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breakfast parlour, whip in hand. It was Mr. Jack Maldon; and Mr. Jack

Maldon was not at all improved by India, I thought. I was in a state

of ferocious virtue, however, as to young men who were not cutting down

trees in the forest of difficulty; and my impression must be received

with due allowance.

‘Mr. Jack!’ said the Doctor. ‘Copperfield!’

Mr. Jack Maldon shook hands with me; but not very warmly, I believed;

and with an air of languid patronage, at which I secretly took great

umbrage. But his languor altogether was quite a wonderful sight; except

when he addressed himself to his cousin Annie. ‘Have you breakfasted

this morning, Mr. Jack?’ said the Doctor.

‘I hardly ever take breakfast, sir,’ he replied, with his head thrown

back in an easy-chair. ‘I find it bores me.’

‘Is there any news today?’ inquired the Doctor.

‘Nothing at all, sir,’ replied Mr. Maldon. ‘There’s an account about

the people being hungry and discontented down in the North, but they are

always being hungry and discontented somewhere.’

The Doctor looked grave, and said, as though he wished to change the

subject, ‘Then there’s no news at all; and no news, they say, is good

news.’

‘There’s a long statement in the papers, sir, about a murder,’ observed

Mr. Maldon. ‘But somebody is always being murdered, and I didn’t read

it.’

A display of indifference to all the actions and passions of mankind was

not supposed to be such a distinguished quality at that time, I think,

as I have observed it to be considered since. I have known it very

fashionable indeed. I have seen it displayed with such success, that I

have encountered some fine ladies and gentlemen who might as well have

been born caterpillars. Perhaps it impressed me the more then, because

it was new to me, but it certainly did not tend to exalt my opinion of,

or to strengthen my confidence in, Mr. Jack Maldon.

‘I came out to inquire whether Annie would like to go to the opera

tonight,’ said Mr. Maldon, turning to her. ‘It’s the last good night

there will be, this season; and there’s a singer there, whom she really

ought to hear. She is perfectly exquisite. Besides which, she is so

charmingly ugly,’ relapsing into languor.

The Doctor, ever pleased with what was likely to please his young wife,

turned to her and said:

‘You must go, Annie. You must go.’

‘I would rather not,’ she said to the Doctor. ‘I prefer to remain at

home. I would much rather remain at home.’

Without looking at her cousin, she then addressed me, and asked me about

Agnes, and whether she should see her, and whether she was not likely to

come that day; and was so much disturbed, that I wondered how even the

Doctor, buttering his toast, could be blind to what was so obvious.

But he saw nothing. He told her, good-naturedly, that she was young and

ought to be amused and entertained, and must not allow herself to be

made dull by a dull old fellow. Moreover, he said, he wanted to hear her

sing all the new singer’s songs to him; and how could she do that well,

unless she went? So the Doctor persisted in making the engagement for

her, and Mr. Jack Maldon was to come back to dinner. This concluded, he

went to his Patent place, I suppose; but at all events went away on his

horse, looking very idle.

I was curious to find out next morning, whether she had been. She had

not, but had sent into London to put her cousin off; and had gone out in

the afternoon to see Agnes, and had prevailed upon the Doctor to go with

her; and they had walked home by the fields, the Doctor told me, the

evening being delightful. I wondered then, whether she would have gone

if Agnes had not been in town, and whether Agnes had some good influence

over her too!

She did not look very happy, I thought; but it was a good face, or a

very false one. I often glanced at it, for she sat in the window all the

time we were at work; and made our breakfast, which we took by snatches

as we were employed. When I left, at nine o’clock, she was kneeling on

the ground at the Doctor’s feet, putting on his shoes and gaiters for

him. There was a softened shade upon her face, thrown from some green

leaves overhanging the open window of the low room; and I thought all

the way to Doctors’ Commons, of the night when I had seen it looking at

him as he read.

