dressing-glass was a middle-aged lady, in yellow curl-papers, busily
engaged in brushing what ladies call their "back-hair." However the
unconscious middle-aged lady came into that room, it was quite clear
that she contemplated remaining there for the night; for she had
brought a rushlight and shade with her, which, with praiseworthy
precaution against fire, she had stationed in a basin on the floor,
where it was glimmering away, like a gigantic light-house in a
particularly small piece of water.

"Bless my soul," thought Mr. Pickwick, "what a dreadful thing!"

"Hem!" said the lady; and in went Mr. Pickwick's head with
automaton-like rapidity.

"I never met with anything so awful as this," thought poor Mr.
Pickwick, the cold perspiration starting in drops upon his night-cap.
"Never. This is fearful."

It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see what was
going forward. So out went Mr. Pickwick's head again. The prospect was
worse than before. The middle-aged lady had finished arranging her
hair; had carefully enveloped it in a muslin night-cap with a small
plaited border; and was gazing pensively on the fire.

"This matter is growing alarming," reasoned Mr. Pickwick with himself.
"I can't allow things to go on in this way. By the self-possession
of that lady it is clear to me that I must have come into the wrong
room. If I call out she'll alarm the house; but if I remain here the
consequences will be still more frightful."

Mr. Pickwick, it is quite unnecessary to say, was one of the most
modest and delicate-minded of mortals. The very idea of exhibiting his
night-cap to a lady overpowered him, but he had tied those confounded
strings in a knot, and, do what he would, he couldn't get it off. The
disclosure must be made. There was only one other way of doing it. He
shrunk behind the curtains, and called out very loudly:

"Ha-hum!"

That the lady started at this unexpected sound was evident, by her
falling up against the rushlight shade; that she persuaded herself it
must have been the effect of imagination was equally clear, for when
Mr. Pickwick, under the impression that she had fainted away stone-dead
from fright, ventured to peep out again, she was gazing pensively on
the fire as before.

"Most extraordinary female this," thought Mr. Pickwick, popping in
again. "Ha--hum!"

These last sounds, so like those in which, as legends inform us, the
ferocious giant Blunderbore was in the habit of expressing his opinion
that it was time to lay the cloth, were too distinctly audible to be
again mistaken for the workings of fancy.

"Gracious Heaven!" said the middle-aged lady, "what's that?"

"It's--it's--only a gentleman, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, from behind
the curtains.

"A gentleman!" said the lady with a terrific scream.

"It's all over!" thought Mr. Pickwick.

"A strange man!" shrieked the lady. Another instant and the house would
be alarmed. Her garments rustled as she rushed towards the door.

"Ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, thrusting out his head, in the extremity of
his desperation, "Ma'am!"

Now, although Mr. Pickwick was not actuated by any definite object
in putting out his head, it was instantaneously productive of a good
effect. The lady, as we have already stated, was near the door. She
must pass it, to reach the staircase, and she would most undoubtedly
have done so by this time, had not the sudden apparition of Mr.
Pickwick's night-cap driven her back into the remotest corner of the
apartment, where she stood staring wildly at Mr. Pickwick, while Mr.
Pickwick in his turn stared wildly at her.

"Wretch!" said the lady, covering her eyes with her hands, "what do you
want here?"

"Nothing, ma'am; nothing whatever, ma'am;" said Mr. Pickwick, earnestly.

"Nothing!" said the lady, looking up.

"Nothing, ma'am, upon my honour," said Mr. Pickwick, nodding his head
so energetically that the tassel of his night-cap danced again. "I am
almost ready to sink, ma'am, beneath the confusion of addressing a lady
in my night-cap" (here the lady hastily snatched off hers), "but I
can't get it off, ma'am" (here Mr. Pickwick gave it a tremendous tug,
in proof of the statement). "It is evident to me, ma'am, now, that
I have mistaken this bed-room for my own. I had not been here five
minutes, ma'am, when you suddenly entered it."

"If this improbable story be really true, sir," said the lady, sobbing
violently, "you will leave it instantly."

"I will, ma'am, with the greatest pleasure," replied Mr. Pickwick.

"Instantly, sir," said the lady.

"Certainly, ma'am," interposed Mr. Pickwick very quickly. "Certainly,
ma'am. I--I--am very sorry, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, making his
appearance at the bottom of the bed, "to have been the innocent
occasion of this alarm and emotion; deeply sorry, ma'am."

The lady pointed to the door. One excellent quality of Mr. Pickwick's
character was beautifully displayed at this moment, under the most
trying circumstances. Although he had hastily put on his hat over his
night-cap, after the manner of the old patrol; although he carried his
shoes and gaiters in his hand, and his coat and waistcoat over his
arm; nothing could subdue his native politeness.

"I am exceedingly sorry, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, bowing very low.

"If you are, sir, you will at once leave the room," said the lady.

"Immediately, ma'am; this instant, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, opening
the door, and dropping both his shoes with a crash in so doing.

"I trust, ma'am," resumed Mr. Pickwick, gathering up his shoes, and
turning round to bow again: "I trust, ma'am, that my unblemished
character, and the devoted respect I entertain for your sex, will plead
as some slight excuse for this"--But before Mr. Pickwick could conclude
the sentence the lady had thrust him into the passage, and locked and
bolted the door behind him.

[Illustration: "_I trust, ma'am," resumed Mr. Pickwick, "that my
unblemished character and the devoted respect I entertain for your
sex----_"]

Whatever grounds of self-congratulation Mr. Pickwick might have for
having escaped so quietly from his late awkward situation, his present
position was by no means enviable. He was alone, in an open passage, in
a strange house, in the middle of the night, half dressed; it was not
to be supposed that he could find his way in perfect darkness to a room
which he had been wholly unable to discover with a light, and if he
made the slightest noise in his fruitless attempts to do so, he stood
every chance of being shot at, and perhaps killed, by some wakeful
traveller. He had no resource but to remain where he was until daylight
appeared. So after groping his way a few paces down the passage, and,
to his infinite alarm, stumbling over several pairs of boots in so
doing, Mr. Pickwick crouched into a little recess in the wall, to wait
for morning as philosophically as he might.

He was not destined, however, to undergo this additional trial of
patience: for he had not long been ensconced in his present concealment
when, to his unspeakable horror, a man, bearing a light, appeared
at the end of the passage. His horror was suddenly converted into
joy, however, when he recognised the form of his faithful attendant.
It was indeed Mr. Samuel Weller, who, after sitting up thus late in
conversation with the Boots, who was sitting up for the mail, was now
about to retire to rest.

"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly appearing before him, "where's my
bedroom?"

[Illustration: "_Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, "where's my bedroom?_"]

Mr. Weller stared at his master with the most emphatic surprise; and it
was not until the question had been repeated three several times, that
he turned round and led the way to the long-sought apartment.

"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, as he got into bed, "I have made one of the
most extraordinary mistakes to-night, that ever were heard of."

"Wery likely, sir," replied Mr. Weller, dryly.

"But of this I am determined, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick; "that if I were
to stop in this house for six months, I would never trust myself about
it, alone, again."

"That's the wery prudentest resolution as you could come to, sir,"
replied Mr. Weller. "You rayther want somebody to look arter you, sir,
ven your judgment goes out a wisitin'."

"What do you mean by that, Sam?" said Mr. Pickwick. He raised himself
in bed, and extended his hand, as if he were about to say something
more; but suddenly checking himself, turned round, and bade his valet
"Good night."

"Good night, sir," replied Mr. Weller. He paused when he got outside
the door--shook his head--walked on--stopped--snuffed the candle--shook
his head again--and finally proceeded slowly to his chamber, apparently
buried in the profoundest meditation.

CHAPTER XXIII

  _In which Mr. Samuel Weller begins to devote his Energies to the
    Return Match between himself and Mr. Trotter_

In a small room in the vicinity of the stable-yard, betimes in the
morning, which was ushered in by Mr. Pickwick's adventure with the
middle-aged lady in the yellow curl-papers, sat Mr. Weller senior,
preparing himself for his journey to London. He was sitting in an
excellent attitude for having his portrait taken.

It is very possible that at some earlier period of his career, Mr.
Weller's profile might have presented a bold and determined outline.
His face, however, had expanded under the influence of good living,
and a disposition remarkable for resignation; and its bold, fleshy
curves had so far extended beyond the limits originally assigned
them, that unless you took a full view of his countenance in front,
it was difficult to distinguish more than the extreme tip of a very
rubicund nose. His chin, from the same cause, had acquired the grave
and imposing form which is generally described by prefixing the word
"double" to that expressive feature; and his complexion exhibited that
peculiarly mottled combination of colours which is only to be seen in
gentlemen of his profession, and in under-done roast beef. Round his
neck he wore a crimson travelling shawl, which merged into his chin by
such imperceptible gradations, that it was difficult to distinguish the
folds of the one from the folds of the other. Over this, he mounted a
long waistcoat of a broad pink-striped pattern, and over that again, a
wide-skirted green coat, ornamented with large brass buttons, whereof
the two which garnished the waist, were so far apart, that no man had
ever beheld them both, at the same time. His hair, which was short,
sleek, and black, was just visible beneath the capacious brim of a
low-crowned brown hat. His legs were encased in knee-cord breeches and
painted top-boots; and a copper watch-chain, terminating in one seal,
and a key of the same material, dangled loosely from his capacious
waistband.

We have said that Mr. Weller was engaged in preparing for his
journey to London--he was taking sustenance, in fact. On the table
before him, stood a pot of ale, a cold round of beef, and a very
respectable-looking loaf, to each of which he distributed his favours
in turn, with the most rigid impartiality. He had just cut a mighty
slice from the latter, when the footsteps of somebody entering the
room, caused him to raise his head; and he beheld his son.

"Mornin', Sammy!" said the father.

The son walked up to the pot of ale, and nodding significantly to his
parent, took a long draught by way of reply.

"Wery good power o' suction, Sammy," said Mr. Weller the elder, looking
into the pot, when his first-born had set it down half empty. "You'd
ha' made an uncommon fine oyster, Sammy, if you'd been born in that
station o' life."

"Yes, I des-say I should ha' managed to pick up a respectable livin',"
replied Sam, applying himself to the cold beef, with considerable
vigour.

