The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens
CHAPTER XXVIII. A GOOD-HUMOURED CHRISTMAS CHAPTER, CONTAINING AN ACCOUNTOF A WEDDING, AND SOME OTHER SPORTS BESIDE: WHICH ALTHOUGH IN THEIR WAY,EVEN AS GOOD CUSTOMS AS MARRIAGE ITSELF, ARE NOT QUITE SO RELIGIOUSLYKEPT UP, IN THESE DEGENERATE TIMES
As brisk as bees, if not altogether as light as fairies, did the fourPickwickians assemble on the morning of the twenty-second day ofDecember, in the year of grace in which these, their faithfully-recordedadventures, were undertaken and accomplished. Christmas was close athand, in all his bluff and hearty honesty; it was the season ofhospitality, merriment, and open-heartedness; the old year waspreparing, like an ancient philosopher, to call his friends around him,and amidst the sound of feasting and revelry to pass gently and calmlyaway. Gay and merry was the time; and right gay and merry were at leastfour of the numerous hearts that were gladdened by its coming.
And numerous indeed are the hearts to which Christmas brings a briefseason of happiness and enjoyment. How many families, whose members havebeen dispersed and scattered far and wide, in the restless struggles oflife, are then reunited, and meet once again in that happy state ofcompanionship and mutual goodwill, which is a source of such pure andunalloyed delight; and one so incompatible with the cares and sorrows ofthe world, that the religious belief of the most civilised nations, andthe rude traditions of the roughest savages, alike number it among thefirst joys of a future condition of existence, provided for the blessedand happy! How many old recollections, and how many dormant sympathies,does Christmas time awaken!
We write these words now, many miles distant from the spot at which,year after year, we met on that day, a merry and joyous circle. Many ofthe hearts that throbbed so gaily then, have ceased to beat; many of thelooks that shone so brightly then, have ceased to glow; the hands wegrasped, have grown cold; the eyes we sought, have hid their lustre inthe grave; and yet the old house, the room, the merry voices and smilingfaces, the jest, the laugh, the most minute and trivial circumstancesconnected with those happy meetings, crowd upon our mind at eachrecurrence of the season, as if the last assemblage had been butyesterday! Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusionsof our childish days; that can recall to the old man the pleasures ofhis youth; that can transport the sailor and the traveller, thousands ofmiles away, back to his own fireside and his quiet home!
But we are so taken up and occupied with the good qualities of thissaint Christmas, that we are keeping Mr. Pickwick and his friendswaiting in the cold on the outside of the Muggleton coach, which theyhave just attained, well wrapped up in great-coats, shawls, andcomforters. The portmanteaus and carpet-bags have been stowed away, andMr. Weller and the guard are endeavouring to insinuate into the fore-boot a huge cod-fish several sizes too large for it--which is snuglypacked up, in a long brown basket, with a layer of straw over the top,and which has been left to the last, in order that he may repose insafety on the half-dozen barrels of real native oysters, all theproperty of Mr. Pickwick, which have been arranged in regular order atthe bottom of the receptacle. The interest displayed in Mr. Pickwick'scountenance is most intense, as Mr. Weller and the guard try to squeezethe cod-fish into the boot, first head first, and then tail first, andthen top upward, and then bottom upward, and then side-ways, and thenlong-ways, all of which artifices the implacable cod-fish sturdilyresists, until the guard accidentally hits him in the very middle of thebasket, whereupon he suddenly disappears into the boot, and with him,the head and shoulders of the guard himself, who, not calculating uponso sudden a cessation of the passive resistance of the cod-fish,experiences a very unexpected shock, to the unsmotherable delight of allthe porters and bystanders. Upon this, Mr. Pickwick smiles with greatgood-humour, and drawing a shilling from his waistcoat pocket, begs theguard, as he picks himself out of the boot, to drink his health in aglass of hot brandy-and-water; at which the guard smiles too, andMessrs. Snodgrass, Winkle, and Tupman, all smile in company. The guardand Mr. Weller disappear for five minutes, most probably to get the hotbrandy-and-water, for they smell very strongly of it, when they return,the coachman mounts to the box, Mr. Weller jumps up behind, thePickwickians pull their coats round their legs and their shawls overtheir noses, the helpers pull the horse-cloths off, the coachman shoutsout a cheery 'All right,' and away they go.
They have rumbled through the streets, and jolted over the stones, andat length reach the wide and open country. The wheels skim over the hardand frosty ground; and the horses, bursting into a canter at a smartcrack of the whip, step along the road as if the load behind them--coach, passengers, cod-fish, oyster-barrels, and all--were but a featherat their heels. They have descended a gentle slope, and enter upon alevel, as compact and dry as a solid block of marble, two miles long.Another crack of the whip, and on they speed, at a smart gallop, thehorses tossing their heads and rattling the harness, as if inexhilaration at the rapidity of the motion; while the coachman, holdingwhip and reins in one hand, takes off his hat with the other, andresting it on his knees, pulls out his handkerchief, and wipes hisforehead, partly because he has a habit of doing it, and partly becauseit's as well to show the passengers how cool he is, and what an easything it is to drive four-in-hand, when you have had as much practice ashe has. Having done this very leisurely (otherwise the effect would bematerially impaired), he replaces his handkerchief, pulls on his hat,adjusts his gloves, squares his elbows, cracks the whip again, and onthey speed, more merrily than before.
