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our mutual friend by charles dickenschapter 1 on the look out in these times of ours, though concerningthe exact year there is no need to be precise, a boat of dirty and disreputableappearance, with two figures in it, floated on the thames, between southwark bridge which is of iron, and london bridge whichis of stone, as an autumn evening was closing in. the figures in this boat were those of astrong man with ragged grizzled hair and a sun-browned face, and a dark girl ofnineteen or twenty, sufficiently like him

to be recognizable as his daughter. the girl rowed, pulling a pair of scullsvery easily; the man, with the rudder-lines slack in his hands, and his hands loose inhis waistband, kept an eager look out. he had no net, hook, or line, and he couldnot be a fisherman; his boat had no cushion for a sitter, no paint, no inscription, noappliance beyond a rusty boathook and a coil of rope, and he could not be a waterman; his boat was too crazy and toosmall to take in cargo for delivery, and he could not be a lighterman or river-carrier;there was no clue to what he looked for, but he looked for something, with a mostintent and searching gaze.

the tide, which had turned an hour before,was running down, and his eyes watched every little race and eddy in its broadsweep, as the boat made slight head-way against it, or drove stern foremost before it, according as he directed his daughterby a movement of his head. she watched his face as earnestly as hewatched the river. but, in the intensity of her look there wasa touch of dread or horror. allied to the bottom of the river ratherthan the surface, by reason of the slime and ooze with which it was covered, and itssodden state, this boat and the two figures in it obviously were doing something that

they often did, and were seeking what theyoften sought. half savage as the man showed, with nocovering on his matted head, with his brown arms bare to between the elbow and theshoulder, with the loose knot of a looser kerchief lying low on his bare breast in a wilderness of beard and whisker, with suchdress as he wore seeming to be made out of the mud that begrimed his boat, still therewas a business-like usage in his steady gaze. so with every lithe action of the girl,with every turn of her wrist, perhaps most of all with her look of dread or horror;they were things of usage.

'keep her out, lizzie. tide runs strong here.keep her well afore the sweep of it.' trusting to the girl's skill and making nouse of the rudder, he eyed the coming tide with an absorbed attention. so the girl eyed him. but, it happened now, that a slant of lightfrom the setting sun glanced into the bottom of the boat, and, touching a rottenstain there which bore some resemblance to the outline of a muffled human form,coloured it as though with diluted blood. this caught the girl's eye, and sheshivered.

'what ails you?' said the man, immediatelyaware of it, though so intent on the advancing waters; 'i see nothing afloat.' the red light was gone, the shudder wasgone, and his gaze, which had come back to the boat for a moment, travelled awayagain. wheresoever the strong tide met with animpediment, his gaze paused for an instant. at every mooring-chain and rope, at everystationery boat or barge that split the current into a broad-arrowhead, at theoffsets from the piers of southwark bridge, at the paddles of the river steamboats as they beat the filthy water, at the floatinglogs of timber lashed together lying off

certain wharves, his shining eyes darted ahungry look. after a darkening hour or so, suddenly therudder-lines tightened in his hold, and he steered hard towards the surrey shore. always watching his face, the girlinstantly answered to the action in her sculling; presently the boat swung round,quivered as from a sudden jerk, and the upper half of the man was stretched outover the stern. the girl pulled the hood of a cloak shewore, over her head and over her face, and, looking backward so that the front folds ofthis hood were turned down the river, kept the boat in that direction going before thetide.

until now, the boat had barely held herown, and had hovered about one spot; but now, the banks changed swiftly, and thedeepening shadows and the kindling lights of london bridge were passed, and the tiersof shipping lay on either hand. it was not until now that the upper half ofthe man came back into the boat. his arms were wet and dirty, and he washedthem over the side. in his right hand he held something, and hewashed that in the river too. it was money. he chinked it once, and he blew upon itonce, and he spat upon it once,--'for luck,' he hoarsely said--before he put itin his pocket.

'lizzie!' the girl turned her face towards him with astart, and rowed in silence. her face was very pale. he was a hook-nosed man, and with that andhis bright eyes and his ruffled head, bore a certain likeness to a roused bird ofprey. 'take that thing off your face.' she put it back.'here! and give me hold of the sculls. i'll take the rest of the spell.''no, no, father! no! i can't indeed.

father!--i cannot sit so near it!'he was moving towards her to change places, but her terrified expostulation stopped himand he resumed his seat. 'what hurt can it do you?' 'none, none.but i cannot bear it.' 'it's my belief you hate the sight of thevery river.' 'i--i do not like it, father.' 'as if it wasn't your living!as if it wasn't meat and drink to you!' at these latter words the girl shiveredagain, and for a moment paused in her rowing, seeming to turn deadly faint.

it escaped his attention, for he wasglancing over the stern at something the boat had in tow.'how can you be so thankless to your best friend, lizzie? the very fire that warmed you when you werea babby, was picked out of the river alongside the coal barges.the very basket that you slept in, the tide washed ashore. the very rockers that i put it upon to makea cradle of it, i cut out of a piece of wood that drifted from some ship oranother.' lizzie took her right hand from the scullit held, and touched her lips with it, and

for a moment held it out lovingly towardshim: then, without speaking, she resumed her rowing, as another boat of similar appearance, though in rather better trim,came out from a dark place and dropped softly alongside. 'in luck again, gaffer?' said a man with asquinting leer, who sculled her and who was alone, 'i know'd you was in luck again, byyour wake as you come down.' 'ah!' replied the other, drily. 'so you're out, are you?''yes, pardner.' there was now a tender yellow moonlight onthe river, and the new comer, keeping half

his boat's length astern of the other boatlooked hard at its track. 'i says to myself,' he went on, 'directlyyou hove in view, yonder's gaffer, and in luck again, by george if he ain't!scull it is, pardner--don't fret yourself-- i didn't touch him.' this was in answer to a quick impatientmovement on the part of gaffer: the speaker at the same time unshipping his scull onthat side, and laying his hand on the gunwale of gaffer's boat and holding to it. 'he's had touches enough not to want nomore, as well as i make him out, gaffer! been a knocking about with a pretty manytides, ain't he pardner?

such is my out-of-luck ways, you see! he must have passed me when he went up lasttime, for i was on the lookout below bridge here.i a'most think you're like the wulturs, pardner, and scent 'em out.' he spoke in a dropped voice, and with morethan one glance at lizzie who had pulled on her hood again.both men then looked with a weird unholy interest in the wake of gaffer's boat. 'easy does it, betwixt us.shall i take him aboard, pardner?' 'no,' said the other.

in so surly a tone that the man, after ablank stare, acknowledged it with the retort:'--arn't been eating nothing as has disagreed with you, have you, pardner?' 'why, yes, i have,' said gaffer.'i have been swallowing too much of that word, pardner.i am no pardner of yours.' 'since when was you no pardner of mine,gaffer hexam esquire?' 'since you was accused of robbing a man.accused of robbing a live man!' said gaffer, with great indignation. 'and what if i had been accused of robbinga dead man, gaffer?'

'you couldn't do it.''couldn't you, gaffer?' 'no. has a dead man any use for money? is it possible for a dead man to havemoney? what world does a dead man belong to?'tother world. what world does money belong to? this world.how can money be a corpse's? can a corpse own it, want it, spend it,claim it, miss it? don't try to go confounding the rights andwrongs of things in that way. but it's worthy of the sneaking spirit thatrobs a live man.'

'i'll tell you what it is--.' 'no you won't.i'll tell you what it is. you got off with a short time of it forputting your hand in the pocket of a sailor, a live sailor. make the most of it and think yourselflucky, but don't think after that to come over me with your pardners. we have worked together in time past, butwe work together no more in time present nor yet future.let go. cast off!'

'gaffer!if you think to get rid of me this way--.' 'if i don't get rid of you this way, i'lltry another, and chop you over the fingers with the stretcher, or take a pick at yourhead with the boat-hook. cast off! pull you, lizzie.pull home, since you won't let your father pull.'lizzie shot ahead, and the other boat fell astern. lizzie's father, composing himself into theeasy attitude of one who had asserted the high moralities and taken an unassailableposition, slowly lighted a pipe, and

smoked, and took a survey of what he had intow. what he had in tow, lunged itself at himsometimes in an awful manner when the boat was checked, and sometimes seemed to try towrench itself away, though for the most part it followed submissively. a neophyte might have fancied that theripples passing over it were dreadfully like faint changes of expression on asightless face; but gaffer was no neophyte and had no fancies. > our mutual friend by charles dickenschapter 2

the man from somewhere mr and mrs veneering were bran-new peoplein a bran-new house in a bran-new quarter of london.everything about the veneerings was spick and span new. all their furniture was new, all theirfriends were new, all their servants were new, their plate was new, their carriagewas new, their harness was new, their horses were new, their pictures were new, they themselves were new, they were asnewly married as was lawfully compatible with their having a bran-new baby, and ifthey had set up a great-grandfather, he

would have come home in matting from the pantechnicon, without a scratch upon him,french polished to the crown of his head. for, in the veneering establishment, fromthe hall-chairs with the new coat of arms, to the grand pianoforte with the newaction, and upstairs again to the new fire- escape, all things were in a state of highvarnish and polish. and what was observable in the furniture,was observable in the veneerings--the surface smelt a little too much of theworkshop and was a trifle sticky. there was an innocent piece of dinner-furniture that went upon easy castors and was kept over a livery stable-yard in dukestreet, saint james's, when not in use, to

whom the veneerings were a source of blindconfusion. the name of this article was twemlow. being first cousin to lord snigsworth, hewas in frequent requisition, and at many houses might be said to represent thedining-table in its normal state. mr and mrs veneering, for example,arranging a dinner, habitually started with twemlow, and then put leaves in him, oradded guests to him. sometimes, the table consisted of twemlowand half a dozen leaves; sometimes, of twemlow and a dozen leaves; sometimes,twemlow was pulled out to his utmost extent of twenty leaves.

mr and mrs veneering on occasions ofceremony faced each other in the centre of the board, and thus the parallel stillheld; for, it always happened that the more twemlow was pulled out, the further he found himself from the center, and nearerto the sideboard at one end of the room, or the window-curtains at the other.but, it was not this which steeped the feeble soul of twemlow in confusion. this he was used to, and could takesoundings of. the abyss to which he could find no bottom,and from which started forth the engrossing and ever-swelling difficulty of his life,was the insoluble question whether he was

veneering's oldest friend, or newestfriend. to the excogitation of this problem, theharmless gentleman had devoted many anxious hours, both in his lodgings over the liverystable-yard, and in the cold gloom, favourable to meditation, of saint james'ssquare. thus. twemlow had first known veneering at hisclub, where veneering then knew nobody but the man who made them known to one another,who seemed to be the most intimate friend he had in the world, and whom he had known two days--the bond of union between theirsouls, the nefarious conduct of the

committee respecting the cookery of afillet of veal, having been accidentally cemented at that date. immediately upon this, twemlow received aninvitation to dine with veneering, and dined: the man being of the party. immediately upon that, twemlow received aninvitation to dine with the man, and dined: veneering being of the party. at the man's were a member, an engineer, apayer-off of the national debt, a poem on shakespeare, a grievance, and a publicoffice, who all seem to be utter strangers to veneering.

and yet immediately after that, twemlowreceived an invitation to dine at veneerings, expressly to meet the member,the engineer, the payer-off of the national debt, the poem on shakespeare, the grievance, and the public office, and,dining, discovered that all of them were the most intimate friends veneering had inthe world, and that the wives of all of them (who were all there) were the objects of mrs veneering's most devoted affectionand tender confidence. thus it had come about, that mr twemlow hadsaid to himself in his lodgings, with his hand to his forehead: 'i must not think ofthis.

this is enough to soften any man's brain,'--and yet was always thinking of it, and could never form a conclusion.this evening the veneerings give a banquet. eleven leaves in the twemlow; fourteen incompany all told. four pigeon-breasted retainers in plainclothes stand in line in the hall. a fifth retainer, proceeding up thestaircase with a mournful air--as who should say, 'here is another wretchedcreature come to dinner; such is life!'-- announces, 'mis-ter twemlow!' mrs veneering welcomes her sweet mrtwemlow. mr veneering welcomes his dear twemlow.

mrs veneering does not expect that mrtwemlow can in nature care much for such insipid things as babies, but so old afriend must please to look at baby. 'ah! you will know the friend of yourfamily better, tootleums,' says mr veneering, nodding emotionally at that newarticle, 'when you begin to take notice.' he then begs to make his dear twemlow knownto his two friends, mr boots and mr brewer- -and clearly has no distinct idea which iswhich. but now a fearful circumstance occurs. 'mis-ter and mis-sus podsnap!''my dear,' says mr veneering to mrs veneering, with an air of much friendlyinterest, while the door stands open, 'the

podsnaps.' a too, too smiling large man, with a fatalfreshness on him, appearing with his wife, instantly deserts his wife and darts attwemlow with: 'how do you do? so glad to know you.charming house you have here. i hope we are not late.so glad of the opportunity, i am sure!' when the first shock fell upon him, twemlowtwice skipped back in his neat little shoes and his neat little silk stockings of abygone fashion, as if impelled to leap over a sofa behind him; but the large man closedwith him and proved too strong.

