prompt:
Chapter: Samivel,' said Mr. Weller, accosting his son on the morning after the
funeral, 'I've found it, Sammy. I thought it wos there.'

'Thought wot wos there?' inquired Sam.

'Your mother-in-law's vill, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller. 'In wirtue o'
vich, them arrangements is to be made as I told you on, last night,
respectin' the funs.'

'Wot, didn't she tell you were it wos?' inquired Sam.

'Not a bit on it, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller. 'We wos a adjestin' our
little differences, and I wos a-cheerin' her spirits and bearin' her up,
so that I forgot to ask anythin' about it. I don't know as I should ha'
done it, indeed, if I had remembered it,' added Mr. Weller, 'for it's a
rum sort o' thing, Sammy, to go a-hankerin' arter anybody's property,
ven you're assistin' 'em in illness. It's like helping an outside
passenger up, ven he's been pitched off a coach, and puttin' your hand
in his pocket, vile you ask him, vith a sigh, how he finds his-self,
Sammy.'

With this figurative illustration of his meaning, Mr. Weller unclasped
his pocket-book, and drew forth a dirty sheet of letter-paper, on which
were inscribed various characters crowded together in remarkable
confusion.

'This here is the dockyment, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller. 'I found it in the
little black tea-pot, on the top shelf o' the bar closet. She used to
keep bank-notes there, 'fore she vos married, Samivel. I've seen her
take the lid off, to pay a bill, many and many a time. Poor creetur, she
might ha' filled all the tea-pots in the house vith vills, and not have
inconwenienced herself neither, for she took wery little of anythin' in
that vay lately, 'cept on the temperance nights, ven they just laid a
foundation o' tea to put the spirits atop on!'

'What does it say?' inquired Sam.

'Jist vot I told you, my boy,' rejoined his parent. 'Two hundred pound
vurth o' reduced counsels to my son-in-law, Samivel, and all the rest o'
my property, of ev'ry kind and description votsoever, to my husband, Mr.
Tony Veller, who I appint as my sole eggzekiter.'

'That's all, is it?' said Sam.

'That's all,' replied Mr. Weller. 'And I s'pose as it's all right and
satisfactory to you and me as is the only parties interested, ve may as
vell put this bit o' paper into the fire.'

'Wot are you a-doin' on, you lunatic?' said Sam, snatching the paper
away, as his parent, in all innocence, stirred the fire preparatory to
suiting the action to the word. 'You're a nice eggzekiter, you are.'

'Vy not?' inquired Mr. Weller, looking sternly round, with the poker in
his hand.

'Vy not?' exclaimed Sam. ''Cos it must be proved, and probated, and
swore to, and all manner o' formalities.'

'You don't mean that?' said Mr. Weller, laying down the poker.

Sam buttoned the will carefully in a side pocket; intimating by a look,
meanwhile, that he did mean it, and very seriously too.

'Then I'll tell you wot it is,' said Mr. Weller, after a short
meditation, 'this is a case for that 'ere confidential pal o' the
Chancellorship's. Pell must look into this, Sammy. He's the man for a
difficult question at law. Ve'll have this here brought afore the
Solvent Court, directly, Samivel.'

'I never did see such a addle-headed old creetur!' exclaimed Sam
irritably; 'Old Baileys, and Solvent Courts, and alleybis, and ev'ry
species o' gammon alvays a-runnin' through his brain. You'd better get
your out o' door clothes on, and come to town about this bisness, than
stand a-preachin' there about wot you don't understand nothin' on.'

'Wery good, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, 'I'm quite agreeable to anythin'
as vill hexpedite business, Sammy. But mind this here, my boy, nobody
but Pell--nobody but Pell as a legal adwiser.'

'I don't want anybody else,' replied Sam. 'Now, are you a-comin'?'

'Vait a minit, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, who, having tied his shawl
with the aid of a small glass that hung in the window, was now, by dint
of the most wonderful exertions, struggling into his upper garments.
'Vait a minit' Sammy; ven you grow as old as your father, you von't get
into your veskit quite as easy as you do now, my boy.'

'If I couldn't get into it easier than that, I'm blessed if I'd vear vun
at all,' rejoined his son.

'You think so now,' said Mr. Weller, with the gravity of age, 'but
you'll find that as you get vider, you'll get viser. Vidth and visdom,
Sammy, alvays grows together.'

As Mr. Weller delivered this infallible maxim--the result of many years'
personal experience and observation--he contrived, by a dexterous twist
of his body, to get the bottom button of his coat to perform its office.
Having paused a few seconds to recover breath, he brushed his hat with
his elbow, and declared himself ready.

'As four heads is better than two, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, as they
drove along the London Road in the chaise-cart, 'and as all this here
property is a wery great temptation to a legal gen'l'm'n, ve'll take a
couple o' friends o' mine vith us, as'll be wery soon down upon him if
he comes anythin' irreg'lar; two o' them as saw you to the Fleet that
day. They're the wery best judges,' added Mr. Weller, in a half-whisper-
-'the wery best judges of a horse, you ever know'd.'

'And of a lawyer too?' inquired Sam.

'The man as can form a ackerate judgment of a animal, can form a
ackerate judgment of anythin',' replied his father, so dogmatically,
that Sam did not attempt to controvert the position.

In pursuance of this notable resolution, the services of the mottled-
faced gentleman and of two other very fat coachmen--selected by Mr.
Weller, probably, with a view to their width and consequent wisdom--were
put into requisition; and this assistance having been secured, the party
proceeded to the public-house in Portugal Street, whence a messenger was
despatched to the Insolvent Court over the way, requiring Mr. Solomon
Pell's immediate attendance.

The messenger fortunately found Mr. Solomon Pell in court, regaling
himself, business being rather slack, with a cold collation of an
Abernethy biscuit and a saveloy. The message was no sooner whispered in
his ear than he thrust them in his pocket among various professional
documents, and hurried over the way with such alacrity that he reached
the parlour before the messenger had even emancipated himself from the
court.

'Gentlemen,' said Mr. Pell, touching his hat, 'my service to you all. I
don't say it to flatter you, gentlemen, but there are not five other men
in the world, that I'd have come out of that court for, to-day.'

'So busy, eh?' said Sam.

'Busy!' replied Pell; 'I'm completely sewn up, as my friend the late
Lord Chancellor many a time used to say to me, gentlemen, when he came
out from hearing appeals in the House of Lords. Poor fellow; he was very
susceptible to fatigue; he used to feel those appeals uncommonly. I
actually thought more than once that he'd have sunk under 'em; I did,
indeed.'

Here Mr. Pell shook his head and paused; on which, the elder Mr. Weller,
nudging his neighbour, as begging him to mark the attorney's high
connections, asked whether the duties in question produced any permanent
ill effects on the constitution of his noble friend.

'I don't think he ever quite recovered them,' replied Pell; 'in fact I'm
sure he never did. "Pell," he used to say to me many a time, "how the
blazes you can stand the head-work you do, is a mystery to me."--"Well,"
I used to answer, "I hardly know how I do it, upon my life."--"Pell,"
he'd add, sighing, and looking at me with a little envy--friendly envy,
you know, gentlemen, mere friendly envy; I never minded it--"Pell,
you're a wonder; a wonder." Ah! you'd have liked him very much if you
had known him, gentlemen. Bring me three-penn'orth of rum, my dear.'

Addressing this latter remark to the waitress, in a tone of subdued
grief, Mr. Pell sighed, looked at his shoes and the ceiling; and, the
rum having by that time arrived, drank it up.

'However,' said Pell, drawing a chair to the table, 'a professional man
has no right to think of his private friendships when his legal
assistance is wanted. By the bye, gentlemen, since I saw you here
before, we have had to weep over a very melancholy occurrence.'

Mr. Pell drew out a pocket-handkerchief, when he came to the word weep,
but he made no further use of it than to wipe away a slight tinge of rum
which hung upon his upper lip.

'I saw it in the ADVERTISER, Mr. Weller,' continued Pell. 'Bless my
soul, not more than fifty-two! Dear me--only think.'

These indications of a musing spirit were addressed to the mottled-faced
man, whose eyes Mr. Pell had accidentally caught; on which, the mottled-
faced man, whose apprehension of matters in general was of a foggy
nature, moved uneasily in his seat, and opined that, indeed, so far as
that went, there was no saying how things was brought about; which
observation, involving one of those subtle propositions which it is
difficult to encounter in argument, was controverted by nobody.

'I have heard it remarked that she was a very fine woman, Mr. Weller,'
said Pell, in a sympathising manner.

'Yes, sir, she wos,' replied the elder Mr. Weller, not much relishing
this mode of discussing the subject, and yet thinking that the attorney,
from his long intimacy with the late Lord Chancellor, must know best on
all matters of polite breeding. 'She wos a wery fine 'ooman, sir, ven I
first know'd her. She wos a widder, sir, at that time.'

'Now, it's curious,' said Pell, looking round with a sorrowful smile;
'Mrs. Pell was a widow.'

'That's very extraordinary,' said the mottled-faced man.

'Well, it is a curious coincidence,' said Pell.

'Not at all,' gruffly remarked the elder Mr. Weller. 'More widders is
married than single wimin.'

'Very good, very good,' said Pell, 'you're quite right, Mr. Weller. Mrs.
Pell was a very elegant and accomplished woman; her manners were the
theme of universal admiration in our neighbourhood. I was proud to see
that woman dance; there was something so firm and dignified, and yet
natural, in her motion. Her cutting, gentlemen, was simplicity itself.
Ah! well, well! Excuse my asking the question, Mr. Samuel,' continued
the attorney in a lower voice, 'was your mother-in-law tall?'

'Not wery,' replied Sam.