I was pretty busy now; up at five in the morning, and home at nine

or ten at night. But I had infinite satisfaction in being so

closely engaged, and never walked slowly on any account, and felt

enthusiastically that the more I tired myself, the more I was doing to

deserve Dora. I had not revealed myself in my altered character to

Dora yet, because she was coming to see Miss Mills in a few days, and

I deferred all I had to tell her until then; merely informing her in

my letters (all our communications were secretly forwarded through Miss

Mills), that I had much to tell her. In the meantime, I put myself on

a short allowance of bear’s grease, wholly abandoned scented soap and

lavender water, and sold off three waistcoats at a prodigious sacrifice,

as being too luxurious for my stern career.

Not satisfied with all these proceedings, but burning with impatience

to do something more, I went to see Traddles, now lodging up behind the

parapet of a house in Castle Street, Holborn. Mr. Dick, who had been

with me to Highgate twice already, and had resumed his companionship

with the Doctor, I took with me.

I took Mr. Dick with me, because, acutely sensitive to my aunt’s

reverses, and sincerely believing that no galley-slave or convict worked

as I did, he had begun to fret and worry himself out of spirits and

appetite, as having nothing useful to do. In this condition, he felt

more incapable of finishing the Memorial than ever; and the harder he

worked at it, the oftener that unlucky head of King Charles the First

got into it. Seriously apprehending that his malady would increase,

unless we put some innocent deception upon him and caused him to believe

that he was useful, or unless we could put him in the way of being

really useful (which would be better), I made up my mind to try

if Traddles could help us. Before we went, I wrote Traddles a full

statement of all that had happened, and Traddles wrote me back a capital

answer, expressive of his sympathy and friendship.

We found him hard at work with his inkstand and papers, refreshed by the

sight of the flower-pot stand and the little round table in a corner of

the small apartment. He received us cordially, and made friends with

Mr. Dick in a moment. Mr. Dick professed an absolute certainty of having

seen him before, and we both said, ‘Very likely.’

The first subject on which I had to consult Traddles was this,--I had

heard that many men distinguished in various pursuits had begun life

by reporting the debates in Parliament. Traddles having mentioned

newspapers to me, as one of his hopes, I had put the two things

together, and told Traddles in my letter that I wished to know how I

could qualify myself for this pursuit. Traddles now informed me, as the

result of his inquiries, that the mere mechanical acquisition necessary,

except in rare cases, for thorough excellence in it, that is to say,

a perfect and entire command of the mystery of short-hand writing and

reading, was about equal in difficulty to the mastery of six languages;

and that it might perhaps be attained, by dint of perseverance, in the

course of a few years. Traddles reasonably supposed that this would

settle the business; but I, only feeling that here indeed were a few

tall trees to be hewn down, immediately resolved to work my way on to

Dora through this thicket, axe in hand.

‘I am very much obliged to you, my dear Traddles!’ said I. ‘I’ll begin

tomorrow.’

Traddles looked astonished, as he well might; but he had no notion as

yet of my rapturous condition.

‘I’ll buy a book,’ said I, ‘with a good scheme of this art in it; I’ll

work at it at the Commons, where I haven’t half enough to do; I’ll take

down the speeches in our court for practice--Traddles, my dear fellow,

I’ll master it!’

‘Dear me,’ said Traddles, opening his eyes, ‘I had no idea you were such

a determined character, Copperfield!’

I don’t know how he should have had, for it was new enough to me. I

passed that off, and brought Mr. Dick on the carpet.

‘You see,’ said Mr. Dick, wistfully, ‘if I could exert myself, Mr.

Traddles--if I could beat a drum--or blow anything!’

Poor fellow! I have little doubt he would have preferred such an

employment in his heart to all others. Traddles, who would not have

smiled for the world, replied composedly:

‘But you are a very good penman, sir. You told me so, Copperfield?’

‘Excellent!’ said I. And indeed he was. He wrote with extraordinary

neatness.

‘Don’t you think,’ said Traddles, ‘you could copy writings, sir, if I

got them for you?’

Mr. Dick looked doubtfully at me. ‘Eh, Trotwood?’

I shook my head. Mr. Dick shook his, and sighed. ‘Tell him about the

Memorial,’ said Mr. Dick.

I explained to Traddles that there was a difficulty in keeping King

Charles the First out of Mr. Dick’s manuscripts; Mr. Dick in the

meanwhile looking very deferentially and seriously at Traddles, and

sucking his thumb.

