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

by Charles Dickens

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  _A Good-humoured Christmas Chapter, containing an Account of a Wedding, and some other Sports beside: which although in their Way even as Good Customs as Marriage itself, are not quite so religiously kept up, in these Degenerate Times_

  As brisk as bees, if not altogether as light as fairies, did thefour Pickwickians assemble on the morning of the twenty-secondday of December, in the year of grace in which these, theirfaithfully-recorded adventures, were undertaken and accomplished.Christmas was close at hand, in all his bluff and hearty honesty; itwas the season of hospitality, merriment, and open-heartedness; the oldyear was preparing, like an ancient philosopher, to call his friendsaround him, and amidst the sound of feasting and revelry to passgently and calmly away. Gay and merry was as the time, and gay andmerry were at least four of the numerous hearts that were gladdened byits coming.

  And numerous indeed are the hearts to which Christmas brings a briefseason of happiness and enjoyment. How many families, whose membershave been dispersed and scattered far and wide, in the restlessstruggles of life, are then re-united, and meet once again in thathappy state of companionship and mutual good-will, which is a sourceof such pure and unalloyed delight, and one so incompatible withthe cares and sorrows of the world, that the religious belief ofthe most civilised nations, and the rude traditions of the roughestsavages, alike number it among the first joys of a future conditionof existence, provided for the blest and happy! How many oldrecollections, and how many dormant sympathies, does Christmas timeawaken!

  We write these words now, many miles distant from the spot at which,year after year, we met on that day, a merry and joyous circle. Manyof the hearts that throbbed so gaily then, have ceased to beat; manyof the looks that shone so brightly then, have ceased to glow; thehands we grasped, have grown cold; the eyes we sought, have hid theirlustre in the grave; and yet the old house, the room, the merry voicesand smiling faces, the jest, the laugh, the most minute and trivialcircumstances connected with those happy meetings, crowd upon ourminds at each recurrence of the season, as if the last assemblage hadbeen but yesterday! Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back tothe delusions of our childish days; that can recall to the old manthe pleasures of his youth; that can transport the sailor and thetraveller, thousands of miles away, back to his own fireside and hisquiet home!

  But we are so taken up and occupied with the good qualities of thissaint Christmas, that we are keeping Mr. Pickwick and his friendswaiting in the cold on the outside of the Muggleton coach, whichthey have just attained, well wrapped up in great-coats, shawls, andcomforters. The portmanteaus and carpet-bags have been stowed away, andMr. Weller and the guard are endeavouring to insinuate into a fore-boota huge cod-fish several sizes too large for it--which is snugly packedup, in a long brown basket, with a layer of straw over the top, andwhich has been left to the last, in order that he may repose safely onthe half-dozen barrels of real native oysters, all the property of Mr.Pickwick, which have been arranged in regular order at the bottom ofthe receptacle. The interest displayed in Mr. Pickwick's countenance ismost intense, as Mr. Weller and the guard try to squeeze the cod-fishinto the boot, first head first, and then tail first, and then topupward, and then bottom upward, and then side-ways, and then long-ways,all of which artifices the implacable cod-fish sturdily resists, untilthe guard accidentally hits him in the very middle of the basket,whereupon he suddenly disappears into the boot, and with him, the headand shoulders of the guard himself, who, not calculating upon so suddena cessation of the passive resistance of the cod-fish, experiences avery unexpected shock, to the unsmotherable delight of all the portersand bystanders. Upon this, Mr. Pickwick smiles with great good-humour,and drawing a shilling from his waistcoat pocket, begs the guard,as he picks himself out of the boot, to drink his health in a glassof hot brandy and water; at which the guard smiles too, and Messrs.Snodgrass, Winkle, and Tupman, all smile in company. The guard and Mr.Weller disappear for five minutes: most probably to get the hot brandyand water, for they smell very strongly of it, when they return; thecoachman mounts the box, Mr. Weller jumps up behind, the Pickwickianspull 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 overthe hard and frosty ground; and the horses, bursting into a canter ata smart crack of the whip, step along the road as if the load behindthem--coach, passengers, cod-fish, oyster barrels, and all--were buta feather at their heels. They have descended a gentle slope, andenter upon a level, as compact and dry as a solid block of marble, twomiles long. Another crack of the whip, and on they speed, at a smartgallop: the horses tossing their heads and rattling the harness, asif in exhilaration at the rapidity of the motion: while the coachman,holding whip and reins in one hand, takes off his hat with the other,and resting it on his knees, pulls out his handkerchief, and wipeshis forehead: partly because he has the habit of doing it, and partlybecause it's as well to show the passengers how cool he is, and whatan easy thing it is to drive four-in-hand, when you have had as muchpractice as he has. Having done this very leisurely (otherwise theeffect would be materially impaired), he replaces his handkerchief,pulls on his hat, adjusts his gloves, squares his elbows, cracks thewhip again, and on they speed, more merrily than before.

  A few small houses, scattered on either side of the road, betoken theentrance to some town or village. The lively notes of the guard'skey-bugle vibrate in the clear cold air, and wake up the old gentlemaninside, who, carefully letting down the window-sash half-way, andstanding sentry over the air, takes a short peep out, and thencarefully pulling it up again, informs the other inside that they'regoing to change directly; on which the other inside wakes himself up,and determines to postpone his next nap until after the stoppage. Againthe bugle sounds lustily forth, and rouses the cottager's wife andchildren, who peep out at the house-door, and watch the coach till itturns the corner, when they once more crouch round the blazing fire,and throw on another log of wood against father comes home; whilefather himself, a full mile off, has just exchanged a friendly nod withthe coachman, and turned round to take a good long stare at the vehicleas it whirls away.

