Charles Dickens

“ Pickwick, taking off his hat.
“No Fizkin!” roared the crowd.
“Certainly not!” shouted Mr. Pickwick.
“Hurrah!” And then there was another roaring, like that of a whole menagerie when the elephant has rung the bell for the cold meat.
“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. ”

“ Weller jumps up behind, the Pickwickians pull their coats round their legs and their shawls over their noses, the helpers pull the horse-cloths off, the coachman shouts out a cheery “All right!” and away they go.
They have rumbled through the streets, and jolted over the stones, and at length reach the wide and open country. The wheels skim over the hard and frosty ground; and the horses, bursting into a canter at a smart crack of the whip, step along the road as if the load behind them—coach, passengers, cod-fish, oyster barrels, and all—were but a feather at their heels. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Jackson?” said Fogg.
“Perhaps you would like to call us swindlers, sir,” said Dodson.
“Pray do, sir, if you feel disposed; now pray do, sir.”
“I do,” said Mr. Pickwick. “You are swindlers.”
“Very good,” said Dodson. “You can hear down there, I hope, Mr. Wicks?”
“Oh yes, sir,” said Wicks.
“You had better come up a step or two higher, if you can’t,” added Mr. Fogg. “Go on, sir; do go on. You had better call us thieves, sir; or perhaps you would like to assault one of us. Pray do it, sir, if you would; we will not make the smallest resistance. Pray do it, sir.” ”

“ Tom gazed at the chair; and, suddenly as he looked at it, a most extraordinary change seemed to come over it. The carving of the back gradually assumed the lineaments and expression of an old shrivelled human face; the damask cushion became an antique, flapped waistcoat; the round knobs grew into a couple of feet, encased in red cloth slippers; and the old chair looked like a very ugly old man, of the previous century, with his arms a-kimbo. Tom sat up in bed, and rubbed his eyes to dispel the illusion. No. The chair was an ugly old gentleman; and what was more, he was winking at Tom Smart. ”

“ The Doctor took snuff with everybody, chatted with everybody, laughed, danced, made jokes, played whist, did everything, and was everywhere. To these pursuits, multifarious as they were, the little Doctor added a more important one than any—he was indefatigable in paying the most unremitting and devoted attention to a little old widow, whose rich dress and profusion of ornament bespoke her a most desirable addition to a limited income.
Upon the Doctor, and the widow, the eyes of both Mr. Tupman and his companion had been fixed for some time, when the stranger broke silence. ”

“ Mr. Pickwick was roused by the church-clock striking twelve. The first stroke of the hour sounded solemnly in his ear, but when the bell ceased the stillness seemed insupportable;—he almost felt as if he had lost a companion. He was nervous and excited; and hastily undressing himself and placing his light in the chimney, got into bed.
Every one has experienced that disagreeable state of mind, in which a sensation of bodily weariness in vain contends against an inability to sleep. It was Mr. Pickwick’s condition at this moment: he tossed first on one side and then on the other ”

“ Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were once again left to their own means of amusement; for Mr. Winkle, in compliance with a most pressing invitation, continued to reside at Mr. Pott’s house, and to devote his time to the companionship of his amiable lady. Nor was the occasional society of Mr. Pott himself wanting to complete their felicity. Deeply immersed in the intensity of his speculations for the public weal and the destruction of the Independent, it was not the habit of that great man to descend from his mental pinnacle to the humble level of ordinary minds. ”

“ Snodgrass supported the other, and Mr. Wardle’s sister suffered under such a dreadful state of nervous alarm, that Mr. Tupman found it indispensably necessary to put his arm round her waist, to keep her up at all. Everybody was excited, except the fat boy, and he slept as soundly as if the roaring of cannon were his ordinary lullaby.
“Joe, Joe!” said the stout gentleman, when the citadel was taken, and the besiegers and besieged sat down to dinner. “Damn that boy, he’s gone to sleep again. Be good enough to pinch him, sir—in the leg, if you please; nothing else wakes him—thank you. ”

“ Old Mr. Wardle without a hat, and his clothes torn in several places, stood by his side, and the fragments of the chaise lay scattered at their feet. The post-boys, who had succeeded in cutting the traces, were standing, disfigured with mud and disordered by hard riding, by the horses’ heads. About a hundred yards in advance was the other chaise, which had pulled up on hearing the crash. The postilions, each with a broad grin convulsing his countenance, were viewing the adverse party from their saddles, and Mr. Jingle was contemplating the wreck from the coach-window with evident satisfaction. ”

“ I hope you never may.
“Any letter, addressed to me at the Leather Bottle, Cobham, Kent, will be forwarded—supposing I still exist. I hasten from [154] the sight of that world, which has become odious to me. Should I hasten from it altogether, pity—forgive me. Life, my dear Pickwick, has become insupportable to me. The spirit which burns within us, is a porter’s knot, on which to rest the heavy load of worldly cares and troubles; and when that spirit fails us, the burden is too heavy to be borne. We sink beneath it. You may tell Rachael!—Ah, that name!—
Tracy Tupman.” ”

