The Pickwick Papers
‘Too true, too true, indeed,’ said Mrs. Weller, murmuring a groan, and
shaking her head assentingly.
‘Well,’ said Sam, ‘I des-say they may be, sir; but wich is your
partickler wanity? Wich wanity do you like the flavour on best, sir?’
‘Oh, my dear young friend,’ replied Mr. Stiggins, ‘I despise them all.
If,’ said Mr. Stiggins--‘if there is any one of them less odious than
another, it is the liquor called rum. Warm, my dear young friend, with
three lumps of sugar to the tumbler.’
‘Wery sorry to say, sir,’ said Sam, ‘that they don’t allow that
particular wanity to be sold in this here establishment.’
‘Oh, the hardness of heart of these inveterate men!’ ejaculated Mr.
Stiggins. ‘Oh, the accursed cruelty of these inhuman persecutors!’
With these words, Mr. Stiggins again cast up his eyes, and rapped his
breast with his umbrella; and it is but justice to the reverend
gentleman to say, that his indignation appeared very real and unfeigned
indeed.
After Mrs. Weller and the red-nosed gentleman had commented on this
inhuman usage in a very forcible manner, and had vented a variety of
pious and holy execrations against its authors, the latter recommended a
bottle of port wine, warmed with a little water, spice, and sugar, as
being grateful to the stomach, and savouring less of vanity than many
other compounds. It was accordingly ordered to be prepared, and pending
its preparation the red-nosed man and Mrs. Weller looked at the elder W.
and groaned.
‘Well, Sammy,’ said the gentleman, ‘I hope you’ll find your spirits rose
by this here lively wisit. Wery cheerful and improvin’ conwersation,
ain’t it, Sammy?’
‘You’re a reprobate,’ replied Sam; ‘and I desire you won’t address no
more o’ them ungraceful remarks to me.’
So far from being edified by this very proper reply, the elder Mr.
Weller at once relapsed into a broad grin; and this inexorable conduct
causing the lady and Mr. Stiggins to close their eyes, and rock
themselves to and fro on their chairs, in a troubled manner, he
furthermore indulged in several acts of pantomime, indicative of a
desire to pummel and wring the nose of the aforesaid Stiggins, the
performance of which, appeared to afford him great mental relief. The
old gentleman very narrowly escaped detection in one instance; for Mr.
Stiggins happening to give a start on the arrival of the negus, brought
his head in smart contact with the clenched fist with which Mr. Weller
had been describing imaginary fireworks in the air, within two inches of
his ear, for some minutes.
‘Wot are you a-reachin’ out, your hand for the tumbler in that ‘ere
sawage way for?’ said Sam, with great promptitude. ‘Don’t you see you’ve
hit the gen’l’m’n?’
‘I didn’t go to do it, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, in some degree abashed
by the very unexpected occurrence of the incident.
‘Try an in’ard application, sir,’ said Sam, as the red-nosed gentleman
rubbed his head with a rueful visage. ‘Wot do you think o’ that, for a
go o’ wanity, warm, Sir?’
Mr. Stiggins made no verbal answer, but his manner was expressive. He
tasted the contents of the glass which Sam had placed in his hand, put
his umbrella on the floor, and tasted it again, passing his hand
placidly across his stomach twice or thrice; he then drank the whole at
a breath, and smacking his lips, held out the tumbler for more.
Nor was Mrs. Weller behind-hand in doing justice to the composition. The
good lady began by protesting that she couldn’t touch a drop--then took
a small drop--then a large drop--then a great many drops; and her
feelings being of the nature of those substances which are powerfully
affected by the application of strong waters, she dropped a tear with
every drop of negus, and so got on, melting the feelings down, until at
length she had arrived at a very pathetic and decent pitch of misery.
The elder Mr. Weller observed these signs and tokens with many
manifestations of disgust, and when, after a second jug of the same, Mr.