'let me,' says the large man, trying toattract the attention of his wife in the distance, 'have the pleasure of presentingmrs podsnap to her host. she will be,' in his fatal freshness heseems to find perpetual verdure and eternal youth in the phrase, 'she will be so gladof the opportunity, i am sure!' in the meantime, mrs podsnap, unable tooriginate a mistake on her own account, because mrs veneering is the only otherlady there, does her best in the way of handsomely supporting her husband's, by looking towards mr twemlow with a plaintivecountenance and remarking to mrs veneering in a feeling manner, firstly, that shefears he has been rather bilious of late,

and, secondly, that the baby is alreadyvery like him. it is questionable whether any man quiterelishes being mistaken for any other man; but, mr veneering having this very eveningset up the shirt-front of the young antinous in new worked cambric just come home, is not at all complimented by beingsupposed to be twemlow, who is dry and weazen and some thirty years older.mrs veneering equally resents the imputation of being the wife of twemlow. as to twemlow, he is so sensible of being amuch better bred man than veneering, that he considers the large man an offensiveass.

in this complicated dilemma, mr veneeringapproaches the large man with extended hand and, smilingly assures that incorrigiblepersonage that he is delighted to see him: who in his fatal freshness instantlyreplies: 'thank you. i am ashamed to say that i cannot at thismoment recall where we met, but i am so glad of this opportunity, i am sure!' then pouncing upon twemlow, who holds backwith all his feeble might, he is haling him off to present him, as veneering, to mrspodsnap, when the arrival of more guests unravels the mistake.

whereupon, having re-shaken hands withveneering as veneering, he re-shakes hands with twemlow as twemlow, and winds it allup to his own perfect satisfaction by saying to the last-named, 'ridiculousopportunity--but so glad of it, i am sure!' now, twemlow having undergone this terrificexperience, having likewise noted the fusion of boots in brewer and brewer inboots, and having further observed that of the remaining seven guests four discrete characters enter with wandering eyes andwholly declined to commit themselves as to which is veneering, until veneering hasthem in his grasp;--twemlow having profited by these studies, finds his brain

wholesomely hardening as he approaches theconclusion that he really is veneering's oldest friend, when his brain softens againand all is lost, through his eyes encountering veneering and the large man linked together as twin brothers in theback drawing-room near the conservatory door, and through his ears informing him inthe tones of mrs veneering that the same large man is to be baby's godfather. 'dinner is on the table!'thus the melancholy retainer, as who should say, 'come down and be poisoned, ye unhappychildren of men!' twemlow, having no lady assigned him, goesdown in the rear, with his hand to his

forehead.boots and brewer, thinking him indisposed, whisper, 'man faint. had no lunch.'but he is only stunned by the unvanquishable difficulty of his existence. revived by soup, twemlow discourses mildlyof the court circular with boots and brewer. is appealed to, at the fish stage of thebanquet, by veneering, on the disputed question whether his cousin lord snigsworthis in or out of town? gives it that his cousin is out of town.

'at snigsworthy park?'veneering inquires. 'at snigsworthy,' twemlow rejoins. boots and brewer regard this as a man to becultivated; and veneering is clear that he is a remunerative article. meantime the retainer goes round, like agloomy analytical chemist: always seeming to say, after 'chablis, sir?'--'youwouldn't if you knew what it's made of.' the great looking-glass above thesideboard, reflects the table and the company. reflects the new veneering crest, in goldand eke in silver, frosted and also thawed,

a camel of all work. the heralds' college found out a crusadingancestor for veneering who bore a camel on his shield (or might have done it if he hadthought of it), and a caravan of camels take charge of the fruits and flowers and candles, and kneel down be loaded with thesalt. reflects veneering; forty, wavy-haired,dark, tending to corpulence, sly, mysterious, filmy--a kind of sufficientlywell-looking veiled-prophet, not prophesying. reflects mrs veneering; fair, aquiline-nosed and fingered, not so much light hair

as she might have, gorgeous in raiment andjewels, enthusiastic, propitiatory, conscious that a corner of her husband'sveil is over herself. reflects podsnap; prosperously feeding, twolittle light-coloured wiry wings, one on either side of his else bald head, lookingas like his hairbrushes as his hair, dissolving view of red beads on his forehead, large allowance of crumpledshirt-collar up behind. reflects mrs podsnap; fine woman forprofessor owen, quantity of bone, neck and nostrils like a rocking-horse, hardfeatures, majestic head-dress in which podsnap has hung golden offerings.

reflects twemlow; grey, dry, polite,susceptible to east wind, first-gentleman- in-europe collar and cravat, cheeks drawnin as if he had made a great effort to retire into himself some years ago, and hadgot so far and had never got any farther. reflects mature young lady; raven locks,and complexion that lights up well when well powdered--as it is--carrying onconsiderably in the captivation of mature young gentleman; with too much nose in his face, too much ginger in his whiskers, toomuch torso in his waistcoat, too much sparkle in his studs, his eyes, hisbuttons, his talk, and his teeth. reflects charming old lady tippins onveneering's right; with an immense obtuse

drab oblong face, like a face in atablespoon, and a dyed long walk up the top of her head, as a convenient public approach to the bunch of false hair behind,pleased to patronize mrs veneering opposite, who is pleased to be patronized. reflects a certain 'mortimer', another ofveneering's oldest friends; who never was in the house before, and appears not towant to come again, who sits disconsolate on mrs veneering's left, and who was inveigled by lady tippins (a friend of hisboyhood) to come to these people's and talk, and who won't talk.

reflects eugene, friend of mortimer; buriedalive in the back of his chair, behind a shoulder--with a powder-epaulette on it--ofthe mature young lady, and gloomily resorting to the champagne chalice wheneverproffered by the analytical chemist. lastly, the looking-glass reflects bootsand brewer, and two other stuffed buffers interposed between the rest of the companyand possible accidents. the veneering dinners are excellentdinners--or new people wouldn't come--and all goes well. notably, lady tippins has made a series ofexperiments on her digestive functions, so extremely complicated and daring, that ifthey could be published with their results

it might benefit the human race. having taken in provisions from all partsof the world, this hardy old cruiser has last touched at the north pole, when, asthe ice-plates are being removed, the following words fall from her: 'i assure you, my dear veneering--'(poor twemlow's hand approaches his forehead, for it would seem now, that ladytippins is going to be the oldest friend.) 'i assure you, my dear veneering, that itis the oddest affair! like the advertising people, i don't askyou to trust me, without offering a respectable reference.

mortimer there, is my reference, and knowsall about it.' mortimer raises his drooping eyelids, andslightly opens his mouth. but a faint smile, expressive of 'what'sthe use!' passes over his face, and he drops his eyelids and shuts his mouth. 'now, mortimer,' says lady tippins, rappingthe sticks of her closed green fan upon the knuckles of her left hand--which isparticularly rich in knuckles, 'i insist upon your telling all that is to be toldabout the man from jamaica.' 'give you my honour i never heard of anyman from jamaica, except the man who was a brother,' replies mortimer.

'tobago, then.''nor yet from tobago.' 'except,' eugene strikes in: sounexpectedly that the mature young lady, who has forgotten all about him, with astart takes the epaulette out of his way: 'except our friend who long lived on rice- pudding and isinglass, till at length tohis something or other, his physician said something else, and a leg of mutton somehowended in daygo.' a reviving impression goes round the tablethat eugene is coming out. an unfulfilled impression, for he goes inagain. 'now, my dear mrs veneering,' quoth ladytippins, i appeal to you whether this is

not the basest conduct ever known in thisworld? i carry my lovers about, two or three at atime, on condition that they are very obedient and devoted; and here is my oldestlover-in-chief, the head of all my slaves, throwing off his allegiance before company! and here is another of my lovers, a roughcymon at present certainly, but of whom i had most hopeful expectations as to histurning out well in course of time, pretending that he can't remember hisnursery rhymes! on purpose to annoy me, for he knows how idoat upon them!' a grisly little fiction concerning herlovers is lady tippins's point.

she is always attended by a lover or two,and she keeps a little list of her lovers, and she is always booking a new lover, orstriking out an old lover, or putting a lover in her black list, or promoting a lover to her blue list, or adding up herlovers, or otherwise posting her book. mrs veneering is charmed by the humour, andso is veneering. perhaps it is enhanced by a certain yellowplay in lady tippins's throat, like the legs of scratching poultry. 'i banish the false wretch from thismoment, and i strike him out of my cupidon (my name for my ledger, my dear,) this verynight.

but i am resolved to have the account ofthe man from somewhere, and i beg you to elicit it for me, my love,' to mrsveneering, 'as i have lost my own influence. oh, you perjured man!'this to mortimer, with a rattle of her fan. 'we are all very much interested in the manfrom somewhere,' veneering observes. then the four buffers, taking heart ofgrace all four at once, say: 'deeply interested!''quite excited!' 'dramatic!' 'man from nowhere, perhaps!'

and then mrs veneering--for the ladytippins's winning wiles are contagious-- folds her hands in the manner of asupplicating child, turns to her left neighbour, and says, 'tease! pay! man fromtumwhere!' at which the four buffers, againmysteriously moved all four at once, explain, 'you can't resist!' 'upon my life,' says mortimer languidly, 'ifind it immensely embarrassing to have the eyes of europe upon me to this extent, andmy only consolation is that you will all of you execrate lady tippins in your secret hearts when you find, as you inevitablywill, the man from somewhere a bore.

sorry to destroy romance by fixing him witha local habitation, but he comes from the place, the name of which escapes me, butwill suggest itself to everybody else here, where they make the wine.' eugene suggests 'day and martin's.''no, not that place,' returns the unmoved mortimer, 'that's where they make the port.my man comes from the country where they make the cape wine. but look here, old fellow; its not at allstatistical and it's rather odd.' it is always noticeable at the table of theveneerings, that no man troubles himself much about the veneerings themselves, andthat any one who has anything to tell,

generally tells it to anybody else inpreference. 'the man,' mortimer goes on, addressingeugene, 'whose name is harmon, was only son of a tremendous old rascal who made hismoney by dust.' 'red velveteens and a bell?' the gloomyeugene inquires. 'and a ladder and basket if you like. by which means, or by others, he grew richas a dust contractor, and lived in a hollow in a hilly country entirely composed ofdust. on his own small estate the growling oldvagabond threw up his own mountain range, like an old volcano, and its geologicalformation was dust.

coal-dust, vegetable-dust, bone-dust,crockery dust, rough dust and sifted dust -,-all manner of dust.' a passing remembrance of mrs veneering,here induces mortimer to address his next half-dozen words to her; after which hewanders away again, tries twemlow and finds he doesn't answer, ultimately takes up with the buffers who receive himenthusiastically. 'the moral being--i believe that's theright expression--of this exemplary person, derived its highest gratification fromanathematizing his nearest relations and turning them out of doors.

having begun (as was natural) by renderingthese attentions to the wife of his bosom, he next found himself at leisure to bestowa similar recognition on the claims of his daughter. he chose a husband for her, entirely to hisown satisfaction and not in the least to hers, and proceeded to settle upon her, asher marriage portion, i don't know how much dust, but something immense. at this stage of the affair the poor girlrespectfully intimated that she was secretly engaged to that popular characterwhom the novelists and versifiers call another, and that such a marriage would

make dust of her heart and dust of herlife--in short, would set her up, on a very extensive scale, in her father's business. immediately, the venerable parent--on acold winter's night, it is said-- anathematized and turned her out.' here, the analytical chemist (who hasevidently formed a very low opinion of mortimer's story) concedes a little claretto the buffers; who, again mysteriously moved all four at once, screw it slowly into themselves with a peculiar twist ofenjoyment, as they cry in chorus, 'pray go on.'

'the pecuniary resources of another were,as they usually are, of a very limited nature. i believe i am not using too strong anexpression when i say that another was hard up. however, he married the young lady, andthey lived in a humble dwelling, probably possessing a porch ornamented withhoneysuckle and woodbine twining, until she died. i must refer you to the registrar of thedistrict in which the humble dwelling was situated, for the certified cause of death;but early sorrow and anxiety may have had

to do with it, though they may not appearin the ruled pages and printed forms. indisputably this was the case withanother, for he was so cut up by the loss of his young wife that if he outlived her ayear it was as much as he did.' there is that in the indolent mortimer,which seems to hint that if good society might on any account allow itself to beimpressible, he, one of good society, might have the weakness to be impressed by whathe here relates. it is hidden with great pains, but it is inhim. the gloomy eugene too, is not without somekindred touch; for, when that appalling lady tippins declares that if another hadsurvived, he should have gone down at the

head of her list of lovers--and also when the mature young lady shrugs herepaulettes, and laughs at some private and confidential comment from the mature younggentleman--his gloom deepens to that degree that he trifles quite ferociously with hisdessert-knife. mortimer proceeds. 'we must now return, as novelists say, andas we all wish they wouldn't, to the man from somewhere. being a boy of fourteen, cheaply educatedat brussels when his sister's expulsion befell, it was some little time before heheard of it--probably from herself, for the

mother was dead; but that i don't know. instantly, he absconded, and came overhere. he must have been a boy of spirit andresource, to get here on a stopped allowance of five sous a week; but he didit somehow, and he burst in on his father, and pleaded his sister's cause. venerable parent promptly resorts toanathematization, and turns him out. shocked and terrified boy takes flight,seeks his fortune, gets aboard ship, ultimately turns up on dry land among thecape wine: small proprietor, farmer, grower--whatever you like to call it.'

at this juncture, shuffling is heard in thehall, and tapping is heard at the dining- room door. analytical chemist goes to the door,confers angrily with unseen tapper, appears to become mollified by descrying reason inthe tapping, and goes out. 'so he was discovered, only the other day,after having been expatriated about fourteen years.' a buffer, suddenly astounding the otherthree, by detaching himself, and asserting individuality, inquires: 'how discovered,and why?' 'ah! to be sure.

thank you for reminding me.venerable parent dies.' same buffer, emboldened by success, says:'when?' 'the other day. ten or twelve months ago.'same buffer inquires with smartness, 'what of?' but herein perishes a melancholy example;being regarded by the three other buffers with a stony stare, and attracting nofurther attention from any mortal. 'venerable parent,' mortimer repeats with apassing remembrance that there is a veneering at table, and for the first timeaddressing him--'dies.'