  And now the bugle plays a lively air as the coach rattles through theill-paved streets of a country town; and the coachman, undoing thebuckle which keeps his ribands together, prepares to throw them offthe moment he stops. Mr. Pickwick emerges from his coat collar, andlooks about him with great curiosity; perceiving which, the coachmaninforms Mr. Pickwick of the name of the town, and tells him it wasmarket-day yesterday, both of which pieces of information Mr. Pickwickretails to his fellow-passengers; whereupon they emerge from their coatcollars too, and look about them also. Mr. Winkle, who sits at theextreme edge, with one leg dangling in the air, is nearly precipitatedinto the street, as the coach twists round the sharp corner by thecheesemonger's shop, and turns into the market-place; and before Mr.Snodgrass, who sits next to him, has recovered from his alarm, theypull up at the inn-yard, where the fresh horses, with cloths on, arealready waiting. The coachman throws down the reins and gets downhimself, and the other outside passengers drop down also: except thosewho have no great confidence in their ability to get up again; and theyremain where they are, and stamp their feet against the coach to warmthem--looking, with longing eyes and red noses, at the bright fire inthe inn bar, and the sprigs of holly with red berries which ornamentthe window.

  But the guard has delivered at the corn-dealer's shop the brown paperpacket he took out of the little pouch which hangs over his shoulderby a leathern strap; and has seen the horses carefully put to; and hasthrown on the pavement the saddle which was brought from London on thecoach-roof; and has assisted in the conference between the coachmanand the hostler about the grey mare that hurt her off-fore-leg lastTuesday; and he and Mr. Weller are all right behind, and the coachmanis all
right in front, and the old gentleman inside, who has kept thewindow down full two inches all this time, has pulled it up again,and the cloths are off, and they are all ready for starting, exceptthe "two stout gentlemen," whom the coachman inquires after with someimpatience. Hereupon the coachman, and the guard, and Sam Weller, andMr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass, and all the hostlers, and every one ofthe idlers, who are more in number than all the others put together,shout for the missing gentlemen as loud as they can bawl. A distantresponse is heard from the yard, and Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman comerunning down it, quite out of breath, for they have been having a glassof ale apiece, and Mr. Pickwick's fingers are so cold that he has beenfull five minutes before he could find the sixpence to pay for it.The coachman shouts an admonitory "Now, then, gen'lm'n!" the guardre-echoes it; the old gentleman inside thinks it a very extraordinarything that people _will_ get down when they know there isn't time forit; Mr. Pickwick struggles up on one side, Mr. Tupman on the other;Mr. Winkle cries "All right!" and off they start. Shawls are pulledup, coat-collars are re-adjusted, the pavement ceases, the housesdisappear, and they are once again dashing along the open road, withthe fresh clear air blowing in their faces, and gladdening theirvery hearts within them.

  _A distant response is heard from the yard, and Mr.Pickwick and Mr. Tupman come running down it._]

  Such was the progress of Mr. Pickwick and his friends by the MuggletonTelegraph, on their way to Dingley Dell; and at three o'clock thatafternoon they all stood, high and dry, safe and sound, hale andhearty, upon the steps of the Blue Lion, having taken on the road quiteenough of ale and brandy to enable them to bid defiance to the frostthat was binding up the earth in its iron fetters, and weaving itsbeautiful net-work upon the trees and hedges. Mr. Pickwick was busilyengaged in counting the barrels of oysters, and superintending thedisinterment of the cod-fish, when he felt himself gently pulled by theskirts of the coat. Looking round, he discovered that the individualwho resorted to this mode of catching his attention was no other thanMr. Wardle's favourite page, better known to the readers of thisunvarnished history, by the distinguished appellation of the fat boy.

  "Aha!" said Mr. Pickwick.

  "Aha!" said the fat boy.

  As he said it, he glanced from the cod-fish to the oyster-barrels, andchuckled joyously. He was fatter than ever.

  "Well, you look rosy enough, my young friend," said Mr. Pickwick.

  "I've been asleep, right in front of the tap-room fire," replied thefat boy, who had heated himself to the colour of a new chimney-pot, inthe course of an hour's nap. "Master sent me over with the shay-cart tocarry your luggage up to the house. He'd ha' sent some saddle-horses,but he thought you'd rather walk, being a cold day."

  "Yes, yes," said Mr. Pickwick, hastily, for he remembered how they hadtravelled over nearly the same ground on a previous occasion. "Yes, wewould rather walk. Here, Sam!"

  "Sir?" said Mr. Weller.

  "Help Mr. Wardle's servant to put the packages into the cart, and thenride on with him. We will walk forward at once."

  Having given this direction, and settled with the coachman, Mr.Pickwick and his three friends struck into the footpath across thefields, and walked briskly away, leaving Mr. Weller and the fat boyconfronted together for the first time. Sam looked at the fat boy withgreat astonishment, but without saying a word; and began to stow theluggage rapidly away in the cart, while the fat boy stood quietly by,and seemed to think it a very interesting sort of thing to see Mr.Weller working by himself.

  "_Aha!" said the fat boy_]

  "There," said Sam, throwing in the last carpet-bag. "There they are!"

  "Yes," said the fat boy, in a very satisfied tone, "there they are!"

  "Vell, young twenty stun," said Sam, "you're a nice specimen of a prizeboy, you are!"

  "Thankee," said the fat boy.

  "You ain't got nothin' on your mind as makes you fret yourself, haveyou?" inquired Sam.

  "Not as I knows on," replied the fat boy.

  "I should rayther ha' thought, to look at you, that you was a labourin'under an unrequited attachment to some young 'ooman," said Sam.

  The fat boy shook his head.

  "Vell," said Sam, "I'm glad to hear it. Do you ever drink anythin'?"

  "I likes eating better," replied the boy.