A few small houses, scattered on either side of the road, betoken theentrance to some town or village. The lively notes of the guard's key-bugle vibrate in the clear cold air, and wake up the old gentlemaninside, who, carefully letting down the window-sash half-way, andstanding sentry over the air, takes a short peep out, and then carefullypulling it up again, informs the other inside that they're going tochange directly; on which the other inside wakes himself up, anddetermines to postpone his next nap until after the stoppage. Again thebugle sounds lustily forth, and rouses the cottager's wife and children,who peep out at the house door, and watch the coach till it turns thecorner, when they once more crouch round the blazing fire, and throw onanother log of wood against father comes home; while father himself, afull mile off, has just exchanged a friendly nod with the coachman, andturned round to take a good long stare at the vehicle as it whirls away.
And now the bugle plays a lively air as the coach rattles through theill-paved streets of a country town; and the coachman, undoing thebuckle which keeps his ribands together, prepares to throw them off themoment he stops. Mr. Pickwick emerges from his coat collar, and looksabout him with great curiosity; perceiving which, the coachman informsMr. Pickwick of the name of the town, and tells him it was market-dayyesterday, both of which pieces of information Mr. Pickwick retails tohis fellow-passengers; whereupon they emerge from their coat collarstoo, and look about them also. Mr. Winkle, who sits at the extreme edge,with one leg dangling in the air, is nearly precipitated into thestreet, as the coach twists round the sharp corner by the cheesemonger'sshop, and turns into the market-place; and before Mr. Snodgrass, whosits next to him, has recovered from his alarm, they pull up at the innyard where the fresh horses, with cloths on, are already waiting. Thecoachman throws down the reins and gets down himself, and the otheroutside passengers drop down also; except those who have no greatconfidence in their ability to get up again; and they remain where theyare, and stamp their feet against the coach to warm them--looking, withlonging eyes and red noses, at the bright fire in the inn bar, and thesprigs of holly with red berries which ornament the window.
But the guard has delivered at the corn-dealer's shop, the brown paperpacket he took out of the little pouch which hangs over his shoulder bya leathern strap; and has seen the horses carefully put to; and hasthrown on the pavement the saddle which was brought from London on thecoach roof; and has assisted in the conference between the coachman andthe hostler about the gray mare that hurt her off fore-leg last Tuesday;and he and Mr. Weller are all right behind, and the coachman is allright in front, a
Such was the progress of Mr. Pickwick and his friends by the MuggletonTelegraph, on their way to Dingley Dell; and at three o'clock thatafternoon they all stood high and dry, safe and sound, hale and hearty,upon the steps of the Blue Lion, having taken on the road quite enoughof ale and brandy, to enable them to bid defiance to the frost that wasbinding up the earth in its iron fetters, and weaving its beautifulnetwork upon the trees and hedges. Mr. Pickwick was busily engaged incounting the barrels of oysters and superintending the disinterment ofthe cod-fish, when he felt himself gently pulled by the skirts of thecoat. Looking round, he discovered that the individual who resorted tothis mode of catching his attention was no other than Mr. Wardle'sfavourite page, better known to the readers of this unvarnished history,by the distinguishing appellation of the fat boy.
'Aha!' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Aha!' said the fat boy.
As he said it, he glanced from the cod-fish to the oyster-barrels, andchuckled joyously. He was fatter than ever.
'Well, you look rosy enough, my young friend,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'I've been asleep, right in front of the taproom fire,' replied the fatboy, who had heated himself to the colour of a new chimney-pot, in thecourse of an hour's nap. 'Master sent me over with the chay-cart, tocarry your luggage up to the house. He'd ha' sent some saddle-horses,but he thought you'd rather walk, being a cold day.'
'Yes, yes,' said Mr. Pickwick hastily, for he remembered how they hadtravelled over nearly the same ground on a previous occasion. 'Yes, wewould rather walk. Here, Sam!'
'Sir,' said Mr. Weller.
'Help Mr. Wardle's servant to put the packages into the cart, and thenride on with him. We will walk forward at once.'
Having given this direction, and settled with the coachman, Mr. Pickwickand his three friends struck into the footpath across the fields, andwalked briskly away, leaving Mr. Weller and the fat boy confrontedtogether for the first time. Sam looked at the fat boy with greatastonishment, but without saying a word; and began to stow the luggagerapidly away in the cart, while the fat boy stood quietly by, and seemedto think it a very interesting sort of thing to see Mr. Weller workingby himself.
'There,' said Sam, throwing in the last carpet-bag, 'there they are!'
'Yes,' said the fat boy, in a very satisfied tone, 'there they are.'
'Vell, young twenty stun,' said Sam, 'you're a nice specimen of a prizeboy, you are!'
Thank'ee,' said the fat boy.
'You ain't got nothin' on your mind as makes you fret yourself, haveyou?' inquired Sam.
'Not as I knows on,' replied the fat boy.
'I should rayther ha' thought, to look at you, that you was a-labourin'under an unrequited attachment to some young 'ooman,' said Sam.
The fat boy shook his head.