'Mrs. Pell was a tall figure,' said Pell, 'a splendid woman, with a
noble shape, and a nose, gentlemen, formed to command and be majestic.
She was very much attached to me--very much--highly connected, too. Her
mother's brother, gentlemen, failed for eight hundred pounds, as a law
stationer.'

'Vell,' said Mr. Weller, who had grown rather restless during this
discussion, 'vith regard to bis'ness.'

The word was music to Pell's ears. He had been revolving in his mind
whether any business was to be transacted, or whether he had been merely
invited to partake of a glass of brandy-and-water, or a bowl of punch,
or any similar professional compliment, and now the doubt was set at
rest without his appearing at all eager for its solution. His eyes
glistened as he laid his hat on the table, and said--

'What is the business upon which--um? Either of these gentlemen wish to
go through the court? We require an arrest; a friendly arrest will do,
you know; we are all friends here, I suppose?'

'Give me the dockyment, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, taking the will from
his son, who appeared to enjoy the interview amazingly. 'Wot we rekvire,
sir, is a probe o' this here.'

'Probate, my dear Sir, probate,' said Pell.

'Well, sir,' replied Mr. Weller sharply, 'probe and probe it, is wery
much the same; if you don't understand wot I mean, sir, I des-say I can
find them as does.'

'No offence, I hope, Mr. Weller,' said Pell meekly. 'You are the
executor, I see,' he added, casting his eyes over the paper.

'I am, sir,' replied Mr. Weller.

'These other gentlemen, I presume, are legatees, are they?' inquired
Pell, with a congratulatory smile.

'Sammy is a leg-at-ease,' replied Mr. Weller; 'these other gen'l'm'n is
friends o' mine, just come to see fair; a kind of umpires.'

'Oh!' said Pell, 'very good. I have no objections, I'm sure. I shall
want a matter of five pound of you before I begin, ha! ha! ha!'

It being decided by the committee that the five pound might be advanced,
Mr. Weller produced that sum; after which, a long consultation about
nothing particular took place, in the course whereof Mr. Pell
demonstrated to the perfect satisfaction of the gentlemen who saw fair,
that unless the management of the business had been intrusted to him, it
must all have gone wrong, for reasons not clearly made out, but no doubt
sufficient. This important point being despatched, Mr. Pell refreshed
himself with three chops, and liquids both malt and spirituous, at the
expense of the estate; and then they all went away to Doctors' Commons.

The next day there was another visit to Doctors' Commons, and a great
to-do with an attesting hostler, who, being inebriated, declined
swearing anything but profane oaths, to the great scandal of a proctor
and surrogate. Next week, there were more visits to Doctors' Commons,
and there was a visit to the Legacy Duty Office besides, and there were
treaties entered into, for the disposal of the lease and business, and
ratifications of the same, and inventories to be made out, and lunches
to be taken, and dinners to be eaten, and so many profitable things to
be done, and such a mass of papers accumulated that Mr. Solomon Pell,
and the boy, and the blue bag to boot, all got so stout that scarcely
anybody would have known them for the same man, boy, and bag, that had
loitered about Portugal Street, a few days before.

At length all these weighty matters being arranged, a day was fixed for
selling out and transferring the stock, and of waiting with that view
upon Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, stock-broker, of somewhere near the bank,
who had been recommended by Mr. Solomon Pell for the purpose.

It was a kind of festive occasion, and the parties were attired
accordingly. Mr. Weller's tops were newly cleaned, and his dress was
arranged with peculiar care; the mottled-faced gentleman wore at his
button-hole a full-sized dahlia with several leaves; and the coats of
his two friends were adorned with nosegays of laurel and other
evergreens. All three were habited in strict holiday costume; that is to
say, they were wrapped up to the chins, and wore as many clothes as
possible, which is, and has been, a stage-coachman's idea of full dress
ever since stage-coaches were invented.

Mr. Pell was waiting at the usual place of meeting at the appointed
time; even he wore a pair of gloves and a clean shirt, much frayed at
the collar and wristbands by frequent washings.

'A quarter to two,' said Pell, looking at the parlour clock. 'If we are
with Mr. Flasher at a quarter past, we shall just hit the best time.'

'What should you say to a drop o' beer, gen'l'm'n?' suggested the
mottled-faced man.

'And a little bit o' cold beef,' said the second coachman.

'Or a oyster,' added the third, who was a hoarse gentleman, supported by
very round legs.

'Hear, hear!' said Pell; 'to congratulate Mr. Weller, on his coming into
possession of his property, eh? Ha! ha!'

'I'm quite agreeable, gen'l'm'n,' answered Mr. Weller. 'Sammy, pull the
bell.'

Sammy complied; and the porter, cold beef, and oysters being promptly
produced, the lunch was done ample justice to. Where everybody took so
active a part, it is almost invidious to make a distinction; but if one
individual evinced greater powers than another, it was the coachman with
the hoarse voice, who took an imperial pint of vinegar with his oysters,
without betraying the least emotion.

'Mr. Pell, Sir,' said the elder Mr. Weller, stirring a glass of brandy-
and-water, of which one was placed before every gentleman when the
oyster shells were removed--'Mr. Pell, Sir, it wos my intention to have
proposed the funs on this occasion, but Samivel has vispered to me--'

Here Mr. Samuel Weller, who had silently eaten his oysters with tranquil
smiles, cried, 'Hear!' in a very loud voice.

'--Has vispered to me,' resumed his father, 'that it vould be better to
dewote the liquor to vishin' you success and prosperity, and thankin'
you for the manner in which you've brought this here business through.
Here's your health, sir.'

'Hold hard there,' interposed the mottled-faced gentleman, with sudden
energy; 'your eyes on me, gen'l'm'n!'

Saying this, the mottled-faced gentleman rose, as did the other
gentlemen. The mottled-faced gentleman reviewed the company, and slowly
lifted his hand, upon which every man (including him of the mottled
countenance) drew a long breath, and lifted his tumbler to his lips. In
one instant, the mottled-faced gentleman depressed his hand again, and
every glass was set down empty. It is impossible to describe the
thrilling effect produced by this striking ceremony. At once dignified,
solemn, and impressive, it combined every element of grandeur.

'Well, gentlemen,' said Mr. Pell, 'all I can say is, that such marks of
confidence must be very gratifying to a professional man. I don't wish
to say anything that might appear egotistical, gentlemen, but I'm very
glad, for your own sakes, that you came to me; that's all. If you had
gone to any low member of the profession, it's my firm conviction, and I
assure you of it as a fact, that you would have found yourselves in
Queer Street before this. I could have wished my noble friend had been
alive to have seen my management of this case. I don't say it out of
pride, but I think--However, gentlemen, I won't trouble you with that.
I'm generally to be found here, gentlemen, but if I'm not here, or over
the way, that's my address. You'll find my terms very cheap and
reasonable, and no man attends more to his clients than I do, and I hope
I know a little of my profession besides. If you have any opportunity of
recommending me to any of your friends, gentlemen, I shall be very much
obliged to you, and so will they too, when they come to know me. Your
healths, gentlemen.'

With this expression of his feelings, Mr. Solomon Pell laid three small
written cards before Mr. Weller's friends, and, looking at the clock
again, feared it was time to be walking. Upon this hint Mr. Weller
settled the bill, and, issuing forth, the executor, legatee, attorney,
and umpires, directed their steps towards the city.

The office of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, of the Stock Exchange, was in a
first floor up a court behind the Bank of England; the house of Wilkins
Flasher, Esquire, was at Brixton, Surrey; the horse and stanhope of
Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, were at an adjacent livery stable; the groom
of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was on his way to the West End to deliver
some game; the clerk of Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, had gone to his
dinner; and so Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, himself, cried, 'Come in,' when
Mr. Pell and his companions knocked at the counting-house door.

'Good-morning, Sir,' said Pell, bowing obsequiously. 'We want to make a
little transfer, if you please.'

'Oh, just come in, will you?' said Mr. Flasher. 'Sit down a minute; I'll
attend to you directly.'

'Thank you, Sir,' said Pell, 'there's no hurry. Take a chair, Mr.
Weller.'

Mr. Weller took a chair, and Sam took a box, and the umpires took what
they could get, and looked at the almanac and one or two papers which
were wafered against the wall, with as much open-eyed reverence as if
they had been the finest efforts of the old masters.

'Well, I'll bet you half a dozen of claret on it; come!' said Wilkins
Flasher, Esquire, resuming the conversation to which Mr. Pell's entrance
had caused a momentary interruption.

This was addressed to a very smart young gentleman who wore his hat on
his right whisker, and was lounging over the desk, killing flies with a
ruler. Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was balancing himself on two legs of an
office stool, spearing a wafer-box with a penknife, which he dropped
every now and then with great dexterity into the very centre of a small
red wafer that was stuck outside. Both gentlemen had very open
waistcoats and very rolling collars, and very small boots, and very big
rings, and very little watches, and very large guard-chains, and
symmetrical inexpressibles, and scented pocket-handkerchiefs.

'I never bet half a dozen!' said the other gentleman. 'I'll take a
dozen.'

'Done, Simmery, done!' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.

'P. P., mind,' observed the other.

'Of course,' replied Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. Wilkins Flasher, Esquire,
entered it in a little book, with a gold pencil-case, and the other
gentleman entered it also, in another little book with another gold
pencil-case.

'I see there's a notice up this morning about Boffer,' observed Mr.
Simmery. 'Poor devil, he's expelled the house!'

'I'll bet you ten guineas to five, he cuts his throat,' said Wilkins
Flasher, Esquire.

'Done,' replied Mr. Simmery.

'Stop! I bar,' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, thoughtfully. 'Perhaps he
may hang himself.'

'Very good,' rejoined Mr. Simmery, pulling out the gold pencil-case
again. 'I've no objection to take you that way. Say, makes away with
himself.'

'Kills himself, in fact,' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.