the gratified veneering repeats, gravely,'dies'; and folds his arms, and composes his brow to hear it out in a judicialmanner, when he finds himself again deserted in the bleak world. 'his will is found,' said mortimer,catching mrs podsnap's rocking-horse's eye. 'it is dated very soon after the son'sflight. it leaves the lowest of the range of dust-mountains, with some sort of a dwelling- house at its foot, to an old servant who issole executor, and all the rest of the property--which is very considerable--tothe son. he directs himself to be buried withcertain eccentric ceremonies and

precautions against his coming to life,with which i need not bore you, and that's all--except--' and this ends the story. the analytical chemist returning, everybodylooks at him. not because anybody wants to see him, butbecause of that subtle influence in nature which impels humanity to embrace theslightest opportunity of looking at anything, rather than the person whoaddresses it. '--except that the son's inheriting is madeconditional on his marrying a girl, who at the date of the will, was a child of fouror five years old, and who is now a marriageable young woman.

advertisement and inquiry discovered theson in the man from somewhere, and at the present moment, he is on his way home fromthere--no doubt, in a state of great astonishment--to succeed to a very largefortune, and to take a wife.' mrs podsnap inquires whether the youngperson is a young person of personal charms? mortimer is unable to report.mr podsnap inquires what would become of the very large fortune, in the event of themarriage condition not being fulfilled? mortimer replies, that by specialtestamentary clause it would then go to the old servant above mentioned, passing overand excluding the son; also, that if the

son had not been living, the same old servant would have been sole residuarylegatee. mrs veneering has just succeeded in wakinglady tippins from a snore, by dexterously shunting a train of plates and dishes ather knuckles across the table; when everybody but mortimer himself becomes aware that the analytical chemist is, in aghostly manner, offering him a folded paper.curiosity detains mrs veneering a few moments. mortimer, in spite of all the arts of thechemist, placidly refreshes himself with a

glass of madeira, and remains unconsciousof the document which engrosses the general attention, until lady tippins (who has a habit of waking totally insensible), havingremembered where she is, and recovered a perception of surrounding objects, says:'falser man than don juan; why don't you take the note from the commendatore?' upon which, the chemist advances it underthe nose of mortimer, who looks round at him, and says:'what's this?' analytical chemist bends and whispers. 'who?'says mortimer.

analytical chemist again bends andwhispers. mortimer stares at him, and unfolds thepaper. reads it, reads it twice, turns it over tolook at the blank outside, reads it a third time. 'this arrives in an extraordinarilyopportune manner,' says mortimer then, looking with an altered face round thetable: 'this is the conclusion of the story of the identical man.' 'already married?' one guesses.'declines to marry?' another guesses. 'codicil among the dust?' another guesses.'why, no,' says mortimer; 'remarkable

thing, you are all wrong. the story is completer and rather moreexciting than i supposed. man's drowned!' our mutual friend by charles dickenschapter 3 another man as the disappearing skirts of the ladiesascended the veneering staircase, mortimer, following them forth from the dining-room,turned into a library of bran-new books, in bran-new bindings liberally gilded, and requested to see the messenger who hadbrought the paper.

he was a boy of about fifteen. mortimer looked at the boy, and the boylooked at the bran-new pilgrims on the wall, going to canterbury in more goldframe than procession, and more carving than country. 'whose writing is this?''mine, sir.' 'who told you to write it?''my father, jesse hexam.' 'is it he who found the body?' 'yes, sir.''what is your father?' the boy hesitated, looked reproachfully atthe pilgrims as if they had involved him in

a little difficulty, then said, folding aplait in the right leg of his trousers, 'he gets his living along-shore.' 'is it far?''is which far?' asked the boy, upon his guard, and again upon the road tocanterbury. 'to your father's?' 'it's a goodish stretch, sir.i come up in a cab, and the cab's waiting to be paid.we could go back in it before you paid it, if you liked. i went first to your office, according tothe direction of the papers found in the

pockets, and there i see nobody but a chapof about my age who sent me on here.' there was a curious mixture in the boy, ofuncompleted savagery, and uncompleted civilization. his voice was hoarse and coarse, and hisface was coarse, and his stunted figure was coarse; but he was cleaner than other boysof his type; and his writing, though large and round, was good; and he glanced at the backs of the books, with an awakenedcuriosity that went below the binding. no one who can read, ever looks at a book,even unopened on a shelf, like one who cannot.

'were any means taken, do you know, boy, toascertain if it was possible to restore life?'mortimer inquired, as he sought for his hat. 'you wouldn't ask, sir, if you knew hisstate. pharaoh's multitude that were drowned inthe red sea, ain't more beyond restoring to life. if lazarus was only half as far gone, thatwas the greatest of all the miracles.' 'halloa!' cried mortimer, turning roundwith his hat upon his head, 'you seem to be at home in the red sea, my young friend?'

'read of it with teacher at the school,'said the boy. 'and lazarus?''yes, and him too. but don't you tell my father! we should have no peace in our place, ifthat got touched upon. it's my sister's contriving.''you seem to have a good sister.' 'she ain't half bad,' said the boy; 'but ifshe knows her letters it's the most she does--and them i learned her.' the gloomy eugene, with his hands in hispockets, had strolled in and assisted at the latter part of the dialogue; when theboy spoke these words slightingly of his

sister, he took him roughly enough by thechin, and turned up his face to look at it. 'well, i'm sure, sir!' said the boy,resisting; 'i hope you'll know me again.' eugene vouchsafed no answer; but made theproposal to mortimer, 'i'll go with you, if you like?' so, they all three went away together inthe vehicle that had brought the boy; the two friends (once boys together at a publicschool) inside, smoking cigars; the messenger on the box beside the driver. 'let me see,' said mortimer, as they wentalong; 'i have been, eugene, upon the honourable roll of solicitors of the highcourt of chancery, and attorneys at common

law, five years; and--except gratuitously taking instructions, on an average once afortnight, for the will of lady tippins who has nothing to leave--i have had no scrapof business but this romantic business.' 'and i,' said eugene, 'have been "called"seven years, and have had no business at all, and never shall have any.and if i had, i shouldn't know how to do it.' 'i am far from being clear as to the lastparticular,' returned mortimer, with great composure, 'that i have much advantage overyou.' 'i hate,' said eugene, putting his legs upon the opposite seat, 'i hate my

profession.''shall i incommode you, if i put mine up too?' returned mortimer. 'thank you.i hate mine.' 'it was forced upon me,' said the gloomyeugene, 'because it was understood that we wanted a barrister in the family. we have got a precious one.''it was forced upon me,' said mortimer, 'because it was understood that we wanted asolicitor in the family. and we have got a precious one.' 'there are four of us, with our namespainted on a door-post in right of one

black hole called a set of chambers,' saideugene; 'and each of us has the fourth of a clerk--cassim baba, in the robber's cave-- and cassim is the only respectable memberof the party.' 'i am one by myself, one,' said mortimer,'high up an awful staircase commanding a burial-ground, and i have a whole clerk tomyself, and he has nothing to do but look at the burial-ground, and what he will turn out when arrived at maturity, i cannotconceive. whether, in that shabby rook's nest, he isalways plotting wisdom, or plotting murder; whether he will grow up, after so muchsolitary brooding, to enlighten his fellow-

creatures, or to poison them; is the only speck of interest that presents itself tomy professional view. will you give me a light?thank you.' 'then idiots talk,' said eugene, leaningback, folding his arms, smoking with his eyes shut, and speaking slightly throughhis nose, 'of energy. if there is a word in the dictionary underany letter from a to z that i abominate, it is energy.it is such a conventional superstition, such parrot gabble! what the deuce!

am i to rush out into the street, collarthe first man of a wealthy appearance that i meet, shake him, and say, "go to law uponthe spot, you dog, and retain me, or i'll be the death of you"? yet that would be energy.''precisely my view of the case, eugene. but show me a good opportunity, show mesomething really worth being energetic about, and i'll show you energy.' 'and so will i,' said eugene. and it is likely enough that ten thousandother young men, within the limits of the london post-office town delivery, made thesame hopeful remark in the course of the

same evening. the wheels rolled on, and rolled down bythe monument and by the tower, and by the docks; down by ratcliffe, and byrotherhithe; down by where accumulated scum of humanity seemed to be washed from higher grounds, like so much moral sewage, and tobe pausing until its own weight forced it over the bank and sunk it in the river. in and out among vessels that seemed tohave got ashore, and houses that seemed to have got afloat--among bow-splits staringinto windows, and windows staring into ships--the wheels rolled on, until they

stopped at a dark corner, river-washed andotherwise not washed at all, where the boy alighted and opened the door.'you must walk the rest, sir; it's not many yards.' he spoke in the singular number, to theexpress exclusion of eugene. 'this is a confoundedly out-of-the-wayplace,' said mortimer, slipping over the stones and refuse on the shore, as the boyturned the corner sharp. 'here's my father's, sir; where the lightis.' the low building had the look of havingonce been a mill. there was a rotten wart of wood upon itsforehead that seemed to indicate where the

sails had been, but the whole was veryindistinctly seen in the obscurity of the night. the boy lifted the latch of the door, andthey passed at once into a low circular room, where a man stood before a red fire,looking down into it, and a girl sat engaged in needlework. the fire was in a rusty brazier, not fittedto the hearth; and a common lamp, shaped like a hyacinth-root, smoked and flared inthe neck of a stone bottle on the table. there was a wooden bunk or berth in acorner, and in another corner a wooden stair leading above--so clumsy and steepthat it was little better than a ladder.

two or three old sculls and oars stoodagainst the wall, and against another part of the wall was a small dresser, making aspare show of the commonest articles of crockery and cooking-vessels. the roof of the room was not plastered, butwas formed of the flooring of the room above. this, being very old, knotted, seamed, andbeamed, gave a lowering aspect to the chamber; and roof, and walls, and floor,alike abounding in old smears of flour, red-lead (or some such stain which it had probably acquired in warehousing), anddamp, alike had a look of decomposition.

'the gentleman, father.' the figure at the red fire turned, raisedits ruffled head, and looked like a bird of prey.'you're mortimer lightwood esquire; are you, sir?' 'mortimer lightwood is my name.what you found,' said mortimer, glancing rather shrinkingly towards the bunk; 'is ithere?' ''tain't not to say here, but it's closeby. i do everything reg'lar. i've giv' notice of the circumstarnce tothe police, and the police have took

possession of it.no time ain't been lost, on any hand. the police have put into print already, andhere's what the print says of it.' taking up the bottle with the lamp in it,he held it near a paper on the wall, with the police heading, body found. the two friends read the handbill as itstuck against the wall, and gaffer read them as he held the light. 'only papers on the unfortunate man, isee,' said lightwood, glancing from the description of what was found, to thefinder. 'only papers.'

here the girl arose with her work in herhand, and went out at the door. 'no money,' pursued mortimer; 'butthreepence in one of the skirt-pockets.' 'three. penny.pieces,' said gaffer hexam, in as many sentences.'the trousers pockets empty, and turned inside out.' gaffer hexam nodded.'but that's common. whether it's the wash of the tide or no, ican't say. now, here,' moving the light to anothersimilar placard, 'his pockets was found

empty, and turned inside out. and here,' moving the light to another,'her pocket was found empty, and turned inside out.and so was this one's. and so was that one's. i can't read, nor i don't want to it, for iknow 'em by their places on the wall. this one was a sailor, with two anchors anda flag and g. f. t. on his arm. look and see if he warn't.' 'quite right.''this one was the young woman in grey boots, and her linen marked with a cross.look and see if she warn't.'

'quite right.' 'this is him as had a nasty cut over theeye. this is them two young sisters what tiedthemselves together with a handkecher. this the drunken old chap, in a pair oflist slippers and a nightcap, wot had offered--it afterwards come out--to make ahole in the water for a quartern of rum stood aforehand, and kept to his word forthe first and last time in his life. they pretty well papers the room, you see;but i know 'em all. i'm scholar enough!' he waved the light over the whole, as if totypify the light of his scholarly

intelligence, and then put it down on thetable and stood behind it looking intently at his visitors. he had the special peculiarity of somebirds of prey, that when he knitted his brow, his ruffled crest stood highest.'you did not find all these yourself; did you?' asked eugene. to which the bird of prey slowly rejoined,'and what might your name be, now?' 'this is my friend,' mortimer lightwoodinterposed; 'mr eugene wrayburn.' 'mr eugene wrayburn, is it? and what might mr eugene wrayburn haveasked of me?'

'i asked you, simply, if you found allthese yourself?' 'i answer you, simply, most on 'em.' 'do you suppose there has been muchviolence and robbery, beforehand, among these cases?''i don't suppose at all about it,' returned gaffer. 'i ain't one of the supposing sort.if you'd got your living to haul out of the river every day of your life, you mightn'tbe much given to supposing. am i to show the way?' as he opened the door, in pursuance of anod from lightwood, an extremely pale and

disturbed face appeared in the doorway--theface of a man much agitated. 'a body missing?' asked gaffer hexam,stopping short; 'or a body found? which?''i am lost!' replied the man, in a hurried and an eager manner. 'lost?''i--i--am a stranger, and don't know the way.i--i--want to find the place where i can see what is described here. it is possible i may know it.'he was panting, and could hardly speak; but, he showed a copy of the newly-printedbill that was still wet upon the wall.

perhaps its newness, or perhaps theaccuracy of his observation of its general look, guided gaffer to a ready conclusion.'this gentleman, mr lightwood, is on that business.' 'mr lightwood?'during a pause, mortimer and the stranger confronted each other.neither knew the other. 'i think, sir,' said mortimer, breaking theawkward silence with his airy self- possession, 'that you did me the honour tomention my name?' 'i repeated it, after this man.' 'you said you were a stranger in london?''an utter stranger.'