'Vell,' said Sam, 'I am glad to hear it. Do you ever drink anythin'?'
'I likes eating better,' replied the boy.
'Ah,' said Sam, 'I should ha' s'posed that; but what I mean is, shouldyou like a drop of anythin' as'd warm you? but I s'pose you never wascold, with all them elastic fixtures, was you?'
'Sometimes,' replied the boy; 'and I likes a drop of something, whenit's good.'
'Oh, you do, do you?' said Sam, 'come this way, then!'
The Blue Lion tap was soon gained, and the fat boy swallowed a glass ofliquor without so much as winking--a feat which considerably advancedhim in Mr. Weller's good opinion. Mr. Weller having transacted a similarpiece of business on his own account, they got into the cart.
'Can you drive?' said the fat boy.
'I should rayther think so,' replied Sam.
'There, then,' said the fat boy, putting the reins in his hand, andpointing up a lane, 'it's as straight as you can go; you can't miss it.'
With these words, the fat boy laid himself affectionately down by theside of the cod-fish, and, placing an oyster-barrel under his head for apillow, fell asleep instantaneously.
'Well,' said Sam, 'of all the cool boys ever I set my eyes on, this hereyoung gen'l'm'n is the coolest. Come, wake up, young dropsy!'
But as young dropsy evinced no symptoms of returning animation, SamWeller sat himself down in front of the cart, and starting the old horsewith a jerk of the rein, jogged steadily on, towards the Manor Farm.
Meanwhile, Mr. Pickwick and his friends having walked their blood intoactive circulation, proceeded cheerfully on. The paths were hard; thegrass was crisp and frosty; the air had a fine, dry, bracing coldness;and the rapid approach of the gray twilight (slate-coloured is a betterterm in frosty weather) made them look forward with pleasantanticipation to the comforts which awaited them at their hospitableentertainer's. It was the sort of afternoon that might induce a coupleof elderly gentlemen, in a lonely field, to take off their greatcoatsand play at leap-frog in pure lightness of heart and gaiety; and wefirmly believe that had Mr. Tupman at that moment proffered 'a back,'Mr. Pickwick would have accepted his offer with the utmost avidity.
However, Mr. Tupman did not volunteer any such accommodation, and thefriends walked on, conversing merrily. As they turned into a lane theyhad to cross, the sound of many voices burst upon their ears; and beforethey had even had time to form a guess to whom they belonged, theywalked into the very centre of the party who were expecting theirarrival--a fact which was first notified to the Pickwickians, by theloud 'Hurrah,' which burst from old Wardle's lips, when they appeared insight.
First, there was Wardle himself, looking, if that were possible, morejolly than ever; then there were Bella and her faithful Trundle; and,lastly, there were Emily and some eight or ten young ladies, who had allcome down to the wedding, which was to take place next day, and who werein as happy and important a state as young ladies usually are, on suchmomentous occasions; and they were, one and all, startling the fieldsand lanes, far and wide, with their frolic and laughter.
The ceremony of introduction, under such circumstances, was very soonperformed, or we should rather say that the introduction was soon over,without any ceremony at all. In two minutes thereafter, Mr. Pickwick wasjoking with the young ladies who wouldn't come over the stile while helooked--or who, having pretty feet and unexceptionable ankles, preferredstanding on the top rail for five minutes or so, declaring that theywere too frightened to move--with as much ease and absence of reserve orconstraint, as if he had known them for life. It is worthy of remark,too, that Mr. Snodgrass offered Emily far more assistance than theabsolute terrors of the stile (although it was full three feet high, andhad only a couple of stepping-stones) would seem to require; while oneblack-eyed young lady in a very nice little pair of boots with fur roundthe top, was observed to scream very loudly, when Mr. Winkle offered tohelp her over.
All this was very snug and pleasant. And when the difficulties of thestile were at last
But if they were social and happy outside the house, what was the warmthand cordiality of their reception when they reached the farm! The veryservants grinned with pleasure at sight of Mr. Pickwick; and Emmabestowed a half-demure, half-impudent, and all-pretty look ofrecognition, on Mr. Tupman, which was enough to make the statue ofBonaparte in the passage, unfold his arms, and clasp her within them.
The old lady was seated with customary state in the front parlour, butshe was rather cross, and, by consequence, most particularly deaf. Shenever went out herself, and like a great many other old ladies of thesame stamp, she was apt to consider it an act of domestic treason, ifanybody else took the liberty of doing what she couldn't. So, bless herold soul, she sat as upright as she could, in her great chair, andlooked as fierce as might be--and that was benevolent after all.
'Mother,' said Wardle, 'Mr. Pickwick. You recollect him?'
'Never mind,' replied the old lady, with great dignity. 'Don't troubleMr. Pickwick about an old creetur like me. Nobody cares about me now,and it's very nat'ral they shouldn't.' Here the old lady tossed herhead, and smoothed down her lavender-coloured silk dress with tremblinghands.
'Come, come, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I can't let you cut an oldfriend in this way. I have come down expressly to have a long talk, andanother rubber with you; and we'll show these boys and girls how todance a minuet, before they're eight-and-forty hours older.'
The old lady was rapidly giving way, but she did not like to do it allat once; so she only said, 'Ah! I can't hear him!'
