bitterly; and once she burst into such a passion of grief, that she



was compelled to lean against the wall for support, while the man



took the child in his arms, and tried to soothe her.



Mr. Pickwick's heart was really too full to bear it, and he went



upstairs to bed.



Now, although the warder's room was a very uncomfortable



one (being, in every point of decoration and convenience, several



hundred degrees inferior to the common infirmary of a county



jail), it had at present the merit of being wholly deserted save by



Mr. Pickwick himself. So, he sat down at the foot of his little iron



bedstead, and began to wonder how much a year the warder made



out of the dirty room. Having satisfied himself, by mathematical



calculation, that the apartment was about equal in annual value to



the freehold of a small street in the suburbs of London, he took to



wondering what possible temptation could have induced a dingy-



looking fly that was crawling over his pantaloons, to come into a



close prison, when he had the choice of so many airy situations―a



course of meditation which led him to the irresistible conclusion



that the insect was insane. After settling this point, he began to be



conscious that he was getting sleepy; whereupon he took his



nightcap out of the pocket in which he had had the precaution to



stow it in the morning, and, leisurely undressing himself, got into



bed and fell asleep.



'Bravo! Heel over toe―cut and shuffle―pay away at it, Zephyr!



I'm smothered if the opera house isn't your proper hemisphere.



Keep it up! Hooray!' These expressions, delivered in a most



boisterous tone, and accompanied with loud peals of laughter,



roused Mr. Pickwick from one of those sound slumbers which,



lasting in reality some half-hour, seem to the sleeper to have been



protracted for three weeks or a month.



The voice had no sooner ceased than the room was shaken with



such violence that the windows rattled in their frames, and the



bedsteads trembled again. Mr. Pickwick started up, and remained



for some minutes fixed in mute astonishment at the scene before



him.



On the floor of the room, a man in a broad-skirted green coat,



with corduroy knee-smalls and grey cotton stockings, was



performing the most popular steps of a hornpipe, with a slang and



burlesque caricature of grace and lightness, which, combined with



the very appropriate character of his costume, was inexpressibly



absurd. Another man, evidently very drunk, who had probably



been tumbled into bed by his companions, was sitting up between



the sheets, warbling as much as he could recollect of a comic song,



with the most intenselysentimental feeling and expression; while



a third, seated on one of the bedsteads, was applauding both



performers with the air of a profound connoisseur, and



encouraging them by such ebullitions of feeling as had already



roused Mr. Pickwick from his sleep.



This last man was an admirablespecimen of a class of gentry



which never can be seen in full perfection but in such places―they



may be met with, in an imperfect state, occasionally about stable-



yards and Public-houses; but they never attain their full bloom



except in these hot-beds, which would almost seem to be



considerately provided by the legislature for the sole purpose of



rearing them.



He was a tall fellow, with an olive complexion, long dark hair,



and very thick bushy whiskers meeting under his chin. He wore



no neckerchief, as he had been playing rackets all day, and his



Open shirt collar displayed their full luxuriance. On his head he



wore one of the common eighteenpenny French skull-caps, with a



gaudy tassel dangling therefrom, very happily in keeping with a



common fustian coat. His legs, which, being long, were afflicted



with weakness, graced a pair of Oxford-mixture trousers, made to



show the full symmetry of those limbs. Being somewhat



negligently braced, however, and, moreover, but imperfectly



buttoned, they fell in a series of not the most graceful folds over a



pair of shoes sufficiently down at heel to display a pair of very



soiled white stockings. There was a rakish, vagabond smartness,



and a kind of boastful rascality, about the whole man, that was



worth a mine of gold.



This figure was the first to perceive that Mr. Pickwick was



looking on; upon which he winked to the Zephyr, and entreated



him, with mock gravity, not to wake the gentleman. 'Why, bless



the gentleman's honest heart and soul!' said the Zephyr, turning



round and affecting the extremity of surprise; 'the gentleman is



awake. Hem, Shakespeare! How do you do, sir? How is Mary and



Sarah, sir? and the dear old lady at home, sir? Will you have the



kindness to put my compliments into the first little parcel you're



sending that way, sir, and say that I would have sent 'em before,



only I was afraid they might be broken in the wagon, sir?'