'are you seeking a mr harmon?''no.' 'then i believe i can assure you that youare on a fruitless errand, and will not find what you fear to find.will you come with us?' a little winding through some muddy alleysthat might have been deposited by the last ill-savoured tide, brought them to thewicket-gate and bright lamp of a police station; where they found the night- inspector, with a pen and ink, and ruler,posting up his books in a whitewashed office, as studiously as if he were in amonastery on top of a mountain, and no howling fury of a drunken woman were

banging herself against a cell-door in theback-yard at his elbow. with the same air of a recluse much givento study, he desisted from his books to bestow a distrustful nod of recognitionupon gaffer, plainly importing, 'ah! we know all about you, and you'll overdo it some day;' and to inform mr mortimerlightwood and friends, that he would attend them immediately. then, he finished ruling the work he had inhand (it might have been illuminating a missal, he was so calm), in a very neat andmethodical manner, showing not the slightest consciousness of the woman who

was banging herself with increasedviolence, and shrieking most terrifically for some other woman's liver.'a bull's-eye,' said the night-inspector, taking up his keys. which a deferential satellite produced.'now, gentlemen.' with one of his keys, he opened a cool grotat the end of the yard, and they all went in. they quickly came out again, no onespeaking but eugene: who remarked to mortimer, in a whisper, 'not much worsethan lady tippins.' so, back to the whitewashed library of themonastery--with that liver still in

shrieking requisition, as it had beenloudly, while they looked at the silent sight they came to see--and there through the merits of the case as summed up by theabbot. no clue to how body came into river.very often was no clue. too late to know for certain, whetherinjuries received before or after death; one excellent surgical opinion said,before; other excellent surgical opinion said, after. steward of ship in which gentleman camehome passenger, had been round to view, and could swear to identity.likewise could swear to clothes.

and then, you see, you had the papers, too. how was it he had totally disappeared onleaving ship, 'till found in river? well!probably had been upon some little game. probably thought it a harmless game, wasn'tup to things, and it turned out a fatal game.inquest to-morrow, and no doubt open verdict. 'it appears to have knocked your friendover--knocked him completely off his legs,' mr inspector remarked, when he had finishedhis summing up. 'it has given him a bad turn to be sure!'

this was said in a very low voice, and witha searching look (not the first he had cast) at the stranger.mr lightwood explained that it was no friend of his. 'indeed?' said mr inspector, with anattentive ear; 'where did you pick him up?' mr lightwood explained further. mr inspector had delivered his summing up,and had added these words, with his elbows leaning on his desk, and the fingers andthumb of his right hand, fitting themselves to the fingers and thumb of his left. mr inspector moved nothing but his eyes, ashe now added, raising his voice:

'turned you faint, sir!seems you're not accustomed to this kind of work?' the stranger, who was leaning against thechimneypiece with drooping head, looked round and answered, 'no. it's a horriblesight!' 'you expected to identify, i am told, sir?' 'yes.''have you identified?' 'no. it's a horrible sight.o! a horrible, horrible sight!' 'who did you think it might have been?'asked mr inspector. 'give us a description, sir.perhaps we can help you.'

'no, no,' said the stranger; 'it would bequite useless. good-night.' mr inspector had not moved, and had givenno order; but, the satellite slipped his back against the wicket, and laid his leftarm along the top of it, and with his right hand turned the bull's-eye he had taken from his chief--in quite a casual manner--towards the stranger. 'you missed a friend, you know; or youmissed a foe, you know; or you wouldn't have come here, you know. well, then; ain't it reasonable to ask, whowas it?'

thus, mr inspector.'you must excuse my telling you. no class of man can understand better thanyou, that families may not choose to publish their disagreements andmisfortunes, except on the last necessity. i do not dispute that you discharge yourduty in asking me the question; you will not dispute my right to withhold theanswer. again he turned towards the wicket, wherethe satellite, with his eye upon his chief, remained a dumb statue.'at least,' said mr inspector, 'you will not object to leave me your card, sir?' 'i should not object, if i had one; but ihave not.'

he reddened and was much confused as hegave the answer. 'at least,' said mr inspector, with nochange of voice or manner, 'you will not object to write down your name andaddress?' 'not at all.' mr inspector dipped a pen in his inkstand,and deftly laid it on a piece of paper close beside him; then resumed his formerattitude. the stranger stepped up to the desk, andwrote in a rather tremulous hand--mr inspector taking sidelong note of everyhair of his head when it was bent down for the purpose--'mr julius handford, exchequercoffee house, palace yard, westminster.'

'staying there, i presume, sir?''staying there.' 'consequently, from the country?' 'eh? yes--from the country.''good-night, sir.' the satellite removed his arm and openedthe wicket, and mr julius handford went out. 'reserve!' said mr inspector.'take care of this piece of paper, keep him in view without giving offence, ascertainthat he is staying there, and find out anything you can about him.' the satellite was gone; and mr inspector,becoming once again the quiet abbot of that

monastery, dipped his pen in his ink andresumed his books. the two friends who had watched him, moreamused by the professional manner than suspicious of mr julius handford, inquiredbefore taking their departure too whether he believed there was anything that reallylooked bad here? the abbot replied with reticence, couldn'tsay. if a murder, anybody might have done it. burglary or pocket-picking wanted'prenticeship. not so, murder.we were all of us up to that. had seen scores of people come to identify,and never saw one person struck in that

particular way.might, however, have been stomach and not mind. if so, rum stomach.but to be sure there were rum everythings. pity there was not a word of truth in thatsuperstition about bodies bleeding when touched by the hand of the right person;you never got a sign out of bodies. you got row enough out of such as her--shewas good for all night now (referring here to the banging demands for the liver), 'butyou got nothing out of bodies if it was ever so.' there being nothing more to be done untilthe inquest was held next day, the friends

went away together, and gaffer hexam andhis son went their separate way. but, arriving at the last corner, gafferbade his boy go home while he turned into a red-curtained tavern, that stooddropsically bulging over the causeway, 'for a half-a-pint.' the boy lifted the latch he had liftedbefore, and found his sister again seated before the fire at her work.who raised her head upon his coming in and asking: 'where did you go, liz?''i went out in the dark.' 'there was no necessity for that.it was all right enough.'

'one of the gentlemen, the one who didn'tspeak while i was there, looked hard at me. and i was afraid he might know what my facemeant. but there! don't mind me, charley!i was all in a tremble of another sort when you owned to father you could write alittle.' 'ah! but i made believe i wrote so badly,as that it was odds if any one could read it. and when i wrote slowest and smeared butwith my finger most, father was best pleased, as he stood looking over me.'

the girl put aside her work, and drawingher seat close to his seat by the fire, laid her arm gently on his shoulder.'you'll make the most of your time, charley; won't you?' 'won't i? come! i like that. don't i?''yes, charley, yes. you work hard at your learning, i know. and i work a little, charley, and plan andcontrive a little (wake out of my sleep contriving sometimes), how to get togethera shilling now, and a shilling then, that shall make father believe you are beginningto earn a stray living along shore.' 'you are father's favourite, and can makehim believe anything.'

'i wish i could, charley! for if i could make him believe thatlearning was a good thing, and that we might lead better lives, i should be a'mostcontent to die.' 'don't talk stuff about dying, liz.' she placed her hands in one another on hisshoulder, and laying her rich brown cheek against them as she looked down at thefire, went on thoughtfully: 'of an evening, charley, when you are atthe school, and father's--' 'at the six jolly fellowship porters,' theboy struck in, with a backward nod of his head towards the public-house.

'yes. then as i sit a-looking at the fire,i seem to see in the burning coal--like where that glow is now--' 'that's gas, that is,' said the boy,'coming out of a bit of a forest that's been under the mud that was under the waterin the days of noah's ark. look here! when i take the poker--so--and give it adig--' 'don't disturb it, charley, or it'll be allin a blaze. it's that dull glow near it, coming andgoing, that i mean. when i look at it of an evening, it comeslike pictures to me, charley.' 'show us a picture,' said the boy.

'tell us where to look.''ah! it wants my eyes, charley.' 'cut away then, and tell us what your eyesmake of it.' 'why, there are you and me, charley, whenyou were quite a baby that never knew a mother--' 'don't go saying i never knew a mother,'interposed the boy, 'for i knew a little sister that was sister and mother both.' the girl laughed delightedly, and her eyesfilled with pleasant tears, as he put both his arms round her waist and so held her. 'there are you and me, charley, when fatherwas away at work and locked us out, for

fear we should set ourselves afire or fallout of window, sitting on the door-sill, sitting on other door-steps, sitting on the bank of the river, wandering about to getthrough the time. you are rather heavy to carry, charley, andi am often obliged to rest. sometimes we are sleepy and fall asleeptogether in a corner, sometimes we are very hungry, sometimes we are a littlefrightened, but what is oftenest hard upon us is the cold. you remember, charley?''i remember,' said the boy, pressing her to him twice or thrice, 'that i snuggled undera little shawl, and it was warm there.'

'sometimes it rains, and we creep under aboat or the like of that: sometimes it's dark, and we get among the gaslights,sitting watching the people as they go along the streets. at last, up comes father and takes us home.and home seems such a shelter after out of doors! and father pulls my shoes off, and dries myfeet at the fire, and has me to sit by him while he smokes his pipe long after you areabed, and i notice that father's is a large hand but never a heavy one when it touches me, and that father's is a rough voice butnever an angry one when it speaks to me.

so, i grow up, and little by little fathertrusts me, and makes me his companion, and, let him be put out as he may, never oncestrikes me.' the listening boy gave a grunt here, asmuch as to say 'but he strikes me though!' 'those are some of the pictures of what ispast, charley.' 'cut away again,' said the boy, 'and giveus a fortune-telling one; a future one.' 'well! there am i, continuing with father andholding to father, because father loves me and i love father. i can't so much as read a book, because, ifi had learned, father would have thought i

was deserting him, and i should have lostmy influence. i have not the influence i want to have, icannot stop some dreadful things i try to stop, but i go on in the hope and trustthat the time will come. in the meanwhile i know that i am in somethings a stay to father, and that if i was not faithful to him he would--in revenge-like, or in disappointment, or both--go wild and bad.' 'give us a touch of the fortune-tellingpictures about me.' 'i was passing on to them, charley,' saidthe girl, who had not changed her attitude since she began, and who now mournfullyshook her head; 'the others were all

leading up. there are you--''where am i, liz?' 'still in the hollow down by the flare.' 'there seems to be the deuce-and-all in thehollow down by the flare,' said the boy, glancing from her eyes to the brazier,which had a grisly skeleton look on its long thin legs. 'there are you, charley, working your way,in secret from father, at the school; and you get prizes; and you go on better andbetter; and you come to be a--what was it you called it when you told me about that?'

'ha, ha!fortune-telling not know the name!' cried the boy, seeming to be rather relieved bythis default on the part of the hollow down by the flare. 'pupil-teacher.''you come to be a pupil-teacher, and you still go on better and better, and you riseto be a master full of learning and respect. but the secret has come to father'sknowledge long before, and it has divided you from father, and from me.''no it hasn't!' 'yes it has, charley.

i see, as plain as plain can be, that yourway is not ours, and that even if father could be got to forgive your taking it(which he never could be), that way of yours would be darkened by our way. but i see too, charley--''still as plain as plain can be, liz?' asked the boy playfully.'ah! still. that it is a great work to have cut youaway from father's life, and to have made a new and good beginning. so there am i, charley, left alone withfather, keeping him as straight as i can, watching for more influence than i have,and hoping that through some fortunate

chance, or when he is ill, or when--i don't know what--i may turn him to wish to dobetter things.' 'you said you couldn't read a book, lizzie.your library of books is the hollow down by the flare, i think.' 'i should be very glad to be able to readreal books. i feel my want of learning very much,charley. but i should feel it much more, if i didn'tknow it to be a tie between me and father.- -hark!father's tread!' it being now past midnight, the bird ofprey went straight to roost.

at mid-day following he reappeared at thesix jolly fellowship porters, in the character, not new to him, of a witnessbefore a coroner's jury. mr mortimer lightwood, besides sustainingthe character of one of the witnesses, doubled the part with that of the eminentsolicitor who watched the proceedings on behalf of the representatives of the deceased, as was duly recorded in thenewspapers. mr inspector watched the proceedings too,and kept his watching closely to himself. mr julius handford having given his rightaddress, and being reported in solvent circumstances as to his bill, thoughnothing more was known of him at his hotel

except that his way of life was very retired, had no summons to appear, and wasmerely present in the shades of mr inspector's mind. the case was made interesting to thepublic, by mr mortimer lightwood's evidence touching the circumstances under which thedeceased, mr john harmon, had returned to england; exclusive private proprietorship in which circumstances was set up atdinner-tables for several days, by veneering, twemlow, podsnap, and all thebuffers: who all related them irreconcilably with one another, andcontradicted themselves.

it was also made interesting by thetestimony of job potterson, the ship's steward, and one mr jacob kibble, a fellow-passenger, that the deceased mr john harmon did bring over, in a hand-valise with which he did disembark, the sum realized by theforced sale of his little landed property, and that the sum exceeded, in ready money,seven hundred pounds. it was further made interesting, by theremarkable experiences of jesse hexam in having rescued from the thames so many deadbodies, and for whose behoof a rapturous admirer subscribing himself 'a friend to burial' (perhaps an undertaker), senteighteen postage stamps, and five 'now

sir's to the editor of the times. upon the evidence adduced before them, thejury found, that the body of mr john harmon had been discovered floating in the thames,in an advanced state of decay, and much injured; and that the said mr john harmon had come by his death under highlysuspicious circumstances, though by whose act or in what precise manner there was noevidence before this jury to show. and they appended to their verdict, arecommendation to the home office (which mr inspector appeared to think highlysensible), to offer a reward for the solution of the mystery.