"I'm wery sorry, Sammy," said the elder Mr. Weller, shaking up the ale,
by describing small circles with the pot, preparatory to drinking.
"I'm wery sorry, Sammy, to hear from your lips, as you let yourself be
gammoned by that 'ere mulberry man. I always thought, up to three days
ago, that the names of Veller and gammon could never come into contact,
Sammy, never."

"Always exceptin' the case of a widder, of course," said Sam.

"Widders, Sammy," replied Mr. Weller, slightly changing colour,
"widders are 'ceptions to ev'ry rule. I _have_ heerd how many ord'nary
women one widder's equal to, in pint o' comin' over you. I think it's
five-and-twenty, but I don't rightly know vether it ain't more."

"Well; that's pretty well," said Sam.

"Besides," continued Mr. Weller, not noticing the interruption, "that's
a wery different thing. You know what the counsel said, Sammy, as
defended the gen'l'm'n as beat his wife with the poker, venever he got
jolly. 'And arter all, my Lord,' says he, 'it's a amiable weakness.' So
I says respectin' widders, Sammy, and so you'll say, ven you gets as
old as me."

"I ought to ha' know'd better, I know," said Sam.

"Ought to ha' know'd better!" repeated Mr. Weller, striking the table
with his fist. "Ought to ha' know'd better! why, I know a young 'un
as hasn't had half nor quarter your eddication--as hasn't slept about
the markets, no, not six months--who'd ha' scorned to be let in, in
such a vay; scorned it, Sammy." In the excitement of feeling produced
by this agonising reflection, Mr. Weller rang the bell, and ordered an
additional pint of ale.

"Well, it's no use talking about it now," said Sam. "It's over, and
can't be helped, and that's one consolation, as they always says in
Turkey, ven they cuts the wrong man's head off. It's my innings now,
gov'rnor, and as soon as I catches hold o' this 'ere Trotter, I'll have
a good 'un."

"I hope you will, Sammy. I hope you will," returned Mr. Weller. "Here's
your health, Sammy, and may you speedily vipe off the disgrace as
you've inflicted on the family name." In honour of this toast Mr.
Weller imbibed at a draught, at least two-thirds of the newly-arrived
pint, and handed it over to his son, to dispose of the remainder, which
he instantaneously did.

"And now, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, consulting the large double-faced
silver watch that hung at the end of the copper chain. "Now it's time
I was up at the office to get my vay-bill, and see the coach loaded;
for coaches, Sammy, is like guns--they requires to be loaded with wery
great care, afore they go off."

At this parental and professional joke, Mr. Weller junior smiled a
filial smile. His revered parent continued in a solemn tone:

"I'm a goin' to leave you, Samivel, my boy, and there's no telling ven
I shall see you again. Your mother-in-law may ha' been too much for
me, or a thousand things may have happened by the time you next hears
any news o' the celebrated Mr. Veller o' the Bell Savage. The family
name depends wery much upon you, Samivel, and I hope you'll do wot's
right by it. Upon all little pints o' breedin', I know I may trust you
as vell as if it was my own self. So I've only this here one little
bit of adwice to give you. If ever you gets to up'ards o' fifty, and
feels disposed to go a marryin' anybody--no matter who--just you shut
yourself up in your own room, if you've got one, and pison yourself off
hand. Hangin's wulgar, so don't you have nothin' to say to that. Pison
yourself, Samivel, my boy, pison yourself, and you'll be glad on it
arterwards." With these affecting words, Mr. Weller looked steadfastly
on his son, and turning slowly upon his heel, disappeared from his
sight.

In the contemplative mood which these words had awakened, Mr. Samuel
Weller walked forth from the Great White Horse when his father had left
him; and bending his steps towards St. Clement's Church, endeavoured to
dissipate his melancholy by strolling among its ancient precincts. He
had loitered about for some time, when he found himself in a retired
spot--a kind of court-yard of venerable appearance--which he discovered
had no other outlet than the turning by which he had entered. He was
about retracing his steps, when he was suddenly transfixed to the spot
by a sudden appearance; and the mode and manner of this appearance, we
now proceed to relate.

Mr. Samuel Weller had been staring up at the old brick houses
now and then, in his deep abstraction, bestowing a wink upon some
healthy-looking servant girl as she drew up a blind or threw open a
bed-room window, when the green gate of a garden at the bottom of the
yard opened, and a man having emerged therefrom, closed the green gate
very carefully after him, and walked briskly towards the very spot
where Mr. Weller was standing.

Now, taking this, as an isolated fact, unaccompanied by any attendant
circumstances, there was nothing very extraordinary in it; because
in many parts of the world, men do come out of gardens, close green
gates after them, and even walk briskly away, without attracting any
particular share of public observation. It is clear, therefore, that
there must have been something in the man, or in his manner, or both,
to attract Mr. Weller's particular notice. Whether there was, or not,
we must leave the reader to determine, when we have faithfully recorded
the behaviour of the individual in question.

When the man had shut the green gate after him, he walked, as we have
said twice already, with a brisk pace up the court-yard; but he no
sooner caught sight of Mr. Weller, than he faltered, and stopped, as if
uncertain, for the moment, what course to adopt. As the green gate was
closed behind him, and there was no other outlet but the one in front,
however, he was not long in perceiving that he must pass Mr. Samuel
Weller to get away. He therefore resumed his brisk pace, and advanced,
staring straight before him. The most extraordinary thing about the
man was, that he was contorting his face into the most fearful and
astonishing grimaces that ever were beheld. Nature's handiwork never
was disguised with such extraordinary artificial carving, as the man
had overlaid his countenance with in one moment.

"Well!" said Mr. Weller to himself, as the man approached. "This is
wery odd. I could ha' swore it was him."

Up came the man, and his face became more frightfully distorted than
ever, as he drew nearer.

"I could take my oath to that 'ere black hair and mulberry suit," said
Mr. Weller; "only I never see such a face as that, afore."

As Mr. Weller said this, the man's features assumed an unearthly
twinge, perfectly hideous. He was obliged to pass very near Sam,
however, and the scrutinising glance of that gentleman enabled him to
detect, under all these appalling twists of feature, something too like
the small eyes of Mr. Job Trotter, to be easily mistaken.

"Hallo, you sir!" shouted Sam, fiercely.

The stranger stopped.

"Hallo!" repeated Sam, still more gruffly.

The man with the horrible face looked with the greatest surprise,
up the court, and down the court, and in at the windows of the
houses--everywhere but at Sam Weller--and took another step forward,
when he was brought to again, by another shout.

"Hallo, you sir!" said Sam, for the third time.

There was no pretending to mistake where the voice came from now, so
the stranger, having no other resource, at last looked Sam Weller full
in the face.

"It won't do, Job Trotter," said Sam. "Come! none o' that 'ere
nonsense. You ain't so wery 'andsome that you can afford to throw avay
many o' your good looks. Bring them 'ere eyes o' your'n back into their
proper places, or I'll knock 'em out of your head. D'ye hear?"

As Mr. Weller appeared fully disposed to act up to the spirit of this
address, Mr. Trotter gradually allowed his face to resume its natural
expression; and then giving a start of joy, exclaimed, "What do I see?
Mr. Walker!"

"Ah," replied Sam. "You're wery glad to see me, ain't you?"

"Glad!" exclaimed Job Trotter; "oh, Mr. Walker, if you had but known
how I have looked forward to this meeting! It is too much, Mr. Walker;
I cannot bear it, indeed I cannot." And with these words, Mr. Trotter
burst into a regular inundation of tears, and, flinging his arms around
those of Mr. Weller, embraced him closely, in an ecstasy of joy.

"Get off!" cried Sam, indignant at this process, and vainly
endeavouring to extricate himself from the grasp of his enthusiastic
acquaintance. "Get off, I tell you. What are you crying over me for,
you portable ingine?"

"Because I am so glad to see you," replied Job Trotter, gradually
releasing Mr. Weller, as the first symptoms of his pugnacity
disappeared. "Oh, Mr. Walker, this is too much!"

"Too much!" echoed Sam, "I think it is too much--rayther! Now what have
you got to say to me, eh?"

Mr. Trotter made no reply; for the little pink pocket-handkerchief was
in full force.

"What have you got to say to me, afore I knock your head off?" repeated
Mr. Weller, in a threatening manner.

"Eh!" said Mr. Trotter, with a look of virtuous surprise.

"What have you got to say to me?"

"I, Mr. Walker?"

"Don't call me Valker; my name's Veller; you know that vell enough.
What have you got to say to me?"

"Bless you, Mr. Walker--Weller I mean--a great many things, if you will
come away somewhere, where we can talk comfortably. If you knew how I
have looked for you, Mr. Weller----"

"Wery hard, indeed, I s'pose?" said Sam, dryly.

"Very, very, sir," replied Mr. Trotter, without moving a muscle of his
face. "But shake hands, Mr. Weller."

Sam eyed his companion for a few seconds, and then, as if actuated by a
sudden impulse, complied with his request.

"How," said Job Trotter, as they walked away, "how is your dear, good
master? Oh, he is a worthy gentleman, Mr. Weller! I hope he didn't
catch cold, that dreadful night, sir?"

There was a momentary look of deep slyness in Job Trotter's eye as
he said this, which ran a thrill through Mr. Weller's clenched fist
as he burnt with a desire to make a demonstration on his ribs. Sam
constrained himself, however, and replied that his master was extremely
well.

"Oh, I am so glad," replied Mr. Trotter. "Is he here?"

"Is your'n?" asked Sam, by way of reply.

"Oh yes, he is here, and I grieve to say, Mr. Weller, he is going on
worse than ever."

"Ah, ah?" said Sam.

"Oh, shocking--terrible!"

"At a boarding-school?" said Sam.

"No, not at a boarding-school," replied Job Trotter, with the same sly
look which Sam had noticed before; "not at a boarding-school."

"At the house with the green gate?" said Sam, eyeing his companion
closely.

"No, no--oh, not there," replied Job, with a quickness very unusual to
him, "not there."

"What was _you_ a doin' there?" asked Sam, with a sharp glance. "Got
inside the gate by accident, perhaps?"

"Why, Mr. Weller," replied Job, "I don't mind telling you my little
secrets, because, you know, we took such a fancy for each other when we
first met. You recollect how pleasant we were that morning?"