'Don't overwhelm the gentlemen with ordinary civilities when



you see he's anxious to have something to drink,' said the



gentleman with the whiskers, with a jocose air. 'Why don't you ask



the gentleman what he'll take?'



'Dear me, I quite forgot,' replied the other. 'What will you take,



sir? Will you take port wine, sir, or sherry wine, sir? I can



recommend the ale, sir; or perhaps you'd like to taste the porter,



sir? Allow me to have the felicity of hanging up your nightcap, sir.'



With this, the speaker snatched that article of dress from Mr.



Pickwick's head, and fixed it in a twinkling on that of the drunken



man, who, firmly impressed with the belief that he was delighting



a numerous assembly, continued to hammer away at the comic



song in the most melancholy strains imaginable.



Taking a man's nightcap from his brow by violent means, and



adjusting it on the head of an unknown gentleman, of dirty



exterior, however ingenious a witticism in itself, is unquestionably



one of those which come under the denomination of practical



jokes. Viewing the matter precisely in this light, Mr. Pickwick,



without the slightest intimation of his purpose, sprang vigorously



out of bed, struck the Zephyr so smart a blow in the chest as to



deprive him of a considerable portion of the commodity which



sometimes bears his name, and then, recapturing his nightcap,



boldly placed himself in an attitude of defence.



'Now,' said Mr. Pickwick, gasping no less from excitement than



from the expenditure of so much energy, 'come on―both of you―



both of you!' With this liberal invitation the worthy gentleman



communicated a revolving motion to his clenched fists, by way of



appalling his antagonists with a display of science.



It might have been Mr. Pickwick's very unexpected gallantry,



or it might have been the complicated manner in which he had got



himself out of bed, and fallen all in a mass upon the hornpipe man,



that touched his adversaries. Touched they were; for, instead of



then and there making an attempt to commit man-slaughter, as



Mr. Pickwick implicitly believed they would have done, they



paused, stared at each other a short time, and finally laughed



outright.



'Well, you're a trump, and I like you all the better for it,' said the



Zephyr. 'Now jump into bed again, or you'll catch the rheumatics.



No malice, I hope?' said the man, extending a hand the size of the



yellow clump of fingers which sometimes swings over a glover's



door.



'Certainly not,' said Mr. Pickwick, with great alacrity; for, now



that the excitement was over, he began to feel rather cool about



the legs.



'Allow me the honour,' said the gentleman with the whiskers,



presenting his dexter hand, and aspirating the h.



'With much pleasure, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick; and having



executed a very long and solemn shake, he got into bed again.



'My name is Smangle, sir,' said the man with the whiskers.



'Oh,' said Mr. Pickwick.



'Mine is Mivins,' said the man in the stockings.



'I am delighted to hear it, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick.



'Hem,' coughed Mr. Smangle.



'Did you speak, sir?' said Mr. Pickwick.



'No, I did not, sir,' said Mr. Smangle.



All this was very genteel and pleasant; and, to make matters



still more comfortable, Mr. Smangle assured Mr. Pickwick a great



many more times that he entertained a very high respect for the



feelings of a gentleman; which sentiment, indeed, did him infinite



credit, as he could be in no wise supposed to understand them.



'Are you going through the court, sir?' inquired Mr. Smangle.



'Through the what?' said Mr. Pickwick.



'Through the court―Portugal Street―the Court for Relief of―



You know.'



'Oh, no,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'No, I am not.'



'Going out, perhaps?' suggested Mr. Mivins.



'I fear not,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'I refuse to pay some damages,



and am here in consequence.'



'Ah,' said Mr. Smangle, 'paper has been my ruin.'



'A stationer, I presume, sir?' said Mr. Pickwick innocently.



'Stationer! No, no; confound and curse me! Not so low as that.



No trade. When I say paper, I mean bills.'



'Oh, you use the word in that sense. I see,' said Mr. Pickwick.



'Damme! A gentleman must expect reverses,' said Smangle. 'What



of that? Here am I in the Fleet Prison. Well; good. What then? I'm



none the worse for that, am I?'