within eight-and-forty hours, a reward ofone hundred pounds was proclaimed, together with a free pardon to any person or personsnot the actual perpetrator or perpetrators, and so forth in due form. this proclamation rendered mr inspectoradditionally studious, and caused him to stand meditating on river-stairs andcauseways, and to go lurking about in boats, putting this and that together. but, according to the success with whichyou put this and that together, you get a woman and a fish apart, or a mermaid incombination. and mr inspector could turn out nothingbetter than a mermaid, which no judge and

jury would believe in. thus, like the tides on which it had beenborne to the knowledge of men, the harmon murder--as it came to be popularly called--went up and down, and ebbed and flowed, now in the town, now in the country, now among palaces, now among hovels, now among lordsand ladies and gentlefolks, now among labourers and hammerers and ballast-heavers, until at last, after a long interval of slack water it got out to seaand drifted away. our mutual friend by charles dickenschapter 4 the r. wilfer family

reginald wilfer is a name with rather agrand sound, suggesting on first acquaintance brasses in country churches,scrolls in stained-glass windows, and generally the de wilfers who came over withthe conqueror. for, it is a remarkable fact in genealogythat no de any ones ever came over with anybody else. but, the reginald wilfer family were ofsuch commonplace extraction and pursuits that their forefathers had for generationsmodestly subsisted on the docks, the excise office, and the custom house, and theexisting r. wilfer was a poor clerk. so poor a clerk, though having a limitedsalary and an unlimited family, that he had

never yet attained the modest object of hisambition: which was, to wear a complete new suit of clothes, hat and boots included, atone time. his black hat was brown before he couldafford a coat, his pantaloons were white at the seams and knees before he could buy apair of boots, his boots had worn out before he could treat himself to new pantaloons, and, by the time he workedround to the hat again, that shining modern article roofed-in an ancient ruin ofvarious periods. if the conventional cherub could ever growup and be clothed, he might be photographed as a portrait of wilfer.

his chubby, smooth, innocent appearance wasa reason for his being always treated with condescension when he was not put down. a stranger entering his own poor house atabout ten o'clock p.m. might have been surprised to find him sitting up to supper. so boyish was he in his curves andproportions, that his old schoolmaster meeting him in cheapside, might have beenunable to withstand the temptation of caning him on the spot. in short, he was the conventional cherub,after the supposititious shoot just mentioned, rather grey, with signs of careon his expression, and in decidedly

insolvent circumstances. he was shy, and unwilling to own to thename of reginald, as being too aspiring and self-assertive a name. in his signature he used only the initialr., and imparted what it really stood for, to none but chosen friends, under the sealof confidence. out of this, the facetious habit had arisenin the neighbourhood surrounding mincing lane of making christian names for him ofadjectives and participles beginning with r. some of these were more or lessappropriate: as rusty, retiring, ruddy,

round, ripe, ridiculous, ruminative;others, derived their point from their want of application: as raging, rattling,roaring, raffish. but, his popular name was rumty, which in amoment of inspiration had been bestowed upon him by a gentleman of convivial habitsconnected with the drug-markets, as the beginning of a social chorus, his leading part in the execution of which had led thisgentleman to the temple of fame, and of which the whole expressive burden ran: 'rumty iddity, row dow dow, singtoodlely, teedlely, bow wow wow.' thus he was constantly addressed, even inminor notes on business, as 'dear rumty';

in answer to which, he sedately signedhimself, 'yours truly, r. wilfer.' he was clerk in the drug-house of chicksey,veneering, and stobbles. chicksey and stobbles, his former masters,had both become absorbed in veneering, once their traveller or commission agent: whohad signalized his accession to supreme power by bringing into the business a quantity of plate-glass window and french-polished mahogany partition, and a gleaming and enormous doorplate. r. wilfer locked up his desk one evening,and, putting his bunch of keys in his pocket much as if it were his peg-top, madefor home.

his home was in the holloway region northof london, and then divided from it by fields and trees. between battle bridge and that part of theholloway district in which he dwelt, was a tract of suburban sahara, where tiles andbricks were burnt, bones were boiled, carpets were beat, rubbish was shot, dogs were fought, and dust was heaped bycontractors. skirting the border of this desert, by theway he took, when the light of its kiln- fires made lurid smears on the fog, r.wilfer sighed and shook his head. 'ah me!' said he, 'what might have been isnot what is!'

with which commentary on human life,indicating an experience of it not exclusively his own, he made the best ofhis way to the end of his journey. mrs wilfer was, of course, a tall woman andan angular. her lord being cherubic, she wasnecessarily majestic, according to the principle which matrimonially unitescontrasts. she was much given to tying up her head ina pocket-handkerchief, knotted under the chin. this head-gear, in conjunction with a pairof gloves worn within doors, she seemed to consider as at once a kind of armouragainst misfortune (invariably assuming it

when in low spirits or difficulties), andas a species of full dress. it was therefore with some sinking of thespirit that her husband beheld her thus heroically attired, putting down her candlein the little hall, and coming down the doorsteps through the little front court toopen the gate for him. something had gone wrong with the house-door, for r. wilfer stopped on the steps, staring at it, and cried: 'hal-loa?''yes,' said mrs wilfer, 'the man came himself with a pair of pincers, and took itoff, and took it away. he said that as he had no expectation ofever being paid for it, and as he had an

order for another ladies' school door-plate, it was better (burnished up) for the interests of all parties.' 'perhaps it was, my dear; what do youthink?' 'you are master here, r. w.,' returned hiswife. 'it is as you think; not as i do. perhaps it might have been better if theman had taken the door too?' 'my dear, we couldn't have done without thedoor.' 'couldn't we?' 'why, my dear!could we?'

'it is as you think, r. w.; not as i do.' with those submissive words, the dutifulwife preceded him down a few stairs to a little basement front room, half kitchen,half parlour, where a girl of about nineteen, with an exceedingly pretty figure and face, but with an impatient andpetulant expression both in her face and in her shoulders (which in her sex and at herage are very expressive of discontent), sat playing draughts with a younger girl, whowas the youngest of the house of wilfer. not to encumber this page by telling offthe wilfers in detail and casting them up in the gross, it is enough for the presentthat the rest were what is called 'out in

the world,' in various ways, and that theywere many. so many, that when one of his dutifulchildren called in to see him, r. wilfer generally seemed to say to himself, after alittle mental arithmetic, 'oh! here's another of 'em!' before adding aloud, 'how de do, john,' or susan, as the case mightbe. 'well piggywiggies,' said r. w., 'how de doto-night? what i was thinking of, my dear,' to mrswilfer already seated in a corner with folded gloves, 'was, that as we have letour first floor so well, and as we have now no place in which you could teach pupilseven if pupils--'

'the milkman said he knew of two youngladies of the highest respectability who were in search of a suitable establishment,and he took a card,' interposed mrs wilfer, with severe monotony, as if she werereading an act of parliament aloud. 'tell your father whether it was lastmonday, bella.' 'but we never heard any more of it, ma,'said bella, the elder girl. 'in addition to which, my dear,' herhusband urged, 'if you have no place to put two young persons into--' 'pardon me,' mrs wilfer again interposed;'they were not young persons. two young ladies of the highestrespectability.

tell your father, bella, whether themilkman said so.' 'my dear, it is the same thing.''no it is not,' said mrs wilfer, with the same impressive monotony. 'pardon me!''i mean, my dear, it is the same thing as to space.as to space. if you have no space in which to put twoyouthful fellow-creatures, however eminently respectable, which i do notdoubt, where are those youthful fellow- creatures to be accommodated? i carry it no further than that.

and solely looking at it,' said herhusband, making the stipulation at once in a conciliatory, complimentary, andargumentative tone--'as i am sure you will agree, my love--from a fellow-creaturepoint of view, my dear.' 'i have nothing more to say,' returned mrswilfer, with a meek renunciatory action of her gloves. here, the huffing of miss bella and theloss of three of her men at a swoop, aggravated by the coronation of anopponent, led to that young lady's jerking the draught-board and pieces off the table: which her sister went down on her knees topick up.

'poor bella!' said mrs wilfer.'and poor lavinia, perhaps, my dear?' suggested r. w. 'pardon me,' said mrs wilfer, 'no!' it was one of the worthy woman'sspecialities that she had an amazing power of gratifying her splenetic or worldly-minded humours by extolling her own family: which she thus proceeded, in the presentcase, to do. 'no, r. w. lavinia has not known the trialthat bella has known. the trial that your daughter bella hasundergone, is, perhaps, without a parallel, and has been borne, i will say, nobly.

when you see your daughter bella in herblack dress, which she alone of all the family wears, and when you remember thecircumstances which have led to her wearing it, and when you know how those circumstances have been sustained, then, r.w., lay your head upon your pillow and say, "poor lavinia!"' here, miss lavinia, from her kneelingsituation under the table, put in that she didn't want to be 'poored by pa', oranybody else. 'i am sure you do not, my dear,' returnedher mother, 'for you have a fine brave spirit.

and your sister cecilia has a fine bravespirit of another kind, a spirit of pure devotion, a beau-ti-ful spirit! the self-sacrifice of cecilia reveals apure and womanly character, very seldom equalled, never surpassed. i have now in my pocket a letter from yoursister cecilia, received this morning-- received three months after her marriage,poor child!--in which she tells me that her husband must unexpectedly shelter undertheir roof his reduced aunt. "but i will be true to him, mamma," shetouchingly writes, "i will not leave him, i must not forget that he is my husband.

let his aunt come!"if this is not pathetic, if this is not woman's devotion--!' the good lady waved her gloves in a senseof the impossibility of saying more, and tied the pocket-handkerchief over her headin a tighter knot under her chin. bella, who was now seated on the rug towarm herself, with her brown eyes on the fire and a handful of her brown curls inher mouth, laughed at this, and then pouted and half cried. 'i am sure,' said she, 'though you have nofeeling for me, pa, i am one of the most unfortunate girls that ever lived.

you know how poor we are' (it is probablehe did, having some reason to know it!), 'and what a glimpse of wealth i had, andhow it melted away, and how i am here in this ridiculous mourning--which i hate!--akind of a widow who never was married. and yet you don't feel for me.--yes you do,yes you do.' this abrupt change was occasioned by herfather's face. she stopped to pull him down from his chairin an attitude highly favourable to strangulation, and to give him a kiss and apat or two on the cheek. 'but you ought to feel for me, you know,pa.' 'my dear, i do.''yes, and i say you ought to.

if they had only left me alone and told menothing about it, it would have mattered much less. but that nasty mr lightwood feels it hisduty, as he says, to write and tell me what is in reserve for me, and then i am obligedto get rid of george sampson.' here, lavinia, rising to the surface withthe last draughtman rescued, interposed, 'you never cared for george sampson,bella.' 'and did i say i did, miss?' then, pouting again, with the curls in hermouth; 'george sampson was very fond of me, and admired me very much, and put up witheverything i did to him.'

'you were rude enough to him,' laviniaagain interposed. 'and did i say i wasn't, miss?i am not setting up to be sentimental about george sampson. i only say george sampson was better thannothing.' 'you didn't show him that you thought eventhat,' lavinia again interposed. 'you are a chit and a little idiot,'returned bella, 'or you wouldn't make such a dolly speech.what did you expect me to do? wait till you are a woman, and don't talkabout what you don't understand. you only show your ignorance!'

then, whimpering again, and at intervalsbiting the curls, and stopping to look how much was bitten off, 'it's a shame!there never was such a hard case! i shouldn't care so much if it wasn't soridiculous. it was ridiculous enough to have a strangercoming over to marry me, whether he liked it or not. it was ridiculous enough to know what anembarrassing meeting it would be, and how we never could pretend to have aninclination of our own, either of us. it was ridiculous enough to know ishouldn't like him--how could i like him, left to him in a will, like a dozen ofspoons, with everything cut and dried

beforehand, like orange chips. talk of orange flowers indeed!i declare again it's a shame! those ridiculous points would have beensmoothed away by the money, for i love money, and want money--want it dreadfully. i hate to be poor, and we are degradinglypoor, offensively poor, miserably poor, beastly poor. but here i am, left with all the ridiculousparts of the situation remaining, and, added to them all, this ridiculous dress! and if the truth was known, when the harmonmurder was all over the town, and people

were speculating on its being suicide, idare say those impudent wretches at the clubs and places made jokes about the miserable creature's having preferred awatery grave to me. it's likely enough they took suchliberties; i shouldn't wonder! i declare it's a very hard case indeed, andi am a most unfortunate girl. the idea of being a kind of a widow, andnever having been married! and the idea of being as poor as ever afterall, and going into black, besides, for a man i never saw, and should have hated--asfar as he was concerned--if i had seen!' the young lady's lamentations were checkedat this point by a knuckle, knocking at the

half-open door of the room.the knuckle had knocked two or three times already, but had not been heard. 'who is it?' said mrs wilfer, in her act-of-parliament manner. 'enter!' a gentleman coming in, miss bella, with ashort and sharp exclamation, scrambled off the hearth-rug and massed the bitten curlstogether in their right place on her neck. 'the servant girl had her key in the dooras i came up, and directed me to this room, telling me i was expected.i am afraid i should have asked her to announce me.'

