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London, and to return at any sacrifice.’

‘Then you all came back again, ma’am?’ I said.

‘We all came back again,’ replied Mrs. Micawber. ‘Since then, I have

consulted other branches of my family on the course which it is most

expedient for Mr. Micawber to take--for I maintain that he must take

some course, Master Copperfield,’ said Mrs. Micawber, argumentatively.

‘It is clear that a family of six, not including a domestic, cannot live

upon air.’

‘Certainly, ma’am,’ said I.

‘The opinion of those other branches of my family,’ pursued Mrs.

Micawber, ‘is, that Mr. Micawber should immediately turn his attention

to coals.’

‘To what, ma’am?’

‘To coals,’ said Mrs. Micawber. ‘To the coal trade. Mr. Micawber was

induced to think, on inquiry, that there might be an opening for a

man of his talent in the Medway Coal Trade. Then, as Mr. Micawber very

properly said, the first step to be taken clearly was, to come and see

the Medway. Which we came and saw. I say “we”, Master Copperfield; for

I never will,’ said Mrs. Micawber with emotion, ‘I never will desert Mr.

Micawber.’

I murmured my admiration and approbation.

‘We came,’ repeated Mrs. Micawber, ‘and saw the Medway. My opinion of

the coal trade on that river is, that it may require talent, but that

it certainly requires capital. Talent, Mr. Micawber has; capital, Mr.

Micawber has not. We saw, I think, the greater part of the Medway; and

that is my individual conclusion. Being so near here, Mr. Micawber was

of opinion that it would be rash not to come on, and see the Cathedral.

Firstly, on account of its being so well worth seeing, and our never

having seen it; and secondly, on account of the great probability of

something turning up in a cathedral town. We have been here,’ said Mrs.

Micawber, ‘three days. Nothing has, as yet, turned up; and it may

not surprise you, my dear Master Copperfield, so much as it would a

stranger, to know that we are at present waiting for a remittance from

London, to discharge our pecuniary obligations at this hotel. Until the

arrival of that remittance,’ said Mrs. Micawber with much feeling, ‘I am

cut off from my home (I allude to lodgings in Pentonville), from my boy

and girl, and from my twins.’

I felt the utmost sympathy for Mr. and Mrs. Micawber in this anxious

extremity, and said as much to Mr. Micawber, who now returned: adding

that I only wished I had money enough, to lend them the amount they

needed. Mr. Micawber’s answer expressed the disturbance of his mind. He

said, shaking hands with me, ‘Copperfield, you are a true friend; but

when the worst comes to the worst, no man is without a friend who is

possessed of shaving materials.’ At this dreadful hint Mrs. Micawber

threw her arms round Mr. Micawber’s neck and entreated him to be calm.

He wept; but so far recovered, almost immediately, as to ring the bell

for the waiter, and bespeak a hot kidney pudding and a plate of shrimps

for breakfast in the morning.

When I took my leave of them, they both pressed me so much to come and

dine before they went away, that I could not refuse. But, as I knew I

could not come next day, when I should have a good deal to prepare in

the evening, Mr. Micawber arranged that he would call at Doctor Strong’s

in the course of the morning (having a presentiment that the remittance

would arrive by that post), and propose the day after, if it would suit

me better. Accordingly I was called out of school next forenoon, and

found Mr. Micawber in the parlour; who had called to say that the dinner

would take place as proposed. When I asked him if the remittance had

come, he pressed my hand and departed.

As I was looking out of window that same evening, it surprised me, and

made me rather uneasy, to see Mr. Micawber and Uriah Heep walk past, arm

in arm: Uriah humbly sensible of the honour that was done him, and Mr.

Micawber taking a bland delight in extending his patronage to Uriah. But

I was still more surprised, when I went to the little hotel next day at

the appointed dinner-hour, which was four o’clock, to find, from what

Mr. Micawber said, that he had gone home with Uriah, and had drunk

brandy-and-water at Mrs. Heep’s.

‘And I’ll tell you what, my dear Copperfield,’ said Mr. Micawber, ‘your

friend Heep is a young fellow who might be attorney-general. If I had

known that young man, at the period when my difficulties came to a

crisis, all I can say is, that I believe my creditors would have been a

great deal better managed than they were.’

I hardly understood how this could have been, seeing that Mr. Micawber

had paid them nothing at all as it was; but I did not like to

ask. Neither did I like to say, that I hoped he had not been too

communicative to Uriah; or to inquire if they had talked much about me.