'Not a bit,' replied Mr. Mivins. And he was quite right; for, so far



from Mr. Smangle being any the worse for it, he was something



the better, inasmuch as to qualify himself for the place, he had



attained gratuitous possession of certain articles of jewellery,



which, long before that, had found their way to the pawnbroker's.



'Well; but come,' said Mr. Smangle; 'this is dry work. Let's rinse



our mouths with a drop of burnt sherry; the last-comer shall stand



it, Mivins shall fetch it, and I'll help to drink it. That's a fair and



gentlemanlike division of labour, anyhow. Curse me!'



Unwilling to hazard another quarrel, Mr. Pickwick gladly



assented to the proposition, and consigned the money to Mr.



Mivins, who, as it was nearly eleven o'clock, lost no time in



repairing to the coffee-room on his errand.



'I say,' whispered Smangle, the moment his friend had left the



room; 'what did you give him?'



'Half a sovereign,' said Mr. Pickwick.



'He's a devilish pleasant gentlemanly dog,' said Mr. Smangle;―



'infernal pleasant. I don't know anybody more so; but―' Here Mr.



Smangle stopped short, and shook his head dubiously.



'You don't think there is any probability of his appropriating



the money to his own use?' said Mr. Pickwick.



'Oh, no! Mind, I don't say that; I expressly say that he's a



devilish gentlemanly fellow,' said Mr. Smangle. 'But I think,



perhaps, if somebody went down, just to see that he didn't dip his



beak into the jug by accident, or make some confounded mistake



in losing the money as he came upstairs, it would be as well. Here,



you sir, just run downstairs, and look after that gentleman, will



you?'



This request was addressed to a little timid-looking, nervous



man, whose appearance bespoke great poverty, and who had been



crouching on his bedstead all this while, apparently stupefied by



the novelty of his situation.



'You know where the coffee-room is,' said Smangle; 'just run



down, and tell that gentleman you've come to help him up with the



jug. Or―stop―I'll tell you what―I'll tell you how we'll do him,'



said Smangle, with a cunning look.



'How?' said Mr. Pickwick.



'Send down word that he's to spend the change in cigars.



Capital thought. Run and tell him that; d'ye hear? They shan't be



wasted,' continued Smangle, turning to Mr. Pickwick. 'I'll smoke



'em.'



This manoeuvring was so exceedinglyingenious and, withal,



performed with such immovablecomposure and coolness, that Mr.



Pickwick would have had no wish to disturb it, even if he had had



the power. In a short time Mr. Mivins returned, bearing the



sherry, which Mr. Smangle dispensed in two little cracked mugs;



considerately remarking, with reference to himself, that a



gentleman must not be particular under such circumstances, and



that, for his part, he was not too proud to drink out of the jug. In



which, to show his sincerity, he forthwith pledged the company in



a draught which half emptied it.



An excellent understanding having been by these means



promoted, Mr. Smangle proceeded to entertain his hearers with a



relation of divers romantic adventures in which he had been from



time to time engaged, involving various interesting anecdotes of a



thoroughbred horse, and a magnificent Jewess, both of surpassing



beauty, and much coveted by the nobility and gentry of these



kingdoms.



Long before these elegant extracts from the biography of a



gentleman were concluded, Mr. Mivins had betaken himself to



bed, and had set in snoring for the night, leaving the timid



stranger and Mr. Pickwick to the full benefit of Mr. Smangle's



experiences.



Nor were the two last-named gentlemen as much edified as



they might have been by the moving passages narrated. Mr.



Pickwick had been in a state of slumber for some time, when he



had a faint perception of the drunken man bursting out afresh



with the comic song, and receiving from Mr. Smangle a gentle



intimation, through the medium of the water-jug, that his



audience was not musically disposed. Mr. Pickwick then once



again dropped off to sleep, with a confused consciousness that Mr.



Smangle was still engaged in relating a long story, the chief point



of which appeared to be that, on some occasion particularly stated



and set forth, he had 'done' a bill and a gentleman at the same



time.

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