continued to reside constantly, and without interruption or



intermission, at Mrs. Bardell's house. I shall show you that Mrs.



Bardell, during the whole of that time, waited on him, attended to



his comforts, cooked his meals, looked out his linen for the



washerwoman when it went abroad, darned, aired, and prepared



it for wear, when it came home, and, in short, enjoyed his fullest



trust and confidence. I shall show you that, on many occasions, he



gave halfpence, and on some occasions even sixpences, to her little



boy; and I shall prove to you, by a witness whose testimony it will



be impossible for my learned friend to weaken or controvert, that



on one occasion he patted the boy on the head, and, after



inquiring whether he had won any "alley tors" or "commoneys"



lately (both of which I understand to be a particular species of



marbles much prized by the youth of this town), made use of this



remarkable expression, "How should you like to have another



father?" I shall prove to you, gentlemen, that about a year ago,



Pickwick suddenly began to absent himself from home, during



long intervals, as if with the intention of gradually breaking off



from my client; but I shall show you also, that his resolution was



not at that time sufficiently strong, or that his better feelings



conquered, if better feelings he has, or that the charms and



accomplishments of my client prevailed against his unmanly



intentions, by proving to you, that on one occasion, when he



returned from the country, he distinctly and in terms, offered her



marriage: previously, however, taking special care that there



would be no witness to their solemn contract; and I am in a



situation to prove to you, on the testimony of three of his own



friends―most unwilling witnesses, gentlemen―most unwilling



witnesses―that on that morning he was discovered by them



holding the plaintiff in his arms, and soothing her agitation by his



caresses and endearments.'



A visible impression was produced upon the auditors by this



part of the learned Serjeant's address. Drawing forth two very



small scraps of paper, he proceeded―'And now, gentlemen, but



one word more. Two letters have passed between these parties,



letters which are admitted to be in the handwriting of the



defendant, and which speak volumes, indeed. The letters, too,



bespeak the character of the man. They are not open, fervent,



eloquent epistles, breathing nothing but the language of



affectionateattachment. They are covert, sly, underhanded



communications, but, fortunately, far more conclusive than if



couched in the most glowing language and the most poetic



imagery―letters that must be viewed with a cautious and



suspicious eye―letters that were evidently intended at the time,



by Pickwick, to mislead and delude any third parties into whose



hands they might fall. Let me read the first: "Garraways, twelve



o'clock. Dear Mrs. B.―Chops and tomato sauce. Yours,



PICKWICK." Gentlemen, what does this mean? Chops and tomato



sauce. Yours, Pickwick! Chops! Gracious heavens! and tomato



sauce! Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding



female to be trifled away, by such shallow artifices as these? The



next has no date whatever, which is in itself suspicious. "Dear



Mrs. B., I shall not be at home till to-morrow. Slow coach." And



then follows this very remarkable expression. "Don't trouble



yourself about the warming-pan." The warming-pan! Why,



gentlemen, who does trouble himself about a warming-pan? When



was the peace of mind of man or woman broken or disturbed by a



warming-pan, which is in itself a harmless, a useful, and I will add,



gentlemen, a comforting article of domestic furniture? Why is Mrs.



Bardell so earnestlyentreated not to agitate herself about this



warming-pan, unless (as is no doubt the case) it is a mere cover for



hidden fire―a mere substitute for some endearing word or



promise, agreeably to a preconcerted system of correspondence,



artfully contrived by Pickwick with a view to his contemplated



desertion, and which I am not in a condition to explain? And what



does this allusion to the slow coach mean? For aught I know, it



may be a reference to Pickwick himself, who has most



unquestionably been a criminally slow coach during the whole of



this transaction, but whose speed will now be very unexpectedly" title="ad.意外地；突然地">unexpectedly



accelerated, and whose wheels, gentlemen, as he will find to his



cost, will very soon be greased by you!'



Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz paused in this place, to see whether the



jury smiled at his joke; but as nobody took it but the greengrocer,



whose sensitiveness on the subject was very probably occasioned



by his having subjected a chaise-cart to the process in question on



that identical morning, the learned Serjeant considered it



advisable to undergo a slight relapse into the dismals before he



concluded.