'Nonsense, mother,' said Wardle. 'Come, come, don't be cross, there's agood soul. Recollect Bella; come, you must keep her spirits up, poorgirl.'
The good old lady heard this, for her lip quivered as her son said it.But age has its little infirmities of temper, and she was not quitebrought round yet. So, she smoothed down the lavender-coloured dressagain, and turning to Mr. Pickwick said, 'Ah, Mr. Pickwick, young peoplewas very different, when I was a girl.'
'No doubt of that, ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'and that's the reason whyI would make much of the few that have any traces of the old stock'--andsaying this, Mr. Pickwick gently pulled Bella towards him, and bestowinga kiss upon her forehead, bade her sit down on the little stool at hergrandmother's feet. Whether the expression of her countenance, as it wasraised towards the old lady's face, called up a thought of old times, orwhether the old lady was touched by Mr. Pickwick's affectionate good-nature, or whatever was the cause, she was fairly melted; so she threwherself on her granddaughter's neck, and all the little ill-humourevaporated in a gush of silent tears.
A happy party they were, that night. Sedate and solemn were the score ofrubbers in which Mr. Pickwick and the old lady played together;uproarious was the mirth of the round table. Long after the ladies hadretired, did the hot elder wine, well qualified with brandy and spice,go round, and round, and round again; and sound was the sleep andpleasant were the dreams that followed. It is a remarkable fact thatthose of Mr. Snodgrass bore constant reference to Emily Wardle; and thatthe principal figure in Mr. Winkle's visions was a young lady with blackeyes, and arch smile, and a pair of remarkably nice boots with fur roundthe tops.
Mr. Pickwick was awakened early in the morning, by a hum of voices and apattering of feet, sufficient to rouse even the fat boy from his heavyslumbers. He sat up in bed and listened. The female servants and femalevisitors were running constantly to and fro; and there were suchmultitudinous demands for hot water, such repeated outcries for needlesand thread, and so many half-suppressed entreaties of 'Oh, do come andtie me, there's a dear!' that Mr. Pickwick in his innocence began toimagine that something dreadful must have occurred--when he grew moreawake, and remembered the wedding. The occasion being an important one,he dressed himself with peculiar care, and descended to the breakfast-room.
There were all the female servants in a bran new uniform of pink muslingowns with white bows in their caps, running about the house in a stateof excitement and agitation which it would be impossible to describe.The old lady was dressed out in a brocaded gown, which had not seen thelight for twenty years, saving and excepting such truant rays as hadstolen through the chinks in the box in which it had been laid by,during the whole time. Mr. Trundle was in high feather and spirits, buta little nervous withal. The hearty old landlord was trying to look verycheerful and unconcerned, but failing signally in the attempt. All thegirls were in tears and white muslin, except a select two or three, whowere being honoured with a private view of the bride and bridesmaids,upstairs. All the Pickwickians were in most blooming array; and therewas a terrific roaring on the grass in front of the house, occasioned byall the men, boys, and hobbledehoys attached to the farm, each of whomhad got a white bow in his button-hole, and all of whom were cheeringwith might and main; being incited thereto, and stimulated therein bythe precept and example of Mr. Samuel Weller, who had managed to becomemighty popular already, and was as much at home as if he had been bornon the land.
A wedding is a licensed subject to joke upon, but there really is nogreat joke in the matter after all;--we speak merely of the ceremony,and beg it to be distinctly understood that we indulge in no hiddensarcasm upon a married life. Mixed up with the pleasure and joy of theoccasion, are the many regrets at quitting home, the tears of partingbetween parent and child, the consciousness of leaving the dearest andkindest friends of the happiest portion of human life, to encounter itscares and troubles with others still untried and little known--naturalfeelings which we would not render this chapter mournful by describing,and which we should be still more unwilling to be supposed to ridicule.
Let us briefly say, then, that the ceremony was performed by the oldclergyman, in the parish church of Dingley Dell, and that Mr. Pickwick'sname is attached to the register, still preserved in the vestry thereof;that the young lady with the black eyes signed her name in a veryunsteady and tremulous manner; that Emily's signature, as the otherbridesmaid, is nearly illegible; that it all went off in very admirablestyle; that the young ladies generally thought it far less shocking thanthey had expected; and that although the owner of the black eyes and thearch smile informed Mr. Wardle that she was sure she could never submitto anything so dreadful, we have the very best reasons for thinking shewas mistaken. To all this, we may add, that Mr. Pickwick was the firstwho saluted the bride, and that in so doing he threw over her neck arich gold watch and chain, which no mortal eyes but the jeweller's hadever beheld before. Then, the old church bell rang as gaily as it could,and they all returned to breakfast.
'Vere does the mince-pies go, young opium-eater?' said Mr. Weller to thefat boy, as he assisted in laying out such articles of consumption ashad not been duly arranged on the previous night.
The fat boy pointed to the destination of the pies.
'Wery good,' said Sam, 'stick a bit o' Christmas in 'em. T'other dishopposite. There; now we look compact and comfortable, as the father saidven he cut his little boy's head off, to cure him o' squintin'.'
As Mr. Weller made the comparison, he fell back a step or two, to givefull effect to it, and surveyed the preparations with the utmostsatisfaction.