I was afraid of hurting Mr. Micawber’s feelings, or, at all events, Mrs.

Micawber’s, she being very sensitive; but I was uncomfortable about it,

too, and often thought about it afterwards.

We had a beautiful little dinner. Quite an elegant dish of fish; the

kidney-end of a loin of veal, roasted; fried sausage-meat; a partridge,

and a pudding. There was wine, and there was strong ale; and after

dinner Mrs. Micawber made us a bowl of hot punch with her own hands.

Mr. Micawber was uncommonly convivial. I never saw him such good

company. He made his face shine with the punch, so that it looked as if

it had been varnished all over. He got cheerfully sentimental about

the town, and proposed success to it; observing that Mrs. Micawber and

himself had been made extremely snug and comfortable there and that he

never should forget the agreeable hours they had passed in Canterbury.

He proposed me afterwards; and he, and Mrs. Micawber, and I, took a

review of our past acquaintance, in the course of which we sold the

property all over again. Then I proposed Mrs. Micawber: or, at least,

said, modestly, ‘If you’ll allow me, Mrs. Micawber, I shall now have

the pleasure of drinking your health, ma’am.’ On which Mr. Micawber

delivered an eulogium on Mrs. Micawber’s character, and said she

had ever been his guide, philosopher, and friend, and that he would

recommend me, when I came to a marrying time of life, to marry such

another woman, if such another woman could be found.

As the punch disappeared, Mr. Micawber became still more friendly and

convivial. Mrs. Micawber’s spirits becoming elevated, too, we sang ‘Auld

Lang Syne’. When we came to ‘Here’s a hand, my trusty frere’, we all

joined hands round the table; and when we declared we would ‘take a

right gude Willie Waught’, and hadn’t the least idea what it meant, we

were really affected.

In a word, I never saw anybody so thoroughly jovial as Mr. Micawber

was, down to the very last moment of the evening, when I took a hearty

farewell of himself and his amiable wife. Consequently, I was not

prepared, at seven o’clock next morning, to receive the following

communication, dated half past nine in the evening; a quarter of an hour

after I had left him:--

‘My DEAR YOUNG FRIEND,

‘The die is cast--all is over. Hiding the ravages of care with a sickly

mask of mirth, I have not informed you, this evening, that there is no

hope of the remittance! Under these circumstances, alike humiliating to

endure, humiliating to contemplate, and humiliating to relate, I have

discharged the pecuniary liability contracted at this establishment,

by giving a note of hand, made payable fourteen days after date, at

my residence, Pentonville, London. When it becomes due, it will not be

taken up. The result is destruction. The bolt is impending, and the tree

must fall.

‘Let the wretched man who now addresses you, my dear Copperfield, be a

beacon to you through life. He writes with that intention, and in that

hope. If he could think himself of so much use, one gleam of day might,

by possibility, penetrate into the cheerless dungeon of his remaining

existence--though his longevity is, at present (to say the least of it),

extremely problematical.

‘This is the last communication, my dear Copperfield, you will ever

receive

‘From

‘The

‘Beggared Outcast,

‘WILKINS MICAWBER.’

I was so shocked by the contents of this heart-rending letter, that I

ran off directly towards the little hotel with the intention of taking

it on my way to Doctor Strong’s, and trying to soothe Mr. Micawber with

a word of comfort. But, half-way there, I met the London coach with Mr.

and Mrs. Micawber up behind; Mr. Micawber, the very picture of tranquil

enjoyment, smiling at Mrs. Micawber’s conversation, eating walnuts out

of a paper bag, with a bottle sticking out of his breast pocket. As they

did not see me, I thought it best, all things considered, not to

see them. So, with a great weight taken off my mind, I turned into a

by-street that was the nearest way to school, and felt, upon the whole,

relieved that they were gone; though I still liked them very much,

nevertheless.

CHAPTER 18. A RETROSPECT

My school-days! The silent gliding on of my existence--the unseen,

unfelt progress of my life--from childhood up to youth! Let me think,

as I look back upon that flowing water, now a dry channel overgrown with

leaves, whether there are any marks along its course, by which I can

remember how it ran.