'pardon me,' returned mrs wilfer.'not at all. two of my daughters.r. w., this is the gentleman who has taken your first-floor. he was so good as to make an appointmentfor to-night, when you would be at home.' a dark gentleman.thirty at the utmost. an expressive, one might say handsome,face. a very bad manner.in the last degree constrained, reserved, diffident, troubled. his eyes were on miss bella for an instant,and then looked at the ground as he

addressed the master of the house. 'seeing that i am quite satisfied, mrwilfer, with the rooms, and with their situation, and with their price, i supposea memorandum between us of two or three lines, and a payment down, will bind thebargain? i wish to send in furniture without delay.' two or three times during this shortaddress, the cherub addressed had made chubby motions towards a chair. the gentleman now took it, laying ahesitating hand on a corner of the table, and with another hesitating hand liftingthe crown of his hat to his lips, and

drawing it before his mouth. 'the gentleman, r. w.,' said mrs wilfer,'proposes to take your apartments by the quarter.a quarter's notice on either side.' 'shall i mention, sir,' insinuated thelandlord, expecting it to be received as a matter of course, 'the form of areference?' 'i think,' returned the gentleman, after apause, 'that a reference is not necessary; neither, to say the truth, is itconvenient, for i am a stranger in london. i require no reference from you, andperhaps, therefore, you will require none from me.that will be fair on both sides.

indeed, i show the greater confidence ofthe two, for i will pay in advance whatever you please, and i am going to trust myfurniture here. whereas, if you were in embarrassedcircumstances--this is merely supposititious--' conscience causing r. wilfer to colour, mrswilfer, from a corner (she always got into stately corners) came to the rescue with adeep-toned 'per-fectly.' '--why then i--might lose it.' 'well!' observed r. wilfer, cheerfully,'money and goods are certainly the best of references.'

'do you think they are the best, pa?' askedmiss bella, in a low voice, and without looking over her shoulder as she warmed herfoot on the fender. 'among the best, my dear.' 'i should have thought, myself, it was soeasy to add the usual kind of one,' said bella, with a toss of her curls. the gentleman listened to her, with a faceof marked attention, though he neither looked up nor changed his attitude. he sat, still and silent, until his futurelandlord accepted his proposals, and brought writing materials to complete thebusiness.

he sat, still and silent, while thelandlord wrote. when the agreement was ready in duplicate(the landlord having worked at it like some cherubic scribe, in what is conventionallycalled a doubtful, which means a not at all doubtful, old master), it was signed by the contracting parties, bella looking on asscornful witness. the contracting parties were r. wilfer, andjohn rokesmith esquire. when it came to bella's turn to sign hername, mr rokesmith, who was standing, as he had sat, with a hesitating hand upon thetable, looked at her stealthily, but narrowly.

he looked at the pretty figure bending downover the paper and saying, 'where am i to go, pa?here, in this corner?' he looked at the beautiful brown hair,shading the coquettish face; he looked at the free dash of the signature, which was abold one for a woman's; and then they looked at one another. 'much obliged to you, miss wilfer.''obliged?' 'i have given you so much trouble.''signing my name? yes, certainly. but i am your landlord's daughter, sir.'

as there was nothing more to do but payeight sovereigns in earnest of the bargain, pocket the agreement, appoint a time forthe arrival of his furniture and himself, and go, mr rokesmith did that as awkwardly as it might be done, and was escorted byhis landlord to the outer air. when r. wilfer returned, candlestick inhand, to the bosom of his family, he found the bosom agitated. 'pa,' said bella, 'we have got a murdererfor a tenant.' 'pa,' said lavinia, 'we have got a robber.''to see him unable for his life to look anybody in the face!' said bella.

'there never was such an exhibition.''my dears,' said their father, 'he is a diffident gentleman, and i should sayparticularly so in the society of girls of your age.' 'nonsense, our age!' cried bella,impatiently. 'what's that got to do with him?''besides, we are not of the same age:-- which age?' demanded lavinia. 'never you mind, lavvy,' retorted bella;'you wait till you are of an age to ask such questions.pa, mark my words! between mr rokesmith and me, there is anatural antipathy and a deep distrust; and

something will come of it!' 'my dear, and girls,' said the cherub-patriarch, 'between mr rokesmith and me, there is a matter of eight sovereigns, andsomething for supper shall come of it, if you'll agree upon the article.' this was a neat and happy turn to give thesubject, treats being rare in the wilfer household, where a monotonous appearance ofdutch-cheese at ten o'clock in the evening had been rather frequently commented on bythe dimpled shoulders of miss bella. indeed, the modest dutchman himself seemedconscious of his want of variety, and generally came before the family in a stateof apologetic perspiration.

after some discussion on the relativemerits of veal-cutlet, sweetbread, and lobster, a decision was pronounced infavour of veal-cutlet. mrs wilfer then solemnly divested herselfof her handkerchief and gloves, as a preliminary sacrifice to preparing thefrying-pan, and r. w. himself went out to purchase the viand. he soon returned, bearing the same in afresh cabbage-leaf, where it coyly embraced a rasher of ham. melodious sounds were not long in risingfrom the frying-pan on the fire, or in seeming, as the firelight danced in themellow halls of a couple of full bottles on

the table, to play appropriate dance-music. the cloth was laid by lavvy. bella, as the acknowledged ornament of thefamily, employed both her hands in giving her hair an additional wave while sittingin the easiest chair, and occasionally threw in a direction touching the supper: as, 'very brown, ma;' or, to her sister,'put the saltcellar straight, miss, and don't be a dowdy little puss.' meantime her father, chinking mrrokesmith's gold as he sat expectant between his knife and fork, remarked thatsix of those sovereigns came just in time

for their landlord, and stood them in a little pile on the white tablecloth to lookat. 'i hate our landlord!' said bella. but, observing a fall in her father's face,she went and sat down by him at the table, and began touching up his hair with thehandle of a fork. it was one of the girl's spoilt ways to bealways arranging the family's hair--perhaps because her own was so pretty, and occupiedso much of her attention. 'you deserve to have a house of your own;don't you, poor pa?' 'i don't deserve it better than another, mydear.'

'at any rate i, for one, want it more thananother,' said bella, holding him by the chin, as she stuck his flaxen hair on end,'and i grudge this money going to the monster that swallows up so much, when weall want--everything. and if you say (as you want to say; i knowyou want to say so, pa) "that's neither reasonable nor honest, bella," then ianswer, "maybe not, pa--very likely--but it's one of the consequences of being poor, and of thoroughly hating and detesting tobe poor, and that's my case." now, you look lovely, pa; why don't youalways wear your hair like that? and here's the cutlet!

if it isn't very brown, ma, i can't eat it,and must have a bit put back to be done expressly.' however, as it was brown, even to bella'staste, the young lady graciously partook of it without reconsignment to the frying-pan,and also, in due course, of the contents of the two bottles: whereof one held scotchale and the other rum. the latter perfume, with the fostering aidof boiling water and lemon-peel, diffused itself throughout the room, and became sohighly concentrated around the warm fireside, that the wind passing over the house roof must have rushed off chargedwith a delicious whiff of it, after buzzing

like a great bee at that particularchimneypot. 'pa,' said bella, sipping the fragrantmixture and warming her favourite ankle; 'when old mr harmon made such a fool of me(not to mention himself, as he is dead), what do you suppose he did it for?' 'impossible to say, my dear.as i have told you time out of number since his will was brought to light, i doubt if iever exchanged a hundred words with the old gentleman. if it was his whim to surprise us, his whimsucceeded. for he certainly did it.'

'and i was stamping my foot and screaming,when he first took notice of me; was i?' said bella, contemplating the ankle beforementioned. 'you were stamping your little foot, mydear, and screaming with your little voice, and laying into me with your little bonnet,which you had snatched off for the purpose,' returned her father, as if the remembrance gave a relish to the rum; 'youwere doing this one sunday morning when i took you out, because i didn't go the exactway you wanted, when the old gentleman, sitting on a seat near, said, "that's a nice girl; that's a very nice girl; apromising girl!"

and so you were, my dear.''and then he asked my name, did he, pa?' 'then he asked your name, my dear, andmine; and on other sunday mornings, when we walked his way, we saw him again, and--andreally that's all.' as that was all the rum and water too, or,in other words, as r. w. delicately signified that his glass was empty, bythrowing back his head and standing the glass upside down on his nose and upper lip, it might have been charitable in mrswilfer to suggest replenishment. but that heroine briefly suggesting'bedtime' instead, the bottles were put away, and the family retired; shecherubically escorted, like some severe

saint in a painting, or merely human matronallegorically treated. 'and by this time to-morrow,' said laviniawhen the two girls were alone in their room, 'we shall have mr rokesmith here, andshall be expecting to have our throats cut.' 'you needn't stand between me and thecandle for all that,' retorted bella. 'this is another of the consequences ofbeing poor! the idea of a girl with a really fine headof hair, having to do it by one flat candle and a few inches of looking-glass!''you caught george sampson with it, bella, bad as your means of dressing it are.'

'you low little thing.caught george sampson with it! don't talk about catching people, miss,till your own time for catching--as you call it--comes.' 'perhaps it has come,' muttered lavvy, witha toss of her head. 'what did you say?' asked bella, verysharply. 'what did you say, miss?' lavvy declining equally to repeat or toexplain, bella gradually lapsed over her hair-dressing into a soliloquy on themiseries of being poor, as exemplified in having nothing to put on, nothing to go out

in, nothing to dress by, only a nasty boxto dress at instead of a commodious dressing-table, and being obliged to takein suspicious lodgers. on the last grievance as her climax, shelaid great stress--and might have laid greater, had she known that if mr juliushandford had a twin brother upon earth, mr john rokesmith was the man. our mutual friend by charles dickenschapter 5 boffin's bower over against a london house, a corner housenot far from cavendish square, a man with a wooden leg had sat for some years, with hisremaining foot in a basket in cold weather,

picking up a living on this wise:--every morning at eight o'clock, he stumped to thecorner, carrying a chair, a clothes-horse, a pair of trestles, a board, a basket, andan umbrella, all strapped together. separating these, the board and trestlesbecame a counter, the basket supplied the few small lots of fruit and sweets that heoffered for sale upon it and became a foot- warmer, the unfolded clothes-horse displayed a choice collection of halfpennyballads and became a screen, and the stool planted within it became his post for therest of the day. all weathers saw the man at the post.

this is to be accepted in a double sense,for he contrived a back to his wooden stool, by placing it against the lamp-post. when the weather was wet, he put up hisumbrella over his stock in trade, not over himself; when the weather was dry, hefurled that faded article, tied it round with a piece of yarn, and laid it cross- wise under the trestles: where it lookedlike an unwholesomely-forced lettuce that had lost in colour and crispness what ithad gained in size. he had established his right to the corner,by imperceptible prescription. he had never varied his ground an inch, buthad in the beginning diffidently taken the

corner upon which the side of the housegave. a howling corner in the winter time, adusty corner in the summer time, an undesirable corner at the best of times. shelterless fragments of straw and papergot up revolving storms there, when the main street was at peace; and the water-cart, as if it were drunk or short-sighted, came blundering and jolting round it,making it muddy when all else was clean. on the front of his sale-board hung alittle placard, like a kettle-holder, bearing the inscription in his own smalltext: errands gone on with fidelity by

ladies and gentlemen i remainyour humble servt: silas wegg he had not only settled it with himself incourse of time, that he was errand-goer by appointment to the house at the corner(though he received such commissions not half a dozen times in a year, and then only as some servant's deputy), but also that hewas one of the house's retainers and owed vassalage to it and was bound to leal andloyal interest in it. for this reason, he always spoke of it as'our house,' and, though his knowledge of its affairs was mostly speculative and allwrong, claimed to be in its confidence. on similar grounds he never beheld aninmate at any one of its windows but he

touched his hat. yet, he knew so little about the inmatesthat he gave them names of his own invention: as 'miss elizabeth', 'mastergeorge', 'aunt jane', 'uncle parker '-- having no authority whatever for any such designations, but particularly the last--towhich, as a natural consequence, he stuck with great obstinacy. over the house itself, he exercised thesame imaginary power as over its inhabitants and their affairs. he had never been in it, the length of apiece of fat black water-pipe which trailed

itself over the area-door into a damp stonepassage, and had rather the air of a leech on the house that had 'taken' wonderfully; but this was no impediment to his arrangingit according to a plan of his own. it was a great dingy house with a quantityof dim side window and blank back premises, and it cost his mind a world of trouble soto lay it out as to account for everything in its external appearance. but, this once done, was quitesatisfactory, and he rested persuaded, that he knew his way about the house blindfold:from the barred garrets in the high roof, to the two iron extinguishers before the

main door--which seemed to request alllively visitors to have the kindness to put themselves out, before entering. assuredly, this stall of silas wegg's wasthe hardest little stall of all the sterile little stalls in london. it gave you the face-ache to look at hisapples, the stomach-ache to look at his oranges, the tooth-ache to look at hisnuts. of the latter commodity he had always agrim little heap, on which lay a little wooden measure which had no discernibleinside, and was considered to represent the penn'orth appointed by magna charta.

whether from too much east wind or no--itwas an easterly corner--the stall, the stock, and the keeper, were all as dry asthe desert. wegg was a knotty man, and a close-grained,with a face carved out of very hard material, that had just as much play ofexpression as a watchman's rattle. when he laughed, certain jerks occurred init, and the rattle sprung. sooth to say, he was so wooden a man thathe seemed to have taken his wooden leg naturally, and rather suggested to thefanciful observer, that he might be expected--if his development received no untimely check--to be completely set upwith a pair of wooden legs in about six

months. mr wegg was an observant person, or, as hehimself said, 'took a powerful sight of notice'. he saluted all his regular passers-by everyday, as he sat on his stool backed up by the lamp-post; and on the adaptablecharacter of these salutes he greatly plumed himself. thus, to the rector, he addressed a bow,compounded of lay deference, and a slight touch of the shady preliminary meditationat church; to the doctor, a confidential bow, as to a gentleman whose acquaintance

with his inside he begged respectfully toacknowledge; before the quality he delighted to abase himself; and for uncleparker, who was in the army (at least, so he had settled it), he put his open hand to the side of his hat, in a military mannerwhich that angry-eyed buttoned-up inflammatory-faced old gentleman appearedbut imperfectly to appreciate. the only article in which silas dealt, thatwas not hard, was gingerbread. on a certain day, some wretched infanthaving purchased the damp gingerbread-horse (fearfully out of condition), and theadhesive bird-cage, which had been exposed for the day's sale, he had taken a tin box

from under his stool to produce a relay ofthose dreadful specimens, and was going to look in at the lid, when he said tohimself, pausing: 'oh! here you are again!' the words referred to a broad, round-shouldered, one-sided old fellow in mourning, coming comically ambling towardsthe corner, dressed in a pea over-coat, and carrying a large stick. he wore thick shoes, and thick leathergaiters, and thick gloves like a hedger's. both as to his dress and to himself, he wasof an overlapping rhinoceros build, with folds in his cheeks, and his forehead, andhis eyelids, and his lips, and his ears;

but with bright, eager, childishly- inquiring, grey eyes, under his raggedeyebrows, and broad-brimmed hat. a very odd-looking old fellow altogether.'here you are again,' repeated mr wegg, musing. 'and what are you now?are you in the funns, or where are you? have you lately come to settle in thisneighbourhood, or do you own to another neighbourhood? are you in independent circumstances, or isit wasting the motions of a bow on you? come!i'll speculate!

i'll invest a bow in you.' which mr wegg, having replaced his tin box,accordingly did, as he rose to bait his gingerbread-trap for some other devotedinfant. the salute was acknowledged with: 'morning, sir!morning! morning!'('calls me sir!' said mr wegg, to himself; 'he won't answer. a bow gone!')'morning, morning, morning!' 'appears to be rather a 'arty old cock,too,' said mr wegg, as before; 'good

morning to you, sir.' 'do you remember me, then?' asked his newacquaintance, stopping in his amble, one- sided, before the stall, and speaking in apounding way, though with great good- humour. 'i have noticed you go past our house, sir,several times in the course of the last week or so.''our house,' repeated the other. 'meaning--?' 'yes,' said mr wegg, nodding, as the otherpointed the clumsy forefinger of his right glove at the corner house.

