Chapter: But surely, my dear sir,' said little Perker, as he stood in Mr.
Pickwick's apartment on the morning after the trial, 'surely you don't
really mean--really and seriously now, and irritation apart--that you
won't pay these costs and damages?'

'Not one halfpenny,' said Mr. Pickwick firmly; 'not one halfpenny.'

'Hooroar for the principle, as the money-lender said ven he vouldn't
renew the bill,' observed Mr. Weller, who was clearing away the
breakfast-things.

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'have the goodness to step downstairs.'

'Cert'nly, sir,' replied Mr. Weller; and acting on Mr. Pickwick's gentle
hint, Sam retired.

'No, Perker,' said Mr. Pickwick, with great seriousness of manner, 'my
friends here have endeavoured to dissuade me from this determination,
but without avail. I shall employ myself as usual, until the opposite
party have the power of issuing a legal process of execution against me;
and if they are vile enough to avail themselves of it, and to arrest my
person, I shall yield myself up with perfect cheerfulness and content of
heart. When can they do this?'

'They can issue execution, my dear Sir, for the amount of the damages
and taxed costs, next term,' replied Perker, 'just two months hence, my
dear sir.'

'Very good,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Until that time, my dear fellow, let me
hear no more of the matter. And now,' continued Mr. Pickwick, looking
round on his friends with a good-humoured smile, and a sparkle in the
eye which no spectacles could dim or conceal, 'the only question is,
Where shall we go next?'

Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were too much affected by their friend's
heroism to offer any reply. Mr. Winkle had not yet sufficiently
recovered the recollection of his evidence at the trial, to make any
observation on any subject, so Mr. Pickwick paused in vain.

'Well,' said that gentleman, 'if you leave me to suggest our
destination, I say Bath. I think none of us have ever been there.'

Nobody had; and as the proposition was warmly seconded by Perker, who
considered it extremely probable that if Mr. Pickwick saw a little
change and gaiety he would be inclined to think better of his
determination, and worse of a debtor's prison, it was carried
unanimously; and Sam was at once despatched to the White Horse Cellar,
to take five places by the half-past seven o'clock coach, next morning.

There were just two places to be had inside, and just three to be had
out; so Sam Weller booked for them all, and having exchanged a few
compliments with the booking-office clerk on the subject of a pewter
half-crown which was tendered him as a portion of his 'change,' walked
back to the George and Vulture, where he was pretty busily employed
until bed-time in reducing clothes and linen into the smallest possible
compass, and exerting his mechanical genius in constructing a variety of
ingenious devices for keeping the lids on boxes which had neither locks
nor hinges.

The next was a very unpropitious morning for a journey--muggy, damp, and
drizzly. The horses in the stages that were going out, and had come
through the city, were smoking so, that the outside passengers were
invisible. The newspaper-sellers looked moist, and smelled mouldy; the
wet ran off the hats of the orange-vendors as they thrust their heads
into the coach windows, and diluted the insides in a refreshing manner.
The Jews with the fifty-bladed penknives shut them up in despair; the
men with the pocket-books made pocket-books of them. Watch-guards and
toasting-forks were alike at a discount, and pencil-cases and sponges
were a drug in the market.

Leaving Sam Weller to rescue the luggage from the seven or eight porters
who flung themselves savagely upon it, the moment the coach stopped, and
finding that they were about twenty minutes too early, Mr. Pickwick and
his friends went for shelter into the travellers' room--the last
resource of human dejection.

The travellers' room at the White Horse Cellar is of course
uncomfortable; it would be no travellers' room if it were not. It is the
right-hand parlour, into which an aspiring kitchen fireplace appears to
have walked, accompanied by a rebellious poker, tongs, and shovel. It is
divided into boxes, for the solitary confinement of travellers, and is
furnished with a clock, a looking-glass, and a live waiter, which latter
article is kept in a small kennel for washing glasses, in a corner of
the apartment.

One of these boxes was occupied, on this particular occasion, by a
stern-eyed man of about five-and-forty, who had a bald and glossy
forehead, with a good deal of black hair at the sides and back of his
head, and large black whiskers. He was buttoned up to the chin in a
brown coat; and had a large sealskin travelling-cap, and a greatcoat and
cloak, lying on the seat beside him. He looked up from his breakfast as
Mr. Pickwick entered, with a fierce and peremptory air, which was very
dignified; and, having scrutinised that gentleman and his companions to
his entire satisfaction, hummed a tune, in a manner which seemed to say
that he rather suspected somebody wanted to take advantage of him, but
it wouldn't do.

'Waiter,' said the gentleman with the whiskers.

'Sir?' replied a man with a dirty complexion, and a towel of the same,
emerging from the kennel before mentioned.

'Some more toast.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Buttered toast, mind,' said the gentleman fiercely.

'Directly, sir,' replied the waiter.

The gentleman with the whiskers hummed a tune in the same manner as
before, and pending the arrival of the toast, advanced to the front of
the fire, and, taking his coat tails under his arms, looked at his boots
and ruminated.

'I wonder whereabouts in Bath this coach puts up,' said Mr. Pickwick,
mildly addressing Mr. Winkle.

'Hum--eh--what's that?' said the strange man.

'I made an observation to my friend, sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick, always
ready to enter into conversation. 'I wondered at what house the Bath
coach put up. Perhaps you can inform me.'

Are you going to Bath?' said the strange man.

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

'And those other gentlemen?'

'They are going also,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Not inside--I'll be damned if you're going inside,' said the strange
man.

'Not all of us,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'No, not all of you,' said the strange man emphatically. 'I've taken two
places. If they try to squeeze six people into an infernal box that only
holds four, I'll take a post-chaise and bring an action. I've paid my
fare. It won't do; I told the clerk when I took my places that it
wouldn't do. I know these things have been done. I know they are done
every day; but I never was done, and I never will be. Those who know me
best, best know it; crush me!' Here the fierce gentleman rang the bell
with great violence, and told the waiter he'd better bring the toast in
five seconds, or he'd know the reason why.

'My good sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'you will allow me to observe that
this is a very unnecessary display of excitement. I have only taken
places inside for two.'

'I am glad to hear it,' said the fierce man. 'I withdraw my expressions.
I tender an apology. There's my card. Give me your acquaintance.'

'With great pleasure, Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'We are to be fellow-
travellers, and I hope we shall find each other's society mutually
agreeable.'

'I hope we shall,' said the fierce gentleman. 'I know we shall. I like
your looks; they please me. Gentlemen, your hands and names. Know me.'

Of course, an interchange of friendly salutations followed this gracious
speech; and the fierce gentleman immediately proceeded to inform the
friends, in the same short, abrupt, jerking sentences, that his name was
Dowler; that he was going to Bath on pleasure; that he was formerly in
the army; that he had now set up in business as a gentleman; that he
lived upon the profits; and that the individual for whom the second
place was taken, was a personage no less illustrious than Mrs. Dowler,
his lady wife.

'She's a fine woman,' said Mr. Dowler. 'I am proud of her. I have
reason.'

'I hope I shall have the pleasure of judging,' said Mr. Pickwick, with a
smile.

'You shall,' replied Dowler. 'She shall know you. She shall esteem you.
I courted her under singular circumstances. I won her through a rash
vow. Thus. I saw her; I loved her; I proposed; she refused me.--"You
love another?"--"Spare my blushes."--"I know him."--"You do."--"Very
good; if he remains here, I'll skin him."'

'Lord bless me!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick involuntarily.

'Did you skin the gentleman, Sir?' inquired Mr. Winkle, with a very pale
face.

'I wrote him a note, I said it was a painful thing. And so it was.'

'Certainly,' interposed Mr. Winkle.

'I said I had pledged my word as a gentleman to skin him. My character
was at stake. I had no alternative. As an officer in His Majesty's
service, I was bound to skin him. I regretted the necessity, but it must
be done. He was open to conviction. He saw that the rules of the service
were imperative. He fled. I married her. Here's the coach. That's her
head.'

As Mr. Dowler concluded, he pointed to a stage which had just driven up,
from the open window of which a rather pretty face in a bright blue
bonnet was looking among the crowd on the pavement, most probably for
the rash man himself. Mr. Dowler paid his bill, and hurried out with his
travelling cap, coat, and cloak; and Mr. Pickwick and his friends
followed to secure their places.

Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass had seated themselves at the back part of
the coach; Mr. Winkle had got inside; and Mr. Pickwick was preparing to
follow him, when Sam Weller came up to his master, and whispering in his
ear, begged to speak to him, with an air of the deepest mystery.

'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'what's the matter now?'

'Here's rayther a rum go, sir,' replied Sam.

'What?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'This here, Sir,' rejoined Sam. 'I'm wery much afeerd, sir, that the
properiator o' this here coach is a playin' some imperence vith us.'

'How is that, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick; 'aren't the names down on the
way-bill?'

'The names is not only down on the vay-bill, Sir,' replied Sam, 'but
they've painted vun on 'em up, on the door o' the coach.' As Sam spoke,
he pointed to that part of the coach door on which the proprietor's name
usually appears; and there, sure enough, in gilt letters of a goodly
size, was the magic name of _Pickwick_!

'Dear me,' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, quite staggered by the coincidence;
'what a very extraordinary thing!'

'Yes, but that ain't all,' said Sam, again directing his master's
attention to the coach door; 'not content vith writin' up "Pick-wick,"
they puts "Moses" afore it, vich I call addin' insult to injury, as the
parrot said ven they not only took him from his native land, but made
him talk the English langwidge arterwards.'

'It's odd enough, certainly, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but if we stand
talking here, we shall lose our places.'

'Wot, ain't nothin' to be done in consequence, sir?' exclaimed Sam,
perfectly aghast at the coolness with which Mr. Pickwick prepared to
ensconce himself inside.

'Done!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'What should be done?'

Ain't nobody to be whopped for takin' this here liberty, sir?' said Mr.
Weller, who had expected that at least he would have been commissioned
to challenge the guard and the coachman to a pugilistic encounter on the
spot.

'Certainly not,' replied Mr. Pickwick eagerly; 'not on any account. Jump
up to your seat directly.'

