refilling his pipe.
'Except Tom's enemies,' replied the bagman. 'Some of 'em said Tom
invented it altogether; and others said he was drunk and fancied it,
and got hold of the wrong trousers by mistake before he went to bed. But
nobody ever minded what THEY said.'
'Tom Smart said it was all true?'
'Every word.'
'And your uncle?'
'Every letter.'
'They must have been very nice men, both of 'em,' said the dirty-faced
man.
'Yes, they were,' replied the bagman; 'very nice men indeed!'
CHAPTER XV. IN WHICH IS GIVEN A FAITHFUL PORTRAITURE OF TWO
DISTINGUISHED PERSONS; AND AN ACCURATE DESCRIPTION OF A PUBLIC BREAKFAST
IN THEIR HOUSE AND GROUNDS: WHICH PUBLIC BREAKFAST LEADS TO THE
RECOGNITION OF AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE, AND THE COMMENCEMENT OF ANOTHER
CHAPTER
Mr. Pickwick's conscience had been somewhat reproaching him for his
recent neglect of his friends at the Peacock; and he was just on the
point of walking forth in quest of them, on the third morning after the
election had terminated, when his faithful valet put into his hand a
card, on which was engraved the following inscription:--
Mrs. Leo Hunter
THE DEN. EATANSWILL.
'Person's a-waitin',' said Sam, epigrammatically.
'Does the person want me, Sam?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'He wants you partickler; and no one else 'll do, as the devil's private
secretary said ven he fetched avay Doctor Faustus,' replied Mr. Weller.
'HE. Is it a gentleman?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'A wery good imitation o' one, if it ain't,' replied Mr. Weller.
'But this is a lady's card,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Given me by a gen'l'm'n, howsoever,' replied Sam, 'and he's a-waitin'
in the drawing-room--said he'd rather wait all day, than not see you.'
Mr. Pickwick, on hearing this determination, descended to the
drawing-room, where sat a grave man, who started up on his entrance, and
said, with an air of profound respect:--
'Mr. Pickwick, I presume?'
'The same.'
'Allow me, Sir, the honour of grasping your hand. Permit me, Sir, to
shake it,' said the grave man.
'Certainly,' said Mr. Pickwick. The stranger shook the extended hand,
and then continued--
'We have heard of your fame, sir. The noise of your antiquarian
discussion has reached the ears of Mrs. Leo Hunter--my wife, sir; I
am Mr. Leo Hunter'--the stranger paused, as if he expected that Mr.
Pickwick would be overcome by the disclosure; but seeing that he
remained perfectly calm, proceeded--
'My wife, sir--Mrs. Leo Hunter--is proud to number among her
acquaintance all those who have rendered themselves celebrated by their
works and talents. Permit me, sir, to place in a conspicuous part of the
list the name of Mr. Pickwick, and his brother-members of the club that
derives its name from him.'
'I shall be extremely happy to make the acquaintance of such a lady,
sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'You SHALL make it, sir,' said the grave man. 'To-morrow morning, sir,
we give a public breakfast--a FETE CHAMPETRE--to a great number of those
who have rendered themselves celebrated by their works and talents.
Permit Mrs. Leo Hunter, Sir, to have the gratification of seeing you at
the Den.'
'With great pleasure,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'Mrs. Leo Hunter has many of these breakfasts, Sir,' resumed the new
acquaintance--'"feasts of reason," sir, "and flows of soul," as somebody
who wrote a sonnet to Mrs. Leo Hunter on her breakfasts, feelingly and
originally observed.'
'Was HE celebrated for his works and talents?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'He was Sir,' replied the grave man, 'all Mrs. Leo Hunter's
acquaintances are; it is her ambition, sir, to have no other
acquaintance.'
'It is a very noble ambition,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'When I inform Mrs. Leo Hunter, that that remark fell from your
lips, sir, she will indeed be proud,' said the grave man. 'You have a
gentleman in your train, who has produced some beautiful little poems, I
think, sir.'
'My friend Mr. Snodgrass has a great taste for poetry,' replied Mr.
Pickwick.
'So has Mrs. Leo Hunter, Sir. She dotes on poetry, sir. She adores it; I
may say that her whole soul and mind are wound up, and entwined with it.
