Pickwick's, he unbent, relaxed, stepped down from his pedestal,
and walked upon the ground, benignly adapting his remarks to the
comprehension of the herd, and seeming in outward form, if not in
spirit, to be one of them.
Such having been the demeanour of this celebrated public character
towards Mr. Winkle, it will be readily imagined that considerable
surprise was depicted on the countenance of the latter gentleman, when,
as he was sitting alone in the breakfast-room, the door was hastily
thrown open, and as hastily closed, on the entrance of Mr. Pott, who,
stalking majestically towards him, and thrusting aside his proffered
hand, ground his teeth, as if to put a sharper edge on what he was about
to utter, and exclaimed, in a saw-like voice--
'Serpent!'
'Sir!' exclaimed Mr. Winkle, starting from his chair.
'Serpent, Sir,' repeated Mr. Pott, raising his voice, and then suddenly
depressing it: 'I said, serpent, sir--make the most of it.'
When you have parted with a man at two o'clock in the morning, on terms
of the utmost good-fellowship, and he meets you again, at half-past
nine, and greets you as a serpent, it is not unreasonable to conclude
that something of an unpleasant nature has occurred meanwhile. So Mr.
Winkle thought. He returned Mr. Pott's gaze of stone, and in compliance
with that gentleman's request, proceeded to make the most he could
of the 'serpent.' The most, however, was nothing at all; so, after a
profound silence of some minutes' duration, he said,--
'Serpent, Sir! Serpent, Mr. Pott! What can you mean, Sir?--this is
pleasantry.'
'Pleasantry, sir!' exclaimed Pott, with a motion of the hand, indicative
of a strong desire to hurl the Britannia metal teapot at the head of
the visitor. 'Pleasantry, sir!--But--no, I will be calm; I will be calm,
Sir;' in proof of his calmness, Mr. Pott flung himself into a chair, and
foamed at the mouth.
'My dear sir,' interposed Mr. Winkle.
'DEAR Sir!' replied Pott. 'How dare you address me, as dear Sir, Sir?
How dare you look me in the face and do it, sir?'
'Well, Sir, if you come to that,' responded Mr. Winkle, 'how dare you
look me in the face, and call me a serpent, sir?'
'Because you are one,' replied Mr. Pott.
'Prove it, Sir,' said Mr. Winkle warmly. 'Prove it.'
A malignant scowl passed over the profound face of the editor, as he
drew from his pocket the INDEPENDENT of that morning; and laying his
finger on a particular paragraph, threw the journal across the table to
Mr. Winkle.
That gentleman took it up, and read as follows:--
'Our obscure and filthy contemporary, in some disgusting observations
on the recent election for this borough, has presumed to violate the
hallowed sanctity of private life, and to refer in a manner not to be
misunderstood, to the personal affairs of our late candidate--aye, and
notwithstanding his base defeat, we will add, our future member, Mr.
Fizkin. What does our dastardly contemporary mean? What would the
ruffian say, if we, setting at naught, like him, the decencies of
social intercourse, were to raise the curtain which happily conceals His
private life from general ridicule, not to say from general execration?
What, if we were even to point out, and comment on, facts and
circumstances, which are publicly notorious, and beheld by every one
but our mole-eyed contemporary--what if we were to print the following
effusion, which we received while we were writing the commencement of
this article, from a talented fellow-townsman and correspondent?
'"LINES TO A BRASS POT
'"Oh Pott! if you'd known
How false she'd have grown,
When you heard the marriage bells tinkle;
You'd have done then, I vow,
What you cannot help now,
And handed her over to W*****"'
'What,' said Mr. Pott solemnly--'what rhymes to "tinkle," villain?'
'What rhymes to tinkle?' said Mrs. Pott, whose entrance at the moment
forestalled the reply. 'What rhymes to tinkle? Why, Winkle, I should
conceive.' Saying this, Mrs. Pott smiled sweetly on the disturbed
Pickwickian, and extended her hand towards him. The agitated young
man would have accepted it, in his confusion, had not Pott indignantly
interposed.
'Back, ma'am--back!' said the editor. 'Take his hand before my very
face!'
'Mr. P.!' said his astonished lady.