'Just so,' replied Mr. Simmery, putting it down. '"Flasher--ten guineas
to five, Boffer kills himself." Within what time shall we say?'

'A fortnight?' suggested Wilkins Flasher, Esquire.

'Con-found it, no,' rejoined Mr. Simmery, stopping for an instant to
smash a fly with the ruler. 'Say a week.'

'Split the difference,' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. 'Make it ten
days.'

'Well; ten days,' rejoined Mr. Simmery.

So it was entered down on the little books that Boffer was to kill
himself within ten days, or Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was to hand over
to Frank Simmery, Esquire, the sum of ten guineas; and that if Boffer
did kill himself within that time, Frank Simmery, Esquire, would pay to
Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, five guineas, instead.

'I'm very sorry he has failed,' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. 'Capital
dinners he gave.'

'Fine port he had too,' remarked Mr. Simmery. 'We are going to send our
butler to the sale to-morrow, to pick up some of that sixty-four.'

'The devil you are!' said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. 'My man's going too.
Five guineas my man outbids your man.'

'Done.'

Another entry was made in the little books, with the gold pencil-cases;
and Mr. Simmery, having by this time killed all the flies and taken all
the bets, strolled away to the Stock Exchange to see what was going
forward.

Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, now condescended to receive Mr. Solomon Pell's
instructions, and having filled up some printed forms, requested the
party to follow him to the bank, which they did: Mr. Weller and his
three friends staring at all they beheld in unbounded astonishment, and
Sam encountering everything with a coolness which nothing could disturb.

Crossing a courtyard which was all noise and bustle, and passing a
couple of porters who seemed dressed to match the red fire engine which
was wheeled away into a corner, they passed into an office where their
business was to be transacted, and where Pell and Mr. Flasher left them
standing for a few moments, while they went upstairs into the Will
Office.

'Wot place is this here?' whispered the mottled-faced gentleman to the
elder Mr. Weller.

'Counsel's Office,' replied the executor in a whisper.

'Wot are them gen'l'men a-settin' behind the counters?' asked the hoarse
coachman.

'Reduced counsels, I s'pose,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Ain't they the
reduced counsels, Samivel?'

'Wy, you don't suppose the reduced counsels is alive, do you?' inquired
Sam, with some disdain.

'How should I know?' retorted Mr. Weller; 'I thought they looked wery
like it. Wot are they, then?'

'Clerks,' replied Sam.

'Wot are they all a-eatin' ham sangwidges for?' inquired his father.

''Cos it's in their dooty, I suppose,' replied Sam, 'it's a part o' the
system; they're alvays a-doin' it here, all day long!'

Mr. Weller and his friends had scarcely had a moment to reflect upon
this singular regulation as connected with the monetary system of the
country, when they were rejoined by Pell and Wilkins Flasher, Esquire,
who led them to a part of the counter above which was a round blackboard
with a large 'W.' on it.

'Wot's that for, Sir?' inquired Mr. Weller, directing Pell's attention
to the target in question.

'The first letter of the name of the deceased,' replied Pell.

'I say,' said Mr. Weller, turning round to the umpires, there's
somethin' wrong here. We's our letter--this won't do.'

The referees at once gave it as their decided opinion that the business
could not be legally proceeded with, under the letter W., and in all
probability it would have stood over for one day at least, had it not
been for the prompt, though, at first sight, undutiful behaviour of Sam,
who, seizing his father by the skirt of the coat, dragged him to the
counter, and pinned him there, until he had affixed his signature to a
couple of instruments; which, from Mr. Weller's habit of printing, was a
work of so much labour and time, that the officiating clerk peeled and
ate three Ribstone pippins while it was performing.

As the elder Mr. Weller insisted on selling out his portion forthwith,
they proceeded from the bank to the gate of the Stock Exchange, to which
Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, after a short absence, returned with a cheque
on Smith, Payne, & Smith, for five hundred and thirty pounds; that being
the money to which Mr. Weller, at the market price of the day, was
entitled, in consideration of the balance of the second Mrs. Weller's
funded savings. Sam's two hundred pounds stood transferred to his name,
and Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, having been paid his commission, dropped
the money carelessly into his coat pocket, and lounged back to his
office.

Mr. Weller was at first obstinately determined on cashing the cheque in
nothing but sovereigns; but it being represented by the umpires that by
so doing he must incur the expense of a small sack to carry them home
in, he consented to receive the amount in five-pound notes.

'My son,' said Mr. Weller, as they came out of the banking-house--'my
son and me has a wery partickler engagement this arternoon, and I should
like to have this here bis'ness settled out of hand, so let's jest go
straight avay someveres, vere ve can hordit the accounts.'

A quiet room was soon found, and the accounts were produced and audited.
Mr. Pell's bill was taxed by Sam, and some charges were disallowed by
the umpires; but, notwithstanding Mr. Pell's declaration, accompanied
with many solemn asseverations that they were really too hard upon him,
it was by very many degrees the best professional job he had ever had,
and one on which he boarded, lodged, and washed, for six months
afterwards.

The umpires having partaken of a dram, shook hands and departed, as they
had to drive out of town that night. Mr. Solomon Pell, finding that
nothing more was going forward, either in the eating or drinking way,
took a friendly leave, and Sam and his father were left alone.

'There!' said Mr. Weller, thrusting his pocket-book in his side pocket.
'Vith the bills for the lease, and that, there's eleven hundred and
eighty pound here. Now, Samivel, my boy, turn the horses' heads to the
George and Wulter!'

Mr. Pickwick was sitting alone, musing over many things, and thinking
among other considerations how he could best provide for the young
couple whose present unsettled condition was matter of constant regret
and anxiety to him, when Mary stepped lightly into the room, and,
advancing to the table, said, rather hastily--

'Oh, if you please, Sir, Samuel is downstairs, and he says may his
father see you?'

'Surely,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'Thank you, Sir,' said Mary, tripping towards the door again.

'Sam has not been here long, has he?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Oh, no, Sir,' replied Mary eagerly. 'He has only just come home. He is
not going to ask you for any more leave, Sir, he says.'

Mary might have been conscious that she had communicated this last
intelligence with more warmth than seemed actually necessary, or she
might have observed the good-humoured smile with which Mr. Pickwick
regarded her, when she had finished speaking. She certainly held down
her head, and examined the corner of a very smart little apron, with
more closeness than there appeared any absolute occasion for.

'Tell them they can come up at once, by all means,' said Mr. Pickwick.

Mary, apparently much relieved, hurried away with her message.

Mr. Pickwick took two or three turns up and down the room; and, rubbing
his chin with his left hand as he did so, appeared lost in thought.

'Well, well,' said Mr. Pickwick, at length in a kind but somewhat
melancholy tone, 'it is the best way in which I could reward him for his
attachment and fidelity; let it be so, in Heaven's name. It is the fate
of a lonely old man, that those about him should form new and different
attachments and leave him. I have no right to expect that it should be
otherwise with me. No, no,' added Mr. Pickwick more cheerfully, 'it
would be selfish and ungrateful. I ought to be happy to have an
opportunity of providing for him so well. I am. Of course I am.'

Mr. Pickwick had been so absorbed in these reflections, that a knock at
the door was three or four times repeated before he heard it. Hastily
seating himself, and calling up his accustomed pleasant looks, he gave
the required permission, and Sam Weller entered, followed by his father.

'Glad to see you back again, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'How do you do,
Mr. Weller?'

'Wery hearty, thank'ee, sir,' replied the widower; 'hope I see you well,
sir.'

'Quite, I thank you,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'I wanted to have a little bit o' conwersation with you, sir,' said Mr.
Weller, 'if you could spare me five minits or so, sir.'

'Certainly,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Sam, give your father a chair.'

'Thank'ee, Samivel, I've got a cheer here,' said Mr. Weller, bringing
one forward as he spoke; 'uncommon fine day it's been, sir,' added the
old gentleman, laying his hat on the floor as he sat himself down.

'Remarkably so, indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Very seasonable.'

'Seasonablest veather I ever see, sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller. Here, the
old gentleman was seized with a violent fit of coughing, which, being
terminated, he nodded his head and winked and made several supplicatory
and threatening gestures to his son, all of which Sam Weller steadily
abstained from seeing.

Mr. Pickwick, perceiving that there was some embarrassment on the old
gentleman's part, affected to be engaged in cutting the leaves of a book
that lay beside him, and waited patiently until Mr. Weller should arrive
at the object of his visit.

'I never see sich a aggrawatin' boy as you are, Samivel,' said Mr.
Weller, looking indignantly at his son; 'never in all my born days.'

'What is he doing, Mr. Weller?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'He von't begin, sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller; 'he knows I ain't ekal to
ex-pressin' myself ven there's anythin' partickler to be done, and yet
he'll stand and see me a-settin' here taking up your walable time, and
makin' a reg'lar spectacle o' myself, rayther than help me out vith a
syllable. It ain't filial conduct, Samivel,' said Mr. Weller, wiping his
forehead; 'wery far from it.'

'You said you'd speak,' replied Sam; 'how should I know you wos done up
at the wery beginnin'?'

'You might ha' seen I warn't able to start,' rejoined his father; 'I'm
on the wrong side of the road, and backin' into the palin's, and all
manner of unpleasantness, and yet you von't put out a hand to help me.
I'm ashamed on you, Samivel.'

'The fact is, Sir,' said Sam, with a slight bow, 'the gov'nor's been a-
drawin' his money.'

'Wery good, Samivel, wery good,' said Mr. Weller, nodding his head with
a satisfied air, 'I didn't mean to speak harsh to you, Sammy. Wery good.
That's the vay to begin. Come to the pint at once. Wery good indeed,
Samivel.'

Mr. Weller nodded his head an extraordinary number of times, in the
excess of his gratification, and waited in a listening attitude for Sam
to resume his statement.