'I am wery much afeered,' muttered Sam to himself, as he turned away,
'that somethin' queer's come over the governor, or he'd never ha' stood
this so quiet. I hope that 'ere trial hasn't broke his spirit, but it
looks bad, wery bad.' Mr. Weller shook his head gravely; and it is
worthy of remark, as an illustration of the manner in which he took this
circumstance to heart, that he did not speak another word until the
coach reached the Kensington turnpike. Which was so long a time for him
to remain taciturn, that the fact may be considered wholly
unprecedented.

Nothing worthy of special mention occurred during the journey. Mr.
Dowler related a variety of anecdotes, all illustrative of his own
personal prowess and desperation, and appealed to Mrs. Dowler in
corroboration thereof; when Mrs. Dowler invariably brought in, in the
form of an appendix, some remarkable fact or circumstance which Mr.
Dowler had forgotten, or had perhaps through modesty, omitted; for the
addenda in every instance went to show that Mr. Dowler was even a more
wonderful fellow than he made himself out to be. Mr. Pickwick and Mr.
Winkle listened with great admiration, and at intervals conversed with
Mrs. Dowler, who was a very agreeable and fascinating person. So, what
between Mr. Dowler's stories, and Mrs. Dowler's charms, and Mr.
Pickwick's good-humour, and Mr. Winkle's good listening, the insides
contrived to be very companionable all the way.

The outsides did as outsides always do. They were very cheerful and
talkative at the beginning of every stage, and very dismal and sleepy in
the middle, and very bright and wakeful again towards the end. There was
one young gentleman in an India-rubber cloak, who smoked cigars all day;
and there was another young gentleman in a parody upon a greatcoat, who
lighted a good many, and feeling obviously unsettled after the second
whiff, threw them away when he thought nobody was looking at him. There
was a third young man on the box who wished to be learned in cattle; and
an old one behind, who was familiar with farming. There was a constant
succession of Christian names in smock-frocks and white coats, who were
invited to have a 'lift' by the guard, and who knew every horse and
hostler on the road and off it; and there was a dinner which would have
been cheap at half-a-crown a mouth, if any moderate number of mouths
could have eaten it in the time. And at seven o'clock P.M. Mr. Pickwick
and his friends, and Mr. Dowler and his wife, respectively retired to
their private sitting-rooms at the White Hart Hotel, opposite the Great
Pump Room, Bath, where the waiters, from their costume, might be
mistaken for Westminster boys, only they destroy the illusion by
behaving themselves much better.

Breakfast had scarcely been cleared away on the succeeding morning, when
a waiter brought in Mr. Dowler's card, with a request to be allowed
permission to introduce a friend. Mr. Dowler at once followed up the
delivery of the card, by bringing himself and the friend also.

The friend was a charming young man of not much more than fifty, dressed
in a very bright blue coat with resplendent buttons, black trousers, and
the thinnest possible pair of highly-polished boots. A gold eye-glass
was suspended from his neck by a short, broad, black ribbon; a gold
snuff-box was lightly clasped in his left hand; gold rings innumerable
glittered on his fingers; and a large diamond pin set in gold glistened
in his shirt frill. He had a gold watch, and a gold curb chain with
large gold seals; and he carried a pliant ebony cane with a gold top.
His linen was of the very whitest, finest, and stiffest; his wig of the
glossiest, blackest, and curliest. His snuff was princes' mixture; his
scent _bouquet du roi_. His features were contracted into a perpetual
smile; and his teeth were in such perfect order that it was difficult at
a small distance to tell the real from the false.

'Mr. Pickwick,' said Mr. Dowler; 'my friend, Angelo Cyrus Bantam,
Esquire, M.C.; Bantam; Mr. Pickwick. Know each other.'

'Welcome to Ba--ath, Sir. This is indeed an acquisition. Most welcome to
Ba--ath, sir. It is long--very long, Mr. Pickwick, since you drank the
waters. It appears an age, Mr. Pickwick. Re-markable!'

Such were the expressions with which Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire, M.C.,
took Mr. Pickwick's hand; retaining it in his, meantime, and shrugging
up his shoulders with a constant succession of bows, as if he really
could not make up his mind to the trial of letting it go again.

'It is a very long time since I drank the waters, certainly,' replied
Mr. Pickwick; 'for, to the best of my knowledge, I was never here
before.'

'Never in Ba--ath, Mr. Pickwick!' exclaimed the Grand Master, letting
the hand fall in astonishment. 'Never in Ba--ath! He! he! Mr. Pickwick,
you are a wag. Not bad, not bad. Good, good. He! he! he! Re-markable!'

'To my shame, I must say that I am perfectly serious,' rejoined Mr.
Pickwick. 'I really never was here before.'

'Oh, I see,' exclaimed the Grand Master, looking extremely pleased;
'yes, yes--good, good--better and better. You are the gentleman of whom
we have heard. Yes; we know you, Mr. Pickwick; we know you.'

'The reports of the trial in those confounded papers,' thought Mr.
Pickwick. 'They have heard all about me.'

You are the gentleman residing on Clapham Green,' resumed Bantam, 'who
lost the use of his limbs from imprudently taking cold after port wine;
who could not be moved in consequence of acute suffering, and who had
the water from the king's bath bottled at one hundred and three degrees,
and sent by wagon to his bedroom in town, where he bathed, sneezed, and
the same day recovered. Very remarkable!'

Mr. Pickwick acknowledged the compliment which the supposition implied,
but had the self-denial to repudiate it, notwithstanding; and taking
advantage of a moment's silence on the part of the M.C., begged to
introduce his friends, Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass. An
introduction which overwhelmed the M.C. with delight and honour.

'Bantam,' said Mr. Dowler, 'Mr. Pickwick and his friends are strangers.
They must put their names down. Where's the book?'

'The register of the distinguished visitors in Ba--ath will be at the
Pump Room this morning at two o'clock,' replied the M.C. 'Will you guide
our friends to that splendid building, and enable me to procure their
autographs?'

'I will,' rejoined Dowler. 'This is a long call. It's time to go. I
shall be here again in an hour. Come.'

'This is a ball-night,' said the M.C., again taking Mr. Pickwick's hand,
as he rose to go. 'The ball-nights in Ba--ath are moments snatched from
paradise; rendered bewitching by music, beauty, elegance, fashion,
etiquette, and--and--above all, by the absence of tradespeople, who are
quite inconsistent with paradise, and who have an amalgamation of
themselves at the Guildhall every fortnight, which is, to say the least,
remarkable. Good-bye, good-bye!' and protesting all the way downstairs
that he was most satisfied, and most delighted, and most overpowered,
and most flattered, Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire, M.C., stepped into a
very elegant chariot that waited at the door, and rattled off.

At the appointed hour, Mr. Pickwick and his friends, escorted by Dowler,
repaired to the Assembly Rooms, and wrote their names down in the book--
an instance of condescension at which Angelo Bantam was even more
overpowered than before. Tickets of admission to that evening's assembly
were to have been prepared for the whole party, but as they were not
ready, Mr. Pickwick undertook, despite all the protestations to the
contrary of Angelo Bantam, to send Sam for them at four o'clock in the
afternoon, to the M.C.'s house in Queen Square. Having taken a short
walk through the city, and arrived at the unanimous conclusion that Park
Street was very much like the perpendicular streets a man sees in a
dream, which he cannot get up for the life of him, they returned to the
White Hart, and despatched Sam on the errand to which his master had
pledged him.

Sam Weller put on his hat in a very easy and graceful manner, and,
thrusting his hands in his waistcoat pockets, walked with great
deliberation to Queen Square, whistling as he went along, several of the
most popular airs of the day, as arranged with entirely new movements
for that noble instrument the organ, either mouth or barrel. Arriving at
the number in Queen Square to which he had been directed, he left off
whistling and gave a cheerful knock, which was instantaneously answered
by a powdered-headed footman in gorgeous livery, and of symmetrical
stature.

'Is this here Mr. Bantam's, old feller?' inquired Sam Weller, nothing
abashed by the blaze of splendour which burst upon his sight in the
person of the powdered-headed footman with the gorgeous livery.

'Why, young man?' was the haughty inquiry of the powdered-headed
footman.

''Cos if it is, jist you step in to him with that 'ere card, and say Mr.
Veller's a-waitin', will you?' said Sam. And saying it, he very coolly
walked into the hall, and sat down.

The powdered-headed footman slammed the door very hard, and scowled very
grandly; but both the slam and the scowl were lost upon Sam, who was
regarding a mahogany umbrella-stand with every outward token of critical
approval.

Apparently his master's reception of the card had impressed the
powdered-headed footman in Sam's favour, for when he came back from
delivering it, he smiled in a friendly manner, and said that the answer
would be ready directly.

'Wery good,' said Sam. 'Tell the old gen'l'm'n not to put himself in a
perspiration. No hurry, six-foot. I've had my dinner.'

'You dine early, sir,' said the powdered-headed footman.

'I find I gets on better at supper when I does,' replied Sam.

'Have you been long in Bath, sir?' inquired the powdered-headed footman.
'I have not had the pleasure of hearing of you before.'

'I haven't created any wery surprisin' sensation here, as yet,' rejoined
Sam, 'for me and the other fash'nables only come last night.'

'Nice place, Sir,' said the powdered-headed footman.

'Seems so,' observed Sam.

'Pleasant society, sir,' remarked the powdered-headed footman. 'Very
agreeable servants, sir.'

'I should think they wos,' replied Sam. 'Affable, unaffected, say-
nothin'-to-nobody sorts o' fellers.'

'Oh, very much so, indeed, sir,' said the powdered-headed footman,
taking Sam's remarks as a high compliment. 'Very much so indeed. Do you
do anything in this way, Sir?' inquired the tall footman, producing a
small snuff-box with a fox's head on the top of it.

'Not without sneezing,' replied Sam.

'Why, it _is_ difficult, sir, I confess,' said the tall footman. 'It may
be done by degrees, Sir. Coffee is the best practice. I carried coffee,
Sir, for a long time. It looks very like rappee, sir.'

Here, a sharp peal at the bell reduced the powdered-headed footman to
the ignominious necessity of putting the fox's head in his pocket, and
hastening with a humble countenance to Mr. Bantam's 'study.' By the bye,
who ever knew a man who never read or wrote either, who hadn't got some
small back parlour which he _would _call a study!

'There is the answer, sir,' said the powdered-headed footman. 'I'm
afraid you'll find it inconveniently large.'