"Oh yes," said Sam, impatiently, "I remember. Well?"

"Well," replied Job, speaking with great precision, and in the low tone
of a man who communicates an important secret, "in that house with the
green gate, Mr. Weller, they keep a good many servants."

"So I should think, from the look on it," interposed Sam.

"Yes," continued Mr. Trotter, "and one of them is a cook, who has saved
up a little money, Mr. Weller, and is desirous, if she can establish
herself in life, to open a little shop in the chandlery way, you see."

"Yes."

"Yes, Mr. Weller. Well, sir, I met her at a chapel that I go to: a very
neat little chapel in this town, Mr. Weller, where they sing the number
four collection of hymns, which I generally carry about with me, in a
little book, which you may perhaps have seen in my hand--and I got a
little intimate with her, Mr. Weller, and from that, an acquaintance
sprung up between us, and I may venture to say, Mr. Weller, that I am
to be the chandler."

"Ah, and a wery amiable chandler you'll make," replied Sam, eyeing Job
with a side look of intense dislike.

"The great advantage of this, Mr. Weller," continued Job, his eyes
filling with tears as he spoke, "will be, that I shall be able to leave
my present disgraceful service with that bad man, and to devote myself
to a better and more virtuous life; more like the way in which I was
brought up, Mr. Weller."

"You must ha' been wery nicely brought up?" said Sam.

"Oh, very, Mr. Weller, very," replied Job. At the recollection of
the purity of his youthful days, Mr. Trotter pulled forth the pink
handkerchief, and wept copiously.

"You must ha' been an uncommon nice boy to go to school vith," said Sam.

"I was, sir," replied Job, heaving a deep sigh. "I was the idol of the
place."

"Ah," said Sam, "I don't wonder at it. What a comfort you must ha' been
to your blessed mother."

At these words, Mr. Job Trotter inserted an end of the pink
handkerchief into the corner of each eye, one after the other, and
began to weep copiously.

"Wot's the matter vith the man," said Sam, indignantly. "Chelsea
water-works is nothin' to you. What are you melting vith now? The
consciousness o' willany?"

"I cannot keep my feelings down, Mr. Weller," said Job, after a short
pause. "To think that my master should have suspected the conversation
I had with yours, and so dragged me away in a post-chaise, and after
persuading the sweet young lady to say she knew nothing of him, and
bribing the school-mistress to do the same, deserted her for a better
speculation! Oh! Mr. Weller, it makes me shudder."

"Oh, that was the vay, was it?" said Mr. Weller.

"To be sure it was," replied Job.

"Vell," said Sam, as they had now arrived near the Hotel, "I vant to
have a little bit o' talk with you, Job; so if you're not partickler
engaged, I should like to see you at the Great White Horse to-night,
somewheres about eight o'clock."

"I shall be sure to come," said Job.

"Yes, you'd better," replied Sam, with a very meaning look, "or else I
shall perhaps be asking arter you, at the other side of the green gate,
and then I might cut you out, you know."

"I shall be sure to be with you, sir," said Mr. Trotter; and wringing
Sam's hand with the utmost fervour, he walked away.

"Take care, Job Trotter, take care," said Sam, looking after him, "or
I shall be one too many for you this time. I shall indeed." Having
uttered this soliloquy, and looked after Job till he was to be seen no
more, Mr. Weller made the best of his way to his master's bed-room.

"It's all in training, sir," said Sam.

"What's in training, Sam?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.

"I've found 'em out, sir," said Sam.

"Found out whom?"

"That 'ere queer customer, and the melan-cholly chap with the black
hair."

"Impossible, Sam!" said Mr. Pickwick, with the greatest energy. "Where
are they, Sam; where are they?"

"Hush, hush!" replied Mr. Weller; and as he assisted Mr. Pickwick to
dress, he detailed the plan of action on which he proposed to enter.

"But when is this to be done, Sam?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.

"All in good time, sir," replied Sam.

Whether it was done in good time, or not, will be seen hereafter.

CHAPTER XXIV

  _Wherein Mr. Peter Magnus grows jealous, and the Middle-aged Lady
    apprehensive, which brings the Pickwickians within the Grasp of
    the Law_

When Mr. Pickwick descended to the room in which he and Mr. Peter
Magnus had spent the preceding evening, he found that gentleman with
the major part of the contents of the two bags, the leathern hat-box,
and the brown-paper parcel, displayed to all possible advantage on his
person, while he himself was pacing up and down the room in a state of
the utmost excitement and agitation.

"Good morning, sir," said Mr. Peter Magnus. "What do you think of this,
sir?"

"Very effective indeed," replied Mr. Pickwick, surveying the garments
of Mr. Peter Magnus with a good-natured smile.

"Yes, I think it'll do," said Mr. Magnus. "Mr. Pickwick, sir, I have
sent up my card."

"Have you?" said Mr. Pickwick.

"And the waiter brought back word that she would see me at eleven--at
eleven, sir; it only wants a quarter now."

"Very near the time," said Mr. Pickwick.

"Yes, it is rather near," replied Mr. Magnus, "rather too near to be
pleasant--eh! Mr. Pickwick, sir?"

"Confidence is a great thing in these cases," observed Mr. Pickwick.

"I believe it is, sir," said Mr. Peter Magnus. "I am very confident,
sir. Really, Mr. Pickwick, I do not see why a man should feel any
fear in such a case as this, sir. What is it, sir? There's nothing to
be ashamed of; it's a matter of mutual accommodation, nothing more.
Husband on one side, wife on the other. That's my view of the matter,
Mr. Pickwick."

"It is a very philosophical one," replied Mr. Pickwick. "But breakfast
is waiting, Mr. Magnus. Come."

Down they sat to breakfast, but it was evident, notwithstanding
the boasting of Mr. Peter Magnus, that he laboured under a very
considerable degree of nervousness, of which loss of appetite, a
propensity to upset the tea-things, a spectral attempt at drollery, and
an irresistible inclination to look at the clock, every other second,
were among the principal symptoms.

"He--he--he," tittered Mr. Magnus, affecting cheerfulness, and gasping
with agitation. "It only wants two minutes, Mr. Pickwick. Am I pale,
sir?"

"Not very," replied Mr. Pickwick.

There was a brief pause.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick; but have you ever done this sort of
thing in your time?" said Mr. Magnus.

"You mean proposing?" said Mr. Pickwick.

"Yes."

"Never," said Mr. Pickwick, with great energy, "never."

"You have no idea, then, how it's best to begin?" said Mr. Magnus.

"Why," said Mr. Pickwick, "I may have formed some ideas upon the
subject, but, as I have never submitted them to the test of experience,
I should be sorry if you were induced to regulate your proceedings by
them."

"I should feel very much obliged to you for any advice, sir," said Mr.
Magnus, taking another look at the clock: the hand of which was verging
on the five minutes past.

"Well, sir," said Mr. Pickwick, with the profound solemnity with which
that great man could, when he pleased, render his remarks so deeply
impressive: "I should commence, sir, with a tribute to the lady's
beauty and excellent qualities; from them, sir, I should diverge to my
own unworthiness."

"Very good," said Mr. Magnus.

"Unworthiness for _her_ only, mind, sir," resumed Mr. Pickwick; "for to
show that I was not wholly unworthy, sir, I should take a brief review
of my past life, and present condition. I should argue, by analogy,
that to anybody else, I must be a very desirable object. I should then
expatiate on the warmth of my love, and the depth of my devotion.
Perhaps I might then be tempted to seize her hand."

"Yes, I see," said Mr. Magnus; "that would be a very great point."

"I should then, sir," continued Mr. Pickwick, growing warmer as the
subject presented itself in more glowing colours before him: "I should
then, sir, come to the plain and simple question, 'Will you have me?'
I think I am justified in assuming, that upon this she would turn away
her head."

"You think that may be taken for granted?" said Mr. Magnus; "because if
she did not do that at the right place, it would be embarrassing."

"I think she would," said Mr. Pickwick. "Upon this, sir, I should
squeeze her hand, and I think--I _think_, Mr. Magnus--that after I had
done that, supposing there was no refusal, I should gently draw away
the handkerchief, which my slight knowledge of human nature leads me
to suppose the lady would be applying to her eyes at the moment, and
steal a respectful kiss. I think I should kiss her, Mr. Magnus; and
at this particular point, I am decidedly of opinion that if the lady
were going to take me at all, she would murmur into my ears a bashful
acceptance."

Mr. Magnus started; gazed on Mr. Pickwick's intelligent face for a
short time in silence; and then (the dial pointing to the ten minutes
past) shook him warmly by the hand, and rushed desperately from the
room.

Mr. Pickwick had taken a few strides to and fro; and the small hand of
the clock following the latter part of his example, had arrived at the
figure which indicates the half-hour, when the door suddenly opened. He
turned round to meet Mr. Peter Magnus, and encountered in his stead,
the joyous face of Mr. Tupman, the serene countenance of Mr. Winkle,
and the intellectual lineaments of Mr. Snodgrass. As Mr. Pickwick
greeted them, Mr. Peter Magnus tripped into the room.

"My friends, the gentleman I was speaking of--Mr. Magnus," said Mr.
Pickwick.

"Your servant, gentlemen," said Mr. Magnus, evidently in a high state
of excitement; "Mr. Pickwick, allow me to speak to you one moment, sir."

As he said this, Mr. Magnus harnessed his forefinger to Mr. Pickwick's
button-hole, and, drawing him to a window recess, said:

"Congratulate me, Mr. Pickwick; I followed your advice to the very
letter."

"And it was all correct, was it?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.

"It was, sir. Could not possibly have been better," replied Mr. Magnus.
"Mr. Pickwick, she is mine."

"I congratulate you with all my heart," replied Mr. Pickwick, warmly
shaking his new friend by the hand.

"You must see her, sir," said Mr. Magnus; "this way if you please.
Excuse us for one instant, gentlemen." Hurrying on in this way, Mr.
Peter Magnus drew Mr. Pickwick from the room. He paused at the next
door in the passage, and tapped gently thereat.

"Come in," said a female voice. And in they went.

"Miss Witherfield," said Mr. Magnus, "allow me to introduce my very
particular friend, Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick, I beg to make you known
to Miss Witherfield."