Stiggins began to sigh in a dismal manner, he plainly evinced his
disapprobation of the whole proceedings, by sundry incoherent ramblings
of speech, among which frequent angry repetitions of the word ‘gammon’
were alone distinguishable to the ear.
‘I’ll tell you wot it is, Samivel, my boy,’ whispered the old gentleman
into his son’s ear, after a long and steadfast contemplation of his lady
and Mr. Stiggins; ‘I think there must be somethin’ wrong in your mother-
in-law’s inside, as vell as in that o’ the red-nosed man.’
‘Wot do you mean?’ said Sam.
‘I mean this here, Sammy,’ replied the old gentleman, ‘that wot they
drink, don’t seem no nourishment to ‘em; it all turns to warm water, and
comes a-pourin’ out o’ their eyes. ‘Pend upon it, Sammy, it’s a
constitootional infirmity.’
Mr. Weller delivered this scientific opinion with many confirmatory
frowns and nods; which, Mrs. Weller remarking, and concluding that they
bore some disparaging reference either to herself or to Mr. Stiggins, or
to both, was on the point of becoming infinitely worse, when Mr.
Stiggins, getting on his legs as well as he could, proceeded to deliver
an edifying discourse for the benefit of the company, but more
especially of Mr. Samuel, whom he adjured in moving terms to be upon his
guard in that sink of iniquity into which he was cast; to abstain from
all hypocrisy and pride of heart; and to take in all things exact
pattern and copy by him (Stiggins), in which case he might calculate on
arriving, sooner or later at the comfortable conclusion, that, like him,
he was a most estimable and blameless character, and that all his
acquaintances and friends were hopelessly abandoned and profligate
wretches. Which consideration, he said, could not but afford him the
liveliest satisfaction.
He furthermore conjured him to avoid, above all things, the vice of
intoxication, which he likened unto the filthy habits of swine, and to
those poisonous and baleful drugs which being chewed in the mouth, are
said to filch away the memory. At this point of his discourse, the
reverend and red-nosed gentleman became singularly incoherent, and
staggering to and fro in the excitement of his eloquence, was fain to
catch at the back of a chair to preserve his perpendicular.
Mr. Stiggins did not desire his hearers to be upon their guard against
those false prophets and wretched mockers of religion, who, without
sense to expound its first doctrines, or hearts to feel its first
principles, are more dangerous members of society than the common
criminal; imposing, as they necessarily do, upon the weakest and worst
informed, casting scorn and contempt on what should be held most sacred,
and bringing into partial disrepute large bodies of virtuous and well-
conducted persons of many excellent sects and persuasions. But as he
leaned over the back of the chair for a considerable time, and closing
one eye, winked a good deal with the other, it is presumed that he
thought all this, but kept it to himself.
During the delivery of the oration, Mrs. Weller sobbed and wept at the
end of the paragraphs; while Sam, sitting cross-legged on a chair and
resting his arms on the top rail, regarded the speaker with great
suavity and blandness of demeanour; occasionally bestowing a look of
recognition on the old gentleman, who was delighted at the beginning,
and went to sleep about half-way.
‘Brayvo; wery pretty!’ said Sam, when the red-nosed man having finished,
pulled his worn gloves on, thereby thrusting his fingers through the
broken tops till the knuckles were disclosed to view. ‘Wery pretty.’
‘I hope it may do you good, Samuel,’ said Mrs. Weller solemnly.
‘I think it vill, mum,’ replied Sam.
‘I wish I could hope that it would do your father good,’ said Mrs.
Weller.
‘Thank’ee, my dear,’ said Mr. Weller, senior. ‘How do you find yourself
arter it, my love?’
‘Scoffer!’ exclaimed Mrs. Weller.
‘Benighted man!’ said the Reverend Mr. Stiggins.