'Don't mention it,' said Sam, taking a letter with a small enclosure.
'It's just possible as exhausted natur' may manage to surwive it.'

'I hope we shall meet again, Sir,' said the powdered-headed footman,
rubbing his hands, and following Sam out to the door-step.

'You are wery obligin', sir,' replied Sam. 'Now, don't allow yourself to
be fatigued beyond your powers; there's a amiable bein'. Consider what
you owe to society, and don't let yourself be injured by too much work.
For the sake o' your feller-creeturs, keep yourself as quiet as you can;
only think what a loss you would be!' With these pathetic words, Sam
Weller departed.

'A very singular young man that,' said the powdered-headed footman,
looking after Mr. Weller, with a countenance which clearly showed he
could make nothing of him.

Sam said nothing at all. He winked, shook his head, smiled, winked
again; and, with an expression of countenance which seemed to denote
that he was greatly amused with something or other, walked merrily away.

At precisely twenty minutes before eight o'clock that night, Angelo
Cyrus Bantam, Esq., the Master of the Ceremonies, emerged from his
chariot at the door of the Assembly Rooms in the same wig, the same
teeth, the same eye-glass, the same watch and seals, the same rings, the
same shirt-pin, and the same cane. The only observable alterations in
his appearance were, that he wore a brighter blue coat, with a white
silk lining, black tights, black silk stockings, and pumps, and a white
waistcoat, and was, if possible, just a thought more scented.

Thus attired, the Master of the Ceremonies, in strict discharge of the
important duties of his all-important office, planted himself in the
room to receive the company.

Bath being full, the company, and the sixpences for tea, poured in, in
shoals. In the ballroom, the long card-room, the octagonal card-room,
the staircases, and the passages, the hum of many voices, and the sound
of many feet, were perfectly bewildering. Dresses rustled, feathers
waved, lights shone, and jewels sparkled. There was the music--not of
the quadrille band, for it had not yet commenced; but the music of soft,
tiny footsteps, with now and then a clear, merry laugh--low and gentle,
but very pleasant to hear in a female voice, whether in Bath or
elsewhere. Brilliant eyes, lighted up with pleasurable expectation,
gleamed from every side; and, look where you would, some exquisite form
glided gracefully through the throng, and was no sooner lost, than it
was replaced by another as dainty and bewitching.

In the tea-room, and hovering round the card-tables, were a vast number
of queer old ladies, and decrepit old gentlemen, discussing all the
small talk and scandal of the day, with a relish and gusto which
sufficiently bespoke the intensity of the pleasure they derived from the
occupation. Mingled with these groups, were three or four match-making
mammas, appearing to be wholly absorbed by the conversation in which
they were taking part, but failing not from time to time to cast an
anxious sidelong glance upon their daughters, who, remembering the
maternal injunction to make the best use of their youth, had already
commenced incipient flirtations in the mislaying scarves, putting on
gloves, setting down cups, and so forth; slight matters apparently, but
which may be turned to surprisingly good account by expert
practitioners.

Lounging near the doors, and in remote corners, were various knots of
silly young men, displaying various varieties of puppyism and stupidity;
amusing all sensible people near them with their folly and conceit; and
happily thinking themselves the objects of general admiration--a wise
and merciful dispensation which no good man will quarrel with.

And lastly, seated on some of the back benches, where they had already
taken up their positions for the evening, were divers unmarried ladies
past their grand climacteric, who, not dancing because there were no
partners for them, and not playing cards lest they should be set down as
irretrievably single, were in the favourable situation of being able to
abuse everybody without reflecting on themselves. In short, they could
abuse everybody, because everybody was there. It was a scene of gaiety,
glitter, and show; of richly-dressed people, handsome mirrors, chalked
floors, girandoles and wax-candles; and in all parts of the scene,
gliding from spot to spot in silent softness, bowing obsequiously to
this party, nodding familiarly to that, and smiling complacently on all,
was the sprucely-attired person of Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire, the
Master of the Ceremonies.

'Stop in the tea-room. Take your sixpenn'orth. Then lay on hot water,
and call it tea. Drink it,' said Mr. Dowler, in a loud voice, directing
Mr. Pickwick, who advanced at the head of the little party, with Mrs.
Dowler on his arm. Into the tea-room Mr. Pickwick turned; and catching
sight of him, Mr. Bantam corkscrewed his way through the crowd and
welcomed him with ecstasy.

'My dear Sir, I am highly honoured. Ba--ath is favoured. Mrs. Dowler,
you embellish the rooms. I congratulate you on your feathers. Re-
markable!'

'Anybody here?' inquired Dowler suspiciously.

'Anybody! The _elite _of Ba--ath. Mr. Pickwick, do you see the old lady
in the gauze turban?'

'The fat old lady?' inquired Mr. Pickwick innocently.

'Hush, my dear sir--nobody's fat or old in Ba--ath. That's the Dowager
Lady Snuphanuph.'

'Is it, indeed?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'No less a person, I assure you,' said the Master of the Ceremonies.
'Hush. Draw a little nearer, Mr. Pickwick. You see the splendidly-
dressed young man coming this way?'

'The one with the long hair, and the particularly small forehead?'
inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'The same. The richest young man in Ba--ath at this moment. Young Lord
Mutanhed.'

'You don't say so?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Yes. You'll hear his voice in a moment, Mr. Pickwick. He'll speak to
me. The other gentleman with him, in the red under-waistcoat and dark
moustache, is the Honourable Mr. Crushton, his bosom friend. How do you
do, my Lord?'

'Veway hot, Bantam,' said his Lordship.

'It _is_ very warm, my Lord,' replied the M.C.

'Confounded,' assented the Honourable Mr. Crushton.

'Have you seen his Lordship's mail-cart, Bantam?' inquired the
Honourable Mr. Crushton, after a short pause, during which young Lord
Mutanhed had been endeavouring to stare Mr. Pickwick out of countenance,
and Mr. Crushton had been reflecting what subject his Lordship could
talk about best.

'Dear me, no,' replied the M.C. 'A mail-cart! What an excellent idea.
Re-markable!'

'Gwacious heavens!' said his Lordship, 'I thought evewebody had seen the
new mail-cart; it's the neatest, pwettiest, gwacefullest thing that ever
wan upon wheels. Painted wed, with a cweam piebald.'

'With a real box for the letters, and all complete,' said the Honourable
Mr. Crushton.

'And a little seat in fwont, with an iwon wail, for the dwiver,' added
his Lordship. 'I dwove it over to Bwistol the other morning, in a
cwimson coat, with two servants widing a quarter of a mile behind; and
confound me if the people didn't wush out of their cottages, and awest
my pwogwess, to know if I wasn't the post. Glorwious--glorwious!'

At this anecdote his Lordship laughed very heartily, as did the
listeners, of course. Then, drawing his arm through that of the
obsequious Mr. Crushton, Lord Mutanhed walked away.

'Delightful young man, his Lordship,' said the Master of the Ceremonies.

'So I should think,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick drily.

The dancing having commenced, the necessary introductions having been
made, and all preliminaries arranged, Angelo Bantam rejoined Mr.
Pickwick, and led him into the card-room.

Just at the very moment of their entrance, the Dowager Lady Snuphanuph
and two other ladies of an ancient and whist-like appearance, were
hovering over an unoccupied card-table; and they no sooner set eyes upon
Mr. Pickwick under the convoy of Angelo Bantam, than they exchanged
glances with each other, seeing that he was precisely the very person
they wanted, to make up the rubber.

'My dear Bantam,' said the Dowager Lady Snuphanuph coaxingly, 'find us
some nice creature to make up this table; there's a good soul.' Mr.
Pickwick happened to be looking another way at the moment, so her
Ladyship nodded her head towards him, and frowned expressively.

'My friend Mr. Pickwick, my Lady, will be most happy, I am sure,
remarkably so,' said the M.C., taking the hint. 'Mr. Pickwick, Lady
Snuphanuph--Mrs. Colonel Wugsby--Miss Bolo.'


Mr. Pickwick bowed to each of the ladies, and, finding escape
impossible, cut. Mr. Pickwick and Miss Bolo against Lady Snuphanuph and
Mrs. Colonel Wugsby.

As the trump card was turned up, at the commencement of the second deal,
two young ladies hurried into the room, and took their stations on
either side of Mrs. Colonel Wugsby's chair, where they waited patiently
until the hand was over.

'Now, Jane,' said Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, turning to one of the girls,
'what is it?'

I came to ask, ma, whether I might dance with the youngest Mr. Crawley,'
whispered the prettier and younger of the two.

'Good God, Jane, how can you think of such things?' replied the mamma
indignantly. 'Haven't you repeatedly heard that his father has eight
hundred a year, which dies with him? I am ashamed of you. Not on any
account.'

'Ma,' whispered the other, who was much older than her sister, and very
insipid and artificial, 'Lord Mutanhed has been introduced to me. I said
I thought I wasn't engaged, ma.'

'You're a sweet pet, my love,' replied Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, tapping her
daughter's cheek with her fan, 'and are always to be trusted. He's
immensely rich, my dear. Bless you!' With these words Mrs. Colonel
Wugsby kissed her eldest daughter most affectionately, and frowning in a
warning manner upon the other, sorted her cards.

Poor Mr. Pickwick! he had never played with three thorough-paced female
card-players before. They were so desperately sharp, that they quite
frightened him. If he played a wrong card, Miss Bolo looked a small
armoury of daggers; if he stopped to consider which was the right one,
Lady Snuphanuph would throw herself back in her chair, and smile with a
mingled glance of impatience and pity to Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, at which
Mrs. Colonel Wugsby would shrug up her shoulders, and cough, as much as
to say she wondered whether he ever would begin. Then, at the end of
every hand, Miss Bolo would inquire with a dismal countenance and
reproachful sigh, why Mr. Pickwick had not returned that diamond, or led
the club, or roughed the spade, or finessed the heart, or led through
the honour, or brought out the ace, or played up to the king, or some
such thing; and in reply to all these grave charges, Mr. Pickwick would
be wholly unable to plead any justification whatever, having by this
time forgotten all about the game. People came and looked on, too, which
made Mr. Pickwick nervous. Besides all this, there was a great deal of
distracting conversation near the table, between Angelo Bantam and the
two Misses Matinter, who, being single and singular, paid great court to
the Master of the Ceremonies, in the hope of getting a stray partner now
and then. All these things, combined with the noises and interruptions
of constant comings in and goings out, made Mr. Pickwick play rather
badly; the cards were against him, also; and when they left off at ten
minutes past eleven, Miss Bolo rose from the table considerably
agitated, and went straight home, in a flood of tears and a sedan-chair.