The lady was at the upper end of the room. As Mr. Pickwick bowed,
he took his spectacles from his waistcoat pocket and put them on;
a process which he had no sooner gone through, than, uttering an
exclamation of surprise, Mr. Pickwick retreated several paces, and
the lady, with a half-suppressed scream, hid her face in her hands,
and dropped into a chair; whereupon Mr. Peter Magnus was stricken
motionless on the spot, and gazed from one to the other, with a
countenance expressive of the extremities of horror and surprise.

This certainly was, to all appearance, very unaccountable behaviour;
but the fact is, that Mr. Pickwick no sooner put on his spectacles,
than he at once recognised in the future Mrs. Magnus the lady into
whose room he had so unwarrantably intruded on the previous night; and
the spectacles had no sooner crossed Mr. Pickwick's nose, than the lady
at once identified the countenance which she had seen surrounded by
all the horrors of a night-cap. So the lady screamed and Mr. Pickwick
started.

"Mr. Pickwick!" exclaimed Mr. Magnus, lost in astonishment, "what is
the meaning of this, sir? What is the meaning of it, sir?" added Mr.
Magnus, in a threatening and a louder tone.

"Sir," said Mr. Pickwick, somewhat indignant at the very sudden manner
in which Mr. Peter Magnus had conjugated himself into the imperative
mood, "I decline answering that question."

"You decline it, sir?" said Mr. Magnus.

"I do, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick: "I object to saying anything which
may compromise that lady, or awaken unpleasant recollections in her
breast, without her consent and permission."

"Miss Witherfield," said Mr. Peter Magnus, "do you know this person?"

"Know him!" repeated the middle-aged lady, hesitating.

"Yes, know him, ma'am. I said know him," replied Mr. Magnus, with
ferocity.

"I have seen him," replied the middle-aged lady.

"Where," inquired Mr. Magnus, "where?"

"That," said the middle-aged lady, rising from her seat, and averting
her head, "that I would not reveal for worlds."

"I understand you, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, "and respect your
delicacy; it shall never be revealed by _me_, depend upon it."

"Upon my word, ma'am," said Mr. Magnus, "considering the situation in
which I am placed with regard to yourself, you carry this matter off
with tolerable coolness--tolerable coolness, ma'am."

"Cruel Mr. Magnus!" said the middle-aged lady; here she wept very
copiously indeed.

"Address your observations to me, sir," interposed Mr. Pickwick; "I
alone am to blame, if anybody be."

"Oh! you alone are to blame, are you, sir?" said Mr. Magnus. "I--I--see
through this, sir. You repent of your determination now, do you?"

"My determination!" said Mr. Pickwick.

"Your determination, sir. Oh! don't stare at me, sir," said Mr.
Magnus; "I recollect your words last night, sir. You came down here,
sir, to expose the treachery and falsehood of an individual on
whose truth and honour you had placed implicit reliance--eh?" Here
Mr. Peter Magnus indulged in a prolonged sneer; and taking off his
green spectacles--which he probably found superfluous in his fit of
jealousy--rolled his little eyes about, in a manner frightful to behold.

"Eh?" said Mr. Magnus; and then he repeated the sneer with increased
effect. "But you shall answer it, sir."

"Answer what?" said Mr. Pickwick.

"Never mind, sir," replied Mr. Magnus, striding up and down the room.
"Never mind."

There must be something very comprehensive in this phrase of "Never
mind," for we do not recollect to have ever witnessed a quarrel in the
street, at a theatre, public room, or elsewhere, in which it has not
been the standard reply to all belligerent inquiries. "Do you call
yourself a gentleman, sir?"--"Never mind, sir." "Did I offer to say
anything to the young woman, sir?"--"Never mind, sir."--"Do you want
your head knocked up against that wall, sir?"--"Never mind, sir." It is
observable, too, that there would appear to be some hidden taunt in
this universal "Never mind," which rouses more indignation in the bosom
of the individual addressed, than the most lavish abuse could possibly
awaken.

We do not mean to assert that the application of this brevity to
himself, struck exactly that indignation to Mr. Pickwick's soul, which
it would infallibly have roused in a vulgar breast. We merely record
the fact that Mr. Pickwick opened the room door, and abruptly called
out, "Tupman, come here!"

Mr. Tupman immediately presented himself, with a look of very
considerable surprise.

"Tupman," said Mr. Pickwick, "a secret of some delicacy, in which that
lady is concerned, is the cause of a difference which has just arisen
between this gentleman and myself. When I assure him, in your presence,
that it has no relation to himself, and is not in any way connected
with his affairs, I need hardly beg you to take notice that if he
continue to dispute it, he expresses a doubt of my veracity, which I
shall consider extremely insulting." As Mr. Pickwick said this, he
looked encyclopædias at Mr. Peter Magnus.

Mr. Pickwick's upright and honourable bearing, coupled with that force
and energy of speech which so eminently distinguished him, would have
carried conviction to any reasonable mind; but unfortunately, at that
particular moment, the mind of Mr. Peter Magnus was in anything but
reasonable order. Consequently, instead of receiving Mr. Pickwick's
explanation as he ought to have done, he forthwith proceeded to work
himself into a red-hot, scorching, consuming passion, and to talk
about what was due to his own feelings, and all that sort of thing:
adding force to his declamation by striding to and fro, and pulling his
hair--amusements which he would vary occasionally by shaking his fist
in Mr. Pickwick's philanthropic countenance.

Mr. Pickwick, in his turn, conscious of his own innocence and
rectitude, and irritated by having unfortunately involved the
middle-aged lady in such an unpleasant affair, was not so quietly
disposed as was his wont. The consequence was, that words ran high, and
voices higher; and at length Mr. Magnus told Mr. Pickwick he should
hear from him; to which Mr. Pickwick replied, with laudable politeness,
that the sooner he heard from him the better; whereupon the middle-aged
lady rushed in terror from the room, out of which Mr. Tupman dragged
Mr. Pickwick, leaving Mr. Peter Magnus to himself and meditation.

If the middle-aged lady had mingled much with the busy world, or had
profited at all by the manners and customs of those who make the laws
and set the fashions, she would have known that this sort of ferocity
is the most harmless thing in nature; but as she had lived for the most
part in the country, and never read the parliamentary debates, she
was little versed in these particular refinements of civilised life.
Accordingly, when she had gained her bed-chamber, bolted herself in,
and begun to meditate on the scene she had just witnessed, the most
terrific pictures of slaughter and destruction presented themselves
to her imagination; among which, a full-length portrait of Mr. Peter
Magnus borne home by four men, with the embellishment of a whole
barrel-full of bullets in his left side, was among the very least. The
more the middle-aged lady meditated, the more terrified she became;
and at length she determined to repair to the house of the principal
magistrate of the town, and request him to secure the persons of Mr.
Pickwick and Mr. Tupman without delay.

To this decision the middle-aged lady was impelled by a variety of
considerations, the chief of which, was the incontestable proof it
would afford of her devotion to Mr. Peter Magnus, and her anxiety for
his safety. She was too well acquainted with his jealous temperament to
venture the slightest allusion to the real cause of her agitation on
beholding Mr. Pickwick; and she trusted to her own influence and power
of persuasion with the little man, to quell his boisterous jealousy,
supposing that Mr. Pickwick were removed, and no fresh quarrel could
arise. Filled with these reflections, the middle-aged lady arrayed
herself in her bonnet and shawl, and repaired to the Mayor's dwelling
straightway.

Now George Nupkins, Esquire, the principal magistrate aforesaid, was as
grand a personage as the fastest walker would find out, between sunrise
and sunset, on the twenty-first of June, which being, according to the
almanacs, the longest day in the whole year, would naturally afford
him the longest period for his search. On this particular morning,
Mr. Nupkins was in a state of the utmost excitement and irritation,
for there had been a rebellion in the town; all the day-scholars
at the largest day-school had conspired to break the windows of an
obnoxious apple-seller, and had hooted the beadle, and pelted the
constabulary--an elderly gentleman in top-boots, who had been called
out to repress the tumult, and who had been a peace-officer, man and
boy, for half a century at least. And Mr. Nupkins was sitting in his
easy chair, frowning with majesty, and boiling with rage, when a lady
was announced on pressing, private, and particular business. Mr.
Nupkins looked calmly terrible, and commanded that the lady should
be shown in: which command, like all the mandates of emperors, and
magistrates, and other great potentates of the earth, was forthwith
obeyed; and Miss Witherfield, interestingly agitated, was ushered in
accordingly.

"Muzzle!" said the magistrate.

Muzzle was an undersized footman, with a long body and short legs.

"Muzzle!"

"Yes, your worship."

"Place a chair, and leave the room."

"Yes, your worship."

"Now, ma'am, will you state your business?" said the magistrate.

"It is of a very painful kind, sir," said Miss Witherfield.

"Very likely, ma'am," said the magistrate. "Compose your feelings,
ma'am." Here Mr. Nupkins looked benignant. "And then tell me what legal
business brings you here, ma'am." Here the magistrate triumphed over
the man; and he looked stern again.

"It is very distressing to me, sir, to give this information," said
Miss Witherfield, "but I fear a duel is going to be fought here."

"Here, ma'am?" said the magistrate. "Where, ma'am?"

"In Ipswich."

"In Ipswich, ma'am! A duel in Ipswich!" said the magistrate, perfectly
aghast at the notion. "Impossible, ma'am; nothing of the kind can be
contemplated in this town, I am persuaded. Bless my soul, ma'am, are
you aware of the activity of our local magistracy? Do you happen to
have heard, ma'am, that I rushed into a prize-ring on the fourth of May
last, attended by only sixty special constables; and, at the hazard of
falling a sacrifice to the angry passions of an infuriated multitude,
prohibited a pugilistic contest between the Middlesex Dumpling and the
Suffolk Bantam? A duel in Ipswich, ma'am! I don't think--I do _not_
think," said the magistrate, reasoning with himself, "that any two men
can have had the hardihood to plan such a breach of the peace, in this
town."

"My information is unfortunately but too correct," said the middle-aged
lady, "I was present at the quarrel."

"It's a most extraordinary thing," said the astounded magistrate.
"Muzzle!"

"Yes, your worship."

"Send Mr. Jinks here, directly! Instantly."

"Yes, your worship."