  "Ah," said Sam, "I should ha' s'posed that; but what I mean is, shouldyou like a drop of anythin' as 'd warm you? but I s'pose you never wascold, with all them elastic fixtures, was you?"

  "Sometimes," replied the boy; "and I likes a drop of something, whenit's good."

  "Oh, you do, do you?" said Sam, "come this way, then!"

  The Blue Lion tap was soon gained, and the fat boy swallowed a glass ofliquor without so much as winking; a feat which considerably advancedhim in Mr. Weller's good opinion. Mr. Weller having transacted asimilar piece of business on his own account, they got into the cart.

  "Can you drive?" said the fat boy.

  "I should rayther think so," replied Sam.

  "There, then," said the fat boy, putting the reins in his hand, andpointing up a lane, "it's as straight as you can go; you can't miss it."

  With these words, the fat boy laid himself affectionately down by theside of the cod-fish: and placing an oyster-barrel under his head for apillow, fell asleep instantaneously.

  "Well," said Sam, "of all the cool boys ever I set my eyes on, thishere young gen'lm'n is the coolest. Come, wake up, young dropsy!"

  But as young dropsy evinced no symptoms of returning animation, SamWeller sat himself down in front of the cart, and starting the oldhorse with a jerk of the rein, jogged steadily on, towards Manor Farm.

  Meanwhile, Mr. Pickwick and his friends having walked their blood intoactive circulation, proceeded cheerfully on. The paths were hard; thegrass was crisp and frosty; the air had a fine, dry, bracing coldness;and the rapid approach of the grey twilight (slate-coloured is abetter term in frosty weather) made them look forward with pleasantanticipation to the comforts which awaited them at their hospitableentertainer's. It was the sort of afternoon that might induce a coupleof elderly gentlemen, in a lonely field, to take off their great-coatsand play at leap-frog in pure lightness of heart and gaiety; and wefirmly believe that had Mr. Tupman at that moment proffered "a back,"Mr. Pickwick would have accepted his offer with the utmost avidity.

  However, Mr. Tupman did not volunteer any such accommodation, and thefriends walked on, conversing merrily. As they turned into a lane theyhad to cross, the sound of many voices burst upon their ears; andbefore they had even had time to form a guess to whom they belonged,they walked into the very centre of the party who were expecting theirarrival--a fact which was first notified to the Pickwickians, by theloud "Hurrah!" which burst from old Wardle's lips, when they appearedin sight.

  First, here was Wardle himself, looking, if possible, more jolly thanever; then there were Bella and her faithful Trundle; and, lastly,there were Emily and some eight or ten young ladies, who had all comedown to the wedding, which was to take place next day, and who were inas happy and important a state as young ladies usually are, on suchmomentous occasions; and they were, one and all, startling the fieldsand lanes, far and wide, with their frolic and laughter.

  The ceremony of introduction, under such circumstances, was very soonperformed, or we should rather say that the introduction was soonover, without any ceremony at all. In two minutes thereafter, Mr.Pickwick was joking with the young ladies who wouldn't come over thestile while he looked--or who, having pretty feet and unexceptionableankles, preferred standing on the top-rail for five minutes or so,declaring that they were too frightened to move--with as much ease andabsence of reserve or constraint, as if he had known them for life. Itis worthy of remark, too, that Mr. Snodgrass offered Emily far moreassistance than the absolute terrors of the stile (although it was fullthree feet high, and had only a couple of stepping-stones) would seemto require; while one black-eyed young lady in a very nice little pairof boots, with fur round the top, was observed to
scream very loudly,when Mr. Winkle offered to help her over.

  All this was very snug and pleasant. And when the difficulties of thestile were at last surmounted, and they once more entered on the openfield, old Wardle informed Mr. Pickwick how they had all been down in abody to inspect the furniture and fittings-up of the house, which theyoung couple were to tenant, after the Christmas holidays; at whichcommunication Bella and Trundle both coloured up, as red as the fatboy after the tap-room fire; and the young lady with the black eyesand the fur round the boots, whispered something in Emily's ear, andthen glanced archly at Mr. Snodgrass; to which Emily responded thatshe was a foolish girl, but turned very red, notwithstanding; and Mr.Snodgrass, who was as modest as all great geniuses usually are, feltthe crimson rising to the crown of his head, and devoutly wished in theinmost recesses of his own heart that the young lady aforesaid, withher black eyes, and her archness, and her boots with the fur round thetop, were all comfortably deposited in the adjacent county.

  But if they were social and happy outside the house, what was thewarmth and cordiality of their reception when they reached the farm!The very servants grinned with pleasure at sight of Mr. Pickwick;and Emma bestowed a half-demure, half-impudent, and all pretty, lookof recognition on Mr. Tupman, which was enough to make the statue ofBonaparte in the passage unfold his arms, and clasp her within them.

  The old lady was seated in customary state in the front parlour, butshe was rather cross, and, by consequence, most particularly deaf. Shenever went out herself, and like a great many other old ladies of thesame stamp, she was apt to consider it an act of domestic treason ifanybody else took the liberty of doing what she couldn't. So, bless herold soul, she sat as upright as she could, in her great armchair, andlooked as fierce as might be--and that was benevolent after all.

  "Mother," said Wardle, "Mr. Pickwick. You recollect him?"

  "Never mind," replied the old lady with great dignity. "Don't troubleMr. Pickwick about an old creetur like me. Nobody cares about menow, and it's very nat'ral they shouldn't." Here the old lady tossedher head, and smoothed down her lavender-coloured silk dress, withtrembling hands.

  "Come, come, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, "I can't let you cut an oldfriend in this way. I have come down expressly to have a long talk, andanother rubber with you; and we'll show these boys and girls how todance a minuet, before they're eight-and-forty hours older."