'Wardle,' said Mr. Pickwick, almost as
'I shall be delighted, my boy,' said Wardle. 'Joe--damn that boy, he'sgone to sleep.'
No, I ain't, sir,' replied the fat boy, starting up from a remotecorner, where, like the patron saint of fat boys--the immortal Horner--he had been devouring a Christmas pie, though not with the coolness anddeliberation which characterised that young gentleman's proceedings.
'Fill Mr. Pickwick's glass.'
'Yes, sir.'
The fat boy filled Mr. Pickwick's glass, and then retired behind hismaster's chair, from whence he watched the play of the knives and forks,and the progress of the choice morsels from the dishes to the mouths ofthe company, with a kind of dark and gloomy joy that was mostimpressive.
'God bless you, old fellow!' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Same to you, my boy,' replied Wardle; and they pledged each other,heartily.
'Mrs. Wardle,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'we old folks must have a glass ofwine together, in honour of this joyful event.'
The old lady was in a state of great grandeur just then, for she wassitting at the top of the table in the brocaded gown, with her newly-married granddaughter on one side, and Mr. Pickwick on the other, to dothe carving. Mr. Pickwick had not spoken in a very loud tone, but sheunderstood him at once, and drank off a full glass of wine to his longlife and happiness; after which the worthy old soul launched forth intoa minute and particular account of her own wedding, with a dissertationon the fashion of wearing high-heeled shoes, and some particularsconcerning the life and adventures of the beautiful Lady Tollimglower,deceased; at all of which the old lady herself laughed very heartilyindeed, and so did the young ladies too, for they were wondering amongthemselves what on earth grandma was talking about. When they laughed,the old lady laughed ten times more heartily, and said that these alwayshad been considered capital stories, which caused them all to laughagain, and put the old lady into the very best of humours. Then the cakewas cut, and passed through the ring; the young ladies saved pieces toput under their pillows to dream of their future husbands on; and agreat deal of blushing and merriment was thereby occasioned.
'Mr. Miller,' said Mr. Pickwick to his old acquaintance, the hard-headedgentleman, 'a glass of wine?'
'With great satisfaction, Mr. Pickwick,' replied the hard-headedgentleman solemnly.
'You'll take me in?' said the benevolent old clergyman.
'And me,' interposed his wife.
'And me, and me,' said a couple of poor relations at the bottom of thetable, who had eaten and drunk very heartily, and laughed at everything.
Mr. Pickwick expressed his heartfelt delight at every additionalsuggestion; and his eyes beamed with hilarity and cheerfulness.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly rising.
'Hear, hear! Hear, hear! Hear, hear!' cried Mr. Weller, in theexcitement of his feelings.
'Call in all the servants,' cried old Wardle, interposing to prevent thepublic rebuke which Mr. Weller would otherwise most indubitably havereceived from his master. 'Give them a glass of wine each to drink thetoast in. Now, Pickwick.'
Amidst the silence of the company, the whispering of the women-servants,and the awkward embarrassment of the men, Mr. Pickwick proceeded--
'Ladies and gentlemen--no, I won't say ladies and gentlemen, I'll callyou my friends, my dear friends, if the ladies will allow me to take sogreat a liberty--'
Here Mr. Pickwick was interrupted by immense applause from the ladies,echoed by the gentlemen, during which the owner of the eyes wasdistinctly heard to state that she could kiss that dear Mr. Pickwick.Whereupon Mr. Winkle gallantly inquired if it couldn't be done bydeputy: to which the young lady with the black eyes replied 'Go away,'and accompanied the request with a look which said as plainly as a lookcould do, 'if you can.'
'My dear friends,' resumed Mr. Pickwick, 'I am going to propose thehealth of the bride and bridegroom--God bless 'em (cheers and tears). Myyoung friend, Trundle, I believe to be a very excellent and manlyfellow; and his wife I know to be a very amiable and lovely girl, wellqualified to transfer to another sphere of action the happiness whichfor twenty years she has diffused around her, in her father's house.(Here, the fat boy burst forth into stentorian blubberings, and was ledforth by the coat collar, by Mr. Weller.) I wish,' added Mr. Pickwick--'I wish I was young enough to be her sister's husband (cheers), but,failing that, I am happy to be old enough to be her father; for, beingso, I shall not be suspected of any latent designs when I say, that Iadmire, esteem, and love them both (cheers and sobs). The bride'sfather, our good friend there, is a noble person, and I am proud to knowhim (great uproar). He is a kind, excellent, independent-spirited, fine-hearted, hospitable, liberal man (enthusiastic shouts from the poorrelations, at all the adjectives; and especially at the two last). Thathis daughter may enjoy all the happiness, even he can desire; and thathe may derive from the contemplation of her felicity all thegratification of heart and peace of mind which he so well deserves, is,I am persuaded, our united wish. So, let us drink their healths, andwish them prolonged life, and every blessing!'
Mr. Pickwick concluded amidst a whirlwind of applause; and once morewere the lungs of the supernumeraries, under Mr. Weller's command,brought into active and efficient operation. Mr. Wardle proposed Mr.Pickwick; Mr. Pickwick proposed the old lady. Mr. Snodgrass proposed Mr.Wardle; Mr. Wardle proposed Mr. Snodgrass. One of the poor relationsproposed Mr. Tupman, and the other poor relation proposed Mr. Winkle;all was happiness and festivity, until the mysterious disappearance ofboth the poor relations beneath the table, warned the party that it wastime to adjourn.