‘If I don’t get no better light than that ‘ere moonshine o’ yourn, my
worthy creetur,’ said the elder Mr. Weller, ‘it’s wery likely as I shall
continey to be a night coach till I’m took off the road altogether. Now,
Mrs. We, if the piebald stands at livery much longer, he’ll stand at
nothin’ as we go back, and p’raps that ‘ere harm-cheer ‘ull be tipped
over into some hedge or another, with the shepherd in it.’
At this supposition, the Reverend Mr. Stiggins, in evident
consternation, gathered up his hat and umbrella, and proposed an
immediate departure, to which Mrs. Weller assented. Sam walked with them
to the lodge gate, and took a dutiful leave.
‘A-do, Samivel,’ said the old gentleman.
‘Wot’s a-do?’ inquired Sammy.
‘Well, good-bye, then,’ said the old gentleman.
‘Oh, that’s wot you’re aimin’ at, is it?’ said Sam. ‘Good-bye!’
‘Sammy,’ whispered Mr. Weller, looking cautiously round; ‘my duty to
your gov’nor, and tell him if he thinks better o’ this here bis’ness, to
com-moonicate vith me. Me and a cab’net-maker has dewised a plan for
gettin’ him out. A pianner, Samivel--a pianner!’ said Mr. Weller,
striking his son on the chest with the back of his hand, and falling
back a step or two.
‘Wot do you mean?’ said Sam.
‘A pianner-forty, Samivel,’ rejoined Mr. Weller, in a still more
mysterious manner, ‘as he can have on hire; vun as von’t play, Sammy.’
‘And wot ‘ud be the good o’ that?’ said Sam.
‘Let him send to my friend, the cabinet-maker, to fetch it back, Sammy,’
replied Mr. Weller. ‘Are you avake, now?’
‘No,’ rejoined Sam.
‘There ain’t no vurks in it,’ whispered his father. ‘It ‘ull hold him
easy, vith his hat and shoes on, and breathe through the legs, vich his
holler. Have a passage ready taken for ‘Merriker. The ‘Merrikin gov’ment
will never give him up, ven vunce they find as he’s got money to spend,
Sammy. Let the gov’nor stop there, till Mrs. Bardell’s dead, or Mr.
Dodson and Fogg’s hung (wich last ewent I think is the most likely to
happen first, Sammy), and then let him come back and write a book about
the ‘Merrikins as’ll pay all his expenses and more, if he blows ‘em up
enough.’
Mr. Weller delivered this hurried abstract of his plot with great
vehemence of whisper; and then, as if fearful of weakening the effect of
the tremendous communication by any further dialogue, he gave the
coachman’s salute, and vanished.
Sam had scarcely recovered his usual composure of countenance, which had
been greatly disturbed by the secret communication of his respected
relative, when Mr. Pickwick accosted him.
‘Sam,’ said that gentleman.
‘Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller.
‘I am going for a walk round the prison, and I wish you to attend me. I
see a prisoner we know coming this way, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick,
smiling.
‘Wich, Sir?’ inquired Mr. Weller; ‘the gen’l’m’n vith the head o’ hair,
or the interestin’ captive in the stockin’s?’
‘Neither,’ rejoined Mr. Pickwick. ‘He is an older friend of yours, Sam.’
‘O’ mine, Sir?’ exclaimed Mr. Weller.
‘You recollect the gentleman very well, I dare say, Sam,’ replied Mr.
Pickwick, ‘or else you are more unmindful of your old acquaintances than
I think you are. Hush! not a word, Sam; not a syllable. Here he is.’
As Mr. Pickwick spoke, Jingle walked up. He looked less miserable than
before, being clad in a half-worn suit of clothes, which, with Mr.
Pickwick’s assistance, had been released from the pawnbroker’s. He wore
clean linen too, and had had his hair cut. He was very pale and thin,
however; and as he crept slowly up, leaning on a stick, it was easy to
see that he had suffered severely from illness and want, and was still
very weak. He took off his hat as Mr. Pickwick saluted him, and seemed
much humbled and abashed at the sight of Sam Weller.
Following close at his heels, came Mr. Job Trotter, in the catalogue of