  The old lady was rapidly giving way, but she did not like to do it allat once; so she only said, "Ah! I can't hear him!"

  "Nonsense, mother," said Wardle. "Come, come, don't be cross, there'sa good soul. Recollect Bella; come, you must keep her spirits up, poorgirl."

  The good lady heard this, for her lip quivered as her son said it. Butage has its little infirmities of temper, and she was not quite broughtround yet. So, she smoothed down the lavender-coloured dress again, andturning to Mr. Pickwick said, "Ah, Mr. Pickwick, young people was verydifferent, when I was a girl."

  "No doubt of that, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, "and that's the reasonwhy I would make much of the few that have any traces of the oldstock,"--and saying this, Mr. Pickwick gently pulled Bella towardshim, and bestowing a kiss upon her forehead, bade her sit down on thelittle stool at her grandmother's feet. Whether the expression of hercountenance, as it was raised towards the old lady's face, called upa thought of old times, or whether the old lady was touched by Mr.Pickwick's affectionate good nature, or whatever was the cause, she wasfairly melted; so she threw herself on her grand-daughter's neck, andall the little ill-humour evaporated in a gush of silent tears.

  A happy party they were, that night. Sedate and solemn were the scoreof rubbers in which Mr. Pickwick and the old lady played together;uproarious was the mirth of the round table. Long after the ladies hadretired, did the hot elder-wine, well qualified with brandy and spice,go round, and round, and round again; and sound was the sleep andpleasant were the dreams that followed. It is a remarkable fact thatthose of Mr. Snodgrass bore constant reference to Emily Wardle; andthat the principal figure in Mr. Winkle's visions was a young lady withblack eyes, an arch smile, and a pair of remarkably nice boots with furround the tops.

  Mr. Pickwick was awakened, early in the morning, by a hum of voicesand a pattering of feet, sufficient to rouse even the fat boy from hisheavy slumbers. He sat up in bed and listened. The female servants andfemale visitors were running constantly to and fro; and there were suchmultitudinous demands for hot water, such repeated outcries for needlesand thread, and so many half-suppressed entreaties of "Oh, do come andtie me, there's a dear!" that Mr. Pickwick in his innocence began toimagine that something dreadful must have occurred: when he grew moreawake, and remembered the wedding. The occasion being an important onehe dressed himself with peculiar care, and descended to the breakfastroom.

  There were all the female servants in a brand new uniform of pinkmuslin gowns with white bows in their caps, running about the house ina state of excitement and agitation which it would be impossible todescribe. The old lady was dressed out in a brocaded gown which had notseen the light for twenty years, saving and excepting such truant raysas had stolen through the chinks in the box in which it had been laidby, during the whole time. Mr. Trundle was in high feather and spirits,but a little nervous withal. The hearty old landlord was trying to lookvery cheerful and unconcerned, but failing signally in the attempt.All the girls were in tears and white muslin, except a select two orthree who were being honoured with a private view of the bride andbridesmaids, upstairs. All the Pickwickians were in a most bloomingarray; and there was a terrific roaring on the grass in front of thehouse, occasioned by all the men, boys, and hobbledehoys attached tothe farm, each of whom had got a white bow in his button-hole, and allof whom were cheering with might and main: being incited thereunto,and stimulated therein, by the precept and example of Mr. SamuelWeller, who had managed to become mighty popular already, and was asmuch at home as if he had been born on the land.

  A wedding is a licensed subject to joke upon, but there really is nogreat joke in the matter after all;--we speak merely of the ceremony,and beg it to be distinctly understood that we indulge in no hiddensarcasm upon a married life. Mixed up with the pleasure and joy of theoccasion, are the many regrets at quitting home, the tears of partingbetween parent and child, the consciousness of leaving the dearest andkindest friends of the happiest portion of human life, to encounter itscares and troubles with others still untried and little known: naturalfeelings which we would not render this chapter mournful by describing,and which we should be still more unwilling to be supposed to ridicule.

  Let us briefly say, then, that the ceremony was performed by theold clergyman, in the parish church of Dingley Dell, and that Mr.Pickwick's name is attached to the register, still preserved in thevestry thereof; that the young lady with the black eyes signed hername in a very unsteady and tremulous manner; that Emily's signature,as the other bridesmaid, is nearly illegible; that it all went off invery admirable style; that the young ladies generally thought it farless shocking than they had expected; and that although the owner ofthe black eyes and the arch smile informed Mr. Winkle that she was sureshe could never submit to anything so dreadful, we have the very bestreasons for thinking she was mistaken. To all this, we may add, thatMr. Pickwick was the first who saluted the bride, and that in so doing,he threw over her neck a rich gold watch and chain, which no mortaleyes but the jeweller's had ever beheld before. Then, the old churchbell rang as gaily as it could, and they all returned to breakfast.

  "Vere does the mince pies go, young opium-eater?" said Mr. Weller tothe fat boy, as he assisted in laying out such articles of consumptionas had not been duly arranged on the previous night.

  The fat boy pointed to the destination of the pies.

  "Wery good," said Sam, "stick a bit o' Christmas in 'em. T'other dishopposite. There; now we look compact and comfortable, as the fathersaid ven he cut his little boy's head off, to cure him of squintin'."

  As Mr. Weller made the comparison, he
fell back a step or two, togive full effect to it, and surveyed the preparations with the utmostsatisfaction.

  "Wardle," said Mr. Pickwick, almost as soon as they were all seated, "aglass of wine in honour of this happy occasion!"

  "I shall be delighted, my boy," said Wardle. "Joe--damn that boy, he'sgone to sleep."

