There was the widow before him, bouncing bodily here and there, with unwonted vigour; and Mr. Tracy Tupman hopping about, with a face expressive of the most intense solemnity, dancing (as a good many people do) as if a quadrille were not a thing to be laughed at, but a severe trial to the feelings, which it requires inflexible resolution to encounter.
-
There
are very few moments in a man's existence when he experiences so much ludicrous distress, or meets with so little charitable commiseration, as when he is in pursuit of his own hat. A vast deal of coolness, and a peculiar degree of judgment, are requisite in catching a hat. A man must not be precipitate, or he runs over it; he must not rush into the opposite extreme, or he loses it altogether. The best way is to keep gently up with the object of pursuit, to be wary and cautious, to watch your opportunity well, get gradually before it, then make a rapid dive, seize it by the crown, and stick it firmly on your head; smiling pleasantly all the time, as if you thought it as good a joke as anybody else. There
was a fine gentle wind, and Mr. Pickwick's hat rolled sportively before it. The wind puffed, and Mr. Pickwick puffed, and the hat rolled over and over as merrily as a lively porpoise in a strong tide: and on it might have rolled, far beyond Mr. Pickwick's reach, had not its course been providentially stopped, just as that gentleman was on the point of resigning it to its fate.
-
Mr. Pickwick, with his hands in his pockets and his hat cocked
completely over his left eye, was leaning against the dresser, shaking
his head from side to side, and producing a constant succession of the
blandest and most benevolent smiles without being moved thereunto by any
discernible cause or pretence whatsoever; old Mr. Wardle, with a
highly-inflamed countenance, was grasping the hand of a strange
gentleman muttering protestations of eternal friendship; Mr. Winkle,
supporting himself by the eight-day clock, was feebly invoking
destruction upon the head of any member of the family who should suggest
the propriety of his retiring for the night; and Mr. Snodgrass had sunk
into a chair, with an expression of the most abject and hopeless misery
that the human mind can imagine, portrayed in every lineament of his
expressive face.
'Is anything the matter?' inquired the three ladies.
'Nothing the matter,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'We - we're - all right. - I say, Wardle, we're all right, ain't we?'
'I should think so,' replied the jolly host. - 'My dears, here's my
friend Mr. Jingle - Mr. Pickwick's friend, Mr. Jingle, come 'pon -
little visit.'
'Is anything the matter with Mr. Snodgrass, Sir?' inquired Emily, with great anxiety.
'Nothing the matter, ma'am,' replied the stranger. 'Cricket dinner -
glorious party - capital songs - old port - claret - good - very
good - wine, ma'am - wine.'
'It wasn't the wine,'
murmured Mr. Snodgrass, in a broken voice. 'It was the salmon.'
(Somehow or other, it never is the wine, in these cases.)
-
'Who is Slumkey?' whispered Mr. Tupman.
'I don't
know,' replied Mr. Pickwick, in the same tone. 'Hush. Don't ask any
questions. It's always best on these occasions to do what the mob do.'
'But suppose there are two mobs?' suggested Mr. Snodgrass.
'Shout with the largest,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
Volumes could not have said more.
-
'Mr. Pickwick, I presume?'
'The same.'
'Allow me, Sir, the honour of grasping your hand. Permit me, Sir, to shake it,' said the grave man.
'Certainly,' said Mr. Pickwick. The stranger shook the extended hand, and then continued.
'We have heard of your fame, Sir. The noise of your antiquarian
discussion has reached the ears of Mrs. Leo Hunter - my wife, Sir; I am
Mr. Leo Hunter' - the stranger paused, as if he expected that Mr.
Pickwick would be overcome by the disclosure; but seeing that he
remained perfectly calm, proceeded.
'My wife, Sir - Mrs.
Leo Hunter - is proud to number among her acquaintance all those who
have rendered themselves celebrated by their works and talents. Permit
me, Sir, to place in a conspicuous part of the list the name of Mr.
Pickwick, and his brother-members of the club that derives its name from
him.'
'I shall be extremely happy to make the acquaintance of such a lady, Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'You shall make it, Sir,' said the grave man. 'To-morrow morning, Sir,
we give a public breakfast - a fête champetre - to a great number of
those who have rendered themselves celebrated by their works and
talents. Permit Mrs. Leo Hunter, Sir, to have the gratification of
seeing you at the Den.'