'Wretched woman, look here,' exclaimed the husband. 'Look here,
ma'am--"Lines to a Brass Pot." "Brass Pot"; that's me, ma'am. "False
SHE'D have grown"; that's you, ma'am--you.' With this ebullition of
rage, which was not unaccompanied with something like a tremble, at the
expression of his wife's face, Mr. Pott dashed the current number of the
Eatanswill INDEPENDENT at her feet.
'Upon my word, Sir,' said the astonished Mrs. Pott, stooping to pick up
the paper. 'Upon my word, Sir!'
Mr. Pott winced beneath the contemptuous gaze of his wife. He had made
a desperate struggle to screw up his courage, but it was fast coming
unscrewed again.
There appears nothing very tremendous in this little sentence, 'Upon my
word, sir,' when it comes to be read; but the tone of voice in which it
was delivered, and the look that accompanied it, both seeming to bear
reference to some revenge to be thereafter visited upon the head of
Pott, produced their effect upon him. The most unskilful observer could
have detected in his troubled countenance, a readiness to resign his
Wellington boots to any efficient substitute who would have consented to
stand in them at that moment.
Mrs. Pott read the paragraph, uttered a loud shriek, and threw herself
at full length on the hearth-rug, screaming, and tapping it with the
heels of her shoes, in a manner which could leave no doubt of the
propriety of her feelings on the occasion.
'My dear,' said the terrified Pott, 'I didn't say I believed it;--I--'
but the unfortunate man's voice was drowned in the screaming of his
partner.
'Mrs. Pott, let me entreat you, my dear ma'am, to compose yourself,'
said Mr. Winkle; but the shrieks and tappings were louder, and more
frequent than ever.
'My dear,' said Mr. Pott, 'I'm very sorry. If you won't consider your
own health, consider me, my dear. We shall have a crowd round the
house.' But the more strenuously Mr. Pott entreated, the more vehemently
the screams poured forth.
Very fortunately, however, attached to Mrs. Pott's person was a
bodyguard of one, a young lady whose ostensible employment was to
preside over her toilet, but who rendered herself useful in a variety
of ways, and in none more so than in the particular department
of constantly aiding and abetting her mistress in every wish and
inclination opposed to the desires of the unhappy Pott. The screams
reached this young lady's ears in due course, and brought her into the
room with a speed which threatened to derange, materially, the very
exquisite arrangement of her cap and ringlets.
'Oh, my dear, dear mistress!' exclaimed the bodyguard, kneeling
frantically by the side of the prostrate Mrs. Pott. 'Oh, my dear
mistress, what is the matter?'
'Your master--your brutal master,' murmured the patient.
Pott was evidently giving way.
'It's a shame,' said the bodyguard reproachfully. 'I know he'll be the
death on you, ma'am. Poor dear thing!'
He gave way more. The opposite party followed up the attack.
'Oh, don't leave me--don't leave me, Goodwin,' murmured Mrs. Pott,
clutching at the wrist of the said Goodwin with an hysteric jerk.
'You're the only person that's kind to me, Goodwin.'
At this affecting appeal, Goodwin got up a little domestic tragedy of
her own, and shed tears copiously.
'Never, ma'am--never,' said Goodwin.'Oh, sir, you should be careful--you
should indeed; you don't know what harm you may do missis; you'll be
sorry for it one day, I know--I've always said so.'
The unlucky Pott looked timidly on, but said nothing.
'Goodwin,' said Mrs. Pott, in a soft voice.
'Ma'am,' said Goodwin.
'If you only knew how I have loved that man--' 'Don't distress yourself
by recollecting it, ma'am,' said the bodyguard.
Pott looked very frightened. It was time to finish him.
'And now,' sobbed Mrs. Pott, 'now, after all, to be treated in this way;
to be reproached and insulted in the presence of a third party, and
that party almost a stranger. But I will not submit to it! Goodwin,'
continued Mrs. Pott, raising herself in the arms of her attendant, 'my
brother, the lieutenant, shall interfere. I'll be separated, Goodwin!'
'It would certainly serve him right, ma'am,' said Goodwin.
Whatever thoughts the threat of a separation might have awakened in Mr.
Pott's mind, he forbore to give utterance to them, and contented himself
by saying, with great humility:--
'My dear, will you hear me?'