'You may sit down, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, apprehending that the
interview was likely to prove rather longer than he had expected.

Sam bowed again and sat down; his father looking round, he continued--

'The gov'nor, sir, has drawn out five hundred and thirty pound.'

'Reduced counsels,' interposed Mr. Weller, senior, in an undertone.

'It don't much matter vether it's reduced counsels, or wot not,' said
Sam; 'five hundred and thirty pounds is the sum, ain't it?'

'All right, Samivel,' replied Mr. Weller.

'To vich sum, he has added for the house and bisness--'

'Lease, good-vill, stock, and fixters,' interposed Mr. Weller.

'As much as makes it,' continued Sam, 'altogether, eleven hundred and
eighty pound.'

'Indeed!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'I am delighted to hear it. I congratulate
you, Mr. Weller, on having done so well.'

'Vait a minit, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, raising his hand in a deprecatory
manner. 'Get on, Samivel.'

'This here money,' said Sam, with a little hesitation, 'he's anxious to
put someveres, vere he knows it'll be safe, and I'm wery anxious too,
for if he keeps it, he'll go a-lendin' it to somebody, or inwestin'
property in horses, or droppin' his pocket-book down an airy, or makin'
a Egyptian mummy of his-self in some vay or another.'

'Wery good, Samivel,' observed Mr. Weller, in as complacent a manner as
if Sam had been passing the highest eulogiums on his prudence and
foresight. 'Wery good.'

'For vich reasons,' continued Sam, plucking nervously at the brim of his
hat--'for vich reasons, he's drawn it out to-day, and come here vith me
to say, leastvays to offer, or in other vords--'

'To say this here,' said the elder Mr. Weller impatiently, 'that it
ain't o' no use to me. I'm a-goin' to vork a coach reg'lar, and ha'n't
got noveres to keep it in, unless I vos to pay the guard for takin' care
on it, or to put it in vun o' the coach pockets, vich 'ud be a
temptation to the insides. If you'll take care on it for me, sir, I
shall be wery much obliged to you. P'raps,' said Mr. Weller, walking up
to Mr. Pickwick and whispering in his ear--'p'raps it'll go a little vay
towards the expenses o' that 'ere conwiction. All I say is, just you
keep it till I ask you for it again.' With these words, Mr. Weller
placed the pocket-book in Mr. Pickwick's hands, caught up his hat, and
ran out of the room with a celerity scarcely to be expected from so
corpulent a subject.

'Stop him, Sam!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick earnestly. 'Overtake him; bring
him back instantly! Mr. Weller--here--come back!'

Sam saw that his master's injunctions were not to be disobeyed; and,
catching his father by the arm as he was descending the stairs, dragged
him back by main force.

'My good friend,' said Mr. Pickwick, taking the old man by the hand,
'your honest confidence overpowers me.'

'I don't see no occasion for nothin' o' the kind, Sir,' replied Mr.
Weller obstinately.

'I assure you, my good friend, I have more money than I can ever need;
far more than a man at my age can ever live to spend,' said Mr.
Pickwick.

'No man knows how much he can spend, till he tries,' observed Mr.
Weller.

'Perhaps not,' replied Mr. Pickwick; 'but as I have no intention of
trying any such experiments, I am not likely to come to want. I must beg
you to take this back, Mr. Weller.'

Wery well,' said Mr. Weller, with a discontented look. 'Mark my vords,
Sammy, I'll do somethin' desperate vith this here property; somethin'
desperate!'

'You'd better not,' replied Sam.

Mr. Weller reflected for a short time, and then, buttoning up his coat
with great determination, said--

'I'll keep a pike.'

'Wot!' exclaimed Sam.

'A pike!' rejoined Mr. Weller, through his set teeth; 'I'll keep a pike.
Say good-bye to your father, Samivel. I dewote the remainder of my days
to a pike.'

This threat was such an awful one, and Mr. Weller, besides appearing
fully resolved to carry it into execution, seemed so deeply mortified by
Mr. Pickwick's refusal, that that gentleman, after a short reflection,
said--

'Well, well, Mr. Weller, I will keep your money. I can do more good with
it, perhaps, than you can.'

'Just the wery thing, to be sure,' said Mr. Weller, brightening up; 'o'
course you can, sir.'

'Say no more about it,' said Mr. Pickwick, locking the pocket-book in
his desk; 'I am heartily obliged to you, my good friend. Now sit down
again. I want to ask your advice.'

The internal laughter occasioned by the triumphant success of his visit,
which had convulsed not only Mr. Weller's face, but his arms, legs, and
body also, during the locking up of the pocket-book, suddenly gave place
to the most dignified gravity as he heard these words.

'Wait outside a few minutes, Sam, will you?' said Mr. Pickwick.

Sam immediately withdrew.

Mr. Weller looked uncommonly wise and very much amazed, when Mr.
Pickwick opened the discourse by saying--

'You are not an advocate for matrimony, I think, Mr. Weller?'

Mr. Weller shook his head. He was wholly unable to speak; vague thoughts
of some wicked widow having been successful in her designs on Mr.
Pickwick, choked his utterance.

'Did you happen to see a young girl downstairs when you came in just now
with your son?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Yes. I see a young gal,' replied Mr. Weller shortly.

'What did you think of her, now? Candidly, Mr. Weller, what did you
think of her?'

'I thought she wos wery plump, and vell made,' said Mr. Weller, with a
critical air.

'So she is,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'so she is. What did you think of her
manners, from what you saw of her?'

'Wery pleasant,' rejoined Mr. Weller. 'Wery pleasant and comformable.'

The precise meaning which Mr. Weller attached to this last-mentioned
adjective, did not appear; but, as it was evident from the tone in which
he used it that it was a favourable expression, Mr. Pickwick was as well
satisfied as if he had been thoroughly enlightened on the subject.

'I take a great interest in her, Mr. Weller,' said Mr. Pickwick.

Mr. Weller coughed.

'I mean an interest in her doing well,' resumed Mr. Pickwick; 'a desire
that she may be comfortable and prosperous. You understand?'

'Wery clearly,' replied Mr. Weller, who understood nothing yet.

'That young person,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'is attached to your son.'

'To Samivel Veller!' exclaimed the parent.

'Yes,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'It's nat'ral,' said Mr. Weller, after some consideration, 'nat'ral, but
rayther alarmin'. Sammy must be careful.'

'How do you mean?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Wery careful that he don't say nothin' to her,' responded Mr. Weller.
'Wery careful that he ain't led avay, in a innocent moment, to say
anythin' as may lead to a conwiction for breach. You're never safe vith
'em, Mr. Pickwick, ven they vunce has designs on you; there's no knowin'
vere to have 'em; and vile you're a-considering of it, they have you. I
wos married fust, that vay myself, Sir, and Sammy wos the consekens o'
the manoover.'

'You give me no great encouragement to conclude what I have to say,'
observed Mr. Pickwick, 'but I had better do so at once. This young
person is not only attached to your son, Mr. Weller, but your son is
attached to her.'

'Vell,' said Mr. Weller, 'this here's a pretty sort o' thing to come to
a father's ears, this is!'

'I have observed them on several occasions,' said Mr. Pickwick, making
no comment on Mr. Weller's last remark; 'and entertain no doubt at all
about it. Supposing I were desirous of establishing them comfortably as
man and wife in some little business or situation, where they might hope
to obtain a decent living, what should you think of it, Mr. Weller?'

At first, Mr. Weller received with wry faces a proposition involving the
marriage of anybody in whom he took an interest; but, as Mr. Pickwick
argued the point with him, and laid great stress on the fact that Mary
was not a widow, he gradually became more tractable. Mr. Pickwick had
great influence over him, and he had been much struck with Mary's
appearance; having, in fact, bestowed several very unfatherly winks upon
her, already. At length he said that it was not for him to oppose Mr.
Pickwick's inclination, and that he would be very happy to yield to his
advice; upon which, Mr. Pickwick joyfully took him at his word, and
called Sam back into the room.

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, clearing his throat, 'your father and I have
been having some conversation about you.'

'About you, Samivel,' said Mr. Weller, in a patronising and impressive
voice.

'I am not so blind, Sam, as not to have seen, a long time since, that
you entertain something more than a friendly feeling towards Mrs.
Winkle's maid,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'You hear this, Samivel?' said Mr. Weller, in the same judicial form of
speech as before.

'I hope, Sir,' said Sam, addressing his master, 'I hope there's no harm
in a young man takin' notice of a young 'ooman as is undeniably good-
looking and well-conducted.'

'Certainly not,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Not by no means,' acquiesced Mr. Weller, affably but magisterially.

'So far from thinking there is anything wrong in conduct so natural,'
resumed Mr. Pickwick, 'it is my wish to assist and promote your wishes
in this respect. With this view, I have had a little conversation with
your father; and finding that he is of my opinion--'

'The lady not bein' a widder,' interposed Mr. Weller in explanation.

'The lady not being a widow,' said Mr. Pickwick, smiling. 'I wish to
free you from the restraint which your present position imposes upon
you, and to mark my sense of your fidelity and many excellent qualities,
by enabling you to marry this girl at once, and to earn an independent
livelihood for yourself and family. I shall be proud, Sam,' said Mr.
Pickwick, whose voice had faltered a little hitherto, but now resumed
its customary tone, 'proud and happy to make your future prospects in
life my grateful and peculiar care.'

There was a profound silence for a short time, and then Sam said, in a
low, husky sort of voice, but firmly withal--

'I'm very much obliged to you for your goodness, Sir, as is only like
yourself; but it can't be done.'

'Can't be done!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick in astonishment.

'Samivel!' said Mr. Weller, with dignity.

'I say it can't be done,' repeated Sam in a louder key. 'Wot's to become
of you, Sir?'