'With great pleasure,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'Mrs. Leo Hunter has many of these breakfasts, Sir,' resumed the new
acquaintance - '"feasts of reason," Sir, "and flows of soul," as
somebody who wrote a sonnet to Mrs. Leo Hunter on her breakfasts,
feelingly and originally observed.'
'Was he celebrated for his works and talents?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'He was, Sir,' replied the grave man, 'all Mrs. Leo Hunter's
acquaintance are; it is her ambition, Sir, to have no other
acquaintance.'
'It is a very noble ambition,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'When I inform Mrs. Leo Hunter, that that remark fell from your lips, Sir, she will indeed be proud,' said the grave man. 'You have a
gentleman in your train, who has produced some beautiful little poems, I
think, Sir.'
'My friend Mr. Snodgrass has a great taste for poetry,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'So has Mrs. Leo Hunter, Sir. She dotes on poetry, Sir. She adores it;
I may say that her whole soul and mind are wound up, and entwined with
it. She has produced some delightful pieces, herself, Sir. You may have
met with her "Ode to an expiring Frog," Dir.'
'I don't think I have,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'You astonish me, Sir,' said Mr. Leo Hunter. 'It created an immense
sensation. It was signed with an "L" and eight stars, and appeared
originally in a Lady's Magazine. It commenced
'Can I view thee panting, lying
On thy stomach, without sighing;
Can I unmoved see thee dying
On a log
Expiring frog!'
'Beautiful!' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Fine,' said Mr. Leo Hunter; 'so simple.'
'Very,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'The next verse is still more touching. Shall I repeat it?'
'If you please,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'It runs thus,' said the grave man, still more gravely.
'Say, have fiends in shape of boys,
With wild halloo, and brutal noise,
Hunted thee from marshy joys,
With a dog,
Expiring frog!'
'Finely expressed,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'All point, Sir,' said Mr. Leo Hunter; 'but you shall hear Mrs. Leo
Hunter repeat it. She can do justice to it, Sir. She will repeat it,
in character, Sir, to-morrow morning.'
'In character!'
'As Minerva. But I forgot - it's a fancy-dress dejeune.'
'Dear me,' said Mr. Pickwick, glancing at his own figure - 'I can't possibly' -
-
The jovial party broke up next morning. Breakings-up are capital things
in our school-days, but in after life they are painful enough. Death,
self-interest, and fortune's changes, are every day breaking up many a
happy group, and scattering them far and wide; and the boys and girls
never come back again. We do not mean to say that it was exactly the
case in this particular instance; all we wish to inform the reader is,
that the different members of the party dispersed to their several
homes ...
-
Now, although the warden's room was a very uncomfortable one, being,
in every point of decoration and convenience, several hundred degrees
inferior to the common infirmary of a county jail, it had at present
the merit of being wholly deserted save by Mr. Pickwick himself. So, he
sat down at the foot of his little iron bedstead, and began to wonder
how much a year the warder made out of the dirty room. Having satisfied
himself, by mathematical calculation, that the apartment was about
equal in annual value to the freehold of a small street in the suburbs
of London, he took to wondering what possible temptation could have
induced a dingy-looking fly that was crawling over his pantaloons, to
come into a close prison, when he had the choice of so many airy
situations - a course of meditation which led him to the irresistible
conclusion that the insect was insane. After settling this point, he
began to be conscious that he was getting sleepy; whereupon he took his
nightcap out of the pocket in which he had had the precaution to stow it
in the morning, and, leisurely undressing himself, got into bed and
fell asleep.
-
'I takes my determination on principle, Sir,' remarked Sam, 'and you
takes yours on the same ground; wich puts me in mind o' the man as
killed his-self on principle, wich o' course you've heerd on, Sir.' Mr.
Weller paused when he arrived at this point, and cast a comical look at
his master out of the corners of his eyes.
'There is no
"of course" in the case, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, gradually breaking
into a smile, in spite of the uneasiness which Sam's obstinacy had given
him. 'The fame of the gentleman in question, never reached my ears.'
'No, Sir!' exclaimed Mr. Weller. 'You astonish me, Sir; he wos a clerk in a gov'ment office, sir.'