Muzzle retired; and a pale, sharp-nosed, half-fed, shabbily-clad clerk,
of middle age, entered the room.

"Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate. "Mr. Jinks."

"Sir?" said Mr. Jinks.

"This lady, Mr. Jinks, has come here, to give information of an
intended duel in this town."

Mr. Jinks, not knowing exactly what to do, smiled a dependent's smile.

"What are you laughing at, Mr. Jinks?" said the magistrate.

Mr. Jinks looked serious, instantly.

"Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate, "you're a fool."

Mr. Jinks looked humbly at the great man, and bit the top of his pen.

"You may see something very comical in this information, sir; but I can
tell you this, Mr. Jinks; that you have very little to laugh at," said
the magistrate.

The hungry-looking Jinks sighed, as if he were quite aware of the fact
of his having very little indeed, to be merry about; and, being ordered
to take the lady's information, shambled to a seat, and proceeded to
write it down.

"This man, Pickwick, is the principal, I understand?" said the
magistrate, when the statement was finished.

"He is," said the middle-aged lady.

"And the other rioter--what's his name, Mr. Jinks?"

"Tupman, sir."

"Tupman is the second?"

"Yes."

"The other principal, you say, has absconded, ma'am?"

"Yes," replied Miss Witherfield, with a short cough.

"Very well," said the magistrate. "These are two cut-throats from
London, who have come down here to destroy His Majesty's population;
thinking that at this distance from the capital, the arm of the law
is weak and paralysed. They shall be made an example of. Draw up the
warrants, Mr. Jinks. Muzzle!"

"Yes, your worship."

"Is Grummer down-stairs?"

"Yes, your worship."

"Send him up."

The obsequious Muzzle retired, and presently returned, introducing the
elderly gentleman in the top-boots, who was chiefly remarkable for a
bottle-nose, a hoarse voice, a snuff-coloured surtout, and a wandering
eye.

"Grummer," said the magistrate.

"Your wash-up."

"Is the town quiet now?"

"Pretty well, your wash-up," replied Grummer. "Pop'lar feeling has in a
measure subsided, consekens o' the boys having dispersed to cricket."

"Nothing but vigorous measures will do in these times, Grummer," said
the magistrate, in a determined manner. "If the authority of the King's
officers is set at nought, we must have the Riot Act read. If the civil
power cannot protect these windows, Grummer, the military must protect
the civil power, and the windows too. I believe that is a maxim of the
constitution, Mr. Jinks?"

"Certainly, sir," said Jinks.

"Very good," said the magistrate, signing the warrants. "Grummer, you
will bring these persons before me, this afternoon. You will find them
at the Great White Horse. You recollect the case of the Middlesex
Dumpling and the Suffolk Bantam, Grummer?"

Mr. Grummer intimated, by a retrospective shake of the head, that he
should never forget it--as indeed it was not likely he would, so long
as it continued to be cited daily.

"This is even more unconstitutional," said the magistrate; "this is
even a greater breach of the peace, and a grosser infringement of His
Majesty's prerogative. I believe duelling is one of His Majesty's most
undoubted prerogatives, Mr. Jinks?"

"Expressly stipulated in Magna Charta, sir," said Mr. Jinks.

"One of the brightest jewels in the British crown, wrung from His
Majesty by the Barons, I believe, Mr. Jinks?" said the magistrate.

"Just so, sir," replied Mr. Jinks.

"Very well," said the magistrate, drawing himself up proudly, "it
shall not be violated in this portion of his dominions. Grummer,
procure assistance, and execute these warrants with as little delay as
possible. Muzzle!"

"Yes, your worship."

"Show the lady out."

Miss Witherfield retired, deeply impressed with the magistrates'
learning and research; Mr. Nupkins retired to lunch; Mr. Jinks retired
within himself--that being the only retirement he had, except the
sofa-bedstead in the small parlour which was occupied by his landlady's
family in the daytime--and Mr. Grummer retired, to wipe out, by his
mode of discharging his present commission, the insult which had been
fastened upon himself, and the other representative of His Majesty--the
beadle--in the course of the morning.

While these resolute and determined preparations for the conservation
of the King's peace were pending, Mr. Pickwick and his friends,
wholly unconscious of the mighty events in progress, had sat quietly
down to dinner; and very talkative and companionable they all were.
Mr. Pickwick was in the very act of relating his adventure of the
preceding night, to the great amusement of his followers, Mr. Tupman
especially, when the door opened and a somewhat forbidding countenance
peeped into the room. The eyes in the forbidding countenance looked
very earnestly at Mr. Pickwick, for several seconds, and were to
all appearance satisfied with their investigation; for the body to
which the forbidding countenance belonged, slowly brought itself into
the apartment, and presented the form of an elderly individual in
top-boots--not to keep the reader any longer in suspense, in short, the
eyes were the wandering eyes of Mr. Grummer, and the body was the body
of the same gentleman.

Mr. Grummer's mode of proceeding was professional, but peculiar. His
first act was to bolt the door on the inside; his second, to polish his
head and countenance very carefully with a cotton handkerchief; his
third, to place his hat, with the cotton handkerchief in it, on the
nearest chair; and his fourth, to produce from the breast-pocket of his
coat a short truncheon, surmounted by a brazen crown, with which he
beckoned to Mr. Pickwick with a grave and ghost-like air.

Mr. Snodgrass was the first to break the astonished silence. He looked
steadily at Mr. Grummer for a brief space, and then said emphatically:
"This is a private room, sir. A private room."

Mr. Grummer shook his head, and replied, "No room's private to His
Majesty when the street door's once passed. That's law. Some people
maintains that an Englishman's house is his castle. That's gammon."

The Pickwickians gazed on each other with wondering eyes.

"Which is Mr. Tupman?" inquired Mr. Grummer. He had an intuitive
perception of Mr. Pickwick; he knew _him_ at once.

"My name's Tupman," said that gentleman.

"My name's Law," said Mr. Grummer.

"What?" said Mr. Tupman.

"Law," replied Mr. Grummer, "law, civil power, and exekative; them's
my titles; here's my authority. Blank Tupman, blank Pickvick--against
the peace of our sufferin Lord the King--stattit in that case made
and purwided--and all regular. I apprehend you Pickvick! Tupman--the
aforesaid."

"What do you mean by this insolence?" said Mr. Tupman, starting up.
"Leave the room!"

"Halloo," said Mr. Grummer, retreating very expeditiously to the door,
and opening it an inch or two, "Dubbley."

"Well," said a deep voice from the passage.

"Come for'ard, Dubbley."

At the word of command, a dirty-faced man, something over six feet
high, and stout in proportion, squeezed himself through the half-open
door (making his face very red in the process), and entered the room.

"Is the other specials outside, Dubbley?" inquired Mr. Grummer.

Mr. Dubbley, who was a man of few words, nodded assent.

"Order in the diwision under your charge, Dubbley," said Mr. Grummer.

Mr. Dubbley did as he was desired; and half a dozen men, each with a
short truncheon and a brass crown, flocked into the room. Mr. Grummer
pocketed his staff and looked at Mr. Dubbley; Mr. Dubbley pocketed
_his_ staff and looked at the division; the division pocketed _their_
staffs and looked at Messrs. Tupman and Pickwick.

Mr. Pickwick and his followers rose as one man.

"What is the meaning of this atrocious intrusion upon my privacy?" said
Mr. Pickwick.

"Who dares apprehend me?" said Mr. Tupman.

"What do you want here, scoundrels?" said Mr. Snodgrass.

Mr. Winkle said nothing, but he fixed his eyes on Grummer, and bestowed
a look upon him, which, if he had had any feeling, must have pierced
his brain. As it was, however, it had no visible effect upon him
whatever.

When the executive perceived that Mr. Pickwick and his friends were
disposed to resist the authority of the law, they very significantly
turned up their coat sleeves, as if knocking them down in the first
instance, and taking them up afterwards, were a mere professional act
which had only to be thought of, to be done, as a matter of course.
This demonstration was not lost upon Mr. Pickwick. He conferred a few
moments with Mr. Tupman apart, and then signified his readiness to
proceed to the Mayor's residence, merely begging the parties then and
there assembled, to take notice, that it was his firm intention to
resent this monstrous invasion of his privileges as an Englishman, the
instant he was at liberty; whereat the parties then and there assembled
laughed very heartily, with the single exception of Mr. Grummer, who
seemed to consider that any slight cast upon the divine right of
magistrates, was a species of blasphemy, not to be tolerated.

But when Mr. Pickwick had signified his readiness to bow to the laws of
his country; and just when the waiters and hostlers, and chamber-maids,
and post-boys, who had anticipated a delightful commotion from his
threatened obstinacy, began to turn away, disappointed and disgusted,
a difficulty arose which had not been foreseen. With every sentiment
of veneration for the constituted authorities, Mr. Pickwick resolutely
protested against making his appearance in the public streets,
surrounded and guarded by the officers of justice, like a common
criminal. Mr. Grummer, in the then disturbed state of public feeling
(for it was half-holiday, and the boys had not yet gone home), as
resolutely protested against walking on the opposite side of the way,
and taking Mr. Pickwick's parole that he would go straight to the
magistrate's; and both Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman as strenuously
objected to the expense of a post-coach, which was the only respectable
conveyance that could be obtained. The dispute ran high, and the
dilemma lasted long; and just as the executive were on the point of
overcoming Mr. Pickwick's objection to walking to the magistrate's,
by the trite expedient of carrying him thither, it was recollected
that there stood in the inn-yard, an old sedan-chair, which having
been originally built for a gouty gentleman with funded property,
would hold Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman, at least as conveniently as a
modern post-chaise. The chair was hired, and brought into the hall;
Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman squeezed themselves inside, and pulled
down the blinds; a couple of chairmen were speedily found; and the
procession started in grand order. The specials surrounded the body of
the vehicle; Mr. Grummer and Mr. Dubbley marched triumphantly in front;
Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle walked arm in arm behind; and the unsoaped
of Ipswich brought up the rear.

The shopkeepers of the town, although they had a very indistinct
notion of the nature of the offence, could not but be much edified
and gratified by this spectacle. Here was the strong arm of the law,
coming down with twenty gold-beater force, upon two offenders from
the metropolis itself; the mighty engine was directed by their own
magistrate, and worked by their own officers; and both the criminals,
by their united efforts, were securely shut up in the narrow compass of
one sedan-chair. Many were the expressions of approval and admiration
which greeted Mr. Grummer, as he headed the cavalcade, staff in hand;
loud and long were the shouts raised by the unsoaped; and amidst these
united testimonials of public approbation, the procession moved slowly
and majestically along.