She has produced some delightful pieces, herself, sir. You may have met
with her "Ode to an Expiring Frog," sir.'
'I don't think I have,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'You astonish me, Sir,' said Mr. Leo Hunter. 'It created an immense
sensation. It was signed with an "L" and eight stars, and appeared
originally in a lady's magazine. It commenced--
'"Can I view thee panting, lying
On thy stomach, without sighing;
Can I unmoved see thee dying
On a log
Expiring frog!"'
'Beautiful!' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Fine,' said Mr. Leo Hunter; 'so simple.'
'Very,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'The next verse is still more touching. Shall I repeat it?'
'If you please,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'It runs thus,' said the grave man, still more gravely.
'"Say, have fiends in shape of boys,
With wild halloo, and brutal noise,
Hunted thee from marshy joys,
With a dog,
Expiring frog!"'
'Finely expressed,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'All point, Sir,' said Mr.
Leo Hunter; 'but you shall hear Mrs. Leo Hunter repeat it. She can do
justice to it, Sir. She will repeat it, in character, Sir, to-morrow
morning.'
'In character!'
'As Minerva. But I forgot--it's a fancy-dress DEJEUNE.'
'Dear me,' said Mr. Pickwick, glancing at his own figure--'I can't
possibly--'
'Can't, sir; can't!' exclaimed Mr. Leo Hunter. 'Solomon Lucas, the Jew
in the High Street, has thousands of fancy-dresses. Consider, Sir, how
many appropriate characters are open for your selection. Plato, Zeno,
Epicurus, Pythagoras--all founders of clubs.'
'I know that,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but as I cannot put myself in
competition with those great men, I cannot presume to wear their
dresses.'
The grave man considered deeply, for a few seconds, and then said--
'On reflection, Sir, I don't know whether it would not afford Mrs. Leo
Hunter greater pleasure, if her guests saw a gentleman of your celebrity
in his own costume, rather than in an assumed one. I may venture to
promise an exception in your case, sir--yes, I am quite certain that, on
behalf of Mrs. Leo Hunter, I may venture to do so.'
'In that case,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I shall have great pleasure in
coming.'
'But I waste your time, Sir,' said the grave man, as if suddenly
recollecting himself. 'I know its value, sir. I will not detain you. I
may tell Mrs. Leo Hunter, then, that she may confidently expect you and
your distinguished friends? Good-morning, Sir, I am proud to have beheld
so eminent a personage--not a step sir; not a word.' And without giving
Mr. Pickwick time to offer remonstrance or denial, Mr. Leo Hunter
stalked gravely away.
Mr. Pickwick took up his hat, and repaired to the Peacock, but Mr.
Winkle had conveyed the intelligence of the fancy-ball there, before
him.
'Mrs. Pott's going,' were the first words with which he saluted his
leader.
'Is she?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'As Apollo,' replied Winkle. 'Only Pott objects to the tunic.'
'He is right. He is quite right,' said Mr. Pickwick emphatically.
'Yes; so she's going to wear a white satin gown with gold spangles.'
'They'll hardly know what she's meant for; will they?' inquired Mr.
Snodgrass.
'Of course they will,' replied Mr. Winkle indignantly. 'They'll see her
lyre, won't they?'
'True; I forgot that,' said Mr. Snodgrass.
'I shall go as a bandit,'interposed Mr. Tupman.
'What!' said Mr. Pickwick, with a sudden start.
'As a bandit,' repeated Mr. Tupman, mildly.
'You don't mean to say,' said Mr. Pickwick, gazing with solemn sternness
at his friend--'you don't mean to say, Mr. Tupman, that it is your
intention to put yourself into a green velvet jacket, with a two-inch
tail?'
'Such IS my intention, Sir,' replied Mr. Tupman warmly. 'And why not,
sir?'
'Because, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, considerably excited--'because you
are too old, Sir.'
'Too old!' exclaimed Mr. Tupman.
'And if any further ground of objection be wanting,' continued Mr.
Pickwick, 'you are too fat, sir.'
'Sir,' said Mr. Tupman, his face suffused with a crimson glow, 'this is
an insult.'
'Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick, in the same tone, 'it is not half the
insult to you, that your appearance in my presence in a green velvet
jacket, with a two-inch tail, would be to me.'
'Sir,' said Mr. Tupman, 'you're a fellow.'
'Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'you're another!'
Mr. Tupman advanced a step or two, and glared at Mr. Pickwick. Mr.
Pickwick returned the glare, concentrated into a focus by means of his
spectacles, and breathed a bold defiance. Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle
looked on, petrified at beholding such a scene between two such men.
'Sir,' said Mr. Tupman, after a short pause, speaking in a low, deep
voice, 'you have called me old.'
'I have,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'And fat.'
'I reiterate the charge.'
'And a fellow.'
'So you are!'
There was a fearful pause.
'My attachment to your person, sir,' said Mr. Tupman, speaking in a
voice tremulous with emotion, and tucking up his wristbands meanwhile,
'is great--very great--but upon that person, I must take summary
vengeance.'
'Come on, Sir!' replied Mr. Pickwick. Stimulated by the exciting nature
of the dialogue, the heroic man actually threw himself into a paralytic
attitude, confidently supposed by the two bystanders to have been
intended as a posture of defence.
'What!' exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass, suddenly recovering the power of
speech, of which intense astonishment had previously bereft him,
and rushing between the two, at the imminent hazard of receiving an
application on the temple from each--'what! Mr. Pickwick, with the eyes
of the world upon you! Mr. Tupman! who, in common with us all, derives a
lustre from his undying name! For shame, gentlemen; for shame.'
The unwonted lines which momentary passion had ruled in Mr. Pickwick's
clear and open brow, gradually melted away, as his young friend spoke,
like the marks of a black-lead pencil beneath the softening influence of
india-rubber. His countenance had resumed its usual benign expression,
ere he concluded.
'I have been hasty,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'very hasty. Tupman; your hand.'
The dark shadow passed from Mr. Tupman's face, as he warmly grasped the
hand of his friend.
'I have been hasty, too,' said he.
'No, no,' interrupted Mr. Pickwick, 'the fault was mine. You will wear
the green velvet jacket?'
'No, no,' replied Mr. Tupman.
'To oblige me, you will,' resumed Mr. Pickwick.
'Well, well, I will,' said Mr. Tupman.
It was accordingly settled that Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr.
Snodgrass, should all wear fancy-dresses. Thus Mr. Pickwick was led
by the very warmth of his own good feelings to give his consent to a
proceeding from which his better judgment would have recoiled--a more
striking illustration of his amiable character could hardly have been
conceived, even if the events recorded in these pages had been wholly
imaginary.
Mr. Leo Hunter had not exaggerated the resources of Mr. Solomon Lucas.
His wardrobe was extensive--very extensive--not strictly classical
perhaps, not quite new, nor did it contain any one garment made
precisely after the fashion of any age or time, but everything was more
or less spangled; and what can be prettier than spangles! It may be
objected that they are not adapted to the daylight, but everybody knows
that they would glitter if there were lamps; and nothing can be clearer
than that if people give fancy-balls in the day-time, and the dresses
do not show quite as well as they would by night, the fault lies solely
with the people who give the fancy-balls, and is in no wise chargeable
on the spangles. Such was the convincing reasoning of Mr. Solomon Lucas;
and influenced by such arguments did Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr.
Snodgrass engage to array themselves in costumes which his taste and
experience induced him to recommend as admirably suited to the occasion.
A carriage was hired from the Town Arms, for the accommodation of the
Pickwickians, and a chariot was ordered from the same repository, for
the purpose of conveying Mr. and Mrs. Pott to Mrs. Leo Hunter's grounds,
which Mr. Pott, as a delicate acknowledgment of having received an
invitation, had already confidently predicted in the Eatanswill
GAZETTE 'would present a scene of varied and delicious enchantment--a
bewildering coruscation of beauty and talent--a lavish and prodigal
display of hospitality--above all, a degree of splendour softened by the
most exquisite taste; and adornment refined with perfect harmony and the
chastest good keeping--compared with which, the fabled gorgeousness of
Eastern fairyland itself would appear to be clothed in as many dark and