'My good fellow,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'the recent changes among my
friends will alter my mode of life in future, entirely; besides, I am
growing older, and want repose and quiet. My rambles, Sam, are over.'

'How do I know that 'ere, sir?' argued Sam. 'You think so now! S'pose
you wos to change your mind, vich is not unlikely, for you've the spirit
o' five-and-twenty in you still, what 'ud become on you vithout me? It
can't be done, Sir, it can't be done.'

'Wery good, Samivel, there's a good deal in that,' said Mr. Weller
encouragingly.

'I speak after long deliberation, Sam, and with the certainty that I
shall keep my word,' said Mr. Pickwick, shaking his head. 'New scenes
have closed upon me; my rambles are at an end.'

'Wery good,' rejoined Sam. 'Then, that's the wery best reason wy you
should alvays have somebody by you as understands you, to keep you up
and make you comfortable. If you vant a more polished sort o' feller,
vell and good, have him; but vages or no vages, notice or no notice,
board or no board, lodgin' or no lodgin', Sam Veller, as you took from
the old inn in the Borough, sticks by you, come what may; and let
ev'rythin' and ev'rybody do their wery fiercest, nothin' shall ever
perwent it!'

At the close of this declaration, which Sam made with great emotion, the
elder Mr. Weller rose from his chair, and, forgetting all considerations
of time, place, or propriety, waved his hat above his head, and gave
three vehement cheers.

'My good fellow,' said Mr. Pickwick, when Mr. Weller had sat down again,
rather abashed at his own enthusiasm, 'you are bound to consider the
young woman also.'

'I do consider the young 'ooman, Sir,' said Sam. 'I have considered the
young 'ooman. I've spoke to her. I've told her how I'm sitivated; she's
ready to vait till I'm ready, and I believe she vill. If she don't,
she's not the young 'ooman I take her for, and I give her up vith
readiness. You've know'd me afore, Sir. My mind's made up, and nothin'
can ever alter it.'

Who could combat this resolution? Not Mr. Pickwick. He derived, at that
moment, more pride and luxury of feeling from the disinterested
attachment of his humble friends, than ten thousand protestations from
the greatest men living could have awakened in his heart.

While this conversation was passing in Mr. Pickwick's room, a little old
gentleman in a suit of snuff-coloured clothes, followed by a porter
carrying a small portmanteau, presented himself below; and, after
securing a bed for the night, inquired of the waiter whether one Mrs.
Winkle was staying there, to which question the waiter of course
responded in the affirmative.

'Is she alone?' inquired the old gentleman.

'I believe she is, Sir,' replied the waiter; 'I can call her own maid,
Sir, if you--'

'No, I don't want her,' said the old gentleman quickly. 'Show me to her
room without announcing me.'

'Eh, Sir?' said the waiter.

'Are you deaf?' inquired the little old gentleman.

'No, sir.'

'Then listen, if you please. Can you hear me now?'

'Yes, Sir.'

'That's well. Show me to Mrs. Winkle's room, without announcing me.'

As the little old gentleman uttered this command, he slipped five
shillings into the waiter's hand, and looked steadily at him.

'Really, sir,' said the waiter, 'I don't know, sir, whether--'

'Ah! you'll do it, I see,' said the little old gentleman. 'You had
better do it at once. It will save time.'

There was something so very cool and collected in the gentleman's
manner, that the waiter put the five shillings in his pocket, and led
him upstairs without another word.

'This is the room, is it?' said the gentleman. 'You may go.'

The waiter complied, wondering much who the gentleman could be, and what
he wanted; the little old gentleman, waiting till he was out of sight,
tapped at the door.

'Come in,' said Arabella.

'Um, a pretty voice, at any rate,' murmured the little old gentleman;
'but that's nothing.' As he said this, he opened the door and walked in.
Arabella, who was sitting at work, rose on beholding a stranger--a
little confused--but by no means ungracefully so.

'Pray don't rise, ma'am,' said the unknown, walking in, and closing the
door after him. 'Mrs. Winkle, I believe?'

Arabella inclined her head.

'Mrs. Nathaniel Winkle, who married the son of the old man at
Birmingham?' said the stranger, eyeing Arabella with visible curiosity.

Again Arabella inclined her head, and looked uneasily round, as if
uncertain whether to call for assistance.

'I surprise you, I see, ma'am,' said the old gentleman.

'Rather, I confess,' replied Arabella, wondering more and more.

'I'll take a chair, if you'll allow me, ma'am,' said the stranger.

He took one; and drawing a spectacle-case from his pocket, leisurely
pulled out a pair of spectacles, which he adjusted on his nose.

'You don't know me, ma'am?' he said, looking so intently at Arabella
that she began to feel alarmed.

'No, sir,' she replied timidly.

'No,' said the gentleman, nursing his left leg; 'I don't know how you
should. You know my name, though, ma'am.'

'Do I?' said Arabella, trembling, though she scarcely knew why. 'May I
ask what it is?'

'Presently, ma'am, presently,' said the stranger, not having yet removed
his eyes from her countenance. 'You have been recently married, ma'am?'

'I have,' replied Arabella, in a scarcely audible tone, laying aside her
work, and becoming greatly agitated as a thought, that had occurred to
her before, struck more forcibly upon her mind.

'Without having represented to your husband the propriety of first
consulting his father, on whom he is dependent, I think?' said the
stranger.

Arabella applied her handkerchief to her eyes.

'Without an endeavour, even, to ascertain, by some indirect appeal, what
were the old man's sentiments on a point in which he would naturally
feel much interested?' said the stranger.

'I cannot deny it, Sir,' said Arabella.

'And without having sufficient property of your own to afford your
husband any permanent assistance in exchange for the worldly advantages
which you knew he would have gained if he had married agreeably to his
father's wishes?' said the old gentleman. 'This is what boys and girls
call disinterested affection, till they have boys and girls of their
own, and then they see it in a rougher and very different light!'

Arabella's tears flowed fast, as she pleaded in extenuation that she was
young and inexperienced; that her attachment had alone induced her to
take the step to which she had resorted; and that she had been deprived
of the counsel and guidance of her parents almost from infancy.

'It was wrong,' said the old gentleman in a milder tone, 'very wrong. It
was romantic, unbusinesslike, foolish.'

'It was my fault; all my fault, Sir,' replied poor Arabella, weeping.

'Nonsense,' said the old gentleman; 'it was not your fault that he fell
in love with you, I suppose? Yes it was, though,' said the old
gentleman, looking rather slily at Arabella. 'It was your fault. He
couldn't help it.'

This little compliment, or the little gentleman's odd way of paying it,
or his altered manner--so much kinder than it was, at first--or all
three together, forced a smile from Arabella in the midst of her tears.

'Where's your husband?' inquired the old gentleman, abruptly; stopping a
smile which was just coming over his own face.

'I expect him every instant, sir,' said Arabella. 'I persuaded him to
take a walk this morning. He is very low and wretched at not having
heard from his father.'

'Low, is he?' said the old gentlemen. 'Serve him right!'

'He feels it on my account, I am afraid,' said Arabella; 'and indeed,
Sir, I feel it deeply on his. I have been the sole means of bringing him
to his present condition.'

'Don't mind it on his account, my dear,' said the old gentleman. 'It
serves him right. I am glad of it--actually glad of it, as far as he is
concerned.'

The words were scarcely out of the old gentleman's lips, when footsteps
were heard ascending the stairs, which he and Arabella seemed both to
recognise at the same moment. The little gentleman turned pale; and,
making a strong effort to appear composed, stood up, as Mr. Winkle
entered the room.

'Father!' cried Mr. Winkle, recoiling in amazement.

'Yes, sir,' replied the little old gentleman. 'Well, Sir, what have you
got to say to me?'

Mr. Winkle remained silent.

'You are ashamed of yourself, I hope, Sir?' said the old gentleman.

Still Mr. Winkle said nothing.

'Are you ashamed of yourself, Sir, or are you not?' inquired the old
gentleman.

'No, Sir,' replied Mr. Winkle, drawing Arabella's arm through his. 'I am
not ashamed of myself, or of my wife either.'

'Upon my word!' cried the old gentleman ironically.

'I am very sorry to have done anything which has lessened your affection
for me, Sir,' said Mr. Winkle; 'but I will say, at the same time, that I
have no reason to be ashamed of having this lady for my wife, nor you of
having her for a daughter.'

'Give me your hand, Nat,' said the old gentleman, in an altered voice.
'Kiss me, my love. You are a very charming little daughter-in-law after
all!'

In a few minutes' time Mr. Winkle went in search of Mr. Pickwick, and
returning with that gentleman, presented him to his father, whereupon
they shook hands for five minutes incessantly.

'Mr. Pickwick, I thank you most heartily for all your kindness to my
son,' said old Mr. Winkle, in a bluff, straightforward way. 'I am a
hasty fellow, and when I saw you last, I was vexed and taken by
surprise. I have judged for myself now, and am more than satisfied.
Shall I make any more apologies, Mr. Pickwick?'

'Not one,' replied that gentleman. 'You have done the only thing wanting
to complete my happiness.'

Hereupon there was another shaking of hands for five minutes longer,
accompanied by a great number of complimentary speeches, which, besides
being complimentary, had the additional and very novel recommendation of
being sincere.

Sam had dutifully seen his father to the Belle Sauvage, when, on
returning, he encountered the fat boy in the court, who had been charged
with the delivery of a note from Emily Wardle.

'I say,' said Joe, who was unusually loquacious, 'what a pretty girl
Mary is, isn't she? I am _so_ fond of her, I am!'