Mr. Weller, habited in his morning jacket with the black calico
sleeves, was returning in a rather desponding state from an
unsuccessful survey of the mysterious house with the green gate,
when raising his eyes, he beheld a crowd pouring down the street,
surrounding an object which had very much the appearance of a
sedan-chair. Willing to divert his thoughts from the failure of his
enterprise, he stepped aside to see the crowd pass; and finding that
they were cheering away, very much to their own satisfaction, forthwith
began (by way of raising his spirits) to cheer too, with all his might
and main.

Mr. Grummer passed, and Mr. Dubbley passed, and the sedan passed, and
the body-guard of specials passed, and Sam was still responding to the
enthusiastic cheers of the mob, and waving his hat about as if he were
in the very last extreme of the wildest joy (though, of course, he had
not the faintest idea of the matter in hand), when he was suddenly
stopped by the unexpected appearance of Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass.

"What's the row, gen'l'm'n?" cried Sam. "Who have they got in this here
watch-box in mournin'?"

Both gentlemen replied together, but their words were lost in the
tumult.

"Who?" cried Sam again.

Once more was a joint reply returned; and, though the words were
inaudible, Sam saw by the motion of the two pairs of lips that they had
uttered the magic word "Pickwick."

This was enough. In another minute Mr. Weller had made his way through
the crowd, stopped the chairmen, and confronted the portly Grummer.

"Hallo, old gen'l'm'n!" said Sam. "Who have you got in this here
conwayance?"

"Stand back," said Mr. Grummer, whose dignity, like the dignity of
a great many other men, had been wondrously augmented by a little
popularity.

"Knock him down, if he don't," said Mr. Dubbley.

"I'm wery much obliged to you, old gen'l'm'n!" replied Sam, "for
consulting my conwenience, and I'm still more obliged to the other
gen'l'm'n, who looks as if he'd just escaped from a giant's carrywan,
for his wery 'ansome suggestion; but I should perfer your givin' me
a answer to my question, if it's all the same to you.--How are you,
sir?" This last observation was addressed with a patronising air to Mr.
Pickwick, who was peeping through the front window.

Mr. Grummer, perfectly speechless with indignation, dragged the
truncheon with the brass crown from its particular pocket, and
flourished it before Sam's eyes.

"Ah," said Sam, "it's wery pretty, 'specially the crown, which is
uncommon like the real one."

"Stand back!" said the outraged Mr. Grummer. By way of adding force to
the command, he thrust the brass emblem of royalty into Sam's neckcloth
with one hand, and seized Sam's collar with the other: a compliment
which Mr. Weller returned by knocking him down out of hand: having
previously, with the utmost consideration, knocked down a chairman for
him to lie upon.

Whether Mr. Winkle was seized with a temporary attack of that species
of insanity which originates in a sense of injury, or animated by this
display of Mr. Weller's valour, is uncertain; but certain it is, that
he no sooner saw Mr. Grummer fall than he made a terrific onslaught
on a small boy who stood next to him; whereupon Mr. Snodgrass, in
a truly Christian spirit, and in order that he might take no one
unawares, announced in a very loud tone that he was going to begin,
and proceeded to take off his coat with the utmost deliberation. He
was immediately surrounded and secured; and it is but common justice
both to him and Mr. Winkle to say, that they did not make the slightest
attempt to rescue either themselves or Mr. Weller: who, after a most
vigorous resistance, was overpowered by numbers and taken prisoner. The
procession then re-formed; the chairmen resumed their stations; and the
march was re-commenced.

Mr. Pickwick's indignation during the whole of this proceeding was
beyond all bounds. He could just see Sam upsetting the specials, and
flying about in every direction; and that was all he could see, for the
sedan doors wouldn't open, and the blinds wouldn't pull up. At length,
with the assistance of Mr. Tupman, he managed to push open the roof;
and mounting on the seat, and steadying himself as well as he could, by
placing his hand on that gentleman's shoulder, Mr. Pickwick proceeded
to address the multitude; to dwell upon the unjustifiable manner in
which he had been treated; and to call upon them to take notice that
his servant had been first assaulted. In this order they reached the
magistrate's house; the chairmen trotting, the prisoners following, Mr.
Pickwick oratorising, and the crowd shouting.

CHAPTER XXV

  _Showing, among a variety of Pleasant Matters, how Majestic and
    Impartial Mr. Nupkins was, and how Mr. Weller returned Mr.
    Job Trotter's Shuttlecock as heavily as it came. With another
    Matter, which will be found in its Place_

Violent was Mr. Weller's indignation as he was borne along; numerous
were the allusions to the personal appearance and demeanour of Mr.
Grummer and his companion; and valorous were the defiances to any six
of the gentlemen present; in which he vented his dissatisfaction. Mr.
Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle listened with gloomy respect to the torrent
of eloquence which their leader poured forth from the sedan-chair,
and the rapid course of which not all Mr. Tupman's earnest entreaties
to have the lid of the vehicle closed, were able to check for an
instant. But Mr. Weller's anger quickly gave way to curiosity when
the procession turned down the identical court-yard in which he had
met with the runaway Job Trotter: and curiosity was exchanged for a
feeling of the most gleeful astonishment, when the all-important Mr.
Grummer, commanding the sedan-bearers to halt, advanced with dignified
and portentous steps to the very green gate from which Job Trotter had
emerged, and gave a mighty pull at the bell-handle which hung at the
side thereof. The ring was answered by a very smart and pretty-faced
servant-girl, who, after holding up her hands in astonishment at the
rebellious appearance of the prisoners, and the impassioned language of
Mr. Pickwick, summoned Mr. Muzzle. Mr. Muzzle opened one half of the
carriage gate, to admit the sedan, the captured ones, and the specials;
and immediately slammed it in the faces of the mob, who, indignant
at being excluded, and anxious to see what followed, relieved their
feelings by kicking at the gate and ringing the bell, for an hour or
two afterwards. In this amusement they all took part by turns, except
three or four fortunate individuals, who, having discovered a grating
in the gate which commanded a view of nothing, stared through it with
the indefatigable perseverance with which people will flatten their
noses against the front windows of a chemist's shop, when a drunken
man, who has been run over by a dog-cart in the street, is undergoing a
surgical inspection in the back-parlour.

At the foot of a flight of steps, leading to the house door, which
was guarded on either side by an American aloe in a green tub, the
sedan-chair stopped. Mr. Pickwick and his friends were conducted
into the hall, whence, having been previously announced by Muzzle,
and ordered in by Mr. Nupkins, they were ushered into the worshipful
presence of that public-spirited officer.

The scene was an impressive one, well calculated to strike terror to
the hearts of culprits, and to impress them with an adequate idea of
the stern majesty of the law. In front of a big book-case, in a big
chair, behind a big table, and before a big volume, sat Mr. Nupkins,
looking a full size larger than any one of them, big as they were.
The table was adorned with piles of papers: and above the further end
of it, appeared the head and shoulders of Mr. Jinks, who was busily
engaged in looking as busy as possible. The party having all entered,
Muzzle carefully closed the door, and placed himself behind his
master's chair to await his orders. Mr. Nupkins threw himself back,
with thrilling solemnity, and scrutinised the faces of his unwilling
visitors.

"Now, Grummer, who is that person?" said Mr. Nupkins, pointing to Mr.
Pickwick, who, as the spokesman of his friends, stood hat in hand,
bowing with the utmost politeness and respect.

"This here's Pickvick, your wash-up," said Grummer.

"Come, none o' that 'ere, old Strike-a-light," interposed Mr. Weller,
elbowing himself into the front rank. "Beg your pardon, sir, but
this here officer o' yourn in the gambooge tops, 'ull never earn a
decent livin' as a master o' the ceremonies any vere. This here,
sir," continued Mr. Weller, thrusting Grummer aside, and addressing
the magistrate with pleasant familiarity, "this here is S. Pickvick,
Esquire; this here's Mr. Tupman; that 'ere's Mr. Snodgrass; and furder
on, next him on the t'other side, Mr. Winkle--all wery nice gen'l'm'n,
sir, as you'll be wery happy to have the acquaintance on; so the sooner
you commits these here officers o' yourn to the tread-mill for a month
or two, the sooner we shall begin to be on a pleasant understanding.
Business first, pleasure afterwards, as King Richard the Third said
wen he stabbed the t'other king in the Tower, afore he smothered the
babbies."

At the conclusion of this address, Mr. Weller brushed his hat with
his right elbow, and nodded benignly to Jinks, who had heard him
throughout, with unspeakable awe.

"Who is this man, Grummer?" said the magistrate.

"Wery desp'rate ch'racter, your wash-up," replied Grummer. "He
attempted to rescue the prisoners, and assaulted the officers; so we
took him into custody, and brought him here."

"You did quite right," replied the magistrate. "He is evidently a
desperate ruffian."

"He is my servant, sir," said Mr. Pickwick, angrily.

"Oh! he is your servant, is he?" said Mr. Nupkins. "A conspiracy
to defeat the ends of justice, and murder its officers. Pickwick's
servant. Put that down, Mr. Jinks."

Mr. Jinks did so.

"What's your name, fellow?" thundered Mr. Nupkins.

"Veller," replied Sam.

"A very good name for the Newgate Calendar," said Mr. Nupkins.

This was a joke; so Jinks, Grummer, Dubbley, all the specials, and
Muzzle, went into fits of laughter of five minutes' duration.

"Put down his name, Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate.

"Two L's, old feller," said Sam.

Here an unfortunate special laughed again, whereupon the magistrate
threatened to commit him, instantly. It is a dangerous thing to laugh
at the wrong man, in these cases.

"Where do you live?" said the magistrate.

"Vare-ever I can," replied Sam.

"Put down that, Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate, who was fast rising
into a rage.

"Score it under," said Sam.

"He is a vagabond, Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate. "He is a vagabond
on his own statement; is he not, Mr. Jinks?"

"Certainly, sir."

"Then I'll commit him. I'll commit him as such," said Mr. Nupkins.