'But enough of this, gentlemen,' said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz, 'it is



difficult to smile with an aching heart; it is ill jesting when our



deepest sympathies are awakened. My client's hopes and



prospects are ruined, and it is no figure of speech to say that her



occupation is gone indeed. The bill is down―but there is no



tenant. Eligible single gentlemen pass and repass―but there is no



invitation for to inquire within or without. All is gloom and silence



in the house; even the voice of the child is hushed; his infant



sports are disregarded when his mother weeps; his "alley tors"



and his "commoneys" are alike neglected; he forgets the long



familiar cry of "knuckle down," and at tip-cheese, or odd and even,



his hand is out. But Pickwick, gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless



destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell Street―



Pickwick who has choked up the well, and thrown ashes on the



sward―Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless



tomato sauce and warming-pans―Pickwick still rears his head



with unblushing effrontery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin



he has made. Damages, gentlemen―heavy damages is the only



punishment with which you can visit him; the only recompense



you can award to my client. And for those damages she now



appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a right-feeling, a



conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathising, a contemplative



jury of her civilised countrymen.' With this beautiful peroration,



Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz sat down, and Mr. Justice Stareleigh woke



up.



'Call Elizabeth Cluppins,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, rising a minute



afterwards, with renewed vigour.



The nearest usher called for Elizabeth Tuppins; another one, at



a little distance off, demanded Elizabeth Jupkins; and a third



rushed in a breathless state into King Street, and screamed for



Elizabeth Muffins till he was hoarse.



Meanwhile Mrs. Cluppins, with the combined assistance of Mrs.



Bardell, Mrs. Sanders, Mr. Dodson, and Mr. Fogg, was hoisted into



the witness-box; and when she was safely perched on the top step,



Mrs. Bardell stood on the bottom one, with the pocket-



handkerchief and pattens in one hand, and a glass bottle that



might hold about a quarter of a pint of smelling-salts in the other,



ready for any emergency. Mrs. Sanders, whose eyes were intently



fixed on the judge's face, planted herself close by, with the large



umbrella, keeping her right thumb pressed on the spring with an



earnest countenance, as if she were fully prepared to put it up at a



moment's notice.



'Mrs. Cluppins,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, 'pray compose yourself,



ma'am.' Of course, directly Mrs. Cluppins was desired to compose



herself, she sobbed with increased vehemence, and gave divers



alarming manifestations of an approaching fainting fit, or, as she



afterwards said, of her feelings being too many for her.



'Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, after a



few unimportant questions―'do you recollect being in Mrs.



Bardell's back one pair of stairs, on one particular morning in July



last, when she was dusting Pickwick's apartment?'



'Yes, my Lord and jury, I do,' replied Mrs. Cluppins.



'Mr. Pickwick's sitting-room was the first-floor front, I believe?'



'Yes, it were, sir,' replied Mrs. Cluppins.



'What were you doing in the back room, ma'am?' inquired the



little judge.



'My Lord and jury,' said Mrs. Cluppins, with interesting



agitation, 'I will not deceive you.'



'You had better not, ma'am,' said the little judge.



'I was there,' resumed Mrs. Cluppins, 'unbeknown to Mrs.



Bardell; I had been out with a little basket, gentlemen, to buy



three pound of red kidney pertaties, which was three pound



tuppence ha'penny, when I see Mrs. Bardell's street door on the



jar.'



'On the what?' exclaimed the little judge.



'Partly open, my Lord,' said Serjeant Snubbin.



'She said on the jar,' said the little judge, with a cunning look.



'It's all the same, my Lord,' said Serjeant Snubbin. The little



judge looked doubtful, and said he'd make a note of it. Mrs.



Cluppins then resumed―



I walked in, gentlemen, just to say good-mornin', and went, in a



permiscuous manner, upstairs, and into the back room.



Gentlemen, there was the sound of voices in the front room, and―'



'And you listened, I believe, Mrs. Cluppins?' said Serjeant



Buzfuz.



'Beggin' your pardon, sir,' replied Mrs. Cluppins, in a majestic



manner, 'I would scorn the haction. The voices was very loud, sir,



and forced themselves upon my ear,'



'Well, Mrs. Cluppins, you were not listening, but you heard the



voices. Was one of those voices Pickwick's?'



'Yes, it were, sir.' And Mrs. Cluppins, after distinctly stating



that Mr. Pickwick addressed himself to Mrs. Bardell, repeated by



slow degrees, and by dint of many questions, the conversation



with which our readers are already acquainted.



The jury looked suspicious, and Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz smiled as



he sat down. They looked positively awful when Serjeant Snubbin



intimated that he should not cross-examine the witness, for Mr.



Pickwick wished it to be distinctly stated that it was due to her to



say, that her account was in substance correct.



