Charles Dickens

“ Live down there! Yes, and a wery good place it is to live in, ain’t it?’
As Roker turned somewhat fiercely upon Mr. Pickwick in saying this, and moreover muttered in an excited fashion certain unpleasant invocations concerning his own eyes, limbs, and circulating fluids, the latter gentleman deemed it advisable to pursue the discourse no further. Mr. Roker then proceeded to mount another staircase, as dirty as that which led to the place which has just been the subject of discussion, in which ascent he was closely followed by Mr. Pickwick and Sam. ”

“ Roker, pausing for breath when they reached another gallery of the same dimensions as the one below, ‘this is the coffee–room flight; the one above’s the third, and the one above that’s the top; and the room where you’re a–going to sleep to–night is the warden’s room, and it’s this way—come on.’ Having said all this in a breath, Mr. Roker mounted another flight of stairs with Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller following at his heels. ”

“ In the adjoining room, some solitary tenant might be seen poring, by the light of a feeble tallow candle, over a bundle of soiled and tattered papers, yellow with dust and dropping to pieces from age, writing, for the hundredth time, some lengthened statement of his grievances, for the perusal of some great man whose eyes it would never reach, or whose heart it would never touch. ”

“ Here, you sir, just run downstairs, and look after that gentleman, will you?’
This request was addressed to a little timid–looking, nervous man, whose appearance bespoke great poverty, and who had been crouching on his bedstead all this while, apparently stupefied by the novelty of his situation.
‘You know where the coffee–room is,’ said Smangle; ‘just run down, and tell that gentleman you’ve come to help him up with the jug. Or—stop—I’ll tell you what—I’ll tell you how we’ll do him,’ said Smangle, with a cunning look.
‘How?’ said Mr. Pickwick. ”

“ The turnkey takes a fixed look at him, and at last he says in a solemn manner, “Tventy,” he says, “I’ll trust you; you Won’t get your old friend into trouble.” “No, my boy; I hope I’ve somethin’ better behind here,” says the little man; and as he said it he hit his little vesket wery hard, and then a tear started out o’ each eye, which wos wery extraordinary, for it wos supposed as water never touched his face. He shook the turnkey by the hand; out he vent—’
‘And never came back again,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ”

“ I’ll tell you wot it is, sir; them as is always a–idlin’ in public–houses it don’t damage at all, and them as is alvays a–workin’ wen they can, it damages too much. “It’s unekal,” as my father used to say wen his grog worn’t made half–and–half: “it’s unekal, and that’s the fault on it.”’
‘I think you’re right, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, after a few moments’ reflection, ‘quite right.’
‘P’raps, now and then, there’s some honest people as likes it,’ observed Mr. Weller, in a ruminative tone, ‘but I never heerd o’ one as I can call to mind, ‘cept the little dirty–faced man in the brown coat ”

“ There were many classes of people here, from the labouring man in his fustian jacket, to the broken–down spendthrift in his shawl dressing–gown, most appropriately out at elbows; but there was the same air about them all—a kind of listless, jail–bird, careless swagger, a vagabondish who’s–afraid sort of bearing, which is wholly indescribable in words, but which any man can understand in one moment if he wish, by setting foot in the nearest debtors’ prison, and looking at the very first group of people he sees there, with the same interest as Mr. Pickwick did.
‘It strikes me, Sam,’ said Mr. ”

“ In a third, a man, with his wife and a whole crowd of children, might be seen making up a scanty bed on the ground, or upon a few chairs, for the younger ones to pass the night in. And in a fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth, and a seventh, the noise, and the beer, and the tobacco smoke, and the cards, all came over again in greater force than before. ”

“ Weller.
‘You see how these fellows drink, and smoke, and roar,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘It’s quite impossible that they can mind it much.’
‘Ah, that’s just the wery thing, Sir,’ rejoined Sam, ‘they don’t mind it; it’s a reg’lar holiday to them—all porter and skittles. It’s the t’other vuns as gets done over vith this sort o’ thing; them down–hearted fellers as can’t svig avay at the beer, nor play at skittles neither; them as vould pay if they could, and gets low by being boxed up. ”

“ Roker. ‘One of ’em takes his twelve pints of ale a day, and never leaves off smoking even at his meals.’
‘He must be a first–rater,’ said Sam.
‘A1,’ replied Mr. Roker.
Nothing daunted, even by this intelligence, Mr. Pickwick smilingly announced his determination to test the powers of the narcotic bedstead for that night; and Mr. Roker, after informing him that he could retire to rest at whatever hour he thought proper, without any further notice or formality, walked off, leaving him standing with Sam in the gallery. ”

“ Vun night he wos in there as usual, along vith a wery old friend of his, as wos on the lock, ven he says all of a sudden, “I ain’t seen the market outside, Bill,” he says (Fleet Market wos there at that time) —“I ain’t seen the market outside, Bill,” he says, “for seventeen year.” “I know you ain’t,” says the turnkey, smoking his pipe. “I should like to see it for a minit, Bill,” he says. “Wery probable,” says the turnkey, smoking his pipe wery fierce, and making believe he warn’t up to wot the little man wanted. ”

“ At last he began to get so precious jolly, that he used to forget how the time vent, or care nothin’ at all about it, and he went on gettin’ later and later, till vun night his old friend wos just a–shuttin’ the gate—had turned the key in fact—wen he come up. “Hold hard, Bill,” he says. “Wot, ain’t you come home yet, Tventy?’ says the turnkey, “I thought you wos in, long ago.” “No, I wasn’t,” says the little man, with a smile. ”

“ The little man was seized vith a wiolent fit o’ tremblin’, and never vent outside the prison walls artervards!’
As Sam concluded, Mr. Pickwick slowly retraced his steps downstairs. After a few thoughtful turns in the Painted Ground, which, as it was now dark, was nearly deserted, he intimated to Mr. Weller that he thought it high time for him to withdraw for the night; requesting him to seek a bed in some adjacent public–house, and return early in the morning, to make arrangements for the removal of his master’s wardrobe from the George and Vulture. This request Mr. ”