  "No, I ain't, sir," replied the fat boy, starting up from a remotecorner, where, like the patron saint of fat boys--the immortalHorner--he had been devouring a Christmas pie: though not with thecoolness and deliberation which characterised that young gentleman'sproceedings.

  "Fill Mr. Pickwick's glass."

  "Yes, sir."

  The fat boy filled Mr. Pickwick's glass, and then retired behind hismaster's chair, from whence he watched the play of the knives andforks, and the progress of the choice morsels from the dishes to themouths of the company, with a kind of dark and gloomy joy that was mostimpressive.

  "God bless you, old fellow!" said Mr. Pickwick.

  "Same to you, my boy," replied Wardle, and they pledged each otherheartily.

  "Mrs. Wardle," said Mr. Pickwick, "we old folks must have a glass ofwine together, in honour of this joyful event."

  The old lady was in a state of great grandeur just then, for shewas sitting at the top of the table in the brocaded gown, with hernewly-married granddaughter on one side and Mr. Pickwick on the other,to do the carving. Mr. Pickwick had not spoken in a very loud tone,but she understood him at once, and drank off a full glass of wine tohis long life and happiness; after which the worthy old soul launchedforth into a minute and particular account of her own wedding, witha dissertation on the fashion of wearing high-heeled shoes, and someparticulars concerning the life and adventures of the beautiful LadyTollimglower, deceased: at all of which the old lady herself laughedvery heartily indeed, and so did the young ladies too, for they werewondering among themselves what on earth grandma was talking about.When they laughed, the old lady laughed ten times more heartily, andsaid that these always had been considered capital stories: whichcaused them all to laugh again, and put the old lady into the very bestof humours. Then, the cake was cut, and passed through the ring; theyoung ladies saved pieces to put under their pillows to dream of theirfuture husbands on; and a great deal of blushing and merriment wasthereby occasioned.

  "Mr. Miller," said Mr. Pickwick to his old acquaintance the hard-headedgentleman, "a glass of wine?"

  "With great satisfaction, Mr. Pickwick," replied the hard-headedgentleman, solemnly.

  "You'll take me in?" said the benevolent old clergyman.

  "And me," interposed his wife.

  "And me, and me," said a couple of poor relations at the bottom of thetable, who had eaten and drank very heartily, and laughed at everything.

  Mr. Pickwick expressed his heartfelt delight at every additionalsuggestion: and his eyes beamed with hilarity and cheerfulness.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly rising.

  "Hear, hear! Hear, hear! Hear, hear!" cried Mr. Weller, in theexcitement of his feelings.

  "Call in all the servants," cried old Wardle, interposing to preventthe public rebuke which Mr. Weller would otherwise most indubitablyhave received from his master. "Give them a glass of wine each, todrink the toast in. Now, Pickwick."

  Amidst the silence of the company, the whispering of the womenservants, and the awkward embarrassment of the men, Mr. Pickwickproceeded.

  "Ladies and gentlemen--no, I won't say ladies and gentlemen, I'll callyou my friends, my dear friends, if the ladies will allow me to take sogreat a liberty"----

  Here Mr. Pickwick was interrupted by immense applause from the ladies,echoed by the gentlemen, during which the owner of the eyes wasdistinctly heard to state that she could kiss that dear Mr. Pickwick.Whereupon Mr. Winkle gallantly inquired if it couldn't be done bydeputy: to which the young lady with the black eyes replied, "Goaway"--and accompanied the request with a look which said as plainly asa look could do--"if you can."

  "My dear friends," resumed Mr. Pickwick, "I am going to propose thehealth of the bride and bridegroom--God bless 'em (cheers and tears).My young friend, Trundle, I believe to be a very excellent and manlyfellow; and his wife I know to be a very amiable and lovely girl, wellqualified to transfer to another sphere of action the happiness whichfor twenty years she has diffused around her, in her father's house.(Here, the fat boy burst forth into stentorian blubberings, and was ledforth by the coat collar, by Mr. Weller.) I wish," added Mr. Pickwick,"I wish I was young enough to be her sister's husband (cheers), but,failing that, I am happy to be old enough to be her father; for, beingso, I shall not be suspected of any latent designs when I say, thatI admire, esteem, and love them both (cheers and sobs). The bride'sfather, our good friend there, is a noble person, and I am proud toknow him (great uproar). He is a kind, excellent, independent-spirited,fine-hearted, hospitable, liberal man (enthusiastic shouts from thepoor relations, at all the adjectives; and especially at the two last).That his daughter may enjoy all the happiness, even he can desire;and that he may derive from the contemplation of her felicity all thegratification of heart and peace of mind which he so well deserves, is,I am persuaded, our united wish. So, let us drink their healths, andwish them prolonged life, and every blessing!"

  Mr. Pickwick concluded amidst a whirlwind of applause; and once morewere the lungs of the supernumeraries, under Mr. Weller's command,brought into active and efficient operation. Mr. Wardle proposed Mr.Pickwick; Mr. Pickwick proposed the old lady. Mr. Snodgrass proposedMr. Wardle; Mr. Wardle proposed Mr. Snodgrass. One of the poorrelations proposed Mr. Tupman, and the other poor relation proposedMr. Winkle; all was happiness and festivity, until the mysteriousdisappearance of both the poor relations beneath the table warned theparty that it was time to adjourn.

  At dinner they met again, after a five-and-twenty mile walk, undertakenby the males at Wardle's recommendation, to get rid of the effects ofthe wine at breakfast. The poor relations had kept in bed all day, withthe view of attaining the same happy consummation, but, as they hadbeen unsuccessful, they stopped there. Mr. Weller kept the domestics ina state of perpetual hilarity; and the fat boy divided his time intosmall alternate allotments of eating and sleeping.