Being joined by his friends, who one and all protested that they had
scarcely ever spent a more pleasant evening, Mr. Pickwick accompanied
them to the White Hart, and having soothed his feelings with something
hot, went to bed, and to sleep, almost simultaneously.


As Mr. Pickwick contemplated a stay of at least two months in Bath, he
deemed it advisable to take private lodgings for himself and friends for
that period; and as a favourable opportunity offered for their securing,
on moderate terms, the upper portion of a house in the Royal Crescent,
which was larger than they required, Mr. and Mrs. Dowler offered to
relieve them of a bedroom and sitting-room. This proposition was at once
accepted, and in three days' time they were all located in their new
abode, when Mr. Pickwick began to drink the waters with the utmost
assiduity. Mr. Pickwick took them systematically. He drank a quarter of
a pint before breakfast, and then walked up a hill; and another quarter
of a pint after breakfast, and then walked down a hill; and, after every
fresh quarter of a pint, Mr. Pickwick declared, in the most solemn and
emphatic terms, that he felt a great deal better; whereat his friends
were very much delighted, though they had not been previously aware that
there was anything the matter with him.

The Great Pump Room is a spacious saloon, ornamented with Corinthian
pillars, and a music-gallery, and a Tompion clock, and a statue of Nash,
and a golden inscription, to which all the water-drinkers should attend,
for it appeals to them in the cause of a deserving charity. There is a
large bar with a marble vase, out of which the pumper gets the water;
and there are a number of yellow-looking tumblers, out of which the
company get it; and it is a most edifying and satisfactory sight to
behold the perseverance and gravity with which they swallow it. There
are baths near at hand, in which a part of the company wash themselves;
and a band plays afterwards, to congratulate the remainder on their
having done so. There is another pump room, into which infirm ladies and
gentlemen are wheeled, in such an astonishing variety of chairs and
chaises, that any adventurous individual who goes in with the regular
number of toes, is in imminent danger of coming out without them; and
there is a third, into which the quiet people go, for it is less noisy
than either. There is an immensity of promenading, on crutches and off,
with sticks and without, and a great deal of conversation, and
liveliness, and pleasantry.

Every morning, the regular water-drinkers, Mr. Pickwick among the
number, met each other in the pump room, took their quarter of a pint,
and walked constitutionally. At the afternoon's promenade, Lord
Mutanhed, and the Honourable Mr. Crushton, the Dowager Lady Snuphanuph,
Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, and all the great people, and all the morning
water-drinkers, met in grand assemblage. After this, they walked out, or
drove out, or were pushed out in bath-chairs, and met one another again.
After this, the gentlemen went to the reading-rooms, and met divisions
of the mass. After this, they went home. If it were theatre-night,
perhaps they met at the theatre; if it were assembly-night, they met at
the rooms; and if it were neither, they met the next day. A very
pleasant routine, with perhaps a slight tinge of sameness.

Mr. Pickwick was sitting up by himself, after a day spent in this
manner, making entries in his journal, his friends having retired to
bed, when he was roused by a gentle tap at the room door.

'Beg your pardon, Sir,' said Mrs. Craddock, the landlady, peeping in;
'but did you want anything more, sir?'

'Nothing more, ma'am,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'My young girl is gone to bed, Sir,' said Mrs. Craddock; 'and Mr. Dowler
is good enough to say that he'll sit up for Mrs. Dowler, as the party
isn't expected to be over till late; so I was thinking that if you
wanted nothing more, Mr. Pickwick, I would go to bed.'

'By all means, ma'am,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'Wish you good-night, Sir,' said Mrs. Craddock.

'Good-night, ma'am,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick.

Mrs. Craddock closed the door, and Mr. Pickwick resumed his writing.

In half an hour's time the entries were concluded. Mr. Pickwick
carefully rubbed the last page on the blotting-paper, shut up the book,
wiped his pen on the bottom of the inside of his coat tail, and opened
the drawer of the inkstand to put it carefully away. There were a couple
of sheets of writing-paper, pretty closely written over, in the inkstand
drawer, and they were folded so, that the title, which was in a good
round hand, was fully disclosed to him. Seeing from this, that it was no
private document; and as it seemed to relate to Bath, and was very
short: Mr. Pick-wick unfolded it, lighted his bedroom candle that it
might burn up well by the time he finished; and drawing his chair nearer
the fire, read as follows--


THE TRUE LEGEND OF PRINCE BLADUD

'Less than two hundred years ago, on one of the public baths in this
city, there appeared an inscription in honour of its mighty founder, the
renowned Prince Bladud. That inscription is now erased.

'For many hundred years before that time, there had been handed down,
from age to age, an old legend, that the illustrious prince being
afflicted with leprosy, on his return from reaping a rich harvest of
knowledge in Athens, shunned the court of his royal father, and
consorted moodily with husbandman and pigs. Among the herd (so said the
legend) was a pig of grave and solemn countenance, with whom the prince
had a fellow-feeling--for he too was wise--a pig of thoughtful and
reserved demeanour; an animal superior to his fellows, whose grunt was
terrible, and whose bite was sharp. The young prince sighed deeply as he
looked upon the countenance of the majestic swine; he thought of his
royal father, and his eyes were bedewed with tears.

'This sagacious pig was fond of bathing in rich, moist mud. Not in
summer, as common pigs do now, to cool themselves, and did even in those
distant ages (which is a proof that the light of civilisation had
already begun to dawn, though feebly), but in the cold, sharp days of
winter. His coat was ever so sleek, and his complexion so clear, that
the prince resolved to essay the purifying qualities of the same water
that his friend resorted to. He made the trial. Beneath that black mud,
bubbled the hot springs of Bath. He washed, and was cured. Hastening to
his father's court, he paid his best respects, and returning quickly
hither, founded this city and its famous baths.

'He sought the pig with all the ardour of their early friendship--but,
alas! the waters had been his death. He had imprudently taken a bath at
too high a temperature, and the natural philosopher was no more! He was
succeeded by Pliny, who also fell a victim to his thirst for knowledge.

'This was the legend. Listen to the true one.

'A great many centuries since, there flourished, in great state, the
famous and renowned Lud Hudibras, king of Britain. He was a mighty
monarch. The earth shook when he walked--he was so very stout. His
people basked in the light of his countenance--it was so red and
glowing. He was, indeed, every inch a king. And there were a good many
inches of him, too, for although he was not very tall, he was a
remarkable size round, and the inches that he wanted in height, he made
up in circumference. If any degenerate monarch of modern times could be
in any way compared with him, I should say the venerable King Cole would
be that illustrious potentate.

'This good king had a queen, who eighteen years before, had had a son,
who was called Bladud. He was sent to a preparatory seminary in his
father's dominions until he was ten years old, and was then despatched,
in charge of a trusty messenger, to a finishing school at Athens; and as
there was no extra charge for remaining during the holidays, and no
notice required previous to the removal of a pupil, there he remained
for eight long years, at the expiration of which time, the king his
father sent the lord chamberlain over, to settle the bill, and to bring
him home; which, the lord chamberlain doing, was received with shouts,
and pensioned immediately.

'When King Lud saw the prince his son, and found he had grown up such a
fine young man, he perceived what a grand thing it would be to have him
married without delay, so that his children might be the means of
perpetuating the glorious race of Lud, down to the very latest ages of
the world. With this view, he sent a special embassy, composed of great
noblemen who had nothing particular to do, and wanted lucrative
employment, to a neighbouring king, and demanded his fair daughter in
marriage for his son; stating at the same time that he was anxious to be
on the most affectionate terms with his brother and friend, but that if
they couldn't agree in arranging this marriage, he should be under the
unpleasant necessity of invading his kingdom and putting his eyes out.
To this, the other king (who was the weaker of the two) replied that he
was very much obliged to his friend and brother for all his goodness and
magnanimity, and that his daughter was quite ready to be married,
whenever Prince Bladud liked to come and fetch her.

'This answer no sooner reached Britain, than the whole nation was
transported with joy. Nothing was heard, on all sides, but the sounds of
feasting and revelry--except the chinking of money as it was paid in by
the people to the collector of the royal treasures, to defray the
expenses of the happy ceremony. It was upon this occasion that King Lud,
seated on the top of his throne in full council, rose, in the exuberance
of his feelings, and commanded the lord chief justice to order in the
richest wines and the court minstrels--an act of graciousness which has
been, through the ignorance of traditionary historians, attributed to
King Cole, in those celebrated lines in which his Majesty is represented
as


Calling for his pipe, and calling for his pot, And calling for his
fiddlers three.

Which is an obvious injustice to the memory of King Lud, and a dishonest
exaltation of the virtues of King Cole.

'But, in the midst of all this festivity and rejoicing, there was one
individual present, who tasted not when the sparkling wines were poured
forth, and who danced not, when the minstrels played. This was no other
than Prince Bladud himself, in honour of whose happiness a whole people
were, at that very moment, straining alike their throats and purse-
strings. The truth was, that the prince, forgetting the undoubted right
of the minister for foreign affairs to fall in love on his behalf, had,
contrary to every precedent of policy and diplomacy, already fallen in
love on his own account, and privately contracted himself unto the fair
daughter of a noble Athenian.

'Here we have a striking example of one of the manifold advantages of
civilisation and refinement. If the prince had lived in later days, he
might at once have married the object of his father's choice, and then
set himself seriously to work, to relieve himself of the burden which
rested heavily upon him. He might have endeavoured to break her heart by
a systematic course of insult and neglect; or, if the spirit of her sex,
and a proud consciousness of her many wrongs had upheld her under this
ill-treatment, he might have sought to take her life, and so get rid of
her effectually. But neither mode of relief suggested itself to Prince
Bladud; so he solicited a private audience, and told his father.

'It is an old prerogative of kings to govern everything but their
passions. King Lud flew into a frightful rage, tossed his crown up to
the ceiling, and caught it again--for in those days kings kept their
crowns on their heads, and not in the Tower--stamped the ground, rapped
his forehead, wondered why his own flesh and blood rebelled against him,
and, finally, calling in his guards, ordered the prince away to instant
Confinement in a lofty turret; a course of treatment which the kings of
old very generally pursued towards their sons, when their matrimonial
inclinations did not happen to point to the same quarter as their own.