"This is a wery impartial country for justice," said Sam. "There ain't
a magistrate goin' as don't commit himself, twice as often as he
commits other people."

At this sally another special laughed, and then tried to look so
supernaturally solemn, that the magistrate detected him immediately.

"Grummer," said Mr. Nupkins, reddening with passion, "how dare you
select such an inefficient and disreputable person for a special
constable, as that man? How dare you do it, sir?"

"I am very sorry, your wash-up," stammered Grummer.

"Very sorry!" said the furious magistrate. "You shall repent of this
neglect of duty, Mr. Grummer; you shall be made an example of. Take
that fellow's staff away. He's drunk. You're drunk, fellow."

"I am not drunk, your worship," said the man.

"You _are_ drunk," returned the magistrate. "How dare you say you
are not drunk, sir, when I say you are? Doesn't he smell of spirits,
Grummer?"

"Horrid, your wash-up," replied Grummer, who had a vague impression
that there was a smell of rum somewhere.

"I knew he did," said Mr. Nupkins. "I saw he was drunk when he first
came into the room, by his excited eye. Did you observe his excited
eye, Mr. Jinks?"

"Certainly, sir."

"I haven't touched a drop of spirits this morning," said the man, who
was as sober a fellow as need be.

"How dare you tell me a falsehood?" said Mr. Nupkins. "Isn't he drunk
at this moment, Mr. Jinks?"

"Certainly, sir," replied Jinks.

"Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate, "I shall commit that man, for
contempt. Make out his committal, Mr. Jinks."

And committed the special would have been, only Jinks, who was the
magistrate's adviser (having had a legal education of three years in a
country attorney's office), whispered the magistrate that he thought
it wouldn't do; so the magistrate made a speech, and said, that in
consideration of the special's family, he would merely reprimand and
discharge him. Accordingly, the special was abused vehemently, for a
quarter of an hour, and sent about his business; and Grummer, Dubbley,
Muzzle, and all the other specials murmured their admiration of the
magnanimity of Mr. Nupkins.

"Now, Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate, "swear Grummer."

Grummer was sworn directly; but as Grummer wandered, and Mr. Nupkin's
dinner was nearly ready, Mr. Nupkins cut the matter short, by putting
leading questions to Grummer, which Grummer answered as nearly in the
affirmative as he could. So the examination went off, all very smooth
and comfortable, and two assaults were proved against Mr. Weller, and a
threat against Mr. Winkle, and a push against Mr. Snodgrass. When all
this was done to the magistrate's satisfaction, the magistrate and Mr.
Jinks consulted in whispers.

The consultation having lasted about ten minutes, Mr. Jinks retired to
his end of the table; and the magistrate, with a preparatory cough,
drew himself up in his chair, and was proceeding to commence his
address, when Mr. Pickwick interposed.

"I beg your pardon, sir, for interrupting you," said Mr. Pickwick, "but
before you proceed to express, and act upon, any opinion you may have
formed on the statements which have been made here, I must claim my
right to be heard so far as I am personally concerned."

"Hold your tongue, sir," said the magistrate, peremptorily.

"I must submit to you, sir," said Mr. Pickwick.

"Hold your tongue, sir," interposed the magistrate, "or I shall order
an officer to remove you."

"You may order your officers to do whatever you please, sir," said Mr.
Pickwick; "and I have no doubt, from the specimen I have had of the
subordination preserved amongst them, that whatever you order, they
will execute, sir; but I shall take the liberty, sir, of claiming my
right to be heard, until I am removed by force."

"Pickvick and principle!" exclaimed Mr. Weller, in a very audible voice.

"Sam, be quiet," said Mr. Pickwick.

"Dumb as a drum with a hole in it, sir," replied Sam.

Mr. Nupkins looked at Mr. Pickwick with a gaze of intense astonishment,
at his displaying such unwonted temerity; and was apparently about to
return a very angry reply, when Mr. Jinks pulled him by the sleeve,
and whispered something in his ear. To this, the magistrate returned
a half-audible answer, and then the whispering was renewed. Jinks was
evidently remonstrating.

At length the magistrate, gulping down, with a very bad grace, his
disinclination to hear anything more, turned to Mr. Pickwick, and said
sharply: "What do you want to say?"

"First," said Mr. Pickwick, sending a look through his spectacles,
under which even Nupkins quailed. "First, I wish to know what I and my
friend have been brought here for?"

"Must I tell him?" whispered the magistrate to Jinks.

"I think you had better, sir," whispered Jinks to the magistrate.

"An information has been sworn before me," said the magistrate, "that
it is apprehended you are going to fight a duel, and that the other
man, Tupman, is your aider and abettor in it. Therefore--eh, Mr. Jinks?"

"Certainly, sir."

"Therefore, I call upon you both, to--I think that's the course, Mr.
Jinks?"

"Certainly, sir."

"To--to--what, Mr. Jinks?" said the magistrate, pettishly.

"To find bail, sir."

"Yes. Therefore, I call upon you both--as I was about to say, when I
was interrupted by my clerk--to find bail."

"Good bail," whispered Mr. Jinks.

"I shall require good bail," said the magistrate.

"Town's-people," whispered Jinks.

"They must be town's-people," said the magistrate.

"Fifty pounds each," whispered Jinks, "and householders, of course."

"I shall require two sureties of fifty pounds each," said the
magistrate aloud, with great dignity, "and they must be householders,
of course."

"But, bless my heart, sir," said Mr. Pickwick, who, together with Mr.
Tupman, was all amazement and indignation; "we are perfect strangers
in the town. I have as little knowledge of any householders here, as I
have intention of fighting a duel with anybody."

"I dare say," replied the magistrate, "I dare say--don't you, Mr.
Jinks?"

"Certainly, sir."

"Have you anything more to say?" inquired the magistrate.

Mr. Pickwick _had_ a great deal more to say, which he would no doubt
have said, very little to his own advantage, or the magistrate's
satisfaction, if he had not, the moment he ceased speaking, been
pulled by the sleeve by Mr. Weller, with whom he was immediately
engaged in so earnest a conversation, that he suffered the magistrate's
inquiry to pass wholly unnoticed. Mr. Nupkins was not the man to ask
a question of the kind twice over; and so, with another preparatory
cough, he proceeded, amidst the reverential and admiring silence of the
constables, to pronounce his decision.

He should fine Weller two pounds for the first assault, and three
pounds for the second. He should fine Winkle two pounds, and Snodgrass
one pound, besides requiring them to enter into their own recognisances
to keep the peace towards all his Majesty's subjects, and especially
towards his liege servant, Daniel Grummer. Pickwick and Tupman he had
already held to bail.

Immediately on the magistrate ceasing to speak, Mr. Pickwick, with a
smile mantling on his again good-humoured countenance, stepped forward,
and said:

"I beg the magistrate's pardon, but may I request a few minutes'
private conversation with him, on a matter of deep importance to
himself?"

"What?" said the magistrate.

Mr. Pickwick repeated his request.

"This is a most extraordinary request," said the magistrate. "A private
interview?"

"A private interview," replied Mr. Pickwick, firmly; "only, as a part
of the information which I wish to communicate is derived from my
servant, I should wish him to be present."

The magistrate looked at Mr. Jinks; Mr. Jinks looked at the magistrate;
the officers looked at each other in amazement. Mr. Nupkins turned
suddenly pale. Could the man Weller, in a moment of remorse, have
divulged some secret conspiracy for his assassination? It was a
dreadful thought. He was a public man: and he turned paler, as he
thought of Julius Cæsar and Mr. Perceval.

The magistrate looked at Mr. Pickwick again, and beckoned Mr. Jinks.

"What do you think of this request, Mr. Jinks?" murmured Mr. Nupkins.

Mr. Jinks, who didn't exactly know what to think of it, and was afraid
he might offend, smiled feebly, after a dubious fashion, and, screwing
up the corners of his mouth, shook his head slowly from side to side.

"Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate, gravely, "you are an ass."

At this little expression of opinion Mr. Jinks smiled again--rather
more feebly than before--and edged himself, by degrees, back into his
own corner.

Mr. Nupkins debated the matter within himself for a few seconds, and
then, rising from his chair, and requesting Mr. Pickwick and Sam to
follow him, led the way into a small room which opened into the justice
parlour. Desiring Mr. Pickwick to walk to the upper end of the little
apartment, and holding his hand upon the half-closed door, that he
might be able to effect an immediate escape in case there was the
least tendency to a display of hostilities, Mr. Nupkins expressed his
readiness to hear the communication, whatever it might be.

"I will come to the point at once, sir," said Mr. Pickwick; "it affects
yourself, and your credit, materially. I have every reason to believe,
sir, that you are harbouring in your house a gross impostor!"

"Two," interrupted Sam, "Mulberry agin all natur, for tears and
willainy!"

"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, "if I am to render myself intelligible to
this gentleman, I must beg you to control your feelings."

"Wery sorry, sir," replied Mr. Weller; "but when I think o' that 'ere
Job, I can't help opening the walve a inch or two."

"In one word, sir," said Mr. Pickwick, "is my servant right in
suspecting that a certain Captain Fitz-Marshall is in the habit of
visiting here? Because," added Mr. Pickwick, as he saw that Mr. Nupkins
was about to offer a very indignant interruption, "because, if he be, I
know that person to be a----"

"Hush, hush!" said Mr. Nupkins, closing the door. "Know him to be what,
sir?"

"An unprincipled adventurer--a dishonourable character--a man who preys
upon society, and makes easily-deceived people his dupes, sir; his
absurd, his foolish, his wretched dupes, sir," said the excited Mr.
Pickwick.

"Dear me," said Mr. Nupkins, turning very red, and altering his whole
manner directly. "Dear me, Mr. ----"

"Pickvick," said Sam.

"Pickwick," said the magistrate, "dear me, Mr. Pickwick--pray take a
seat--you cannot mean this? Captain Fitz-Marshall?"

"Don't call him a cap'en," said Sam, "nor Fitz-Marshall neither; he
ain't neither one nor t'other. He's a strolling actor, he is, and his
name's Jingle; and if ever there was a wolf in a mulberry suit, that
ere Job Trotter's him."

"It is very true, sir," said Mr. Pickwick, replying to the magistrate's
look of amazement; "my only business in this town, is to expose the
person of whom we now speak."