At dinner they met again, after a five-and-twenty mile walk, undertakenby the males at Wardle's recommendation, to get rid of the effects ofthe wine at breakfast. The poor relations had kept in bed all day, withthe view of attaining the same happy consummation, but, as they had beenunsuccessful, they stopped there. Mr. Weller kept the domestics in astate of perpetual hilarity; and the fat boy divided his time into smallalternate allotments of eating and sleeping.
The dinner was as hearty an affair as the breakfast, and was quite asnoisy, without the tears. Then came the dessert and some more toasts.Then came the tea and coffee; and then, the ball.
The best sitting-room at Manor Farm was a good, long, dark-panelled roomwith a high chimney-piece, and a capacious chimney, up which you couldhave driven one of the new patent cabs, wheels and all. At the upper endof the room, seated in a shady bower of holly and evergreens were thetwo best fiddlers, and the only harp, in all Muggleton. In all sorts ofrecesses, and on all kinds of brackets, stood massive old silvercandlesticks with four branches each. The carpet was up, the candlesburned bright, the fire blazed and crackled on the hearth, and merryvoices and light-hearted laughter rang through the room. If any of theold English yeomen had turned into fairies when they died, it was justthe place in which they would have held their revels.
If anything could have added to the interest of this agreeable scene, itwould have been the remarkable fact of Mr. Pickwick's appearing withouthis gaiters, for the first time within the memory of his oldest friends.
'You mean to dance?' said Wardle.
'Of course I do,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Don't you see I am dressed forthe purpose?' Mr. Pickwick called attention to his speckled silkstockings, and smartly tied pumps.
'_You _in silk stockings!' exclaimed Mr. Tupman jocosely.
'And why not, sir--why not?' said Mr. Pickwick, turning warmly upon him.
'Oh, of course there is no reason why you shouldn't wear them,'responded Mr. Tupman.
'I imagine not, sir--I imagine not,' said Mr. Pickwick, in a veryperemptory tone.
Mr. Tupman had contemplated a laugh, but he found it was a seriousmatter; so he looked grave, and said they were a pretty pattern.
'I hope they are,' said Mr. Pickwick, fixing his eyes upon his friend.'You see nothing extraordinary in the stockings, _as_ stockings, Itrust, Sir?'
'Certainly
'We are all ready, I believe,' said Mr. Pickwick, who was stationed withthe old lady at the top of the dance, and had already made four falsestarts, in his excessive anxiety to commence.
'Then begin at once,' said Wardle. 'Now!'
Up struck the two fiddles and the one harp, and off went Mr. Pickwickinto hands across, when there was a general clapping of hands, and a cryof 'Stop, stop!'
'What's the matter?' said Mr. Pickwick, who was only brought to, by thefiddles and harp desisting, and could have been stopped by no otherearthly power, if the house had been on fire.
'Where's Arabella Allen?' cried a dozen voices.
'And Winkle?'added Mr. Tupman.
'Here we are!' exclaimed that gentleman, emerging with his prettycompanion from the corner; as he did so, it would have been hard to tellwhich was the redder in the face, he or the young lady with the blackeyes.
'What an extraordinary thing it is, Winkle,' said Mr. Pickwick, ratherpettishly, 'that you couldn't have taken your place before.'
'Not at all extraordinary,' said Mr. Winkle.
'Well,' said Mr. Pickwick, with a very expressive smile, as his eyesrested on Arabella, 'well, I don't know that it _was _extraordinary,either, after all.'
However, there was no time to think more about the matter, for thefiddles and harp began in real earnest. Away went Mr. Pickwick--handsacross--down the middle to the very end of the room, and half-way up thechimney, back again to the door--poussette everywhere--loud stamp on theground--ready for the next couple--off again--all the figure over oncemore--another stamp to beat out the time--next couple, and the next, andthe next again--never was such going; at last, after they had reachedthe bottom of the dance, and full fourteen couple after the old lady hadretired in an exhausted state, and the clergyman's wife had beensubstituted in her stead, did that gentleman, when there was no demandwhatever on his exertions, keep perpetually dancing in his place, tokeep time to the music, smiling on his partner all the while with ablandness of demeanour which baffles all description.
Long before Mr. Pickwick was weary of dancing, the newly-married couplehad retired from the scene. There was a glorious supper downstairs,notwithstanding, and a good long sitting after it; and when Mr. Pickwickawoke, late the next morning, he had a confused recollection of having,severally and confidentially, invited somewhere about five-and-fortypeople to dine with him at the George and Vulture, the very first timethey came to London; which Mr. Pickwick rightly considered a prettycertain indication of his having taken something besides exercise, onthe previous night.
'And so your family has games in the kitchen to-night, my dear, hasthey?' inquired Sam of Emma.
'Yes, Mr. Weller,' replied Emma; 'we always have on Christmas Eve.Master wouldn't neglect to keep it up on any account.'
'Your master's a wery pretty notion of keeping anythin' up, my dear,'said Mr. Weller; 'I never see such a sensible sort of man as he is, orsuch a reg'lar gen'l'm'n.'