Mr. Weller made no verbal remark in reply; but eyeing the fat boy for a
moment, quite transfixed at his presumption, led him by the collar to
the corner, and dismissed him with a harmless but ceremonious kick.
After which, he walked home, whistling.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Tony Weller finds the will his wife made out, in which she gives 200 pounds to Sam and the rest to Tony. Sam tells his father that the will must be probated before they can come into their inheritance. So the two men go to see Solomon Pell, taking a group of coachmen along to umpire. The legal formalities take about a week, and the skinny Pell begins to put on weight from this new income. When the will has passed through probate, Pell takes the men over to a stockbroker to invest Sam's 200 pounds. The broker, a gaudy fellow named Wilkins Flasher, Esq., is fond of making bets on every topic of conversation. He receives Sam's portion of the legacy, and Solomon Pell takes a large fee, which leaves Tony Weller with over 1,100 pounds. Mr. Weller decides to see Mr. Pickwick with the money. After being ushered into Mr. Pickwick's room, Tony finds himself speechless. At length he manages to say that he intends Mr. Pickwick to have the money, places it in Mr. Pickwick's hands, and tries to escape, but Sam restrains him. Mr. Pickwick is reluctant to accept the money but decides he can use it to set Sam up in business, which would enable Sam to marry. However, Sam steadfastly refuses to leave Mr. Pickwick's service, saying that Mary will have to wait. Tony is very pleased by his son's loyalty to Mr. Pickwick. Meanwhile an old gentleman enters, looking for Arahella's room. He enters, intimates that he represents Winkle's father and charges Arabella with imprudence in marrying Nathaniel. She does not deny it, but tearfully defends herself, and the old man relents a bit. Then young Winkle enters, sees his father and defends both his wife and his decision. His father then shows himself to be very delighted with the match. Mr. Pickwick comes in and is gratified to see Mr. Winkle's change of heart. Sam, on learning of Joe the Fat Boy's crush on Mary, gives him a ceremonious kick.


prompt:
Chapter: For a whole week after the happy arrival of Mr. Winkle from Birmingham,
Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller were from home all day long, only returning
just in time for dinner, and then wearing an air of mystery and
importance quite foreign to their natures. It was evident that very
grave and eventful proceedings were on foot; but various surmises were
afloat, respecting their precise character. Some (among whom was Mr.
Tupman) were disposed to think that Mr. Pickwick contemplated a
matrimonial alliance; but this idea the ladies most strenuously
repudiated. Others rather inclined to the belief that he had projected
some distant tour, and was at present occupied in effecting the
preliminary arrangements; but this again was stoutly denied by Sam
himself, who had unequivocally stated, when cross-examined by Mary, that
no new journeys were to be undertaken. At length, when the brains of the
whole party had been racked for six long days, by unavailing
speculation, it was unanimously resolved that Mr. Pickwick should be
called upon to explain his conduct, and to state distinctly why he had
thus absented himself from the society of his admiring friends.

With this view, Mr. Wardle invited the full circle to dinner at the
Adelphi; and the decanters having been thrice sent round, opened the
business.

'We are all anxious to know,' said the old gentleman, 'what we have done
to offend you, and to induce you to desert us and devote yourself to
these solitary walks.'

'Are you?' said Mr. Pickwick. 'It is singular enough that I had intended
to volunteer a full explanation this very day; so, if you will give me
another glass of wine, I will satisfy your curiosity.'

The decanters passed from hand to hand with unwonted briskness, and Mr.
Pickwick, looking round on the faces of his friends with a cheerful
smile, proceeded--

'All the changes that have taken place among us,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I
mean the marriage that _has _taken place, and the marriage that WILL
take place, with the changes they involve, rendered it necessary for me
to think, soberly and at once, upon my future plans. I determined on
retiring to some quiet, pretty neighbourhood in the vicinity of London;
I saw a house which exactly suited my fancy; I have taken it and
furnished it. It is fully prepared for my reception, and I intend
entering upon it at once, trusting that I may yet live to spend many
quiet years in peaceful retirement, cheered through life by the society
of my friends, and followed in death by their affectionate remembrance.'

Here Mr. Pickwick paused, and a low murmur ran round the table.

'The house I have taken,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'is at Dulwich. It has a
large garden, and is situated in one of the most pleasant spots near
London. It has been fitted up with every attention to substantial
comfort; perhaps to a little elegance besides; but of that you shall
judge for yourselves. Sam accompanies me there. I have engaged, on
Perker's representation, a housekeeper--a very old one--and such other
servants as she thinks I shall require. I propose to consecrate this
little retreat, by having a ceremony in which I take a great interest,
performed there. I wish, if my friend Wardle entertains no objection,
that his daughter should be married from my new house, on the day I take
possession of it. The happiness of young people,' said Mr. Pickwick, a
little moved, 'has ever been the chief pleasure of my life. It will warm
my heart to witness the happiness of those friends who are dearest to
me, beneath my own roof.'

Mr. Pickwick paused again: Emily and Arabella sobbed audibly.

'I have communicated, both personally and by letter, with the club,'
resumed Mr. Pickwick, 'acquainting them with my intention. During our
long absence, it has suffered much from internal dissentions; and the
withdrawal of my name, coupled with this and other circumstances, has
occasioned its dissolution. The Pickwick Club exists no longer.

'I shall never regret,' said Mr. Pickwick in a low voice, 'I shall never
regret having devoted the greater part of two years to mixing with
different varieties and shades of human character, frivolous as my
pursuit of novelty may have appeared to many. Nearly the whole of my
previous life having been devoted to business and the pursuit of wealth,
numerous scenes of which I had no previous conception have dawned upon
me--I hope to the enlargement of my mind, and the improvement of my
understanding. If I have done but little good, I trust I have done less
harm, and that none of my adventures will be other than a source of
amusing and pleasant recollection to me in the decline of life. God
bless you all!'

With these words, Mr. Pickwick filled and drained a bumper with a
trembling hand; and his eyes moistened as his friends rose with one
accord, and pledged him from their hearts.

There were few preparatory arrangements to be made for the marriage of
Mr. Snodgrass. As he had neither father nor mother, and had been in his
minority a ward of Mr. Pickwick's, that gentleman was perfectly well
acquainted with his possessions and prospects. His account of both was
quite satisfactory to Wardle--as almost any other account would have
been, for the good old gentleman was overflowing with hilarity and
kindness--and a handsome portion having been bestowed upon Emily, the
marriage was fixed to take place on the fourth day from that time--the
suddenness of which preparations reduced three dressmakers and a tailor
to the extreme verge of insanity.

Getting post-horses to the carriage, old Wardle started off, next day,
to bring his mother back to town. Communicating his intelligence to the
old lady with characteristic impetuosity, she instantly fainted away;
but being promptly revived, ordered the brocaded silk gown to be packed
up forthwith, and proceeded to relate some circumstances of a similar
nature attending the marriage of the eldest daughter of Lady
Tollimglower, deceased, which occupied three hours in the recital, and
were not half finished at last.

Mrs. Trundle had to be informed of all the mighty preparations that were
making in London; and, being in a delicate state of health, was informed
thereof through Mr. Trundle, lest the news should be too much for her;
but it was not too much for her, inasmuch as she at once wrote off to
Muggleton, to order a new cap and a black satin gown, and moreover
avowed her determination of being present at the ceremony. Hereupon, Mr.
Trundle called in the doctor, and the doctor said Mrs. Trundle ought to
know best how she felt herself, to which Mrs. Trundle replied that she
felt herself quite equal to it, and that she had made up her mind to go;
upon which the doctor, who was a wise and discreet doctor, and knew what
was good for himself, as well as for other people, said that perhaps if
Mrs. Trundle stopped at home, she might hurt herself more by fretting,
than by going, so perhaps she had better go. And she did go; the doctor
with great attention sending in half a dozen of medicine, to be drunk
upon the road.

In addition to these points of distraction, Wardle was intrusted with
two small letters to two small young ladies who were to act as
bridesmaids; upon the receipt of which, the two young ladies were driven
to despair by having no 'things' ready for so important an occasion, and
no time to make them in--a circumstance which appeared to afford the two
worthy papas of the two small young ladies rather a feeling of
satisfaction than otherwise. However, old frocks were trimmed, and new
bonnets made, and the young ladies looked as well as could possibly have
been expected of them. And as they cried at the subsequent ceremony in
the proper places, and trembled at the right times, they acquitted
themselves to the admiration of all beholders.

How the two poor relations ever reached London--whether they walked, or
got behind coaches, or procured lifts in wagons, or carried each other
by turns--is uncertain; but there they were, before Wardle; and the very
first people that knocked at the door of Mr. Pickwick's house, on the
bridal morning, were the two poor relations, all smiles and shirt
collar.

They were welcomed heartily though, for riches or poverty had no
influence on Mr. Pickwick; the new servants were all alacrity and
readiness; Sam was in a most unrivalled state of high spirits and
excitement; Mary was glowing with beauty and smart ribands.

The bridegroom, who had been staying at the house for two or three days
previous, sallied forth gallantly to Dulwich Church to meet the bride,
attended by Mr. Pickwick, Ben Allen, Bob Sawyer, and Mr. Tupman; with
Sam Weller outside, having at his button-hole a white favour, the gift
of his lady-love, and clad in a new and gorgeous suit of livery invented
for the occasion. They were met by the Wardles, and the Winkles, and the
bride and bridesmaids, and the Trundles; and the ceremony having been
performed, the coaches rattled back to Mr. Pickwick's to breakfast,
where little Mr. Perker already awaited them.

Here, all the light clouds of the more solemn part of the proceedings
passed away; every face shone forth joyously; and nothing was to be
heard but congratulations and commendations. Everything was so
beautiful! The lawn in front, the garden behind, the miniature
conservatory, the dining-room, the drawing-room, the bedrooms, the
smoking-room, and, above all, the study, with its pictures and easy-
chairs, and odd cabinets, and queer tables, and books out of number,
with a large cheerful window opening upon a pleasant lawn and commanding
a pretty landscape, dotted here and there with little houses almost
hidden by the trees; and then the curtains, and the carpets, and the
chairs, and the sofas! Everything was so beautiful, so compact, so neat,
and in such exquisite taste, said everybody, that there really was no
deciding what to admire most.