A fresh train of sobs was the only reply, as Mrs. Pott grew more
hysterical, requested to be informed why she was ever born, and required
sundry other pieces of information of a similar description.
'My dear,' remonstrated Mr. Pott, 'do not give way to these sensitive
feelings. I never believed that the paragraph had any foundation, my
dear--impossible. I was only angry, my dear--I may say outrageous--with
the INDEPENDENT people for daring to insert it; that's all.' Mr. Pott
cast an imploring look at the innocent cause of the mischief, as if to
entreat him to say nothing about the serpent.
'And what steps, sir, do you mean to take to obtain redress?' inquired
Mr. Winkle, gaining courage as he saw Pott losing it.
'Oh, Goodwin,' observed Mrs. Pott, 'does he mean to horsewhip the editor
of the INDEPENDENT--does he, Goodwin?'
'Hush, hush, ma'am; pray keep yourself quiet,' replied the bodyguard. 'I
dare say he will, if you wish it, ma'am.'
'Certainly,' said Pott, as his wife evinced decided symptoms of going
off again. 'Of course I shall.'
'When, Goodwin--when?' said Mrs. Pott, still undecided about the going
off.
'Immediately, of course,' said Mr. Pott; 'before the day is out.'
'Oh, Goodwin,' resumed Mrs. Pott, 'it's the only way of meeting the
slander, and setting me right with the world.'
'Certainly, ma'am,' replied Goodwin. 'No man as is a man, ma'am, could
refuse to do it.'
So, as the hysterics were still hovering about, Mr. Pott said once more
that he would do it; but Mrs. Pott was so overcome at the bare idea of
having ever been suspected, that she was half a dozen times on the very
verge of a relapse, and most unquestionably would have gone off, had
it not been for the indefatigable efforts of the assiduous Goodwin, and
repeated entreaties for pardon from the conquered Pott; and finally,
when that unhappy individual had been frightened and snubbed down to his
proper level, Mrs. Pott recovered, and they went to breakfast.
'You will not allow this base newspaper slander to shorten your stay
here, Mr. Winkle?' said Mrs. Pott, smiling through the traces of her
tears.
'I hope not,' said Mr. Pott, actuated, as he spoke, by a wish that his
visitor would choke himself with the morsel of dry toast which he
was raising to his lips at the moment, and so terminate his stay
effectually.
'I hope not.'
'You are very good,' said Mr. Winkle; 'but a letter has been received
from Mr. Pickwick--so I learn by a note from Mr. Tupman, which was
brought up to my bedroom door, this morning--in which he requests us to
join him at Bury to-day; and we are to leave by the coach at noon.'
'But you will come back?' said Mrs. Pott.
'Oh, certainly,' replied Mr. Winkle.
'You are quite sure?' said Mrs. Pott, stealing a tender look at her
visitor.
'Quite,' responded Mr. Winkle.
The breakfast passed off in silence, for each of the party was brooding
over his, or her, own personal grievances. Mrs. Pott was regretting the
loss of a beau; Mr. Pott his rash pledge to horsewhip the INDEPENDENT;
Mr. Winkle his having innocently placed himself in so awkward a
situation. Noon approached, and after many adieux and promises to
return, he tore himself away.
'If he ever comes back, I'll poison him,' thought Mr. Pott, as he turned
into the little back office where he prepared his thunderbolts.
'If I ever do come back, and mix myself up with these people
again,'thought Mr. Winkle, as he wended his way to the Peacock, 'I shall
deserve to be horsewhipped myself--that's all.'
His friends were ready, the coach was nearly so, and in half an hour
they were proceeding on their journey, along the road over which Mr.
Pickwick and Sam had so recently travelled, and of which, as we have
already said something, we do not feel called upon to extract Mr.
Snodgrass's poetical and beautiful description.
Mr. Weller was standing at the door of the Angel, ready to receive
them, and by that gentleman they were ushered to the apartment of
Mr. Pickwick, where, to the no small surprise of Mr. Winkle and Mr.
Snodgrass, and the no small embarrassment of Mr. Tupman, they found old
Wardle and Trundle.
'How are you?' said the old man, grasping Mr. Tupman's hand. 'Don't hang
back, or look sentimental about it; it can't be helped, old fellow. For
her sake, I wish you'd had her; for your own, I'm very glad you have
