The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, v. 1 (of 2)

by Charles Dickens

  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 hisaffectionate 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 sittinghimself down upon it afterwards. "The governor hisself 'll be down herepresently."

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

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

  "Queer, Sammy, queer," replied the elder Mr. Weller, with impressivegravity. "She's been gettin' rayther in the Methodistical order lately,Sammy; and she is uncommon pious, to be sure. She's too good a creeturfor 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' someinwention 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 inhaction, Sammy. I should wery much like to see your mother-in-law bornagain. 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 sideof his nose with his fore-finger some half-dozen times. "What do youthink 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 theirshepherd," said Mr. Weller. "I was a standing starin' in at the picturshop down at our place, when I sees a little bill about it; 'ticketshalf-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, andall sorts o' games. Well, what with your mother-in-law a worrying meto go, and what with my looking for'ard to seein' some queer startsif I did, I put my name down for a ticket; at six o'clock on theFriday evenin' I dresses myself out wery smart, and off I goes withthe old 'ooman, and up we walks into a fust floor where there wastea 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 raytherstout gen'lm'n of eight-and-fifty afore. By-and-bye, there comes agreat bustle down-stairs, and a lanky chap with a red nose and a whiteneckcloth rushes up, and sings out, 'Here's the shepherd a coming towisit his faithful flock;' and in comes a fat chap in black, vith agreat white face, a smilin' avay like clockwork. Such goin's on, Sammy!'The kiss of peace,' says the shepherd; and then he kissed the womenall round, and ven he'd done, the man vith the red nose began. I wasjust a thinkin' whether I hadn't better begin too--'specially as therewas a wery nice lady a sittin' next me--ven in comes the tea, and yourmother-in-law, as had been makin' the kettle bile down-stairs. At itthey went, tooth and nail. Such a precious loud hymn, Sammy, while thetea was a brewing; such a grace, such eatin' and drinkin'! I wish youcould ha' seen the shepherd walkin' into the ham and muffins. I neversee such a chap to eat and drink; never. The red-nosed man warn't byno means the sort of person you'd like to grub by contract, but hewas nothin' to the shepherd. Well; arter the tea was over, they sanganother hymn, and then the shepherd began to preach: and wery well hedid it, considerin' how heavy them muffins must have lied on his chest.Presently he pulls up, all of a sudden, and hollers out, 'Where isthe sinner? where is the mis'rable sinner?' Upon which, all the womenlooked at me, and began to groan as if they was a dying. I thought itwas rather sing'ler, but hows'ever, I says nothing. Presently he pullsup again, and lookin' wery hard at me, says, 'Where is the sinner?where is the mis'rable sinner?' and all the women groans again, tentimes louder than afore. I got rather wild at this, so I takes a stepor two for'ard and says, 'My friend,' says I, 'did you apply that 'ereobserwation to me?' 'Stead of begging my pardon as any gent'lm'n wouldha' done, he got more abusive than ever: called me a wessel, Sammy--awessel of wrath--and all sorts o' names. So my blood being reg'larlyup, I first give him two or three for himself, and then two or threemore to hand over to the man with the red nose, and walked off. I wishyou could ha' heard how the women screamed, Sammy, ven they picked upthe shepherd from under the table--Hallo! here's the governor, the sizeof life."

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

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

  "Beautiful indeed," replied Mr. Pickwick.

  "Beautiful indeed," echoed a red-haired man with an inquisitive noseand blue spectacles, who had unpacked himself from a cab at the samemoment 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 thered-haired man: "we are positively going together." And the red-hairedman, who was an important-looking, sharp-nosed, mysterious-spokenpersonage, with a bird-like habit of giving his head a jerk everytime he said anything, smiled as if he had made one of the strangestdiscoveries 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 fromsolitude--ain't it?"

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

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

  "Not exactly a friend," replied Mr. Pickwick in a low tone. "The factis, 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 amrather 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 thenecessity for it. What's your name, sir?"

  "Here is my card, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick, much amused by theabruptness 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 muchtrouble. That's my card, sir, Magnus, you will perceive, sir--Magnus ismy name. It's rather a good name, I think, sir?"