And in the midst of all this, stood Mr. Pickwick, his countenance
lighted up with smiles, which the heart of no man, woman, or child,
could resist: himself the happiest of the group: shaking hands, over and
over again, with the same people, and when his own hands were not so
employed, rubbing them with pleasure: turning round in a different
direction at every fresh expression of gratification or curiosity, and
inspiring everybody with his looks of gladness and delight.

Breakfast is announced. Mr. Pickwick leads the old lady (who has been
very eloquent on the subject of Lady Tollimglower) to the top of a long
table; Wardle takes the bottom; the friends arrange themselves on either
side; Sam takes his station behind his master's chair; the laughter and
talking cease; Mr. Pickwick, having said grace, pauses for an instant
and looks round him. As he does so, the tears roll down his cheeks, in
the fullness of his joy.

Let us leave our old friend in one of those moments of unmixed
happiness, of which, if we seek them, there are ever some, to cheer our
transitory existence here. There are dark shadows on the earth, but its
lights are stronger in the contrast. Some men, like bats or owls, have
better eyes for the darkness than for the light. We, who have no such
optical powers, are better pleased to take our last parting look at the
visionary companions of many solitary hours, when the brief sunshine of
the world is blazing full upon them.

It is the fate of most men who mingle with the world, and attain even
the prime of life, to make many real friends, and lose them in the
course of nature. It is the fate of all authors or chroniclers to create
imaginary friends, and lose them in the course of art. Nor is this the
full extent of their misfortunes; for they are required to furnish an
account of them besides.

In compliance with this custom--unquestionably a bad one--we subjoin a
few biographical words, in relation to the party at Mr. Pickwick's
assembled.

Mr. and Mrs. Winkle, being fully received into favour by the old
gentleman, were shortly afterwards installed in a newly-built house, not
half a mile from Mr. Pickwick's. Mr. Winkle, being engaged in the city
as agent or town correspondent of his father, exchanged his old costume
for the ordinary dress of Englishmen, and presented all the external
appearance of a civilised Christian ever afterwards.

Mr. and Mrs. Snodgrass settled at Dingley Dell, where they purchased and
cultivated a small farm, more for occupation than profit. Mr. Snodgrass,
being occasionally abstracted and melancholy, is to this day reputed a
great poet among his friends and acquaintance, although we do not find
that he has ever written anything to encourage the belief. There are
many celebrated characters, literary, philosophical, and otherwise, who
hold a high reputation on a similar tenure.

Mr. Tupman, when his friends married, and Mr. Pickwick settled, took
lodgings at Richmond, where he has ever since resided. He walks
constantly on the terrace during the summer months, with a youthful and
jaunty air, which has rendered him the admiration of the numerous
elderly ladies of single condition, who reside in the vicinity. He has
never proposed again.

Mr. Bob Sawyer, having previously passed through the _Gazette_, passed
over to Bengal, accompanied by Mr. Benjamin Allen; both gentlemen having
received surgical appointments from the East India Company. They each
had the yellow fever fourteen times, and then resolved to try a little
abstinence; since which period, they have been doing well. Mrs. Bardell
let lodgings to many conversable single gentlemen, with great profit,
but never brought any more actions for breach of promise of marriage.
Her attorneys, Messrs. Dodson & Fogg, continue in business, from which
they realise a large income, and in which they are universally
considered among the sharpest of the sharp.

Sam Weller kept his word, and remained unmarried, for two years. The old
housekeeper dying at the end of that time, Mr. Pickwick promoted Mary to
the situation, on condition of her marrying Mr. Weller at once, which
she did without a murmur. From the circumstance of two sturdy little
boys having been repeatedly seen at the gate of the back garden, there
is reason to suppose that Sam has some family.

The elder Mr. Weller drove a coach for twelve months, but being
afflicted with the gout, was compelled to retire. The contents of the
pocket-book had been so well invested for him, however, by Mr. Pickwick,
that he had a handsome independence to retire on, upon which he still
lives at an excellent public-house near Shooter's Hill, where he is
quite reverenced as an oracle, boasting very much of his intimacy with
Mr. Pickwick, and retaining a most unconquerable aversion to widows.

Mr. Pickwick himself continued to reside in his new house, employing his
leisure hours in arranging the memoranda which he afterwards presented
to the secretary of the once famous club, or in hearing Sam Weller read
aloud, with such remarks as suggested themselves to his mind, which
never failed to afford Mr. Pickwick great amusement. He was much
troubled at first, by the numerous applications made to him by Mr.
Snodgrass, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Trundle, to act as godfather to their
offspring; but he has become used to it now, and officiates as a matter
of course. He never had occasion to regret his bounty to Mr. Jingle; for
both that person and Job Trotter became, in time, worthy members of
society, although they have always steadily objected to return to the
scenes of their old haunts and temptations. Mr. Pickwick is somewhat
infirm now; but he retains all his former juvenility of spirit, and may
still be frequently seen, contemplating the pictures in the Dulwich
Gallery, or enjoying a walk about the pleasant neighbourhood on a fine
day. He is known by all the poor people about, who never fail to take
their hats off, as he passes, with great respect. The children idolise
him, and so indeed does the whole neighbourhood. Every year he repairs
to a large family merry-making at Mr. Wardle's; on this, as on all other
occasions, he is invariably attended by the faithful Sam, between whom
and his master there exists a steady and reciprocal attachment which
nothing but death will terminate.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: After a week of mysterious trips Mr. Pickwick announces to his friends that he is settling down for good in a newly purchased and furnished home at Dulwich. The Pickwick Club has disbanded. And he tells everyone that the wedding of Snodgrass and Emily Wardle will take place in his new home. Preparations are made, and the wedding is a glorious affair. Nathaniel Winkle obtains a position in London from his father. Augustus Snodgrass settles down to being a country gentleman. Tracy Tupman takes rooms at Richmond, where he remains a bachelor. Bob Sawyer and Ben Allen go to India as surgeons, and after learning temperance they do well. Jingle and Job Trotter become useful members of society in the West Indies. Tony Weller retires a year later because of gout and lives upon the income from the money Mr. Pickwick invested for him. After two years Sam Weller weds Mary, and both of them serve Mr. Pickwick. And Mr. Pickwick himself becomes godfather to the many children of his friends, living on as a widely respected and much loved old man.


prompt:
Chapter: Six months at sea! Yes, reader, as I live, six months out of sight of
land; cruising after the sperm-whale beneath the scorching sun of the
Line, and tossed on the billows of the wide-rolling Pacific--the sky
above, the sea around, and nothing else! Weeks and weeks ago our fresh
provisions were all exhausted. There is not a sweet potato left; not a
single yam. Those glorious bunches of bananas, which once decorated
our stern and quarter-deck, have, alas, disappeared! and the delicious
oranges which hung suspended from our tops and stays--they, too, are
gone! Yes, they are all departed, and there is nothing left us but
salt-horse and sea-biscuit. Oh! ye state-room sailors, who make so
much ado about a fourteen-days' passage across the Atlantic; who so
pathetically relate the privations and hardships of the sea, where,
after a day of breakfasting, lunching, dining off five courses,
chatting, playing whist, and drinking champagne-punch, it was your hard
lot to be shut up in little cabinets of mahogany and maple, and sleep
for ten hours, with nothing to disturb you but 'those good-for-nothing
tars, shouting and tramping overhead',--what would ye say to our six
months out of sight of land?

Oh! for a refreshing glimpse of one blade of grass--for a snuff at the
fragrance of a handful of the loamy earth! Is there nothing fresh around
us? Is there no green thing to be seen? Yes, the inside of our bulwarks
is painted green; but what a vile and sickly hue it is, as if nothing
bearing even the semblance of verdure could flourish this weary way from
land. Even the bark that once clung to the wood we use for fuel has been
gnawed off and devoured by the captain's pig; and so long ago, too, that
the pig himself has in turn been devoured.

There is but one solitary tenant in the chicken-coop, once a gay and
dapper young cock, bearing him so bravely among the coy hens.

But look at him now; there he stands, moping all the day long on that
everlasting one leg of his. He turns with disgust from the mouldy corn
before him, and the brackish water in his little trough. He mourns no
doubt his lost companions, literally snatched from him one by one, and
never seen again. But his days of mourning will be few for Mungo, our
black cook, told me yesterday that the word had at last gone forth, and
poor Pedro's fate was sealed. His attenuated body will be laid out upon
the captain's table next Sunday, and long before night will be buried
with all the usual ceremonies beneath that worthy individual's vest. Who
would believe that there could be any one so cruel as to long for the
decapitation of the luckless Pedro; yet the sailors pray every minute,
selfish fellows, that the miserable fowl may be brought to his end. They
say the captain will never point the ship for the land so long as he
has in anticipation a mess of fresh meat. This unhappy bird can alone
furnish it; and when he is once devoured, the captain will come to his
senses. I wish thee no harm, Pedro; but as thou art doomed, sooner or
later, to meet the fate of all thy race; and if putting a period to
thy existence is to be the signal for our deliverance, why--truth to
speak--I wish thy throat cut this very moment; for, oh! how I wish to
see the living earth again! The old ship herself longs to look out upon
the land from her hawse-holes once more, and Jack Lewis said right the
other day when the captain found fault with his steering.

'Why d'ye see, Captain Vangs,' says bold Jack, 'I'm as good a helmsman
as ever put hand to spoke; but none of us can steer the old lady now. We
can't keep her full and bye, sir; watch her ever so close, she will fall
off and then, sir, when I put the helm down so gently, and try like to
coax her to the work, she won't take it kindly, but will fall round off
again; and it's all because she knows the land is under the lee, sir,
and she won't go any more to windward.' Aye, and why should she, Jack?
didn't every one of her stout timbers grow on shore, and hasn't she
sensibilities; as well as we?