Mrs. Cluppins having once broken the ice, thought it a



favourable opportunity for entering into a short dissertation on



her own domestic affairs; so she straightway proceeded to inform



the court that she was the mother of eight children at that present



speaking, and that she entertained confident expectations of



presenting Mr. Cluppins with a ninth, somewhere about that day



six months. At this interesting point, the little judge interposed



most irascibly; and the effect of the interposition was, that both



the worthy lady and Mrs. Sanders were politely taken out of court,



under the escort of Mr. Jackson, without further parley.



'Nathaniel Winkle!' said Mr. Skimpin.



'Here!' replied a feeble voice. Mr. Winkle entered the witness-



box, and having been duly sworn, bowed to the judge with



considerable deference.



'Don't look at me, sir,' said the judge sharply, in



acknowledgment of the salute; 'look at the jury.'



Mr. Winkle obeyed the mandate, and looked at the place where



he thought it most probable the jury might be; for seeing anything



in his then state of intellectualcomplication was wholly out of the



question.



Mr. Winkle was then examined by Mr. Skimpin, who, being a



promising young man of two or three-and-forty, was of course



anxious to confuse a witness who was notoriously predisposed in



favour of the other side, as much as he could.



'Now, sir,' said Mr. Skimpin, 'have the goodness to let his



Lordship know what your name is, will you?' and Mr. Skimpin



inclined his head on one side to listen with great sharpness to the



answer, and glanced at the jury meanwhile, as if to imply that he



rather expected Mr. Winkle's natural taste for perjury would



induce him to give some name which did not belong to him.



'Winkle,' replied the witness.



'What's your Christian name, sir?' angrily inquired the little



judge.



'Nathaniel, sir.'



'Daniel―any other name?'



'Nathaniel, sir―my Lord, I mean.'



'Nathaniel Daniel, or Daniel Nathaniel?'



'No, my Lord, only Nathaniel―not Daniel at all.'



'What did you tell me it was Daniel for, then, sir?' inquired the



judge.



'I didn't, my Lord,' replied Mr. Winkle.



'You did, sir,' replied the judge, with a severe frown. 'How could



I have got Daniel on my notes, unless you told me so, sir?' This



argument was, of course, unanswerable.



'Mr. Winkle has rather a short memory, my Lord,' interposed



Mr. Skimpin, with another glance at the jury. 'We shall find means



to refresh it before we have quite done with him, I dare say.'



'You had better be careful, sir,' said the little judge, with a



sinister look at the witness.



Poor Mr. Winkle bowed, and endeavoured to feign an easiness



of manner, which, in his then state of confusion, gave him rather



the air of a disconcerted pickpocket.



'Now, Mr. Winkle,' said Mr. Skimpin, 'attend to me, if you



please, sir; and let me recommend you, for your own sake, to bear



in mind his Lordship's injunctions to be careful. I believe you are a



particular friend of Mr. Pickwick, the defendant, are you not?'



'I have known Mr. Pickwick now, as well as I recollect at this



moment, nearly―'



'Pray, Mr. Winkle, do not evade the question. Are you, or are



you not, a particular friend of the defendant's?'



'I was just about to say, that―'



'Will you, or will you not, answer my question, sir?'



'If you don't answer the question, you'll be committed, sir,'



interposed the little judge, looking over his note-book.



'Come, sir,' said Mr. Skimpin, 'yes or no, if you please.'



'Yes, I am,' replied Mr. Winkle.



'Yes, you are. And why couldn't you say that at once, sir?



Perhaps you know the plaintiff too? Eh, Mr. Winkle?'



'I don't know her; I've seen her.'



'Oh, you don't know her, but you've seen her? Now, have the



goodness to tell the gentlemen of the jury what you mean by that,



Mr. Winkle.'



'I mean that I am not intimate with her, but I have seen her



when I went to call on Mr. Pickwick, in Goswell Street.'



'How often have you seen her, sir?'



'How often?'



'Yes, Mr. Winkle, how often? I'll repeat the question for you a



dozen times, if you require it, sir.' And the learned gentleman,



with a firm and steady frown, placed his hands on his hips, and



smiled suspiciously to the jury.



On this question there arose the edifying brow-beating,



customary on such points. First of all, Mr. Winkle said it was quite



impossible for him to say how many times he had seen Mrs.