  The dinner was as hearty an affair as the breakfast, and was quite asnoisy, without the tears. Then came the dessert and some more toasts.Then came the tea and coffee; and then the ball.

  The best sitting-room at Manor Farm was a good, long, dark-panelledroom, with a high chimney-piece, and a capacious chimney, up which youcould have driven one of the new patent cabs, wheels and all. At theupper end of the room, seated in a shady bower of holly and evergreens,were the two best fiddlers, and the only harp, in all Muggleton. Inall sorts of recesses, and on all kinds of brackets, stood massive oldsilver candlesticks with four branches each. The carpet was up, thecandles burnt bright, the fire blazed and crackled on the hearth, andmerry voices and light-hearted laughter rang through the room. If anyof the old English yeomen had turned into fairies when they died, itwas just the place in which they would have held their revels.

  If anything could have added to the interest of this agreeable scene,it would have been the remarkable fact of Mr. Pickwick's appearingwithout his gaiters, for the first time within the memory of his oldestfriends.

  "You mean to dance?" said Wardle.

  "Of course I do," replied Mr. Pickwick. "Don't you see I am dressed forthe purpose?" Mr. Pickwick called attention to his speckled stockings,and smartly tied pumps.

  "_You_ in silk stockings!" exclaimed Mr. Tupman, jocosely.

  "And why not, sir--why not?" said Mr. Pickwick, turning warmly upon him.

  "Oh, of course there is no reason why you shouldn't wear them,"responded Mr. Tupman.

  "I imagine not, sir, I imagine not," said Mr. Pickwick in a veryperemptory tone.

  Mr. Tupman had contemplated a laugh, but he found it was a seriousmatter; so he looked grave, and said they were a pretty pattern.

  "I hope they are," sai
d Mr. Pickwick, fixing his eyes upon his friend."You see nothing extraordinary in the stockings, _as_ stockings, Itrust, sir?"

  "Certainly not. Oh certainly not," replied Mr. Tupman. He walked away;and Mr. Pickwick's countenance resumed its customary benign expression.

  "We are all ready, I believe," said Mr. Pickwick, who was stationedwith the old lady at the top of the dance, and had already made fourfalse starts, in his excessive anxiety to commence.

  "Then begin at once," said Wardle. "Now!"

  Up struck the two fiddles and the one harp, and off went Mr. Pickwickinto hands across, when there was a general clapping of hands and a cryof "Stop, stop!"

  "What's the matter?" said Mr. Pickwick, who was only brought to by thefiddles and harp desisting, and could have been stopped by no otherearthly power, if the house had been on fire.

  "Where's Arabella Allen?" cried a dozen voices.

  "And Winkle?" added Mr. Tupman.

  "Here we are!" exclaimed that gentleman, emerging with his prettycompanion from the corner; as he did so, it would have been hard totell which was the redder in the face, he or the young lady with theblack eyes.

  "What an extraordinary thing it is, Winkle," said Mr. Pickwick, ratherpettishly, "that you couldn't have taken your place before."

  "Not at all extraordinary," said Mr. Winkle.

  "Well," said Mr. Pickwick, with a very expressive smile, as his eyesrested on Arabella, "well, I don't know that it _was_ extraordinaryeither, after all."

  However, there was no time to think more about the matter, for thefiddles and harp began in real earnest. Away went Mr. Pickwick--handsacross--down the middle to the very end of the room, and half-way upthe chimney, back again to the door--poussette everywhere--loud stampon the ground--ready for the next couple--off again--all the figureover once more--another stamp to beat out the time--next couple,and the next, and the next again--never was such going! At last,after they had reached the bottom of the dance, and full fourteencouple after the old lady had retired in an exhausted state, and theclergyman's wife had been substituted in her stead, did that gentleman,when there was no demand whatever on his exertions, keep perpetuallydancing in his place, to keep time to the music; smiling on hispartner all the while with a blandness of demeanour which baffles alldescription.

  Long before Mr. Pickwick was weary of dancing, the newly-married couplehad retired from the scene. There was a glorious supper downstairs,notwithstanding, and a good long sitting after it; and when Mr.Pickwick awoke, late the next morning, he had a confused recollectionof having, severally and confidentially, invited somewhere aboutfive-and-forty people to dine with him at the George and Vulture,the very first time they came to London; which Mr. Pickwick rightlyconsidered a pretty certain indication of his having taken somethingbesides exercise, on the previous night.

  "And so your family has games in the kitchen to-night, my dear, hasthey?" inquired Sam of Emma.

  "Yes, Mr. Weller," replied Emma; "we always have on Christmas Eve.Master wouldn't neglect to keep it up on any account."

  "Your master's a wery pretty notion of keepin' anythin' up, my dear,"said Mr. Weller; "I never see such a sensible sort of man as he is, orsuch a reg'lar gen'l'm'n."

  "Oh, that he is!" said the fat boy, joining in the conversation; "don'the breed nice pork!" The fat youth gave a semi-cannibalic leer at Mr.Weller, as he thought of the roast legs and gravy.

  "Oh, you've woke up, at last, have you?" said Sam.

  The fat boy nodded.

  "I'll tell you what it is, young boa-constructer," said Mr. Weller,impressively; "if you don't sleep a little less, and exercise a littlemore, ven you come to be a man you'll lay yourself open to the samesort of personal inconwenience as was inflicted on the old gen'l'm'n aswore the pigtail."

  "What did they do to him?" inquired the fat boy, in a faltering voice.

  "I'm a goin' to tell you," replied Mr. Weller; "he was one o' thelargest patterns as was ever turned out--reg'lar fat man, as hadn'tcaught a glimpse of his own shoes for five-and-forty year."

  "Lor!" exclaimed Emma.