Poor old ship! Her very looks denote her desires! how deplorably she
appears! The paint on her sides, burnt up by the scorching sun, is
puffed out and cracked. See the weeds she trails along with her, and
what an unsightly bunch of those horrid barnacles has formed about her
stern-piece; and every time she rises on a sea, she shows her copper
torn away, or hanging in jagged strips.

Poor old ship! I say again: for six months she has been rolling and
pitching about, never for one moment at rest. But courage, old lass, I
hope to see thee soon within a biscuit's toss of the merry land, riding
snugly at anchor in some green cove, and sheltered from the boisterous
winds.

        . . . . . .

'Hurra, my lads! It's a settled thing; next week we shape our course to
the Marquesas!' The Marquesas! What strange visions of outlandish things
does the very name spirit up! Naked houris--cannibal banquets--groves
of cocoanut--coral reefs--tattooed chiefs--and bamboo temples; sunny
valleys planted with bread-fruit-trees--carved canoes dancing on
the flashing blue waters--savage woodlands guarded by horrible
idols--HEATHENISH RITES AND HUMAN SACRIFICES.

Such were the strangely jumbled anticipations that haunted me during our
passage from the cruising ground. I felt an irresistible curiosity to
see those islands which the olden voyagers had so glowingly described.

The group for which we were now steering (although among the earliest of
European discoveries in the South Seas, having been first visited in
the year 1595) still continues to be tenanted by beings as strange
and barbarous as ever. The missionaries sent on a heavenly errand, had
sailed by their lovely shores, and had abandoned them to their idols of
wood and stone. How interesting the circumstances under which they were
discovered! In the watery path of Mendanna, cruising in quest of some
region of gold, these isles had sprung up like a scene of enchantment,
and for a moment the Spaniard believed his bright dream was realized.

In honour of the Marquess de Mendoza, then viceroy of Peru--under whose
auspices the navigator sailed--he bestowed upon them the name which
denoted the rank of his patron, and gave to the world on his return
a vague and magnificent account of their beauty. But these islands,
undisturbed for years, relapsed into their previous obscurity; and it is
only recently that anything has been known concerning them. Once in the
course of a half century, to be sure, some adventurous rover would break
in upon their peaceful repose, and astonished at the unusual scene,
would be almost tempted to claim the merit of a new discovery.

Of this interesting group, but little account has ever been given, if
we except the slight mention made of them in the sketches of South-Sea
voyages. Cook, in his repeated circumnavigations of the globe, barely
touched at their shores; and all that we know about them is from a few
general narratives.

Among these, there are two that claim particular notice. Porter's
'Journal of the Cruise of the U.S. frigate Essex, in the Pacific,
during the late War', is said to contain some interesting particulars
concerning the islanders. This is a work, however, which I have never
happened to meet with; and Stewart, the chaplain of the American sloop
of war Vincennes, has likewise devoted a portion of his book, entitled
'A Visit to the South Seas', to the same subject.

Within the last few, years American and English vessels engaged in the
extensive whale fisheries of the Pacific have occasionally, when short
of provisions, put into the commodious harbour which there is in one of
the islands; but a fear of the natives, founded on the recollection of
the dreadful fate which many white men have received at their hands, has
deterred their crews from intermixing with the population sufficiently
to gain any insight into their peculiar customs and manners.

The Protestant Missions appear to have despaired of reclaiming these
islands from heathenism. The usage they have in every case received from
the natives has been such as to intimidate the boldest of their number.
Ellis, in his 'Polynesian Researches', gives some interesting accounts
of the abortive attempts made by the ''Tahiti Mission'' to establish a
branch Mission upon certain islands of the group. A short time before
my visit to the Marquesas, a somewhat amusing incident took place in
connection with these efforts, which I cannot avoid relating.

An intrepid missionary, undaunted by the ill-success that had attended
all previous endeavours to conciliate the savages, and believing much
in the efficacy of female influence, introduced among them his young and
beautiful wife, the first white woman who had ever visited their shores.
The islanders at first gazed in mute admiration at so unusual a prodigy,
and seemed inclined to regard it as some new divinity. But after a short
time, becoming familiar with its charming aspect, and jealous of the
folds which encircled its form, they sought to pierce the sacred veil
of calico in which it was enshrined, and in the gratification of their
curiosity so far overstepped the limits of good breeding, as deeply
to offend the lady's sense of decorum. Her sex once ascertained, their
idolatry was changed into contempt and there was no end to the contumely
showered upon her by the savages, who were exasperated at the deception
which they conceived had been practised upon them. To the horror of
her affectionate spouse, she was stripped of her garments, and given to
understand that she could no longer carry on her deceits with impunity.
The gentle dame was not sufficiently evangelical to endure this, and,
fearful of further improprieties, she forced her husband to relinquish
his undertaking, and together they returned to Tahiti.

Not thus shy of exhibiting her charms was the Island Queen herself, the
beauteous wife of Movianna, the king of Nukuheva. Between two and three
years after the adventures recorded in this volume, I chanced, while
aboard of a man-of-war to touch at these islands. The French had
then held possession of the Marquesas some time, and already prided
themselves upon the beneficial effects of their jurisdiction, as
discernible in the deportment of the natives. To be sure, in one of
their efforts at reform they had slaughtered about a hundred and fifty
of them at Whitihoo--but let that pass. At the time I mention, the
French squadron was rendezvousing in the bay of Nukuheva, and during an
interview between one of their captains and our worthy Commodore, it
was suggested by the former, that we, as the flag-ship of the American
squadron, should receive, in state, a visit from the royal pair. The
French officer likewise represented, with evident satisfaction, that
under their tuition the king and queen had imbibed proper notions of
their elevated station, and on all ceremonious occasions conducted
themselves with suitable dignity. Accordingly, preparations were made to
give their majesties a reception on board in a style corresponding with
their rank.

One bright afternoon, a gig, gaily bedizened with streamers, was
observed to shove off from the side of one of the French frigates, and
pull directly for our gangway. In the stern sheets reclined Mowanna and
his consort. As they approached, we paid them all the honours due to
royalty;--manning our yards, firing a salute, and making a prodigious
hubbub.

They ascended the accommodation ladder, were greeted by the Commodore,
hat in hand, and passing along the quarter-deck, the marine guard
presented arms, while the band struck up 'The King of the Cannibal
Islands'. So far all went well. The French officers grimaced and smiled
in exceedingly high spirits, wonderfully pleased with the discreet
manner in which these distinguished personages behaved themselves.

Their appearance was certainly calculated to produce an effect. His
majesty was arrayed in a magnificent military uniform, stiff with gold
lace and embroidery, while his shaven crown was concealed by a huge
chapeau bras, waving with ostrich plumes. There was one slight blemish,
however, in his appearance. A broad patch of tattooing stretched
completely across his face, in a line with his eyes, making him look as
if he wore a huge pair of goggles; and royalty in goggles suggested some
ludicrous ideas. But it was in the adornment of the fair person of his
dark-complexioned spouse that the tailors of the fleet had evinced the
gaiety of their national taste. She was habited in a gaudy tissue of
scarlet cloth, trimmed with yellow silk, which, descending a little
below the knees, exposed to view her bare legs, embellished with spiral
tattooing, and somewhat resembling two miniature Trajan's columns. Upon
her head was a fanciful turban of purple velvet, figured with silver
sprigs, and surmounted by a tuft of variegated feathers.

The ship's company, crowding into the gangway to view the sight, soon
arrested her majesty's attention. She singled out from their number an
old salt, whose bare arms and feet, and exposed breast, were covered
with as many inscriptions in India ink as the lid of an Egyptian
sarcophagus. Notwithstanding all the sly hints and remonstrances of the
French officers, she immediately approached the man, and pulling further
open the bosom of his duck frock, and rolling up the leg of his wide
trousers, she gazed with admiration at the bright blue and vermilion
pricking thus disclosed to view. She hung over the fellow, caressing
him, and expressing her delight in a variety of wild exclamations and
gestures. The embarrassment of the polite Gauls at such an unlooked-for
occurrence may be easily imagined, but picture their consternation, when
all at once the royal lady, eager to display the hieroglyphics on her
own sweet form, bent forward for a moment, and turning sharply round,
threw up the skirt of her mantle and revealed a sight from which the
aghast Frenchmen retreated precipitately, and tumbling into their boats,
fled the scene of so shocking a catastrophe.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: We meet our narrator Tommo, an American sailor who has been at sea for six months. He describes his vessel and his bleak longing for solid land. On the ship there is one poor rooster left in the hen house, the hens having been killed for food earlier in the voyage. Tommo declares that, as long as the rooster is alive, Captain Vangs may hope for the taste of fresh meat, and will be less likely to take the ship into shore. The ship's paint is peeling and its residents are bedraggled, bored of life and bored of eating hard biscuits. Captain Vangs announces to the crew that they will be heading toward the Marquesa Islands, home to peoples who, despite their exposure to Europeans since 1595, remain "strange and barbarous as ever" , and are said to be cannibals. Although Protestant missionaries have tried to convert the Marquesan natives, they have had little luck. To illustrate this point, Tommo tells the story of a missionary's beautiful wife who was at first revered by the natives. Once they found out she was a woman, however, they felt cheated and made this clear. Fearful of how she would be treated, she made her husband leave the islands at once. On the other hand, Tommo says, the women of the island were brash, pointing to the time the queen of Nukuheva, a Marquesan island, approached a tattooed French sailor in admiration, and wanted to show him her own ink, lifting up her skirts without any semblance of European modesty.