'When Prince Bladud had been shut up in the lofty turret for the greater
part of a year, with no better prospect before his bodily eyes than a
stone wall, or before his mental vision than prolonged imprisonment, he
naturally began to ruminate on a plan of escape, which, after months of
preparation, he managed to accomplish; considerately leaving his dinner-
knife in the heart of his jailer, lest the poor fellow (who had a
family) should be considered privy to his flight, and punished
accordingly by the infuriated king.

'The monarch was frantic at the loss of his son. He knew not on whom to
vent his grief and wrath, until fortunately bethinking himself of the
lord chamberlain who had brought him home, he struck off his pension and
his head together.

'Meanwhile, the young prince, effectually disguised, wandered on foot
through his father's dominions, cheered and supported in all his
hardships by sweet thoughts of the Athenian maid, who was the innocent
cause of his weary trials. One day he stopped to rest in a country
village; and seeing that there were gay dances going forward on the
green, and gay faces passing to and fro, ventured to inquire of a
reveller who stood near him, the reason for this rejoicing.

'"Know you not, O stranger," was the reply, "of the recent proclamation
of our gracious king?"

'"Proclamation! No. What proclamation?" rejoined the prince--for he had
travelled along the by and little-frequented ways, and knew nothing of
what had passed upon the public roads, such as they were.

'"Why," replied the peasant, "the foreign lady that our prince wished to
wed, is married to a foreign noble of her own country, and the king
proclaims the fact, and a great public festival besides; for now, of
course, Prince Bladud will come back and marry the lady his father
chose, who they say is as beautiful as the noonday sun. Your health,
sir. God save the king!"

'The prince remained to hear no more. He fled from the spot, and plunged
into the thickest recesses of a neighbouring wood. On, on, he wandered,
night and day; beneath the blazing sun, and the cold pale moon; through
the dry heat of noon, and the damp cold of night; in the gray light of
morn, and the red glare of eve. So heedless was he of time or object,
that being bound for Athens, he wandered as far out of his way as Bath.

'There was no city where Bath stands, then. There was no vestige of
human habitation, or sign of man's resort, to bear the name; but there
was the same noble country, the same broad expanse of hill and dale, the
same beautiful channel stealing on, far away, the same lofty mountains
which, like the troubles of life, viewed at a distance, and partially
obscured by the bright mist of its morning, lose their ruggedness and
asperity, and seem all ease and softness. Moved by the gentle beauty of
the scene, the prince sank upon the green turf, and bathed his swollen
feet in his tears.

'"Oh!" said the unhappy Bladud, clasping his hands, and mournfully
raising his eyes towards the sky, "would that my wanderings might end
here! Would that these grateful tears with which I now mourn hope
misplaced, and love despised, might flow in peace for ever!"

'The wish was heard. It was in the time of the heathen deities, who used
occasionally to take people at their words, with a promptness, in some
cases, extremely awkward. The ground opened beneath the prince's feet;
he sank into the chasm; and instantaneously it closed upon his head for
ever, save where his hot tears welled up through the earth, and where
they have continued to gush forth ever since.

'It is observable that, to this day, large numbers of elderly ladies and
gentlemen who have been disappointed in procuring partners, and almost
as many young ones who are anxious to obtain them, repair annually to
Bath to drink the waters, from which they derive much strength and
comfort. This is most complimentary to the virtue of Prince Bladud's
tears, and strongly corroborative of the veracity of this legend.'

Mr. Pickwick yawned several times when he had arrived at the end of this
little manuscript, carefully refolded, and replaced it in the inkstand
drawer, and then, with a countenance expressive of the utmost weariness,
lighted his chamber candle, and went upstairs to bed.

He stopped at Mr. Dowler's door, according to custom, and knocked to say
good-night.

'Ah!' said Dowler, 'going to bed? I wish I was. Dismal night. Windy;
isn't it?'

'Very,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Good-night.'

'Good-night.'

Mr. Pickwick went to his bedchamber, and Mr. Dowler resumed his seat
before the fire, in fulfilment of his rash promise to sit up till his
wife came home.

There are few things more worrying than sitting up for somebody,
especially if that somebody be at a party. You cannot help thinking how
quickly the time passes with them, which drags so heavily with you; and
the more you think of this, the more your hopes of their speedy arrival
decline. Clocks tick so loud, too, when you are sitting up alone, and
you seem as if you had an under-garment of cobwebs on. First, something
tickles your right knee, and then the same sensation irritates your
left. You have no sooner changed your position, than it comes again in
the arms; when you have fidgeted your limbs into all sorts of queer
shapes, you have a sudden relapse in the nose, which you rub as if to
rub it off--as there is no doubt you would, if you could. Eyes, too, are
mere personal inconveniences; and the wick of one candle gets an inch
and a half long, while you are snuffing the other. These, and various
other little nervous annoyances, render sitting up for a length of time
after everybody else has gone to bed, anything but a cheerful amusement.

This was just Mr. Dowler's opinion, as he sat before the fire, and felt
honestly indignant with all the inhuman people at the party who were
keeping him up. He was not put into better humour either, by the
reflection that he had taken it into his head, early in the evening, to
think he had got an ache there, and so stopped at home. At length, after
several droppings asleep, and fallings forward towards the bars, and
catchings backward soon enough to prevent being branded in the face, Mr.
Dowler made up his mind that he would throw himself on the bed in the
back room and think--not sleep, of course.

'I'm a heavy sleeper,' said Mr. Dowler, as he flung himself on the bed.
'I must keep awake. I suppose I shall hear a knock here. Yes. I thought
so. I can hear the watchman. There he goes. Fainter now, though. A
little fainter. He's turning the corner. Ah!' When Mr. Dowler arrived at
this point, he turned the corner at which he had been long hesitating,
and fell fast asleep.

Just as the clock struck three, there was blown into the crescent a
sedan-chair with Mrs. Dowler inside, borne by one short, fat chairman,
and one long, thin one, who had had much ado to keep their bodies
perpendicular: to say nothing of the chair. But on that high ground, and
in the crescent, which the wind swept round and round as if it were
going to tear the paving stones up, its fury was tremendous. They were
very glad to set the chair down, and give a good round loud double-knock
at the street door.

They waited some time, but nobody came.

'Servants is in the arms o' Porpus, I think,' said the short chairman,
warming his hands at the attendant link-boy's torch.

'I wish he'd give 'em a squeeze and wake 'em,' observed the long one.

'Knock again, will you, if you please,' cried Mrs. Dowler from the
chair. 'Knock two or three times, if you please.'

The short man was quite willing to get the job over, as soon as
possible; so he stood on the step, and gave four or five most startling
double-knocks, of eight or ten knocks a-piece, while the long man went
into the road, and looked up at the windows for a light.

Nobody came. It was all as silent and dark as ever.

'Dear me!' said Mrs. Dowler. 'You must knock again, if you please.'

There ain't a bell, is there, ma'am?' said the short chairman.

'Yes, there is,' interposed the link-boy, 'I've been a-ringing at it
ever so long.'

'It's only a handle,' said Mrs. Dowler, 'the wire's broken.'

'I wish the servants' heads wos,' growled the long man.

'I must trouble you to knock again, if you please,' said Mrs. Dowler,
with the utmost politeness.

The short man did knock again several times, without producing the
smallest effect. The tall man, growing very impatient, then relieved
him, and kept on perpetually knocking double-knocks of two loud knocks
each, like an insane postman.

At length Mr. Winkle began to dream that he was at a club, and that the
members being very refractory, the chairman was obliged to hammer the
table a good deal to preserve order; then he had a confused notion of an
auction room where there were no bidders, and the auctioneer was buying
everything in; and ultimately he began to think it just within the
bounds of possibility that somebody might be knocking at the street
door. To make quite certain, however, he remained quiet in bed for ten
minutes or so, and listened; and when he had counted two or three-and-
thirty knocks, he felt quite satisfied, and gave himself a great deal of
credit for being so wakeful.

'Rap rap-rap rap-rap rap-ra, ra, ra, ra, ra, rap!' went the knocker.

Mr. Winkle jumped out of bed, wondering very much what could possibly be
the matter, and hastily putting on his stockings and slippers, folded
his dressing-gown round him, lighted a flat candle from the rush-light
that was burning in the fireplace, and hurried downstairs.

'Here's somebody comin' at last, ma'am,' said the short chairman.

'I wish I wos behind him vith a bradawl,' muttered the long one.

'Who's there?' cried Mr. Winkle, undoing the chain.

'Don't stop to ask questions, cast-iron head,' replied the long man,
with great disgust, taking it for granted that the inquirer was a
footman; 'but open the door.'

'Come, look sharp, timber eyelids,' added the other encouragingly.

Mr. Winkle, being half asleep, obeyed the command mechanically, opened
the door a little, and peeped out. The first thing he saw, was the red
glare of the link-boy's torch. Startled by the sudden fear that the
house might be on fire, he hastily threw the door wide open, and holding
the candle above his head, stared eagerly before him, not quite certain
whether what he saw was a sedan-chair or a fire-engine. At this instant
there came a violent gust of wind; the light was blown out; Mr. Winkle
felt himself irresistibly impelled on to the steps; and the door blew
to, with a loud crash.

'Well, young man, now you _have _done it!' said the short chairman.

Mr. Winkle, catching sight of a lady's face at the window of the sedan,
turned hastily round, plied the knocker with all his might and main, and
called frantically upon the chairman to take the chair away again.


'Take it away, take it away,' cried Mr. Winkle. 'Here's somebody coming
out of another house; put me into the chair. Hide me! Do something with
me!'

All this time he was shivering with cold; and every time he raised his
hand to the knocker, the wind took the dressing-gown in a most
unpleasant manner.

'The people are coming down the crescent now. There are ladies with 'em;
cover me up with something. Stand before me!' roared Mr. Winkle. But the
chairmen were too much exhausted with laughing to afford him the
slightest assistance, and the ladies were every moment approaching
nearer and nearer.