A moment, and I occupy my place in the Cathedral, where we all went

together, every Sunday morning, assembling first at school for that

purpose. The earthy smell, the sunless air, the sensation of the world

being shut out, the resounding of the organ through the black and white

arched galleries and aisles, are wings that take me back, and hold me

hovering above those days, in a half-sleeping and half-waking dream.

I am not the last boy in the school. I have risen in a few months, over

several heads. But the first boy seems to me a mighty creature, dwelling

afar off, whose giddy height is unattainable. Agnes says ‘No,’ but I say

‘Yes,’ and tell her that she little thinks what stores of knowledge have

been mastered by the wonderful Being, at whose place she thinks I, even

I, weak aspirant, may arrive in time. He is not my private friend

and public patron, as Steerforth was, but I hold him in a reverential

respect. I chiefly wonder what he’ll be, when he leaves Doctor Strong’s,

and what mankind will do to maintain any place against him.

But who is this that breaks upon me? This is Miss Shepherd, whom I love.

Miss Shepherd is a boarder at the Misses Nettingalls’ establishment. I

adore Miss Shepherd. She is a little girl, in a spencer, with a round

face and curly flaxen hair. The Misses Nettingalls’ young ladies come to

the Cathedral too. I cannot look upon my book, for I must look upon

Miss Shepherd. When the choristers chaunt, I hear Miss Shepherd. In the

service I mentally insert Miss Shepherd’s name--I put her in among the

Royal Family. At home, in my own room, I am sometimes moved to cry out,

‘Oh, Miss Shepherd!’ in a transport of love.

For some time, I am doubtful of Miss Shepherd’s feelings, but, at

length, Fate being propitious, we meet at the dancing-school. I have

Miss Shepherd for my partner. I touch Miss Shepherd’s glove, and feel a

thrill go up the right arm of my jacket, and come out at my hair. I say

nothing to Miss Shepherd, but we understand each other. Miss Shepherd

and myself live but to be united.

Why do I secretly give Miss Shepherd twelve Brazil nuts for a present, I

wonder? They are not expressive of affection, they are difficult to pack

into a parcel of any regular shape, they are hard to crack, even in

room doors, and they are oily when cracked; yet I feel that they are

appropriate to Miss Shepherd. Soft, seedy biscuits, also, I bestow upon

Miss Shepherd; and oranges innumerable. Once, I kiss Miss Shepherd in

the cloak-room. Ecstasy! What are my agony and indignation next day,

when I hear a flying rumour that the Misses Nettingall have stood Miss

Shepherd in the stocks for turning in her toes!

Miss Shepherd being the one pervading theme and vision of my life, how

do I ever come to break with her? I can’t conceive. And yet a coolness

grows between Miss Shepherd and myself. Whispers reach me of Miss

Shepherd having said she wished I wouldn’t stare so, and having avowed a

preference for Master Jones--for Jones! a boy of no merit whatever! The

gulf between me and Miss Shepherd widens. At last, one day, I meet the

Misses Nettingalls’ establishment out walking. Miss Shepherd makes

a face as she goes by, and laughs to her companion. All is over. The

devotion of a life--it seems a life, it is all the same--is at an end;

Miss Shepherd comes out of the morning service, and the Royal Family

know her no more.

I am higher in the school, and no one breaks my peace. I am not at all

polite, now, to the Misses Nettingalls’ young ladies, and shouldn’t

dote on any of them, if they were twice as many and twenty times as

beautiful. I think the dancing-school a tiresome affair, and wonder why

the girls can’t dance by themselves and leave us alone. I am growing

great in Latin verses, and neglect the laces of my boots. Doctor Strong

refers to me in public as a promising young scholar. Mr. Dick is wild

with joy, and my aunt remits me a guinea by the next post.

The shade of a young butcher rises, like the apparition of an armed head

in Macbeth. Who is this young butcher? He is the terror of the youth

of Canterbury. There is a vague belief abroad, that the beef suet with

which he anoints his hair gives him unnatural strength, and that he is

a match for a man. He is a broad-faced, bull-necked, young butcher, with

rough red cheeks, an ill-conditioned mind, and an injurious tongue.

His main use of this tongue, is, to disparage Doctor Strong’s young

gentlemen. He says, publicly, that if they want anything he’ll give it

‘em. He names individuals among them (myself included), whom he could

undertake to settle with one hand, and the other tied behind him. He

waylays the smaller boys to punch their unprotected heads, and calls

challenges after me in the open streets. For these sufficient reasons I