Oh, that he is!' said the fat boy, joining in the conversation; 'don'the breed nice pork!' The fat youth gave a semi-cannibalic leer at Mr.Weller, as he thought of the roast legs and gravy.
'Oh, you've woke up, at last, have you?' said Sam.
The fat boy nodded.
'I'll tell you what it is, young boa-constructer,' said Mr. Wellerimpressively; 'if you don't sleep a little less, and exercise a littlemore, wen you comes to be a man you'll lay yourself open to the samesort of personal inconwenience as was inflicted on the old gen'l'm'n aswore the pigtail.'
'What did they do to him?' inquired the fat boy, in a faltering voice.
'I'm a-going to tell you,' replied Mr. Weller; 'he was one o' thelargest patterns as was ever turned out--reg'lar fat man, as hadn'tcaught a glimpse of his own shoes for five-and-forty year.'
'Lor!' exclaimed Emma.
'No, that he hadn't, my dear,' said Mr. Weller; 'and if you'd put anexact model of his own legs on the dinin'-table afore him, he wouldn'tha' known 'em. Well, he always walks to his office with a wery handsomegold watch-chain hanging out, about a foot and a quarter, and a goldwatch in his fob pocket as was worth--I'm afraid to say how much, but asmuch as a watch can be--a large, heavy, round manufacter, as stout for awatch, as he was for a man, and with a big face in proportion. "You'dbetter not carry that 'ere watch," says the old gen'l'm'n's friends,"you'll be robbed on it," says they. "Shall I?" says he. "Yes, youwill," says they. "Well," says he, "I should like to see the thief ascould get this here watch out, for I'm blessed if I ever can, it's sucha tight fit," says he, "and wenever I vants to know what's o'clock, I'mobliged to stare into the bakers' shops," he says. Well, then he laughsas hearty as if he was a-goin' to pieces, and out he walks agin with hispowdered head and pigtail, and rolls down the Strand with the chainhangin' out furder than ever, and the great round watch almost bustin'through his gray kersey smalls. There warn't a pickpocket in all Londonas didn't take a pull at that chain, but the chain 'ud never break, andthe watch 'ud never come out, so they soon got tired of dragging such aheavy old gen'l'm'n along the pavement, and he'd go home and laugh tillthe pigtail wibrated like the penderlum of a Dutch clock. At last, oneday the old gen'l'm'n was a-rollin' along, and he sees a pickpocket ashe know'd by sight, a-coming up, arm in arm with a little boy with awery large head. "Here's a game," says the old gen'l'm'n to himself,"they're a-goin' to have another try, but it won't do!" So he begins a-chucklin' wery hearty, wen, all of a sudden, the little boy leaves holdof the pickpocket's arm, and rushes head foremost straight into the oldgen'l'm'n's stomach, and for a moment doubles him right up with thepain. "Murder!" says the old gen'l'm'n. "All right, Sir," says thepickpocket, a-wisperin' in his ear. And wen he come straight agin, thewatch and chain was gone, and what's worse than that, the oldgen'l'm'n's digestion was all wrong ever afterwards, to the wery lastday of his life; so just you look about you, young feller, and take careyou don't get too fat.'
As Mr. Weller concluded this moral tale, with which the fat boy appearedmuch affected, they all three repaired to the large kitchen, in whichthe family were by this time assembled, according to annual custom onChristmas Eve, observed by old Wardle's forefathers from timeimmemorial.
From the centre of the ceiling of this kitchen, old Wardle had justsuspended, with his own hands, a huge branch of mistletoe, and this samebranch of mistletoe instantaneously gave rise to a scene of general andmost delightful struggling and confusion; in the midst of which, Mr.Pickwick, with a gallantry that would have done honour to a descendantof Lady Tollimglower herself, took the old lady by the hand, led herbeneath the mystic branch, and saluted her in all courtesy and decorum.The old lady submitted to this piece of practical politeness with allthe dignity which befitted so important and serious a solemnity, but theyounger ladies, not being so thoroughly imbued with a superstitiousveneration for the custom, or imagining that the value of a salute isvery much enhanced if it cost a little trouble to obtain it, screamedand struggled, and ran into corners, and threatened and remonstrated,and did everything but leave the room, until some of the lessadventurous gentlemen were on the point of desisting, when they all atonce found it useless to resist any longer, and submitted to be kissedwith a good grace. Mr. Winkle kissed the young lady with the black eyes,and Mr. Snodgrass kissed Emily; and Mr. Weller, not being particularabout the form of being under the mistletoe, kissed Emma and the otherfemale servants, just as he caught them. As to the poor relations, theykissed everybody, not even excepting the plainer portions of the younglady visitors, who, in their excessive confusion, ran right under themistletoe, as soon as it was hung up, without knowing it! Wardle stoodwith his back to the fire, surveying the whole scene, with the utmostsatisfaction; and the fat boy took the opportunity of appropriating tohis own use, and summarily devouring, a particularly fine mince-pie,that had been carefully put by, for somebody else.