Mr. Winkle gave a last hopeless knock; the ladies were only a few doors
off. He threw away the extinguished candle, which, all this time he had
held above his head, and fairly bolted into the sedan-chair where Mrs.
Dowler was.

Now, Mrs. Craddock had heard the knocking and the voices at last; and,
only waiting to put something smarter on her head than her nightcap, ran
down into the front drawing-room to make sure that it was the right
party. Throwing up the window-sash as Mr. Winkle was rushing into the
chair, she no sooner caught sight of what was going forward below, than
she raised a vehement and dismal shriek, and implored Mr. Dowler to get
up directly, for his wife was running away with another gentleman.

Upon this, Mr. Dowler bounced off the bed as abruptly as an India-rubber
ball, and rushing into the front room, arrived at one window just as Mr.
Pickwick threw up the other, when the first object that met the gaze of
both, was Mr. Winkle bolting into the sedan-chair.

'Watchman,' shouted Dowler furiously, 'stop him--hold him--keep him
tight--shut him in, till I come down. I'll cut his throat--give me a
knife--from ear to ear, Mrs. Craddock--I will!' And breaking from the
shrieking landlady, and from Mr. Pickwick, the indignant husband seized
a small supper-knife, and tore into the street.

But Mr. Winkle didn't wait for him. He no sooner heard the horrible
threat of the valorous Dowler, than he bounced out of the sedan, quite
as quickly as he had bounced in, and throwing off his slippers into the
road, took to his heels and tore round the crescent, hotly pursued by
Dowler and the watchman. He kept ahead; the door was open as he came
round the second time; he rushed in, slammed it in Dowler's face,
mounted to his bedroom, locked the door, piled a wash-hand-stand, chest
of drawers, and a table against it, and packed up a few necessaries
ready for flight with the first ray of morning.

Dowler came up to the outside of the door; avowed, through the keyhole,
his steadfast determination of cutting Mr. Winkle's throat next day;
and, after a great confusion of voices in the drawing-room, amidst which
that of Mr. Pickwick was distinctly heard endeavouring to make peace,
the inmates dispersed to their several bed-chambers, and all was quiet
once more.

It is not unlikely that the inquiry may be made, where Mr. Weller was,
all this time? We will state where he was, in the next chapter.


Mr. Weller,' said Mrs. Craddock, upon the morning of this very eventful
day, 'here's a letter for you.'

'Wery odd that,' said Sam; 'I'm afeerd there must be somethin' the
matter, for I don't recollect any gen'l'm'n in my circle of acquaintance
as is capable o' writin' one.'

'Perhaps something uncommon has taken place,' observed Mrs. Craddock.

'It must be somethin' wery uncommon indeed, as could perduce a letter
out o' any friend o' mine,' replied Sam, shaking his head dubiously;
'nothin' less than a nat'ral conwulsion, as the young gen'l'm'n observed
ven he wos took with fits. It can't be from the gov'ner,' said Sam,
looking at the direction. 'He always prints, I know, 'cos he learnt
writin' from the large bills in the booking-offices. It's a wery strange
thing now, where this here letter can ha' come from.'

As Sam said this, he did what a great many people do when they are
uncertain about the writer of a note--looked at the seal, and then at
the front, and then at the back, and then at the sides, and then at the
superscription; and, as a last resource, thought perhaps he might as
well look at the inside, and try to find out from that.

'It's wrote on gilt-edged paper,' said Sam, as he unfolded it, 'and
sealed in bronze vax vith the top of a door key. Now for it.' And, with
a very grave face, Mr. Weller slowly read as follows--

'A select company of the Bath footmen presents their compliments to Mr.
Weller, and requests the pleasure of his company this evening, to a
friendly swarry, consisting of a boiled leg of mutton with the usual
trimmings. The swarry to be on table at half-past nine o'clock
punctually.'

This was inclosed in another note, which ran thus--

'Mr. John Smauker, the gentleman who had the pleasure of meeting Mr.
Weller at the house of their mutual acquaintance, Mr. Bantam, a few days
since, begs to inclose Mr. Weller the herewith invitation. If Mr. Weller
will call on Mr. John Smauker at nine o'clock, Mr. John Smauker will
have the pleasure of introducing Mr. Weller.


(Signed)           '_John Smauker_.'

The envelope was directed to blank Weller, Esq., at Mr. Pickwick's; and
in a parenthesis, in the left hand corner, were the words 'airy bell,'
as an instruction to the bearer.

'Vell,' said Sam, 'this is comin' it rayther powerful, this is. I never
heerd a biled leg o' mutton called a swarry afore. I wonder wot they'd
call a roast one.'

However, without waiting to debate the point, Sam at once betook himself
into the presence of Mr. Pickwick, and requested leave of absence for
that evening, which was readily granted. With this permission and the
street-door key, Sam Weller issued forth a little before the appointed
time, and strolled leisurely towards Queen Square, which he no sooner
gained than he had the satisfaction of beholding Mr. John Smauker
leaning his powdered head against a lamp-post at a short distance off,
smoking a cigar through an amber tube.

'How do you do, Mr. Weller?' said Mr. John Smauker, raising his hat
gracefully with one hand, while he gently waved the other in a
condescending manner. 'How do you do, Sir?'

'Why, reasonably conwalessent,' replied Sam. 'How do _you _find
yourself, my dear feller?'

'Only so so,' said Mr. John Smauker.

'Ah, you've been a-workin' too hard,' observed Sam. 'I was fearful you
would; it won't do, you know; you must not give way to that 'ere
uncompromisin' spirit o' yourn.'

'It's not so much that, Mr. Weller,' replied Mr. John Smauker, 'as bad
wine; I'm afraid I've been dissipating.'

'Oh! that's it, is it?' said Sam; 'that's a wery bad complaint, that.'

'And yet the temptation, you see, Mr. Weller,' observed Mr. John
Smauker.

'Ah, to be sure,' said Sam.

'Plunged into the very vortex of society, you know, Mr. Weller,' said
Mr. John Smauker, with a sigh.

'Dreadful, indeed!' rejoined Sam.

'But it's always the way,' said Mr. John Smauker; 'if your destiny leads
you into public life, and public station, you must expect to be
subjected to temptations which other people is free from, Mr. Weller.'

'Precisely what my uncle said, ven he vent into the public line,'
remarked Sam, 'and wery right the old gen'l'm'n wos, for he drank
hisself to death in somethin' less than a quarter.'

Mr. John Smauker looked deeply indignant at any parallel being drawn
between himself and the deceased gentleman in question; but, as Sam's
face was in the most immovable state of calmness, he thought better of
it, and looked affable again.

'Perhaps we had better be walking,' said Mr. Smauker, consulting a
copper timepiece which dwelt at the bottom of a deep watch-pocket, and
was raised to the surface by means of a black string, with a copper key
at the other end.

'P'raps we had,' replied Sam, 'or they'll overdo the swarry, and that'll
spile it.'

'Have you drank the waters, Mr. Weller?' inquired his companion, as they
walked towards High Street.

'Once,' replied Sam.

'What did you think of 'em, Sir?'

'I thought they was particklery unpleasant,' replied Sam.

'Ah,' said Mr. John Smauker, 'you disliked the killibeate taste,
perhaps?'

'I don't know much about that 'ere,' said Sam. 'I thought they'd a wery
strong flavour o' warm flat irons.'

'That _is_ the killibeate, Mr. Weller,' observed Mr. John Smauker
contemptuously.

'Well, if it is, it's a wery inexpressive word, that's all,' said Sam.
'It may be, but I ain't much in the chimical line myself, so I can't
say.' And here, to the great horror of Mr. John Smauker, Sam Weller
began to whistle.

'I beg your pardon, Mr. Weller,' said Mr. John Smauker, agonised at the
exceeding ungenteel sound, 'will you take my arm?'

'Thank'ee, you're wery good, but I won't deprive you of it,' replied
Sam. 'I've rayther a way o' putting my hands in my pockets, if it's all
the same to you.' As Sam said this, he suited the action to the word,
and whistled far louder than before.

'This way,' said his new friend, apparently much relieved as they turned
down a by-street; 'we shall soon be there.'

'Shall we?' said Sam, quite unmoved by the announcement of his close
vicinity to the select footmen of Bath.

'Yes,' said Mr. John Smauker. 'Don't be alarmed, Mr. Weller.'

'Oh, no,' said Sam.

'You'll see some very handsome uniforms, Mr. Weller,' continued Mr. John
Smauker; 'and perhaps you'll find some of the gentlemen rather high at
first, you know, but they'll soon come round.'

'That's wery kind on 'em,' replied Sam.

'And you know,' resumed Mr. John Smauker, with an air of sublime
protection--'you know, as you're a stranger, perhaps, they'll be rather
hard upon you at first.'

'They won't be wery cruel, though, will they?' inquired Sam.

'No, no,' replied Mr. John Smauker, pulling forth the fox's head, and
taking a gentlemanly pinch. 'There are some funny dogs among us, and
they will have their joke, you know; but you mustn't mind 'em, you
mustn't mind 'em.'

'I'll try and bear up agin such a reg'lar knock down o' talent,' replied
Sam.

'That's right,' said Mr. John Smauker, putting forth his fox's head, and
elevating his own; 'I'll stand by you.'

By this time they had reached a small greengrocer's shop, which Mr. John
Smauker entered, followed by Sam, who, the moment he got behind him,
relapsed into a series of the very broadest and most unmitigated grins,
and manifested other demonstrations of being in a highly enviable state
of inward merriment.

Crossing the greengrocer's shop, and putting their hats on the stairs in
the little passage behind it, they walked into a small parlour; and here
the full splendour of the scene burst upon Mr. Weller's view.

A couple of tables were put together in the middle of the parlour,
covered with three or four cloths of different ages and dates of
washing, arranged to look as much like one as the circumstances of the
case would allow. Upon these were laid knives and forks for six or eight
people. Some of the knife handles were green, others red, and a few
yellow; and as all the forks were black, the combination of colours was
exceedingly striking. Plates for a corresponding number of guests were
warming behind the fender; and the guests themselves were warming before
it: the chief and most important of whom appeared to be a stoutish
gentleman in a bright crimson coat with long tails, vividly red
breeches, and a cocked hat, who was standing with his back to the fire,
and had apparently just entered, for besides retaining his cocked hat on
his head, he carried in his hand a high stick, such as gentlemen of his
profession usually elevate in a sloping position over the roofs of
carriages.