'oh! now, what,' pursued the old fellow, inan inquisitive manner, carrying his knotted stick in his left arm as if it were a baby,'what do they allow you now?' 'it's job work that i do for our house,'returned silas, drily, and with reticence; 'it's not yet brought to an exactallowance.' 'oh! it's not yet brought to an exactallowance? no! it's not yet brought to an exactallowance. oh!--morning, morning, morning!' 'appears to be rather a cracked old cock,'thought silas, qualifying his former good opinion, as the other ambled off.but, in a moment he was back again with the

question: 'how did you get your wooden leg?'mr wegg replied, (tartly to this personal inquiry), 'in an accident.''do you like it?' i haven't got to keep it warm,' mr weggmade answer, in a sort of desperation occasioned by the singularity of thequestion. 'he hasn't,' repeated the other to hisknotted stick, as he gave it a hug; 'he hasn't got--ha!--ha!--to keep it warm!did you ever hear of the name of boffin?' 'no,' said mr wegg, who was growing restiveunder this examination. 'i never did hear of the name of boffin.''do you like it?'

'why, no,' retorted mr wegg, againapproaching desperation; 'i can't say i do.''why don't you like it?' 'i don't know why i don't,' retorted mrwegg, approaching frenzy, 'but i don't at all.' 'now, i'll tell you something that'll makeyou sorry for that,' said the stranger, smiling.'my name's boffin.' 'i can't help it!' returned mr wegg. implying in his manner the offensiveaddition, 'and if i could, i wouldn't.' 'but there's another chance for you,' saidmr boffin, smiling still, 'do you like the

name of nicodemus? think it over.nick, or noddy.' 'it is not, sir,' mr wegg rejoined, as hesat down on his stool, with an air of gentle resignation, combined withmelancholy candour; it is not a name as i could wish any one that i had a respect for, to call me by; but there may bepersons that would not view it with the same objections.--i don't know why,' mrwegg added, anticipating another question. 'noddy boffin,' said that gentleman. 'noddy.that's my name.

noddy--or nick--boffin.what's your name?' 'silas wegg.--i don't,' said mr wegg,bestirring himself to take the same precaution as before, 'i don't know whysilas, and i don't know why wegg.' 'now, wegg,' said mr boffin, hugging hisstick closer, 'i want to make a sort of offer to you.do you remember when you first see me?' the wooden wegg looked at him with ameditative eye, and also with a softened air as descrying possibility of profit.'let me think. i ain't quite sure, and yet i generallytake a powerful sight of notice, too. was it on a monday morning, when thebutcher-boy had been to our house for

orders, and bought a ballad of me, which,being unacquainted with the tune, i run it over to him?' 'right, wegg, right!but he bought more than one.' 'yes, to be sure, sir; he bought several;and wishing to lay out his money to the best, he took my opinion to guide hischoice, and we went over the collection together. to be sure we did. here was him as it might be, and here wasmyself as it might be, and there was you, mr boffin, as you identically are, withyour self-same stick under your very same

arm, and your very same back towards us. to--be--sure!' added mr wegg, looking alittle round mr boffin, to take him in the rear, and identify this last extraordinarycoincidence, 'your wery self-same back!' 'what do you think i was doing, wegg?' 'i should judge, sir, that you might beglancing your eye down the street.' 'no, wegg.i was a listening.' 'was you, indeed?' said mr wegg, dubiously. 'not in a dishonourable way, wegg, becauseyou was singing to the butcher; and you wouldn't sing secrets to a butcher in thestreet, you know.'

'it never happened that i did so yet, tothe best of my remembrance,' said mr wegg, cautiously.'but i might do it. a man can't say what he might wish to dosome day or another.' (this, not to release any little advantagehe might derive from mr boffin's avowal.) 'well,' repeated boffin, 'i was a listeningto you and to him. and what do you--you haven't got anotherstool, have you? i'm rather thick in my breath.' 'i haven't got another, but you're welcometo this,' said wegg, resigning it. 'it's a treat to me to stand.'

'lard!' exclaimed mr boffin, in a tone ofgreat enjoyment, as he settled himself down, still nursing his stick like a baby,'it's a pleasant place, this! and then to be shut in on each side, withthese ballads, like so many book-leaf blinkers!why, its delightful!' 'if i am not mistaken, sir,' mr weggdelicately hinted, resting a hand on his stall, and bending over the discursiveboffin, 'you alluded to some offer or another that was in your mind?' 'i'm coming to it!all right. i'm coming to it!

i was going to say that when i listenedthat morning, i listened with hadmiration amounting to haw.i thought to myself, "here's a man with a wooden leg--a literary man with--"' 'n--not exactly so, sir,' said mr wegg. 'why, you know every one of these songs byname and by tune, and if you want to read or to sing any one on 'em off straight,you've only to whip on your spectacles and do it!' cried mr boffin. 'i see you at it!''well, sir,' returned mr wegg, with a conscious inclination of the head; 'we'llsay literary, then.'

'"a literary man--with a wooden leg--andall print is open to him!" that's what i thought to myself, thatmorning,' pursued mr boffin, leaning forward to describe, uncramped by theclotheshorse, as large an arc as his right arm could make; '"all print is open tohim!" and it is, ain't it?' 'why, truly, sir,' mr wegg admitted, withmodesty; 'i believe you couldn't show me the piece of english print, that i wouldn'tbe equal to collaring and throwing.' 'on the spot?' said mr boffin. 'on the spot.''i know'd it!

then consider this.here am i, a man without a wooden leg, and yet all print is shut to me.' 'indeed, sir?'mr wegg returned with increasing self- complacency.'education neglected?' 'neg--lected!' repeated boffin, withemphasis. 'that ain't no word for it. i don't mean to say but what if you showedme a b, i could so far give you change for it, as to answer boffin.' 'come, come, sir,' said mr wegg, throwingin a little encouragement, 'that's

something, too.''it's something,' answered mr boffin, 'but i'll take my oath it ain't much.' 'perhaps it's not as much as could bewished by an inquiring mind, sir,' mr wegg admitted.'now, look here. i'm retired from business. me and mrs boffin--henerietty boffin--whichher father's name was henery, and her mother's name was hetty, and so you get it--we live on a compittance, under the will of a diseased governor.' 'gentleman dead, sir?''man alive, don't i tell you?

a diseased governor? now, it's too late for me to beginshovelling and sifting at alphabeds and grammar-books.i'm getting to be a old bird, and i want to take it easy. but i want some reading--some fine boldreading, some splendid book in a gorging lord-mayor's-show of wollumes' (probablymeaning gorgeous, but misled by association of ideas); 'as'll reach right down yourpint of view, and take time to go by you. how can i get that reading, wegg? by,' tapping him on the breast with thehead of his thick stick, 'paying a man

truly qualified to do it, so much an hour(say twopence) to come and do it.' 'hem! flattered, sir, i am sure,' saidwegg, beginning to regard himself in quite a new light.'hew! this is the offer you mentioned, sir?' 'yes. do you like it?''i am considering of it, mr boffin.' 'i don't,' said boffin, in a free-handedmanner, 'want to tie a literary man--with a wooden leg--down too tight. a halfpenny an hour shan't part us.the hours are your own to choose, after you've done for the day with your househere.

i live over maiden-lane way--out hollowaydirection--and you've only got to go east- and-by-north when you've finished here, andyou're there. twopence halfpenny an hour,' said boffin,taking a piece of chalk from his pocket and getting off the stool to work the sum onthe top of it in his own way; 'two long'uns and a short'un--twopence halfpenny; two short'uns is a long'un and two two long'unsis four long'uns--making five long'uns; six nights a week at five long'uns a night,'scoring them all down separately, 'and you mount up to thirty long'uns. a round'un!half a crown!'

pointing to this result as a large andsatisfactory one, mr boffin smeared it out with his moistened glove, and sat down onthe remains. 'half a crown,' said wegg, meditating. 'yes. (it ain't much, sir.)half a crown.' 'per week, you know.''per week. yes. as to the amount of strain upon theintellect now. was you thinking at all of poetry?'mr wegg inquired, musing. 'would it come dearer?'

mr boffin asked.'it would come dearer,' mr wegg returned. 'for when a person comes to grind offpoetry night after night, it is but right he should expect to be paid for itsweakening effect on his mind.' 'to tell you the truth wegg,' said boffin,'i wasn't thinking of poetry, except in so fur as this:--if you was to happen now andthen to feel yourself in the mind to tip me and mrs boffin one of your ballads, whythen we should drop into poetry.' 'i follow you, sir,' said wegg. 'but not being a regular musicalprofessional, i should be loath to engage myself for that; and therefore when idropped into poetry, i should ask to be

considered so fur, in the light of afriend.' at this, mr boffin's eyes sparkled, and heshook silas earnestly by the hand: protesting that it was more than he couldhave asked, and that he took it very kindly indeed. 'what do you think of the terms, wegg?'mr boffin then demanded, with unconcealed anxiety. silas, who had stimulated this anxiety byhis hard reserve of manner, and who had begun to understand his man very well,replied with an air; as if he were saying something extraordinarily generous andgreat:

'mr boffin, i never bargain.''so i should have thought of you!' said mr boffin, admiringly. 'no, sir.i never did 'aggle and i never will 'aggle. consequently i meet you at once, free andfair, with--done, for double the money!' mr boffin seemed a little unprepared forthis conclusion, but assented, with the remark, 'you know better what it ought tobe than i do, wegg,' and again shook hands with him upon it. 'could you begin to night, wegg?' he thendemanded. 'yes, sir,' said mr wegg, careful to leaveall the eagerness to him.

'i see no difficulty if you wish it. you are provided with the needfulimplement--a book, sir?' 'bought him at a sale,' said mr boffin.'eight wollumes. red and gold. purple ribbon in every wollume, to keep theplace where you leave off. do you know him?''the book's name, sir?' inquired silas. 'i thought you might have know'd himwithout it,' said mr boffin slightly disappointed.'his name is decline-and-fall-off-the- rooshan-empire.'