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

  "Yes, I think it is," resumed Mr. Magnus. "There's a good name beforeit, too, you will observe. Permit me, sir--if you hold the card alittle 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 intimateacquaintance, I sometimes sign myself 'Afternoon.' It amuses my friendsvery much, Mr. Pickwick."

  "It is calculated to afford them the highest gratification, I shouldconceive," 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. Iam quite satisfied from that man's manner, that that leather hat-box is_not_ in."

  The solemn protestations of the hostler being wholly unavailing, theleather hat-box was obliged to be raked up from the lowest depth of theboot, to satisfy him that it had been safely packed; and after he hadbeen assured on this head, he felt a solemn presentiment, first, thatthe 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, whenhe had received ocular demonstration of the groundless nature of eachand every of these suspicions, he consented to climb up to the roof ofthe coach, observing that now he had taken everything off his mind, hefelt quite comfortable and happy.

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

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

  "Well, that's a blessin'," said Mr. Weller. "Sammy, help your masterup to the box: t'other leg, sir, that's it; give us your hand, sir. Upwith 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 'emout. Take care o' the archvay, gen'lm'n. 'Heads,' as the piemansays. That'll do, Villam. Let 'em alone." And away went the coachup Whitechapel, to the admiration of the whole population of thatpretty-densely populated quarter.

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

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

  "It's a wery remarkable circumstance, sir," said Sam, "that poverty andoysters 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, thegreater call there seems to be for oysters. Look here, sir; here's aoyster 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 ofhis lodgings, and eats oysters in reg'lar desperation."

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

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

  By this time they had reached the turnpike at Mile End; a profoundsilence 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. SamuelWeller, in explanation.

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

  "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 shutsthemselves up in pikes; partly vith the view of being solitary, andpartly 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 'emmisanthropes, but as it is, they only takes to pike-keepin'."

  With such conversation, possessing the inestimable charm of blendingamusement with instruction, did Mr. Weller beguile the tediousness ofthe journey, during the greater part of the day. Topics of conversationwere never wanting, for even when any pause occurred in Mr. Weller'sloquacity, it was abundantly supplied by the desire evinced by Mr.Magnus to make himself acquainted with the whole of the personalhistory of his fellow-travellers, and his loudly-expressed anxiety atevery stage, respecting the safety and well-being of the two bags, theleather hat-box, and the brown-paper parcel.

  In the main street of Ipswich, on the left-hand side of the way, ashort distance after you have passed through the open space frontingthe Town Hall, stands an inn known far and wide by the appellationof the Great White Horse, rendered the more conspicuous by a stonestatue of some rampacious animal with flowing mane and tail, distantlyresembling an insane cart-horse, which is elevated above the principaldoor. The Great White Horse is famous in the neighbourhood, in the samedegree as a prize ox, or county-paper-chronicled turnip, or unwieldypig--for its enormous size. Never were such labyrinths of uncarpetedpassages, such clusters of mouldy, ill-lighted rooms, such huge numbersof small dens for eating or sleeping in, beneath any one roof, as arecollected together between the four walls of the Great White Horse atIpswich.

  It was at the door of this overgrown tavern that the London coachstopped, at the same hour every evening; and it was from this sameLondon coach, that Mr. Pickwick, Sam Weller, and Mr. Peter Magnusdismounted, on the particular evening to which this chapter of ourhistory bears reference.

  "Do you stop here, sir?" inquired Mr. Peter Magnus, when the stripedbag, and the red bag, and the brown-paper parcel, and the leatherhat-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 theseextraordinary coincidences. Why, I stop here too. I hope we dinetogether?"

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

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

  "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 willdine alone, then. Show us a private room, waiter."

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

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

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

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

  "Partly right, sir," replied Mr. Peter Magnus, "but partly wrong, atthe s
ame time: try again, Mr. Pickwick."

  "Really," said Mr. Pickwick, "I must throw myself on your mercy, totell me or not, as you may think best; for I should never guess, if Iwere 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 makea 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? Doyou, 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'mdreadful jealous by nature--horrid--that the lady is in this house."Here Mr. Magnus took off his spectacles, on purpose to wink, and thenput 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 Iexpect, 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 notbelieve that such another suit of clothes, and such a hat, could bebought for money, Mr. Pickwick."