'Smauker, my lad, your fin,' said the gentleman with the cocked hat.

Mr. Smauker dovetailed the top joint of his right-hand little finger
into that of the gentleman with the cocked hat, and said he was charmed
to see him looking so well.

'Well, they tell me I am looking pretty blooming,' said the man with the
cocked hat, 'and it's a wonder, too. I've been following our old woman
about, two hours a day, for the last fortnight; and if a constant
contemplation of the manner in which she hooks-and-eyes that infernal
lavender-coloured old gown of hers behind, isn't enough to throw anybody
into a low state of despondency for life, stop my quarter's salary.'

At this, the assembled selections laughed very heartily; and one
gentleman in a yellow waistcoat, with a coach-trimming border, whispered
a neighbour in green-foil smalls, that Tuckle was in spirits to-night.

'By the bye,' said Mr. Tuckle, 'Smauker, my boy, you--' The remainder of
the sentence was forwarded into Mr. John Smauker's ear, by whisper.

'Oh, dear me, I quite forgot,' said Mr. John Smauker. 'Gentlemen, my
friend Mr. Weller.'

'Sorry to keep the fire off you, Weller,' said Mr. Tuckle, with a
familiar nod. 'Hope you're not cold, Weller.'

'Not by no means, Blazes,' replied Sam. 'It 'ud be a wery chilly subject
as felt cold wen you stood opposite. You'd save coals if they put you
behind the fender in the waitin'-room at a public office, you would.'

As this retort appeared to convey rather a personal allusion to Mr.
Tuckle's crimson livery, that gentleman looked majestic for a few
seconds, but gradually edging away from the fire, broke into a forced
smile, and said it wasn't bad.

'Wery much obliged for your good opinion, sir,' replied Sam. 'We shall
get on by degrees, I des-say. We'll try a better one by and bye.'

At this point the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a
gentleman in orange-coloured plush, accompanied by another selection in
purple cloth, with a great extent of stocking. The new-comers having
been welcomed by the old ones, Mr. Tuckle put the question that supper
be ordered in, which was carried unanimously.

The greengrocer and his wife then arranged upon the table a boiled leg
of mutton, hot, with caper sauce, turnips, and potatoes. Mr. Tuckle took
the chair, and was supported at the other end of the board by the
gentleman in orange plush. The greengrocer put on a pair of wash-leather
gloves to hand the plates with, and stationed himself behind Mr.
Tuckle's chair.

'Harris,' said Mr. Tuckle, in a commanding tone.

'Sir,' said the greengrocer.

'Have you got your gloves on?'

Yes, Sir.'

'Then take the kiver off.'

'Yes, Sir.'

The greengrocer did as he was told, with a show of great humility, and
obsequiously handed Mr. Tuckle the carving-knife; in doing which, he
accidentally gaped.

'What do you mean by that, Sir?' said Mr. Tuckle, with great asperity.

'I beg your pardon, Sir,' replied the crestfallen greengrocer, 'I didn't
mean to do it, Sir; I was up very late last night, Sir.'

'I tell you what my opinion of you is, Harris,' said Mr. Tuckle, with a
most impressive air, 'you're a wulgar beast.'

'I hope, gentlemen,' said Harris, 'that you won't be severe with me,
gentlemen. I am very much obliged to you indeed, gentlemen, for your
patronage, and also for your recommendations, gentlemen, whenever
additional assistance in waiting is required. I hope, gentlemen, I give
satisfaction.'

'No, you don't, Sir,' said Mr. Tuckle. 'Very far from it, Sir.'

'We consider you an inattentive reskel,' said the gentleman in the
orange plush.

'And a low thief,' added the gentleman in the green-foil smalls.

'And an unreclaimable blaygaird,' added the gentleman in purple.

The poor greengrocer bowed very humbly while these little epithets were
bestowed upon him, in the true spirit of the very smallest tyranny; and
when everybody had said something to show his superiority, Mr. Tuckle
proceeded to carve the leg of mutton, and to help the company.

This important business of the evening had hardly commenced, when the
door was thrown briskly open, and another gentleman in a light-blue
suit, and leaden buttons, made his appearance.

'Against the rules,' said Mr. Tuckle. 'Too late, too late.'

'No, no; positively I couldn't help it,' said the gentleman in blue. 'I
appeal to the company. An affair of gallantry now, an appointment at the
theayter.'

'Oh, that indeed,' said the gentleman in the orange plush.

'Yes; raly now, honour bright,' said the man in blue. 'I made a promese
to fetch our youngest daughter at half-past ten, and she is such an
uncauminly fine gal, that I raly hadn't the 'art to disappint her. No
offence to the present company, Sir, but a petticut, sir--a petticut,
Sir, is irrevokeable.'

'I begin to suspect there's something in that quarter,' said Tuckle, as
the new-comer took his seat next Sam, 'I've remarked, once or twice,
that she leans very heavy on your shoulder when she gets in and out of
the carriage.'

'Oh, raly, raly, Tuckle, you shouldn't,' said the man in blue. 'It's not
fair. I may have said to one or two friends that she wos a very divine
creechure, and had refused one or two offers without any hobvus cause,
but--no, no, no, indeed, Tuckle--before strangers, too--it's not right--
you shouldn't. Delicacy, my dear friend, delicacy!' And the man in blue,
pulling up his neckerchief, and adjusting his coat cuffs, nodded and
frowned as if there were more behind, which he could say if he liked,
but was bound in honour to suppress.

The man in blue being a light-haired, stiff-necked, free and easy sort
of footman, with a swaggering air and pert face, had attracted Mr.
Weller's special attention at first, but when he began to come out in
this way, Sam felt more than ever disposed to cultivate his
acquaintance; so he launched himself into the conversation at once, with
characteristic independence.

'Your health, Sir,' said Sam. 'I like your conversation much. I think
it's wery pretty.'

At this the man in blue smiled, as if it were a compliment he was well
used to; but looked approvingly on Sam at the same time, and said he
hoped he should be better acquainted with him, for without any flattery
at all he seemed to have the makings of a very nice fellow about him,
and to be just the man after his own heart.

'You're wery good, sir,' said Sam. 'What a lucky feller you are!'

'How do you mean?' inquired the gentleman in blue.

'That 'ere young lady,' replied Sam. 'She knows wot's wot, she does. Ah!
I see.' Mr. Weller closed one eye, and shook his head from side to side,
in a manner which was highly gratifying to the personal vanity of the
gentleman in blue.

'I'm afraid you're a cunning fellow, Mr. Weller,' said that individual.

'No, no,' said Sam. 'I leave all that 'ere to you. It's a great deal
more in your way than mine, as the gen'l'm'n on the right side o' the
garden vall said to the man on the wrong un, ven the mad bull vos a-
comin' up the lane.'

'Well, well, Mr. Weller,' said the gentleman in blue, 'I think she has
remarked my air and manner, Mr. Weller.'

'I should think she couldn't wery well be off o' that,' said Sam.

'Have you any little thing of that kind in hand, sir?' inquired the
favoured gentleman in blue, drawing a toothpick from his waistcoat
pocket.

'Not exactly,' said Sam. 'There's no daughters at my place, else o'
course I should ha' made up to vun on 'em. As it is, I don't think I can
do with anythin' under a female markis. I might keep up with a young
'ooman o' large property as hadn't a title, if she made wery fierce love
to me. Not else.'

'Of course not, Mr. Weller,' said the gentleman in blue, 'one can't be
troubled, you know; and _we_ know, Mr. Weller--we, who are men of the
world--that a good uniform must work its way with the women, sooner or
later. In fact, that's the only thing, between you and me, that makes
the service worth entering into.'

'Just so,' said Sam. 'That's it, o' course.'

When this confidential dialogue had gone thus far, glasses were placed
round, and every gentleman ordered what he liked best, before the
public-house shut up. The gentleman in blue, and the man in orange, who
were the chief exquisites of the party, ordered 'cold shrub and water,'
but with the others, gin-and-water, sweet, appeared to be the favourite
beverage. Sam called the greengrocer a 'desp'rate willin,' and ordered a
large bowl of punch--two circumstances which seemed to raise him very
much in the opinion of the selections.

'Gentlemen,' said the man in blue, with an air of the most consummate
dandyism, 'I'll give you the ladies; come.'

'Hear, hear!' said Sam. 'The young mississes.'

Here there was a loud cry of 'Order,' and Mr. John Smauker, as the
gentleman who had introduced Mr. Weller into that company, begged to
inform him that the word he had just made use of, was unparliamentary.

'Which word was that 'ere, Sir?' inquired Sam.

'Mississes, Sir,' replied Mr. John Smauker, with an alarming frown. 'We
don't recognise such distinctions here.'

'Oh, wery good,' said Sam; 'then I'll amend the obserwation and call 'em
the dear creeturs, if Blazes vill allow me.'

Some doubt appeared to exist in the mind of the gentleman in the green-
foil smalls, whether the chairman could be legally appealed to, as
'Blazes,' but as the company seemed more disposed to stand upon their
own rights than his, the question was not raised. The man with the
cocked hat breathed short, and looked long at Sam, but apparently
thought it as well to say nothing, in case he should get the worst of
it. After a short silence, a gentleman in an embroidered coat reaching
down to his heels, and a waistcoat of the same which kept one half of
his legs warm, stirred his gin-and-water with great energy, and putting
himself upon his feet, all at once by a violent effort, said he was
desirous of offering a few remarks to the company, whereupon the person
in the cocked hat had no doubt that the company would be very happy to
hear any remarks that the man in the long coat might wish to offer.

'I feel a great delicacy, gentlemen, in coming for'ard,' said the man in
the long coat, 'having the misforchune to be a coachman, and being only
admitted as a honorary member of these agreeable swarrys, but I do feel
myself bound, gentlemen--drove into a corner, if I may use the
expression--to make known an afflicting circumstance which has come to
my knowledge; which has happened I may say within the soap of my
everyday contemplation. Gentlemen, our friend Mr. Whiffers (everybody
looked at the individual in orange), our friend Mr. Whiffers has
resigned.'

Universal astonishment fell upon the hearers. Each gentleman looked in
his neighbour's face, and then transferred his glance to the upstanding
coachman.