  "No, that he hadn't, my dear," said Mr. Weller; "and if you'd put anexact model of his own legs on the dinin' table afore him, he wouldn'tha' known 'em. Well, he always walks to his office with a wery handsomegold watch-chain hanging out, about a foot and a quarter, and a goldwatch in his fob pocket as was worth--I'm afraid to say how much, butas much as a watch can be--a large, heavy, round manafacter, as stoutfor a watch, as he was for a man, and with a big face in proportion.'You'd better not carry that 'ere watch,' says the old gen'l'm'n'sfriends, 'you'll be robbed on it,' says they. 'Shall I?' says he.'Yes, you will,' says they. 'Vell,' says he, 'I should like to see thethief as could get this here watch out, for I'm blest if _I_ ever can,it's such a tight fit,' says he; 'and venever I wants to know what'so'clock, I'm obliged to stare into the bakers' shops,' he says. Well,then he laughs as hearty as if he was a-goin' to pieces, and out hewalks agin, with his powdered head and pigtail, and rolls down theStrand vith the chain hangin' out furder than ever, and the great roundwatch almost bustin' through his grey kersey smalls. There warn't apickpocket in all London as didn't take a pull at that chain, but thechain 'ud never break, and the watch 'ud never come out, so they soongot tired o' dragging such a heavy old gen'l'm'n along the pavement,and he'd go home and laugh till the pigtail wibrated like the perderlumof a Dutch clock. At last one day the old gen'l'm'n was a-rolling alongand he sees a pickpocket as he know'd by sight, a-comin' up, arm in armvith a little boy with a very large head. 'Here's a game,' says theold gen'l'm'n to himself, 'they're a-goin' to have another try, but itwon't do!' So he begins a-chucklin' wery hearty, ven all of a sudden,the little boy leaves hold of the pickpocket's arm, and rushes headforemost straight into the old gen'l'm'n's stomach, and for a momentdoubles him right up vith the pain. 'Murder!' says the old gen'l'm'n.'All right, sir,' says the pickpocket, a-whisperin' in his ear. Andwhen he come straight agin, the watch and chain was gone, and what'sworse than that, the old gen'l'm'n's digestion was all wrong everarterwards, to the wery last day of his life; so just you look aboutyou, young feller, and take care you don't get too fat."

  As Mr. Weller concluded this moral tale, with which the fat boyappeared much affected, they all three repaired to the large kitchen,in which the family were by this time assembled, according to annualcustom on Christmas Eve, observed by old Wardle's fore-fathers fromtime immemorial.

  From the centre of the ceiling of this kitchen, old Wardle had justsuspended, with his own hands, a huge branch of mistletoe, and thissame branch of mistletoe instantaneously gave rise to a scene ofgeneral and most delightful struggling and confusion; in the midstof which, Mr. Pickwick, with a gallantry that would have done honourto a descendant of Lady Tollimglower herself, took the old lady bythe hand, led her beneath the mystic branch, and saluted her in allcourtesy and decorum. The old lady submitted to this piece of practicalpoliteness with all the dignity which befitted so important and seriousa solemnity, but the younger ladies, not being so thoroughly imbuedwith a superstitious veneration for the custom: or imagining that thevalue of a salute is very much enhanced if it cost a little trouble toobtain it: screamed and struggled, and ran into corners, and threatenedand remonstrated, and did everything but leave the room, until some ofthe less adventurous gentlemen were on the point of desisting, whenthey all at once found it useless to resist any longer, and submittedto be kissed with a good grace. Mr. Winkle kissed the young lady withthe black eyes, and Mr. Snodgrass kissed Emily, and Mr. Weller, notbeing particular about the form of being under the mistletoe, kissedEmma and the other female servants, just as he caught them. As tothe poor relations, they kissed everybody, not even excepting theplainer portions of the young-lady visitors, who, in their excessiveconfusion, ran right under the mistletoe, as soon as it was hung up,without knowing it! Wardle stood with his back to the fire, surveyingthe whole scene, with the utmost satisfaction; and the fat boy took theopportunity of appropriating to his own use, and summarily de
vouring,a particularly fine mince-pie, that had been carefully put by forsomebody else.

  Now the screaming had subsided, and faces were in a glow, and curlsin a tangle, and Mr. Pickwick, after kissing the old lady as beforementioned, was standing under the mistletoe, looking with a verypleased countenance on all that was passing around him, when the younglady with the black eyes, after a little whispering with the otheryoung ladies, made a sudden dart forward, and, putting her arm roundMr. Pickwick's neck, saluted him affectionately on the left cheek;and before Mr. Pickwick distinctly knew what was the matter, he wassurrounded by the whole body and kissed by every one of them.

  It was a pleasant thing to see Mr. Pickwick the centre of the group,now pulled this way, and then that, and first kissed on the chin, andthen on the nose, and then on the spectacles: and to hear the pealsof laughter which were raised on every side; but it was a still morepleasant thing to see Mr. Pickwick, blinded shortly afterwards with asilk handkerchief, falling up against the wall, and scrambling intocorners, and going through all the mysteries of blindman's buff, withthe utmost relish for the game, until at last he caught one of the poorrelations, and then had to evade the blindman himself, which he didwith a nimbleness and agility that elicited the admiration and applauseof all beholders. The poor relations caught the people who they thoughtwould like it, and, when the game flagged, got caught themselves. Whenthey were all tired of blindman's buff, there was a great game atsnap-dragon, and when fingers enough were burned with that, and all theraisins were gone, they sat down by the huge fire of blazing logs toa substantial supper, and a mighty bowl of wassail, something smallerthan an ordinary wash-house copper, in which the hot apples werehissing and bubbling with a rich look, and a jolly sound, that wereperfectly irresistible.

  "This," said Mr. Pickwick, looking round him, "this is, indeed,comfort."