Now, the screaming had subsided, and faces w
It was a pleasant thing to see Mr. Pickwick in the centre of the group,now pulled this way, and then that, and first kissed on the chin, andthen on the nose, and then on the spectacles, and to hear the peals oflaughter which were raised on every side; but it was a still morepleasant thing to see Mr. Pickwick, blinded shortly afterwards with asilk handkerchief, falling up against the wall, and scrambling intocorners, and going through all the mysteries of blind-man's buff, withthe utmost relish for the game, until at last he caught one of the poorrelations, and then had to evade the blind-man himself, which he didwith a nimbleness and agility that elicited the admiration and applauseof all beholders. The poor relations caught the people who they thoughtwould like it, and, when the game flagged, got caught themselves. Whenthey all tired of blind-man's buff, there was a great game at snap-dragon, and when fingers enough were burned with that, and all theraisins were gone, they sat down by the huge fire of blazing logs to asubstantial supper, and a mighty bowl of wassail, something smaller thanan ordinary wash-house copper, in which the hot apples were hissing andbubbling with a rich look, and a jolly sound, that were perfectlyirresistible.
'This,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking round him, 'this is, indeed,comfort.' 'Our invariable custom,' replied Mr. Wardle. 'Everybody sitsdown with us on Christmas Eve, as you see them now--servants and all;and here we wait, until the clock strikes twelve, to usher Christmas in,and beguile the time with forfeits and old stories. Trundle, my boy,rake up the fire.'
Up flew the bright sparks in myriads as the logs were stirred. The deepred blaze sent forth a rich glow, that penetrated into the farthestcorner of the room, and cast its cheerful tint on every face.
'Come,' said Wardle, 'a song--a Christmas song! I'll give you one, indefault of a better.'
'Bravo!' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Fill up,' cried Wardle. 'It will be two hours, good, before you see thebottom of the bowl through the deep rich colour of the wassail; fill upall round, and now for the song.'
Thus saying, the merry old gentleman, in a good, round, sturdy voice,commenced without more ado--
A CHRISTMAS CAROL
'I care not for Spring; on his fickle wing Let the blossoms and buds beborne; He woos them amain with his treacherous rain, And he scattersthem ere the morn. An inconstant elf, he knows not himself, Nor his ownchanging mind an hour, He'll smile in your face, and, with wry grimace,He'll wither your youngest flower.
'Let the Summer sun to his bright home run, He shall never be sought byme; When he's dimmed by a cloud I can laugh aloud And care not how sulkyhe be! For his darling child is the madness wild That sports in fiercefever's train; And when love is too strong, it don't last long, As manyhave found to their pain.
'A mild harvest night, by the tranquil light Of the modest and gentlemoon, Has a far sweeter sheen for me, I ween, Than the broad andunblushing noon. But every leaf awakens my grief, As it lieth beneaththe tree; So let Autumn air be never so fair, It by no means agrees withme.
'But my song I troll out, for _Christmas _Stout, The hearty, the true,and the bold; A bumper I drain, and with might and main Give threecheers for this Christmas old! We'll usher him in with a merry din Thatshall gladden his joyous heart, And we'll keep him up, while there'sbite or sup, And in fellowship good, we'll part. 'In his fine honestpride, he scorns to hide One jot of his hard-weather scars; They're nodisgrace, for there's much the same trace On the cheeks of our bravesttars. Then again I sing till the roof doth ring And it echoes from wallto wall--To the stout old wight, fair welcome to-night, As the King ofthe Seasons all!'
This song was tumultuously applauded--for friends and dependents make acapital audience--and the poor relations, especially, were in perfectecstasies of rapture. Again was the fire replenished, and again went thewassail round.
'How it snows!' said one of the men, in a low tone.
'Snows, does it?' said Wardle.
'Rough, cold night, Sir,' replied the man; 'and there's a wind got up,that drifts it across the fields, in a thick white cloud.'
'What does Jem say?' inquired the old lady. 'There ain't anything thematter, is there?'
'No, no, mother,' replied Wardle; 'he says there's a snowdrift, and awind that's piercing cold. I should know that, by the way it rumbles inthe chimney.'
'Ah!' said the old lady, 'there was just such a wind, and just such afall of snow, a good many years back, I recollect--just five yearsbefore your poor father died. It was a Christmas Eve, too; and Iremember that on that very night he told us the story about the goblinsthat carried away old Gabriel Grub.'
'The story about what?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Oh, nothing, nothing,' replied Wardle. 'About an old sexton, that thegood people down here suppose to have been carried away by goblins.'
'Suppose!' ejaculated the old lady. 'Is there anybody hardy enough todisbelieve it? Suppose! Haven't you heard ever since you were a child,that he _was _carried away by the goblins, and don't you know he was?'
'Very well, mother, he was, if you like,' said Wardle laughing. 'He_was_ carried away by goblins, Pickwick; and there's an end of thematter.'
'No, no,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'not an end of it, I assure you; for I musthear how, and why, and all about it.'
Wardle smiled, as every head was bent forward to hear, and filling outthe wassail with no stinted hand, nodded a health to Mr. Pickwick, andbegan as follows--
But bless our editorial heart, what a long chapter we have been betrayedinto! We had quite forgotten all such petty restrictions as chapters, wesolemnly declare. So here goes, to give the goblin a fair start in a newone. A clear stage and no favour for the goblins, ladies and gentlemen,if you please.