  Mr. Pickwick congratulated the fortunate owner of the irresistiblegarments, on their acquisition; and Mr. Peter Magnus remained for a fewmoments 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-morrowforenoon, and came down to seize the opportunity. I think an inn is agood sort of a place to propose to a single woman in, Mr. Pickwick. Sheis 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 amnaturally rather curious; what may _you_ have come down here for?"

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

  "Dear me," said Mr. Peter Magnus, "that's very unpleasant. It is alady, 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 togive vent to your feelings. I know what it is to be jilted, sir; I haveendured that sort of thing three or four times."

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

  "No, no," said Mr. Peter Magnus, "not a word more: it's a painfulsubject. 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. Ishall be pale to-morrow, Mr. Pickwick."

  At the bare notion of such a calamity, Mr. Peter Magnus rang thebell for the chamber-maid; and the striped bag, the red bag, theleathern hat-box, and the brown-paper parcel, having been conveyedto his bed-room, he retired in company with a japanned candlestick,to one side of the house, while Mr. Pickwick, and another japannedcandlestick, 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 atolerably large double-bedded room, with a fire; upon the whole, a morecomfortable-looking apartment than Mr. Pickwick's short experience ofthe 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-pasteight in the morning, and that I shall not want him any more to-night."

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

  Mr. Pickwick sat himself down in a chair before the fire, and fellinto 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 andFogg's it flew off at a tangent, to the very centre of the history ofthe queer client; and then it came back to the Great White Horse atIpswich, with sufficient clearness to convince Mr. Pickwick that he wasfalling asleep. So he roused himself, and began to undress, when herecollected he had left his watch on the table down-stairs.

  Now, this watch was a special favourite with Mr. Pickwick, having beencarried about beneath the shadow of his waistcoat, for a greater numberof years than we feel called upon to state at present. The possibilityof going to sleep, unless it were ticking gently beneath his pillow,or in the watch-pocket over his head, had never entered Mr. Pickwick'sbrain. So as it was pretty late now, and he was unwilling to ring hisbell at that hour of the night, he slipped on his coat, of which he hadjust 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 seemedto be to descend, and again and again, when Mr. Pickwick got into somenarrow passage, and began to congratulate himself on having gained theground-floor, did another flight of stairs appear before his astonishedeyes. At last he reached a stone hall, which he remembered to haveseen 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 ofgiving up the search in despair, he opened the door of the identicalroom in which he had spent the evening, and beheld his missing propertyon the table.

  Mr. Pickwick seized the watch in triumph, and proceeded to retrace hissteps to his bed-chamber. If his progress downward had been attendedwith difficulties and uncertainty, his journey back was infinitelymore perplexing. Rows of doors, garnished with boots of every shape,make, and size, branched off in every possible direction. A dozen timesdid he softly turn the handle of some bed-room door which resembledhis 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 aperfectly 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 firstreceived it, had flickered away in the drafts of air through which hehad 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 bythe light of the fire."

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

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

  The smile that played on Mr. Pickwick's features was instantaneouslylost in a look of the most unbounded and wonder-stricken surprise. Theperson, whoever it was, had come in so suddenly and with so littlenoise, that Mr. Pickwick had had no time to call out, or oppose theirentrance. Who could it be? A robber? Some evil-minded person who hadseen 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 hismysterious visitor with the least danger of being seen himself, was bycreeping on to the bed, and peeping out from between the curtains onthe opposite side. To this manoeuvre he accordingly resorted. Keepingthe curtains carefully closed with his hand, so that nothing more ofhim could be seen than his face and night-cap, and putting on hisspectacles, he mustered up courage, and looked out.

  Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. Standing before adressing-glass was a middle-aged lady, in yellow curl-papers, busilyengaged in brushing what ladies call their "back-hair." However theunconscious middle-aged lady came into that room, it was quite clearthat she contemplated remaining there for the night; for she hadbrought a rushlight and shade with her, which, with praiseworthyprecaution against fire, she had stationed in a basin on the floor,where it was glimmering away, like a gigantic light-house in aparticularly 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 withautomaton-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 wasgoing forward. So out went Mr. Pickwick's head again. The prospect wasworse than before. The middle-aged lady had finished arranging herhair; had carefully enveloped it in a muslin night-cap with a smallplaited 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-possessionof that lady it is clear to me that I must have come into the wrongroom. If I call out she'll alarm the house; but if I remain here theconsequences will be still more frightful."

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

  "Ha-hum!"

  That the lady started at this unexpected sound was evident, by herfalling up against the rushlight shade; that she persuaded herself itmust have been the effect of imagination was equally clear, for whenMr. Pickwick, under the impression that she had fainted away stone-deadfrom fright, ventured to peep out again, she was gazing pensively onthe fire as before.

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

  These last sounds, so like those in which, as legends inform us, theferocious giant Blunderbore was in the habit of expressing his opinionthat it was time to lay the cloth, were too distinctly audible to beagain 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 behindthe 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 wouldbe alarmed. Her garments rustled as she rushed towards the door.

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

  Now, although Mr. Pickwick was not actuated by any definite objectin putting out his head, it was instantaneously productive of a goodeffect. The lady, as we have already stated, was near the door. Shemust pass it, to reach the staircase, and she would most undoubtedlyhave done so by this time, had not the sudden apparition of Mr.Pickwick's night-cap driven her back into the remotest corner of theapartment, 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 youwant 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 headso energetically that the tassel of his night-cap danced again. "I amalmost ready to sink, ma'am, beneath the confusion of addressing a ladyin my night-cap" (here the lady hastily snatched off hers), "but Ican'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, thatI have mistaken this bed-room for my own. I had not been here fiveminutes, ma'am, when you suddenly entered it."

  "If this improbable story be really true, sir," said the lady, sobbingviolently, "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 hisappearance at the bottom of the bed, "to have been the innocentoccasion of this alarm and emotion; deeply sorry, ma'am."

  The lady pointed to the door. One excellent quality of Mr. Pickwick'scharacter was beautifully displayed at this moment, under the mosttrying circumstances. Although he had hastily put on his hat over hisnight-cap, after the manner of the old patrol; although he carried hisshoes and gaiters in his hand, and his coat and waistcoat over hisarm; 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, openingthe door, and dropping both his shoes with a crash in so doing.

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

  "_I trust, ma'am," resumed Mr. Pickwick, "that myunblemished character and the devoted respect I entertain for yoursex----_"]

  Whatever grounds of self-congratulation Mr. Pickwick might have forhaving escaped so quietly from his late awkward situation, his presentposition was by no means enviable. He was alone, in an open passage, ina strange house, in the middle of the night, half dressed; it was notto be supposed that he could find his way in perfect darkness to a roomwhich he had been wholly unable to discover with a light, and if hemade the slightest noise in his fruitless attempts to do so, he stoodevery chance of being shot at, and perhaps killed, by some wakefultraveller. He had no resource but to remain where he was until daylightappeared. So after groping his way a few paces down the
passage, and,to his infinite alarm, stumbling over several pairs of boots in sodoing, Mr. Pickwick crouched into a little recess in the wall, to waitfor morning as philosophically as he might.

  He was not destined, however, to undergo this additional trial ofpatience: for he had not long been ensconced in his present concealmentwhen, to his unspeakable horror, a man, bearing a light, appearedat the end of the passage. His horror was suddenly converted intojoy, however, when he recognised the form of his faithful attendant.It was indeed Mr. Samuel Weller, who, after sitting up thus late inconversation with the Boots, who was sitting up for the mail, was nowabout to retire to rest.

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

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

  Mr. Weller stared at his master with the most emphatic surprise; and itwas not until the question had been repeated three several times, thathe 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 themost 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 wereto stop in this house for six months, I would never trust myself aboutit, 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 himselfin bed, and extended his hand, as if he were about to say somethingmore; but suddenly checking himself, turned round, and bade his valet"Good night."

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