(mr boffin went over these stones slowlyand with much caution.) 'ay indeed!' said mr wegg, nodding his headwith an air of friendly recognition. 'you know him, wegg?' 'i haven't been not to say right slapthrough him, very lately,' mr wegg made answer, 'having been otherways employed, mrboffin. but know him? old familiar declining and falling off therooshan? rather, sir!ever since i was not so high as your stick. ever since my eldest brother left ourcottage to enlist into the army.

on which occasion, as the ballad that wasmade about it describes: 'beside that cottage door, mr boffin,a girl was on her knees;she held aloft a snowy scarf, sir, which (myeldest brother noticed) fluttered in the breeze. she breathed a prayer for him, mrboffin; a prayer he coold not hear.and my eldest brotherlean'd upon his sword, mr boffin, and wiped away a tear.' much impressed by this family circumstance,and also by the friendly disposition of mr wegg, as exemplified in his so soondropping into poetry, mr boffin again shook

hands with that ligneous sharper, andbesought him to name his hour. mr wegg named eight.'where i live,' said mr boffin, 'is called the bower. boffin's bower is the name mrs boffinchristened it when we come into it as a property. if you should meet with anybody that don'tknow it by that name (which hardly anybody does), when you've got nigh upon about aodd mile, or say and a quarter if you like, up maiden lane, battle bridge, ask forharmony jail, and you'll be put right. i shall expect you, wegg,' said mr boffin,clapping him on the shoulder with the

greatest enthusiasm, 'most joyfully. i shall have no peace or patience till youcome. print is now opening ahead of me. this night, a literary man--with a woodenleg--' he bestowed an admiring look upon that decoration, as if it greatly enhancedthe relish of mr wegg's attainments--'will begin to lead me a new life! my fist again, wegg.morning, morning, morning!' left alone at his stall as the other ambledoff, mr wegg subsided into his screen, produced a small pocket-handkerchief of apenitentially-scrubbing character, and took

himself by the nose with a thoughtfulaspect. also, while he still grasped that feature,he directed several thoughtful looks down the street, after the retiring figure of mrboffin. but, profound gravity sat enthroned onwegg's countenance. for, while he considered within himselfthat this was an old fellow of rare simplicity, that this was an opportunity tobe improved, and that here might be money to be got beyond present calculation, still he compromised himself by no admission thathis new engagement was at all out of his way, or involved the least element of theridiculous.

mr wegg would even have picked a handsomequarrel with any one who should have challenged his deep acquaintance with thoseaforesaid eight volumes of decline and fall. his gravity was unusual, portentous, andimmeasurable, not because he admitted any doubt of himself but because he perceivedit necessary to forestall any doubt of himself in others. and herein he ranged with that verynumerous class of impostors, who are quite as determined to keep up appearances tothemselves, as to their neighbours. a certain loftiness, likewise, tookpossession of mr wegg; a condescending

sense of being in request as an officialexpounder of mysteries. it did not move him to commercialgreatness, but rather to littleness, insomuch that if it had been within thepossibilities of things for the wooden measure to hold fewer nuts than usual, itwould have done so that day. but, when night came, and with her veiledeyes beheld him stumping towards boffin's bower, he was elated too. the bower was as difficult to find, as fairrosamond's without the clue. mr wegg, having reached the quarterindicated, inquired for the bower half a dozen times without the least success,until he remembered to ask for harmony

jail. this occasioned a quick change in thespirits of a hoarse gentleman and a donkey, whom he had much perplexed. 'why, yer mean old harmon's, do yer?' saidthe hoarse gentleman, who was driving his donkey in a truck, with a carrot for awhip. 'why didn't yer niver say so? eddard and me is a goin' by him!jump in.' mr wegg complied, and the hoarse gentlemaninvited his attention to the third person in company, thus;

'now, you look at eddard's ears.what was it as you named, agin? whisper.'mr wegg whispered, 'boffin's bower.' 'eddard! (keep yer hi on his ears) cut away toboffin's bower!' edward, with his ears lying back, remainedimmoveable. (keep yer hi on his ears) cut away to oldharmon's.' edward instantly pricked up his ears totheir utmost, and rattled off at such a pace that mr wegg's conversation was joltedout of him in a most dislocated state. 'was-it-ev-verajail?' asked mr wegg,holding on.

'not a proper jail, wot you and me wouldget committed to,' returned his escort; 'they giv' it the name, on accounts of oldharmon living solitary there.' 'and-why-did-they-callitharm-ony?' askedwegg. 'on accounts of his never agreeing withnobody. like a speeches of chaff. harmon's jail; harmony jail.working it round like.' 'doyouknow-mist-erboff-in?' asked wegg.'i should think so! everybody do about here. eddard knows him.(keep yer hi on his ears.)

noddy boffin, eddard!' the effect of the name was so veryalarming, in respect of causing a temporary disappearance of edward's head, casting hishind hoofs in the air, greatly accelerating the pace and increasing the jolting, that mr wegg was fain to devote his attentionexclusively to holding on, and to relinquish his desire of ascertainingwhether this homage to boffin was to be considered complimentary or the reverse. presently, edward stopped at a gateway, andwegg discreetly lost no time in slipping out at the back of the truck.

the moment he was landed, his late driverwith a wave of the carrot, said 'supper, eddard!' and he, the hind hoofs, the truck,and edward, all seemed to fly into the air together, in a kind of apotheosis. pushing the gate, which stood ajar, wegglooked into an enclosed space where certain tall dark mounds rose high against the sky,and where the pathway to the bower was indicated, as the moonlight showed, betweentwo lines of broken crockery set in ashes. a white figure advancing along this path,proved to be nothing more ghostly than mr boffin, easily attired for the pursuit ofknowledge, in an undress garment of short white smock-frock.

having received his literary friend withgreat cordiality, he conducted him to the interior of the bower and there presentedhim to mrs boffin:--a stout lady of a rubicund and cheerful aspect, dressed (to mr wegg's consternation) in a low evening-dress of sable satin, and a large black velvet hat and feathers.'mrs boffin, wegg,' said boffin, 'is a highflyer at fashion. and her make is such, that she does itcredit. as to myself i ain't yet as fash'nable as imay come to be. henerietty, old lady, this is the gentlemanthat's a going to decline and fall off the

rooshan empire.''and i am sure i hope it'll do you both good,' said mrs boffin. it was the queerest of rooms, fitted andfurnished more like a luxurious amateur tap-room than anything else within the kenof silas wegg. there were two wooden settles by the fire,one on either side of it, with a corresponding table before each. on one of these tables, the eight volumeswere ranged flat, in a row, like a galvanic battery; on the other, certain squat case-bottles of inviting appearance seemed to stand on tiptoe to exchange glances with mr

wegg over a front row of tumblers and abasin of white sugar. on the hob, a kettle steamed; on thehearth, a cat reposed. facing the fire between the settles, asofa, a footstool, and a little table, formed a centrepiece devoted to mrs boffin. they were garish in taste and colour, butwere expensive articles of drawing-room furniture that had a very odd look besidethe settles and the flaring gaslight pendent from the ceiling. there was a flowery carpet on the floor;but, instead of reaching to the fireside, its glowing vegetation stopped short at mrsboffin's footstool, and gave place to a

region of sand and sawdust. mr wegg also noticed, with admiring eyes,that, while the flowery land displayed such hollow ornamentation as stuffed birds andwaxen fruits under glass-shades, there were, in the territory where vegetation ceased, compensatory shelves on which thebest part of a large pie and likewise of a cold joint were plainly discernible amongother solids. the room itself was large, though low; andthe heavy frames of its old-fashioned windows, and the heavy beams in its crookedceiling, seemed to indicate that it had once been a house of some mark standingalone in the country.

'do you like it, wegg?' asked mr boffin, inhis pouncing manner. 'i admire it greatly, sir,' said wegg. 'peculiar comfort at this fireside, sir.''do you understand it, wegg?' 'why, in a general way, sir,' mr wegg wasbeginning slowly and knowingly, with his head stuck on one side, as evasive peopledo begin, when the other cut him short: 'you don't understand it, wegg, and i'llexplain it. these arrangements is made by mutualconsent between mrs boffin and me. mrs boffin, as i've mentioned, is ahighflyer at fashion; at present i'm not. i don't go higher than comfort, and comfortof the sort that i'm equal to the enjoyment

of. well then.where would be the good of mrs boffin and me quarrelling over it? we never did quarrel, before we come intoboffin's bower as a property; why quarrel when we have come into boffin's bower as aproperty? so mrs boffin, she keeps up her part of theroom, in her way; i keep up my part of the room in mine. in consequence of which we have at once,sociability (i should go melancholy mad without mrs boffin), fashion, and comfort.

if i get by degrees to be a higher-flyer atfashion, then mrs boffin will by degrees come for'arder. if mrs boffin should ever be less of a dabat fashion than she is at the present time, then mrs boffin's carpet would goback'arder. if we should both continny as we are, whythen here we are, and give us a kiss, old lady.' mrs boffin who, perpetually smiling, hadapproached and drawn her plump arm through her lord's, most willingly complied. fashion, in the form of her black velvethat and feathers, tried to prevent it; but

got deservedly crushed in the endeavour. 'so now, wegg,' said mr boffin, wiping hismouth with an air of much refreshment, 'you begin to know us as we are.this is a charming spot, is the bower, but you must get to apprechiate it by degrees. it's a spot to find out the merits of;little by little, and a new'un every day. there's a serpentining walk up each of themounds, that gives you the yard and neighbourhood changing every moment. when you get to the top, there's a view ofthe neighbouring premises, not to be surpassed.

the premises of mrs boffin's late father(canine provision trade), you look down into, as if they was your own. and the top of the high mound is crownedwith a lattice-work arbour, in which, if you don't read out loud many a book in thesummer, ay, and as a friend, drop many a time into poetry too, it shan't be myfault. now, what'll you read on?' 'thank you, sir,' returned wegg, as ifthere were nothing new in his reading at all.'i generally do it on gin and water.' 'keeps the organ moist, does it, wegg?'asked mr boffin, with innocent eagerness.

'n-no, sir,' replied wegg, coolly, 'ishould hardly describe it so, sir. i should say, mellers it. mellers it, is the word i should employ, mrboffin.' his wooden conceit and craft kept exactpace with the delighted expectation of his victim. the visions rising before his mercenarymind, of the many ways in which this connexion was to be turned to account,never obscured the foremost idea natural to a dull overreaching man, that he must notmake himself too cheap. mrs boffin's fashion, as a less inexorabledeity than the idol usually worshipped

under that name, did not forbid her mixingfor her literary guest, or asking if he found the result to his liking. on his returning a gracious answer andtaking his place at the literary settle, mr boffin began to compose himself as alistener, at the opposite settle, with exultant eyes. 'sorry to deprive you of a pipe, wegg,' hesaid, filling his own, 'but you can't do both together.oh! and another thing i forgot to name! when you come in here of an evening, andlook round you, and notice anything on a shelf that happens to catch your fancy,mention it.'

wegg, who had been going to put on hisspectacles, immediately laid them down, with the sprightly observation:'you read my thoughts, sir. do my eyes deceive me, or is that object upthere a--a pie? it can't be a pie.' 'yes, it's a pie, wegg,' replied mr boffin,with a glance of some little discomfiture at the decline and fall.'have i lost my smell for fruits, or is it a apple pie, sir?' asked wegg. 'it's a veal and ham pie,' said mr boffin.'is it indeed, sir? and it would be hard, sir, to name the piethat is a better pie than a weal and

hammer,' said mr wegg, nodding his heademotionally. 'have some, wegg?' 'thank you, mr boffin, i think i will, atyour invitation. i wouldn't at any other party's, at thepresent juncture; but at yours, sir!--and meaty jelly too, especially when a littlesalt, which is the case where there's ham, is mellering to the organ, is verymellering to the organ.' mr wegg did not say what organ, but spokewith a cheerful generality. so, the pie was brought down, and theworthy mr boffin exercised his patience until wegg, in the exercise of his knifeand fork, had finished the dish: only

profiting by the opportunity to inform wegg that although it was not strictlyfashionable to keep the contents of a larder thus exposed to view, he (mr boffin)considered it hospitable; for the reason, that instead of saying, in a comparatively unmeaning manner, to a visitor, 'there aresuch and such edibles down stairs; will you have anything up?' you took the boldpractical course of saying, 'cast your eye along the shelves, and, if you see anythingyou like there, have it down.' and now, mr wegg at length pushed away hisplate and put on his spectacles, and mr boffin lighted his pipe and looked withbeaming eyes into the opening world before

him, and mrs boffin reclined in a fashionable manner on her sofa: as one whowould be part of the audience if she found she could, and would go to sleep if shefound she couldn't. 'hem!' began wegg, 'this, mr boffin andlady, is the first chapter of the first wollume of the decline and fall off--' herehe looked hard at the book, and stopped. 'what's the matter, wegg?' 'why, it comes into my mind, do you know,sir,' said wegg with an air of insinuating frankness (having first again looked hardat the book), 'that you made a little mistake this morning, which i had meant to

set you right in, only something put it outof my head. i think you said rooshan empire, sir?''it is rooshan; ain't it, wegg?' 'no, sir. roman.roman.' 'what's the difference, wegg?''the difference, sir?' mr wegg was faltering and in danger ofbreaking down, when a bright thought flashed upon him.'the difference, sir? there you place me in a difficulty, mrboffin. suffice it to observe, that the differenceis best postponed to some other occasion

when mrs boffin does not honour us with hercompany. in mrs boffin's presence, sir, we hadbetter drop it.' mr wegg thus came out of his disadvantagewith quite a chivalrous air, and not only that, but by dint of repeating with a manlydelicacy, 'in mrs boffin's presence, sir, we had better drop it!' turned the disadvantage on boffin, who felt that hehad committed himself in a very painful manner. then, mr wegg, in a dry unflinching way,entered on his task; going straight across country at everything that came before him;taking all the hard words, biographical and

geographical; getting rather shaken by hadrian, trajan, and the antonines;stumbling at polybius (pronounced polly beeious, and supposed by mr boffin to be aroman virgin, and by mrs boffin to be responsible for that necessity of dropping it); heavily unseated by titus antoninuspius; up again and galloping smoothly with augustus; finally, getting over the groundwell with commodus: who, under the appellation of commodious, was held by mr boffin to have been quite unworthy of hisenglish origin, and 'not to have acted up to his name' in his government of the romanpeople.

with the death of this personage, mr weggterminated his first reading; long before which consummation several total eclipsesof mrs boffin's candle behind her black velvet disc, would have been very alarming, but for being regularly accompanied by apotent smell of burnt pens when her feathers took fire, which acted as arestorative and woke her. mr wegg, having read on by rote andattached as few ideas as possible to the text, came out of the encounter fresh; but,mr boffin, who had soon laid down his unfinished pipe, and had ever since sat intently staring with his eyes and mind atthe confounding enormities of the romans,

was so severely punished that he couldhardly wish his literary friend good-night, and articulate 'tomorrow.' 'commodious,' gasped mr boffin, staring atthe moon, after letting wegg out at the gate and fastening it: 'commodious fightsin that wild-beast-show, seven hundred and thirty-five times, in one character only! as if that wasn't stunning enough, ahundred lions is turned into the same wild- beast-show all at once! as if that wasn't stunning enough,commodious, in another character, kills 'em all off in a hundred goes!

as if that wasn't stunning enough, vittle-us (and well named too) eats six millions' worth, english money, in seven months!wegg takes it easy, but upon-my-soul to a old bird like myself these are scarers. and even now that commodious is strangled,i don't see a way to our bettering ourselves.' mr boffin added as he turned his pensivesteps towards the bower and shook his head, 'i didn't think this morning there was halfso many scarers in print. but i'm in for it now!'

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