“ How dare you, sir?—eh, sir?”
“Who the devil are you?” inquired Mr. Jingle, in so fierce a tone, that the little gentleman involuntarily fell back a step or two.
“Who is he, you scoundrel?” interposed Wardle. “He’s my lawyer, Mr. Perker, of Gray’s Inn. Perker, I’ll have this fellow prosecuted—indicted—I’ll—I’ll—I’ll ruin him. And you,” continued Mr. Wardle, turning abruptly round to his sister, “you, Rachael, at a time of life when you ought to know better, what do you mean by running away with a vagabond, disgracing your family, and making yourself miserable? Get on your bonnet, and come back. ”

“ Tupman, rise,” said Rachael.
“Never!” was the valorous reply. “Oh, Rachael!”—He seized her passive hand, and the watering-pot fell to the ground as he pressed it to his lips. “Oh, Rachael! say you love me.”
“Mr. Tupman,” said the spinster aunt, with averted head—“I can hardly speak the words; but—but—you are not wholly indifferent to me.”
Mr. Tupman no sooner heard this avowal, than he proceeded to do what his enthusiastic emotions prompted, and what, for aught we know (for we are but little acquainted with such matters) people so circumstanced always do. ”

“ Charles Fitz-Marshall.”
“My friend! I don’t know any such person.”
“Well! Mr. Jingle, then.”
“I never heard the name in my life.”
“Then, I have been deceived, and deluded,” said Mr. Pickwick. “I have been the victim of a conspiracy—a foul and base conspiracy. Send to the Angel, my dear ma’am, if you don’t believe me. Send to the Angel for Mr. Pickwick’s man-servant, I implore you, ma’am.”
“He must be respectable—he keeps a man-servant,” said Miss Tomkins to the writing and ciphering governess. ”

“ Inexpressible was the astonishment of the little party when they returned, to find that Mr. Pickwick had disappeared, and taken the wheelbarrow with him. It was the most mysterious and unaccountable thing that was ever heard of. For a lame man to have got upon his legs without any previous notice, and walked off, would have been most extraordinary; but when it came to his wheeling a heavy barrow before him, by way of amusement, it grew positively miraculous. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Hot punch is a pleasant thing, gentlemen—an extremely pleasant thing under any circumstances—but in that snug old parlour, before the roaring fire, with the wind blowing outside till every timber in the old house creaked again, Tom Smart found it perfectly delightful. He ordered another tumbler, and then another—I am not quite certain whether he didn’t order another after that—but the more he drank of the hot punch, the more he thought of the tall man. ”

“ It was the fat boy’s.
“Let me get at him, Pickwick,” cried Wardle, as he rushed at the ill-starred youth. “He was bribed by that scoundrel, Jingle, to put me on a wrong scent, by telling a cock-and-a-bull story of my sister and your friend Tupman!” (Here Mr. Tupman sunk into a chair.) “Let me get at him!”
“Don’t let him!” screamed all the women, above whose exclamations the blubbering of the fat boy was distinctly audible.
“I won’t be held!” cried the old man. “Mr. Winkle, take your hands off. Mr. Pickwick, let me go, sir!” ”

“ Tupman; “but not all men. There lives at least one being who can never change—one being who would be content to devote his whole existence to your happiness—who lives but in your eyes—who breathes but in your smiles—who bears the heavy burden of life itself only for you.”
“Could such an individual be found?” said the lady.
“But he can be found,” said the ardent Mr. Tupman, interposing. “He is found. He is here, Miss Wardle.” And ere the lady was aware of his intention, Mr. Tupman had sunk upon his knees at her feet. ”

“ An hostler stood near, holding by the bridle another immense horse—apparently a near relative to the animal in the chaise—ready saddled for Mr. Winkle.
“Bless my soul!” said Mr. Pickwick, as they stood upon the pavement while the coats were being put in. “Bless my soul! who’s to drive? I never thought of that.”
“Oh! you, of course,” said Mr. Tupman.
“Of course,” said Mr. Snodgrass.
“I!” exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
“Not the slightest fear, sir,” interposed the hostler. “Warrant him quiet, sir; a hinfant in arms might drive him.”
“He don’t shy, does he?” inquired Mr. Pickwick. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Tom! I want you to marry the widow.’
“‘Me, sir!’ said Tom.
“‘You,’ said the old gentleman.
“‘Bless your reverend locks,’ said Tom— (he had a few scattered horse-hairs left) —‘bless your reverend locks, she wouldn’t have me.’ And Tom sighed involuntarily, as he thought of the bar.
“‘Wouldn’t she?’ said the old gentleman, firmly.
“‘No, no,’ said Tom; ‘there’s somebody else in the wind. A tall man—a confoundedly tall man—with black whiskers.’
“‘Tom,’ said the old gentleman; ‘she will never have him.’
“‘Won’t she?’ said Tom. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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?” ”

“ Pickwick, blinded shortly afterwards with a silk handkerchief, falling up against the wall, and scrambling into corners, and going through all the mysteries of blindman’s buff, with the utmost relish for the game, until at last he caught one of the poor relations, and then had to evade the blindman himself, which he did with a nimbleness and agility that elicited the admiration and applause of all beholders. The poor relations caught the people who they thought would like it, and, when the game flagged, got caught themselves. ”