Bardell. Then he was asked if he had seen her twenty times, to



which he replied, 'Certainly―more than that.' Then he was asked



whether he hadn't seen her a hundred times―whether he couldn't



swear that he had seen her more than fifty times―whether he



didn't know that he had seen her at least seventy-five times, and



so forth; the satisfactory conclusion which was arrived at, at last,



being, that he had better take care of himself, and mind what he



was about. The witness having been by these means reduced to



the requisite ebb of nervous perplexity, the examination was



continued as follows―



'Pray, Mr. Winkle, do you remember calling on the defendant



Pickwick at these apartments in the plaintiff's house in Goswell



Street, on one particular morning, in the month of July last?'



'Yes, I do.'



'Were you accompanied on that occasion by a friend of the



name of Tupman, and another by the name of Snodgrass?'



'Yes, I was.'



'Are they here?'



'Yes, they are,' replied Mr. Winkle, looking very earnestly



towards the spot where his friends were stationed.



'Pray attend to me, Mr. Winkle, and never mind your friends,'



said Mr. Skimpin, with another expressive look at the jury. 'They



must tell their stories without any previous consultation with you,



if none has yet taken place (another look at the jury). Now, sir, tell



the gentlemen of the jury what you saw on entering the



defendant's room, on this particular morning. Come; out with it,



sir; we must have it, sooner or later.'



'The defendant, Mr. Pickwick, was holding the plaintiff in his



arms, with his hands clasping her waist,' replied Mr. Winkle with



natural hesitation, 'and the plaintiff appeared to have fainted



away.'



'Did you hear the defendant say anything?'



'I heard him call Mrs. Bardell a good creature, and I heard him



ask her to compose herself, for what a situation it was, if anybody



should come, or words to that effect.'



'Now, Mr. Winkle, I have only one more question to ask you,



and I beg you to bear in mind his Lordship's caution. Will you



undertake to swear that Pickwick, the defendant, did not say on



the occasion in question―"My dear Mrs. Bardell, you're a good



creature; compose yourself to this situation, for to this situation



you must come," or words to that effect?'



'I―I didn't understand him so, certainly,' said Mr. Winkle,



astounded on this ingenious dove-tailing of the few words he had



heard. 'I was on the staircase, and couldn't hear distinctly; the



impression on my mind is―'



'The gentlemen of the jury want none of the impressions on



your mind, Mr. Winkle, which I fear would be of little service to



honest, straightforward men,' interposed Mr. Skimpin. 'You were



on the staircase, and didn't distinctly hear; but you will not swear



that Pickwick did not make use of the expressions I have quoted?



Do I understand that?'



'No, I will not,' replied Mr. Winkle; and down sat Mr. Skimpin



with a triumphant countenance.



Mr. Pickwick's case had not gone off in so particularly happy a



manner, up to this point, that it could very well afford to have any



additional suspicion cast upon it. But as it could afford to be



placed in a rather better light, if possible, Mr. Phunky rose for the



purpose of getting something important out of Mr. Winkle in



cross-examination. Whether he did get anything important out of



him, will immediately appear.



'I believe, Mr. Winkle,' said Mr. Phunky, 'that Mr. Pickwick is



not a young man?'



'Oh, no,' replied Mr. Winkle; 'old enough to be my father.'



'You have told my learned friend that you have known Mr.



Pickwick a long time. Had you ever any reason to suppose or



believe that he was about to be married?'



'Oh, no; certainly not;' replied Mr. Winkle with so much



eagerness, that Mr. Phunky ought to have got him out of the box



with all possible dispatch. Lawyers hold that there are two kinds



of particularly bad witnesses―a reluctant witness, and a too-



willing witness; it was Mr. Winkle's fate to figure in both



characters.



'I will even go further than this, Mr. Winkle,' continued Mr.



Phunky, in a most smooth and complacent manner. 'Did you ever



see anything in Mr. Pickwick's manner and conduct towards the



opposite sex, to induce you to believe that he ever contemplated



matrimony of late years, in any case?'



'Oh, no; certainly not,' replied Mr. Winkle.



'Has his behaviour, when females have been in the case, always



been that of a man, who, having attained a pretty advanced period



of life, content with his own occupations and amusements, treats



them only as a father might his daughters?'



'Not the least doubt of it,' replied Mr. Winkle, in the fulness of



his heart. 'That is―yes―oh, yes―certainly.'



'You have never known anything in his behaviour towards Mrs.



Bardell, or any other female, in the least degree suspicious?' said



Mr. Phunky, preparing to sit down; for Serjeant Snubbin was



winking at him.



'N-n-no,' replied Mr. Winkle, 'except on one trifling occasion,



which, I have no doubt, might be easily explained.'



Now, if the unfortunate Mr. Phunky had sat down when



Serjeant Snubbin had winked at him, or if Serjeant Buzfuz had