'You may well be sapparised, gentlemen,' said the coachman. 'I will not
wenchure to state the reasons of this irrepairabel loss to the service,
but I will beg Mr. Whiffers to state them himself, for the improvement
and imitation of his admiring friends.'

The suggestion being loudly approved of, Mr. Whiffers explained. He said
he certainly could have wished to have continued to hold the appointment
he had just resigned. The uniform was extremely rich and expensive, the
females of the family was most agreeable, and the duties of the
situation was not, he was bound to say, too heavy; the principal service
that was required of him, being, that he should look out of the hall
window as much as possible, in company with another gentleman, who had
also resigned. He could have wished to have spared that company the
painful and disgusting detail on which he was about to enter, but as the
explanation had been demanded of him, he had no alternative but to
state, boldly and distinctly, that he had been required to eat cold
meat.

It is impossible to conceive the disgust which this avowal awakened in
the bosoms of the hearers. Loud cries of 'Shame,' mingled with groans
and hisses, prevailed for a quarter of an hour.

Mr. Whiffers then added that he feared a portion of this outrage might
be traced to his own forbearing and accommodating disposition. He had a
distinct recollection of having once consented to eat salt butter, and
he had, moreover, on an occasion of sudden sickness in the house, so far
forgotten himself as to carry a coal-scuttle up to the second floor. He
trusted he had not lowered himself in the good opinion of his friends by
this frank confession of his faults; and he hoped the promptness with
which he had resented the last unmanly outrage on his feelings, to which
he had referred, would reinstate him in their good opinion, if he had.

Mr. Whiffers's address was responded to, with a shout of admiration, and
the health of the interesting martyr was drunk in a most enthusiastic
manner; for this, the martyr returned thanks, and proposed their
visitor, Mr. Weller--a gentleman whom he had not the pleasure of an
intimate acquaintance with, but who was the friend of Mr. John Smauker,
which was a sufficient letter of recommendation to any society of
gentlemen whatever, or wherever. On this account, he should have been
disposed to have given Mr. Weller's health with all the honours, if his
friends had been drinking wine; but as they were taking spirits by way
of a change, and as it might be inconvenient to empty a tumbler at every
toast, he should propose that the honours be understood.

At the conclusion of this speech, everybody took a sip in honour of Sam;
and Sam having ladled out, and drunk, two full glasses of punch in
honour of himself, returned thanks in a neat speech.

'Wery much obliged to you, old fellers,' said Sam, ladling away at the
punch in the most unembarrassed manner possible, 'for this here
compliment; which, comin' from sich a quarter, is wery overvelmin'. I've
heered a good deal on you as a body, but I will say, that I never
thought you was sich uncommon nice men as I find you air. I only hope
you'll take care o' yourselves, and not compromise nothin' o' your
dignity, which is a wery charmin' thing to see, when one's out a-
walkin', and has always made me wery happy to look at, ever since I was
a boy about half as high as the brass-headed stick o' my wery
respectable friend, Blazes, there. As to the wictim of oppression in the
suit o' brimstone, all I can say of him, is, that I hope he'll get jist
as good a berth as he deserves; in vitch case it's wery little cold
swarry as ever he'll be troubled with agin.'

Here Sam sat down with a pleasant smile, and his speech having been
vociferously applauded, the company broke up.

'Wy, you don't mean to say you're a-goin' old feller?' said Sam Weller
to his friend, Mr. John Smauker.

'I must, indeed,' said Mr. Smauker; 'I promised Bantam.'

'Oh, wery well,' said Sam; 'that's another thing. P'raps he'd resign if
you disappinted him. You ain't a-goin', Blazes?'

'Yes, I am,' said the man with the cocked hat.

'Wot, and leave three-quarters of a bowl of punch behind you!' said Sam;
'nonsense, set down agin.'

Mr. Tuckle was not proof against this invitation. He laid aside the
cocked hat and stick which he had just taken up, and said he would have
one glass, for good fellowship's sake.

As the gentleman in blue went home the same way as Mr. Tuckle, he was
prevailed upon to stop too. When the punch was about half gone, Sam
ordered in some oysters from the green-grocer's shop; and the effect of
both was so extremely exhilarating, that Mr. Tuckle, dressed out with
the cocked hat and stick, danced the frog hornpipe among the shells on
the table, while the gentleman in blue played an accompaniment upon an
ingenious musical instrument formed of a hair-comb upon a curl-paper. At
last, when the punch was all gone, and the night nearly so, they sallied
forth to see each other home. Mr. Tuckle no sooner got into the open
air, than he was seized with a sudden desire to lie on the curbstone;
Sam thought it would be a pity to contradict him, and so let him have
his own way. As the cocked hat would have been spoiled if left there,
Sam very considerately flattened it down on the head of the gentleman in
blue, and putting the big stick in his hand, propped him up against his
own street-door, rang the bell, and walked quietly home.

At a much earlier hour next morning than his usual time of rising, Mr.
Pickwick walked downstairs completely dressed, and rang the bell.

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, when Mr. Weller appeared in reply to the
summons, 'shut the door.'

Mr. Weller did so.

'There was an unfortunate occurrence here, last night, Sam,' said Mr.
Pickwick, 'which gave Mr. Winkle some cause to apprehend violence from
Mr. Dowler.'

'So I've heerd from the old lady downstairs, Sir,' replied Sam.

'And I'm sorry to say, Sam,' continued Mr. Pickwick, with a most
perplexed countenance, 'that in dread of this violence, Mr. Winkle has
gone away.'

'Gone avay!' said Sam.

'Left the house early this morning, without the slightest previous
communication with me,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'And is gone, I know not
where.'

'He should ha' stopped and fought it out, Sir,' replied Sam
contemptuously. 'It wouldn't take much to settle that 'ere Dowler, Sir.'

'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I may have my doubts of his great
bravery and determination also. But however that may be, Mr. Winkle is
gone. He must be found, Sam. Found and brought back to me.'

And s'pose he won't come back, Sir?' said Sam.

'He must be made, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Who's to do it, Sir?' inquired Sam, with a smile.

'You,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'Wery good, Sir.'

With these words Mr. Weller left the room, and immediately afterwards
was heard to shut the street door. In two hours' time he returned with
so much coolness as if he had been despatched on the most ordinary
message possible, and brought the information that an individual, in
every respect answering Mr. Winkle's description, had gone over to
Bristol that morning, by the branch coach from the Royal Hotel.

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, grasping his hand, 'you're a capital fellow;
an invaluable fellow. You must follow him, Sam.'

'Cert'nly, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller.

'The instant you discover him, write to me immediately, Sam,' said Mr.
Pickwick. 'If he attempts to run away from you, knock him down, or lock
him up. You have my full authority, Sam.'

'I'll be wery careful, sir,' rejoined Sam.

'You'll tell him,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that I am highly excited, highly
displeased, and naturally indignant, at the very extraordinary course he
has thought proper to pursue.'

'I will, Sir,' replied Sam.

'You'll tell him,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that if he does not come back to
this very house, with you, he will come back with me, for I will come
and fetch him.'

'I'll mention that 'ere, Sir,' rejoined Sam.

'You think you can find him, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick, looking earnestly
in his face.

'Oh, I'll find him if he's anyvere,' rejoined Sam, with great
confidence.

'Very well,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Then the sooner you go the better.'

With these instructions, Mr. Pickwick placed a sum of money in the hands
of his faithful servitor, and ordered him to start for Bristol
immediately, in pursuit of the fugitive.

Sam put a few necessaries in a carpet-bag, and was ready for starting.
He stopped when he had got to the end of the passage, and walking
quietly back, thrust his head in at the parlour door.

'Sir,' whispered Sam.

'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'I fully understands my instructions, do I, Sir?' inquired Sam.

'I hope so,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'It's reg'larly understood about the knockin' down, is it, Sir?'
inquired Sam.

'Perfectly,' replied Pickwick. 'Thoroughly. Do what you think necessary.
You have my orders.'

Sam gave a nod of intelligence, and withdrawing his head from the door,
set forth on his pilgrimage with a light heart.

 Mr. Pickwick remains adamant in his refusal to pay damages. On learning that it will be two months before he can be imprisoned, he decides to take his companions to Bath. He is accompanied by the Dowlers and listens to Captain Dowler advertise his own ferocity. At Bath the Pickwickians meet Angelo Cyrus Bantam, the master of ceremonies at a hotel. Bantam invites them to a ball, and Mr. Pickwick sends Sam for the tickets. Sam meets Bantam's snobbish footman and has some fun at his expense. The ball is fashionable and trivial, full of small talk, scandal, matchmaking, toadying, silliness, and glamour. Mr. Pickwick gets into a game of cards with three sharp, impatient socialites who intimidate him. He loses at cards and goes home to bed. Since Mr. Pickwick and his friends plan to stay two months in Bath, they take private lodgings, which they share with the Dowlers. Life quickly settles into a pleasant routine centered on drinking mineral water. One evening Mr. Pickwick stays up to read "The True Legend of Prince Bladud," founder of Bath. One legend states that Bladud was cured of leprosy by the water of Bath. But the true story is that his father, the king, contracted a political marriage for him, while he had fallen in love with an Athenian lady. His father imprisons him, but Bladud escapes and flees to Athens, where he learns his sweetheart has married another. He ends up at Bath, where he wishes to die and is swallowed up by the earth. His tears are the source of the water of Bath. Mr. Dowler falls asleep while waiting up for his wife, and she returns home very late. The door is locked, so the coachman sets up a heavy pounding that awakens Winkle, who comes to the door in his dressing gown and gets locked out. In embarrassment he tries to hide in Mrs. Dowler's sedan. Dowler awakes, thinking someone is trying to run off with his wife, and chases Winkle with a knife. Winkle escapes and prepares to leave at dawn, terrified by Dowler's threats. Sam Weller is invited to a footman's "swarry" by Bantam's footman, John Smauker. There is mutton and plenty to drink. The footmen all have a high sense of their own dignity, with which Sam has some good-humored fun. Each puts on airs but their low breeding keeps showing through. Sam, who is perfectly at ease, becomes the life of the party. The "swarry" ends in the morning hours with the footmen barely able to stagger home. The next day Mr. Pickwick tells Sam that Winkle has run off and sends him to find out where he went. Sam learns that Winkle went to Bristol. Mr. Pickwick then tells Sam to use any means to bring him back.