Mr. Pickwick proceeded to pour into the horror-stricken ear of Mr.
Nupkins, an abridged account of Mr. Jingle's atrocities. He related how
he had first met him; how he had eloped with Miss Wardle; how he had
cheerfully resigned the lady for a pecuniary consideration; how he had
entrapped himself into a lady's boarding-school at midnight; and how
he (Mr. Pickwick) now felt it his duty to expose his assumption of his
present name and rank.

As the narrative proceeded, all the warm blood in the body of Mr.
Nupkins tingled up into the very tips of his ears. He had picked up
the captain at a neighbouring race-course. Charmed with his long
list of aristocratic acquaintance, his extensive travel, and his
fashionable demeanour, Mrs. Nupkins and Miss Nupkins had exhibited
Captain Fitz-Marshall, and quoted Captain Fitz-Marshall, and hurled
Captain Fitz-Marshall at the devoted heads of their select circle
of acquaintance, until their bosom friends, Mrs. Porkenham and the
Miss Porkenhams, and Mr. Sidney Porkenham, were ready to burst with
jealousy and despair. And now, to hear, after all, that he was a needy
adventurer, a strolling player, and if not a swindler, something so
very like it, that it was hard to tell the difference! Heavens! What
would the Porkenhams say! What would be the triumph of Mr. Sidney
Porkenham when he found that his addresses had been slighted for such
a rival! How should he, Nupkins, meet the eye of old Porkenham at the
next Quarter Sessions! And what a handle would it be for the opposition
magisterial party, if the story got abroad!

"But after all," said Mr. Nupkins, brightening for a moment, after a
long pause; "after all, this is a mere statement. Captain Fitz-Marshall
is a man of very engaging manners, and, I dare say, has many enemies.
What proof have you of the truth of these representations?"

"Confront me with him," said Mr. Pickwick, "that is all I ask, and all
I require. Confront him with me and my friends here; you will want no
further proof."

"Why," said Mr. Nupkins, "that might be very easily done, for he will
be here to-night, and then there would be no occasion to make the
matter public, just--just--for the young man's own sake, you know.
I--I--should like to consult Mrs. Nupkins on the propriety of the step,
in the first instance, though. At all events, Mr. Pickwick, we must
despatch this legal business before we can do anything else. Pray step
back into the next room."

Into the next room they went.

"Grummer," said the magistrate, in an awful voice.

"Your wash-up," replied Grummer, with the smile of a favourite.

"Come, come, sir," said the magistrate, sternly, "don't let me see any
of this levity here. It is very unbecoming, and I can assure you that
you have very little to smile at. Was the account you gave me just now
strictly true? Now be careful, sir!"

"Your wash-up," stammered Grummer, "I----"

"Oh, you are confused, are you?" said the magistrate. "Mr. Jinks, you
observe this confusion?"

"Certainly, sir," replied Jinks.

"Now," said the magistrate, "repeat your statement, Grummer, and again
I warn you to be careful. Mr. Jinks, take his words down."

The unfortunate Grummer proceeded to re-state his complaint, but, what
between Mr. Jinks taking down his words, and the magistrate's taking
them up; his natural tendency to rambling, and his extreme confusion;
he managed to get involved, in something under three minutes, in
such a mass of entanglement and contradiction, that Mr. Nupkins at
once declared he didn't believe him. So the fines were remitted, and
Mr. Jinks found a couple of bail in no time. And all these solemn
proceedings having been satisfactorily concluded, Mr. Grummer was
ignominiously ordered out--an awful instance of the instability of
human greatness, and the uncertain tenure of great men's favour.

Mrs. Nupkins was a majestic female in a pink gauze turban and a light
brown wig. Miss Nupkins possessed all her mamma's haughtiness without
the turban, and all her ill-nature without the wig; and whenever the
exercise of these two amiable qualities involved mother and daughter
in some unpleasant dilemma, as they not unfrequently did, they both
concurred in laying the blame on the shoulders of Mr. Nupkins.
Accordingly, when Mr. Nupkins sought Mrs. Nupkins, and detailed the
communication which had been made by Mr. Pickwick, Mrs. Nupkins
suddenly recollected that she had always expected something of the
kind; that she had always said it would be so; that her advice was
never taken; that she really did not know what Mr. Nupkins supposed she
was; and so forth.

"The idea!" said Miss Nupkins, forcing a tear of very scanty
proportions into the corner of each eye; "the idea of my being made
such a fool of!"

"Ah! you may thank your papa, my dear," said Mrs. Nupkins; "how have
I implored and begged that man to inquire into the Captain's family
connections; how have I urged and entreated him to take some decisive
step! I am quite certain nobody would believe it--quite."

"But, my dear," said Mr. Nupkins.

"Don't talk to me, you aggravating thing, don't!" said Mrs. Nupkins.

"My love," said Mr. Nupkins, "you professed yourself very fond of
Captain Fitz-Marshall. You have constantly asked him here, my dear, and
you have lost no opportunity of introducing him elsewhere."

"Didn't I say so, Henrietta?" cried Mrs. Nupkins, appealing to her
daughter, with the air of a much-injured female. "Didn't I say that
your papa would turn round and lay all this at my door? Didn't I say
so?" Here Mrs. Nupkins sobbed.

"Oh pa!" remonstrated Miss Nupkins. And here she sobbed too.

"Isn't it too much, when he has brought all this disgrace and ridicule
upon us, to taunt _me_ with being the cause of it?" exclaimed Mrs.
Nupkins.

"How can we ever show ourselves in society!" said Miss Nupkins.

"How can we face the Porkenhams!" cried Mrs. Nupkins.

"Or the Griggs's!" cried Miss Nupkins.

"Or the Slummintowkens!" cried Mrs. Nupkins. "But what does your papa
care! What is it to _him_!" At this dreadful reflection, Mrs. Nupkins
wept with mental anguish, and Miss Nupkins followed on the same side.

Mrs. Nupkins's tears continued to gush forth, with great velocity,
until she had gained a little time to think the matter over: when she
decided, in her own mind, that the best thing to do would be to ask Mr.
Pickwick and his friends to remain until the Captain's arrival, and
then to give Mr. Pickwick the opportunity he sought. If it appeared
that he had spoken truly, the Captain could be turned out of the house
without noising the matter abroad, and they could easily account to the
Porkenhams for his disappearance, by saying that he had been appointed,
through the Court influence of his family, to the Governor-Generalship
of Sierra Leone, or Saugur Point, or any other of those salubrious
climates which enchant Europeans so much that when they once get there,
they can hardly ever prevail upon themselves to come back again.

When Mrs. Nupkins dried up her tears, Miss Nupkins dried up _hers_,
and Mr. Nupkins was very glad to settle the matter as Mrs. Nupkins
had proposed. So Mr. Pickwick and his friends, having washed off all
marks of their late encounter, were introduced to the ladies, and soon
afterwards to their dinner; and Mr. Weller, whom the magistrate with
his peculiar sagacity had discovered in half an hour to be one of the
finest fellows alive, was consigned to the care and guardianship of Mr.
Muzzle, who was specially enjoined to take him below, and make much of
him.

"How de do, sir?" said Mr. Muzzle, as he conducted Mr. Weller down the
kitchen stairs.

"Why, no con-siderable change has taken place in the state of my
system, since I see you cocked up behind your governor's chair in the
parlour, a little vile ago," replied Sam.

"You will excuse my not taking more notice of you then," said Mr.
Muzzle. "You see, master hadn't introduced us, then. Lord, how fond he
is of you, Mr. Weller, to be sure!"

"Ah," said Sam, "what a pleasant chap he is!"

"Ain't he?" replied Mr. Muzzle.

"So much humour," said Sam.

"And such a man to speak," said Mr. Muzzle. "How his ideas flow, don't
they?"

"Wonderful," replied Sam; "they comes a pouring out, knocking each
other's heads so fast, that they seems to stun one another; you hardly
know what he's arter, do you?"

"That's the great merit of his style of speaking," rejoined Mr. Muzzle.
"Take care of the last step, Mr. Weller. Would you like to wash your
hands, sir, before we join the ladies? Here's a sink, with the water
laid on, sir, and a clean jack-towel behind the door."

"Ah! perhaps I may as well have a rinse," replied Mr. Weller, applying
plenty of yellow soap to the towel, and rubbing away, till his face
shone again. "How many ladies are there?"

"Only two in our kitchen," said Mr. Muzzle, "cook and 'ousemaid. We
keep a boy to do the dirty work, and a gal besides, but they dine in
the washus."

"Oh, they dines in the washus, do they?" said Mr. Weller.

"Yes," replied Mr. Muzzle; "we tried 'em at our table when they first
come, but we couldn't keep 'em. The gal's manners is dreadful vulgar;
and the boy breathes so very hard while he's eating, that we found it
impossible to sit at table with him."

"Young grampus!" said Mr. Weller.

"Oh, dreadful," rejoined Mr. Muzzle; "but that is the worst of country
service, Mr. Weller; the juniors is always so very savage. This way,
sir, if you please; this way."

Preceding Mr. Weller, with the utmost politeness, Mr. Muzzle conducted
him into the kitchen.

"Mary," said Mr. Muzzle to the pretty servant-girl, "this is Mr.
Weller: a gentleman as master has sent down, to be made as comfortable
as possible."

"And your master's a knowin' hand, and has just sent me to the right
place," said Mr. Weller, with a glance of admiration at Mary. "If I
wos master o' this here house, I should alvays find the materials for
comfort vere Mary wos."

"Lor, Mr. Weller!" said Mary, blushing.

"Well, I never!" ejaculated the cook.

"Bless me, cook, I forgot you," said Mr. Muzzle. "Mr. Weller, let me
introduce you."

"How are you, ma'am?" said Mr. Weller. "Wery glad to see you, indeed,
and hope our acquaintance may be a long 'un, as the gen'lm'n said to
the fi'-pun' note."

When this ceremony of introduction had been gone through, the cook and
Mary retired into the back kitchen to titter, for ten minutes; then
returning, all giggles and blushes, they sat down to dinner.

Mr. Weller's easy manners and conversational powers had such
irresistible influence with his new friends, that before the dinner was
half over they were on a footing of perfect intimacy and in possession