'Was he?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Yes, he wos, Sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller; 'and a wery pleasant gen'l'm'n
too - one o' the precise and tidy sort, as puts their feet in little
India-rubber fire-buckets wen it's wet weather, and never has no other
bosom friends but hare-skins; he saved up his money on principle, wore a
clean shirt ev'ry day on principle; never spoke to none of his
relations on principle, 'fear they shou'd want to borrow money of him;
and wos altogether, in fact, an uncommon agreeable character. He had
his hair cut on principle vunce a fortnight, and contracted for his
clothes on the economic principle - three suits a year, and send back
the old uns. Being a wery reg'lar gen'l'm'n, he din'd ev'ry day at the
same place, where it was one-and-nine to cut off the joint, and a wery
good one-and-nine's worth he used to cut, as the landlord often said,
with the tears a-tricklin' down his face, let alone the way he used to
poke the fire in the vinter time, which wos a dead loss o' four-pence
ha'penny a day, to say nothin' at all o' the aggrawation o' seein' him
do it. So uncommon grand with it too! "Post arter the next gen'l'm'n,"
he sings out ev'ry day ven he comes in. "See arter the Times, Thomas;
let me look at the Mornin' Herald, when it's out o' hand; don't forget
to bespeak the Chronicle; and just bring the 'Tizer, vill you:" and then
he'd set vith his eyes fixed on the clock, and rush out, just a quarter
of a minit 'fore the time to waylay the boy as wos a-comin' in with the
evenin' paper, which he'd read with sich intense interest and
persewerance as worked the other customers up to the wery confines o'
desperation and insanity, 'specially one i-rascible old gen'l'm'n as the
vaiter wos always obliged to keep a sharp eye on, at sich times, fear
he should be tempted to commit some rash act with the carving-knife.
Vell, Sir, here he'd stop, occupyin' the best place for three hours, and
never takin' nothin' arter his dinner, but sleep, and then he'd go away
to a coffee-house a few streets off, and have a small pot o' coffee and
four crumpets, arter wich he'd walk home to Kensington and go to bed.
One night he wos took very ill; sends for a doctor; doctor comes in a
green fly, with a kind o' Robinson Crusoe set o' steps, as he could let
down wen he got out, and pull up arter him wen he got in, to perwent the
necessity o' the coachman's gettin' down, and thereby undeceivin' the
public by lettin' 'em see that it wos only a livery coat as he'd got on,
and not the trousers to match. "Wot's the matter?" says the doctor.
"Wery ill," says the patient. "Wot have you been a-eatin' on?" says the
doctor. "Roast weal," says the patient. "Wot's the last thing you
dewoured?" says the doctor. "Crumpets," says the patient. "That's it!"
says the doctor. "I'll send you a box of pills directly, and don't you
never take no more of 'em," he says. "No more o' wot?" says the
patient - "pills?" "No; crumpets," says the doctor. "Wy?" says the
patient, starting up in bed; "I've eat four crumpets, ev'ry night for
fifteen year, on principle." "Well, then, you'd better leave 'em off,
on principle," says the doctor. "Crumpets is not wholesome, Sir," says
the doctor, wery fierce. "But they're so cheap," says the patient,
comin' down a little, "and so wery fillin' at the price." "They'd be
dear to you, at any price; dear if you wos paid to eat 'em," says the
doctor. "Four crumpets a night," he says, "vill do your business in six
months!" The patient looks him full in the face, and turns it over in
his mind for a long time, and at last he says, "Are you sure o' that
'ere, Sir?" "I'll stake my professional reputation on it," says the
doctor. "How many crumpets, at a sittin', do you think 'ud kill me off
at once?" says the patient. "I don't know," says the doctor. "Do you
think half-a-crown's wurth 'ud do it?" says the patient. "I think it
might," says the doctor. "Three shillins' wurth 'ud be sure to do it, I
s'pose?" says the patient. "Certainly," says the doctor. "Wery good,"
says the patient; "good-night." Next mornin' he gets up, has a fire
lit, orders in three shillins' wurth o' crumpets, toasts 'em all, eats
'em all, and blows his brains out.'
'What did he do that
for?' inquired Mr. Pickwick abruptly; for he was considerably startled
by this tragical termination of the narrative.
'Wot did he
do it for, Sir?' reiterated Sam. 'Wy, in support of his great principle
that crumpets wos wholesome, and to show that he wouldn't be put out of
his way for nobody!'
-
Let us leave our old friend in one of those moments of unmixed
happiness, of which, if we seek them, there are ever some, to cheer our
transitory existence here. There are dark shadows on the earth, but its
lights are stronger in the contrast. Some men, like bats or owls, have
better eyes for the darkness than for the light. We, who have no such
optical powers, are better pleased to take our last parting look at the
visionary companions of many solitary hours, when the brief sunshine of
the world is blazing full upon them.