‘But these writings, you know, that I speak of, are already drawn up

and finished,’ said Traddles after a little consideration. ‘Mr. Dick has

nothing to do with them. Wouldn’t that make a difference, Copperfield?

At all events, wouldn’t it be well to try?’

This gave us new hope. Traddles and I laying our heads together apart,

while Mr. Dick anxiously watched us from his chair, we concocted a

scheme in virtue of which we got him to work next day, with triumphant

success.

On a table by the window in Buckingham Street, we set out the work

Traddles procured for him--which was to make, I forget how many copies

of a legal document about some right of way--and on another table

we spread the last unfinished original of the great Memorial. Our

instructions to Mr. Dick were that he should copy exactly what he had

before him, without the least departure from the original; and that when

he felt it necessary to make the slightest allusion to King Charles the

First, he should fly to the Memorial. We exhorted him to be resolute

in this, and left my aunt to observe him. My aunt reported to us,

afterwards, that, at first, he was like a man playing the kettle-drums,

and constantly divided his attentions between the two; but that, finding

this confuse and fatigue him, and having his copy there, plainly before

his eyes, he soon sat at it in an orderly business-like manner, and

postponed the Memorial to a more convenient time. In a word, although we

took great care that he should have no more to do than was good for him,

and although he did not begin with the beginning of a week, he earned

by the following Saturday night ten shillings and nine-pence; and never,

while I live, shall I forget his going about to all the shops in the

neighbourhood to change this treasure into sixpences, or his bringing

them to my aunt arranged in the form of a heart upon a waiter, with

tears of joy and pride in his eyes. He was like one under the propitious

influence of a charm, from the moment of his being usefully employed;

and if there were a happy man in the world, that Saturday night, it was

the grateful creature who thought my aunt the most wonderful woman in

existence, and me the most wonderful young man.

‘No starving now, Trotwood,’ said Mr. Dick, shaking hands with me in a

corner. ‘I’ll provide for her, Sir!’ and he flourished his ten fingers

in the air, as if they were ten banks.

I hardly know which was the better pleased, Traddles or I. ‘It really,’

said Traddles, suddenly, taking a letter out of his pocket, and giving

it to me, ‘put Mr. Micawber quite out of my head!’

The letter (Mr. Micawber never missed any possible opportunity of

writing a letter) was addressed to me, ‘By the kindness of T. Traddles,

Esquire, of the Inner Temple.’ It ran thus:--

‘MY DEAR COPPERFIELD,

‘You may possibly not be unprepared to receive the intimation that

something has turned up. I may have mentioned to you on a former

occasion that I was in expectation of such an event.

‘I am about to establish myself in one of the provincial towns of our

favoured island (where the society may be described as a happy admixture

of the agricultural and the clerical), in immediate connexion with

one of the learned professions. Mrs. Micawber and our offspring will

accompany me. Our ashes, at a future period, will probably be found

commingled in the cemetery attached to a venerable pile, for which the

spot to which I refer has acquired a reputation, shall I say from China

to Peru?

‘In bidding adieu to the modern Babylon, where we have undergone many

vicissitudes, I trust not ignobly, Mrs. Micawber and myself cannot

disguise from our minds that we part, it may be for years and it may be

for ever, with an individual linked by strong associations to the altar

of our domestic life. If, on the eve of such a departure, you will

accompany our mutual friend, Mr. Thomas Traddles, to our present abode,

and there reciprocate the wishes natural to the occasion, you will

confer a Boon

‘On

‘One

‘Who

‘Is

‘Ever yours,

‘WILKINS MICAWBER.’

I was glad to find that Mr. Micawber had got rid of his dust and ashes,

and that something really had turned up at last. Learning from Traddles

that the invitation referred to the evening then wearing away, I

expressed my readiness to do honour to it; and we went off together to

the lodging which Mr. Micawber occupied as Mr. Mortimer, and which was

situated near the top of the Gray’s Inn Road.

The resources of this lodging were so limited, that we found the twins,

now some eight or nine years old, reposing in a turn-up bedstead in

the family sitting-room, where Mr. Micawber had prepared, in a

wash-hand-stand jug, what he called ‘a Brew’ of the agreeable beverage

for which he was famous. I had the pleasure, on this occasion, of