  "Our invariable custom," replied Mr. Wardle. "Everybody sits down withus on Christmas Eve, as you see them now--servants and all; and herewe wait, until the clock strikes twelve, to usher Christmas in, andbeguile the time with forfeits and old stories. Trundle, my boy, rakeup the fire."

  Up flew the bright sparks in myriads as the logs were stirred. The deepred blaze sent forth a rich glow, that penetrated into the furthestcorner of the room, and cast its cheerful tint on every face.

  "Come," said Wardle, "a song--a Christmas song! I'll give you one, indefault of a better."

  "Bravo!" said Mr. Pickwick.

  "Fill up!" cried Wardle. "It will be two hours, good, before you seethe bottom of the bowl through the deep rich colour of the wassail;fill up all round, and now for a song."

  Thus saying, the merry old gentleman, in a good, round, sturdy voice,commenced without more ado:

  A CHRISTMAS CAROL

  I care not for Spring; on his fickle wing Let the blossoms and buds be borne: He woos them amain with his treacherous rain, And he scatters them ere the morn. An inconstant elf, he knows not himself, Nor his own changing mind an hour, He'll smile in your face, and, with wry grimace, He'll wither your youngest flower.

  Let the Summer sun to his bright home run, He shall never be sought by me; When he's dimmed by a cloud I can laugh aloud, And care not how sulky he be! For his darling child is the madness wild That sports in fierce fever's train; And when love is too strong it don't last long, As many have found to their pain.

  A mild harvest night, by the tranquil light Of the modest and gentle moon, Has a far sweeter sheen, for me, I ween, Than the broad and unblushing noon. But every leaf awakens my grief, As it lieth beneath the tree; So let Autumn air be never so fair, It by no means agrees with me.

  But my song I troll out, for +Christmas+ Stout, The hearty, the true and the bold; A bumper I drain, and with might and main Give three cheers for this Christmas old! We'll usher him in with a merry din That shall gladden his joyous heart, And we'll keep him up, while there's bite or sup, And in fellowship good, we'll part.

  In his fine honest pride, he scorns to hide One jot of his hard-weather scars; They're no disgrace, for there's much the same trace On the cheeks of our bravest tars. Then again I'll sing 'till the roof doth ring, And it echoes from wall to wall-- To the stout old wight, fair welcome to-night, As the King of the Seasons all!

  This song was tumultuously applauded--for friends and dependents make acapital audience--and the poor relations, especially, were in perfectecstasies of rapture. Again was the fire replenished, and again wentthe wassail round.

  "How it snows!" said one of the men, in a low tone.

  "Snows, does it?" said Wardle.

  "Rough, cold night, sir," replied the man; "and there's a wind got up,that drifts it across the fields, in a thick white cloud."

  "What does Jem say?" inquired the old lady. "There ain't anything thematter, is there?"

  "No, no, mother," replied Wardle; "he says there's a snow-drift, and awind that's piercing cold. I should know that, by the way it rumbles inthe chimney."

  "Ah!" said the old lady, "there was just such a wind, and just sucha fall of snow, a good many years back, I recollect--just five yearsbefore your poor father died. It was a Christmas Eve, too; and Iremember that on that very night he told us the story about the goblinsthat carried away old Gabriel Grub."

  "The story about what?" said Mr. Pickwick.

  "Oh, nothing, nothing," replied Wardle. "About an old sexton, that thegood people down here suppose to have been carried away by goblins."

  "Suppose!" ejaculated the old lady. "Is there anybody hardy enough todisbelieve it? Suppose! Haven't you heard ever since you were a child,that he _was_ carried away by the goblins, and don't you know he was?"

  "Very well, mother, he was, if you like," said Wardle, laughing. "He_was_ carried away by goblins, Pickwick; and there's an end to thematter."

  "No, no," said Mr. Pickwick, "not an end of it, I assure you; for Imust hear how, and why, and all about it."

  Wardle smiled as every head was bent forward to hear; and filling outthe wassail with no stinted hand, nodded a health to Mr. Pickwick, andbegan as follows:

  But bless our editorial heart, what a long chapter we have beenbetrayed into! We had quite forgotten all such petty restrictions aschapters, we solemnly declare. So here goes, to give the goblin a fairstart in a new one! A clear stage and no favour for the goblins, ladiesand gentlemen, if you please.

  END OF VOL. I

  Printed by +Ballantyne, Hanson, & Co.+ Edinburgh & London

  Transcriber's note

  Text in italics was surrounded with _underscores_, an antiquefont with *asterisks* and small capitals with +signs+.

  Small errors in punctuation were corrected without note, also thefollowing changes were made, on page

  14 "Snodrgass" changed to "Snodgrass" (said Mr. Snodgrass.) 32 "horizon" changed to "heroism" (but his heroism was invincible.) 70 "it" removed (replied Mr. Winkle.) 72 "nothwithstanding" changed to "notwithstanding" (notwithstanding all kinds of coaxing and wheedling) 78 "haraccters" changed to "characters" (and speculate upon the characters and pursuits) 204 "smkoe" changed to "smoke" (who continued to smoke with great vehemence.) 286 "su er" changed to "suffer" (caption: "I won't suffer this barrow to) 289 "tail" changed to "tall" (the very spot where the tall man's brain would have been) 320 "asid" changed to "said" ( said Mr. Pickwick, laughing.) 359 "aimable" changed to "amiable" (it's a amiable weakness) 428 "junps" changed to "jumps" (Mr. Weller jumps up behind) 441 "drive" changed to "derive" (that he may derive from the contemplation of her felicity) 446 "that" changed to "than" (and what's worse than that).

  Otherwise the original of this edition was preserved, includinginconsistencies in spelling, hyphenation etc.

 
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