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In the ground-floor front of a dingy house, at the very farthest end ofFreeman's Court, Cornhill, sat the four clerks of Messrs. Dodson & Fogg,two of his Majesty's attorneys of the courts of King's Bench and CommonPleas at Westminster, and solicitors of the High Court of Chancery--theaforesaid clerks catching as favourable glimpses of heaven's light andheaven's sun, in the course of their daily labours, as a man mighthope to do, were he placed at the bottom of a reasonably deep well; andwithout the opportunity of perceiving the stars in the day-time, whichthe latter secluded situation affords.

The clerks' office of Messrs. Dodson & Fogg was a dark, mouldy,earthy-smelling room, with a high wainscotted partition to screen theclerks from the vulgar gaze, a couple of old wooden chairs, a veryloud-ticking clock, an almanac, an umbrella-stand, a row of hat-pegs,and a few shelves, on which were deposited several ticketed bundles ofdirty papers, some old deal boxes with paper labels, and sundry decayedstone ink bottles of various shapes and sizes. There was a glass doorleading into the passage which formed the entrance to the court, and onthe outer side of this glass door, Mr. Pickwick, closely followed bySam Weller, presented himself on the Friday morning succeeding theoccurrence of which a faithful narration is given in the last chapter.

'Come in, can't you!' cried a voice from behind the partition, in replyto Mr. Pickwick's gentle tap at the door. And Mr. Pickwick and Samentered accordingly.

'Mr. Dodson or Mr. Fogg at home, sir?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, gently,advancing, hat in hand, towards the partition.

'Mr. Dodson ain't at home, and Mr. Fogg's particularly engaged,' repliedthe voice; and at the same time the head to which the voice belonged,with a pen behind its ear, looked over the partition, and at Mr.Pickwick.

It was a ragged head, the sandy hair of which, scrupulously partedon one side, and flattened down with pomatum, was twisted into littlesemi-circular tails round a flat face ornamented with a pair of smalleyes, and garnished with a very dirty shirt collar, and a rusty blackstock.

'Mr. Dodson ain't at home, and Mr. Fogg's particularly engaged,' saidthe man to whom the head belonged.

'When will Mr. Dodson be back, sir?' inquired Mr. Pickwick. 'Can't say.'

'Will it be long before Mr. Fogg is disengaged, Sir?'

'Don't know.'

Here the man proceeded to mend his pen with great deliberation, whileanother clerk, who was mixing a Seidlitz powder, under cover of the lidof his desk, laughed approvingly.

'I think I'll wait,' said Mr. Pickwick. There was no reply; so Mr.Pickwick sat down unbidden, and listened to the loud ticking of theclock and the murmured conversation of the clerks.

'That was a game, wasn't it?' said one of the gentlemen, in a brown coatand brass buttons, inky drabs, and bluchers, at the conclusion of someinaudible relation of his previous evening's adventures.

'Devilish good--devilish good,' said the Seidlitz-powder man. 'TomCummins was in the chair,' said the man with the brown coat. 'It washalf-past four when I got to Somers Town, and then I was so uncommonlushy, that I couldn't find the place where the latch-key went in, andwas obliged to knock up the old 'ooman. I say, I wonder what old Fogg'ud say, if he knew it. I should get the sack, I s'pose--eh?'

At this humorous notion, all the clerks laughed in concert.

'There was such a game with Fogg here, this mornin',' said the man inthe brown coat, 'while Jack was upstairs sorting the papers, and you twowere gone to the stamp-office. Fogg was down here, opening the letterswhen that chap as we issued the writ against at Camberwell, you know,came in--what's his name again?'

'Ramsey,' said the clerk who had spoken to Mr. Pickwick.

'Ah, Ramsey--a precious seedy-looking customer. "Well, sir," says oldFogg, looking at him very fierce--you know his way--"well, Sir, have youcome to settle?" "Yes, I have, sir," said Ramsey, putting his hand inhis pocket, and bringing out the money, "the debt's two pound ten, andthe costs three pound five, and here it is, Sir;" and he sighed likebricks, as he lugged out the money, done up in a bit of blotting-paper.Old Fogg looked first at the money, and then at him, and then he coughedin his rum way, so that I knew something was coming. "You don't knowthere's a declaration filed, which increases the costs materially, Isuppose," said Fogg. "You don't say that, sir," said Ramsey, startingback; "the time was only out last night, Sir." "I do say it, though,"said Fogg, "my clerk's just gone to file it. Hasn't Mr. Jackson goneto file that declaration in Bullman and Ramsey, Mr. Wicks?" Of course Isaid yes, and then Fogg coughed again, and looked at Ramsey. "My God!"said Ramsey; "and here have I nearly driven myself mad, scraping thismoney together, and all to no purpose." "None at all," said Fogg coolly;"so you had better go back and scrape some more together, and bring ithere in time." "I can't get it, by God!" said Ramsey, striking the deskwith his fist. "Don't bully me, sir," said Fogg, getting into a passionon purpose. "I am not bullying you, sir," said Ramsey. "You are," saidFogg; "get out, sir; get out of this office, Sir, and come back, Sir,when you know how to behave yourself." Well, Ramsey tried to speak, butFogg wouldn't let him, so he put the money in his pocket, and sneakedout. The door was scarcely shut, when old Fogg turned round to me, witha sweet smile on his face, and drew the declaration out of his coatpocket. "Here, Wicks," says Fogg, "take a cab, and go down to the Templeas quick as you can, and file that. The costs are quite safe, for he's asteady man with a large family, at a salary of five-and-twenty shillingsa week, and if he gives us a warrant of attorney, as he must in the end,I know his employers will see it paid; so we may as well get all we canget out of him, Mr. Wicks; it's a Christian act to do it, Mr. Wicks, forwith his large family and small income, he'll be all the better fora good lesson against getting into debt--won't he, Mr. Wicks, won'the?"--and he smiled so good-naturedly as he went away, that it wasdelightful to see him. He is a capital man of business,' said Wicks, ina tone of the deepest admiration, 'capital, isn't he?'

The other three cordially subscribed to this opinion, and the anecdoteafforded the most unlimited satisfaction.

'Nice men these here, Sir,' whispered Mr. Weller to his master; 'werynice notion of fun they has, Sir.'

Mr. Pickwick nodded assent, and coughed to attract the attention ofthe young gentlemen behind the partition, who, having now relaxed theirminds by a little conversation among themselves, condescended to takesome notice of the stranger.

'I wonder whether Fogg's disengaged now?' said Jackson.

'I'll see,' said Wicks, dismounting leisurely from his stool. 'What nameshall I tell Mr. Fogg?'

'Pickwick,' replied the illustrious subject of these memoirs.

Mr. Jackson departed upstairs on his errand, and immediately returnedwith a message that Mr. Fogg would see Mr. Pickwick in five minutes; andhaving delivered it, returned again to his desk.

'What did he say his name was?' whispered Wicks.

'Pickwick,' replied Jackson; 'it's the defendant in Bardell andPickwick.'

A sudden scraping of feet, mingled with the sound of suppressedlaughter, was heard from behind the partition.

'They're a-twiggin' of you, Sir,' whispered Mr. Weller.

'Twigging of me, Sam!' replied Mr. Pickwick; 'what do you mean bytwigging me?'

Mr. Weller replied by pointing with his thumb over his shoulder, and Mr.Pickwick, on looking up, became sensible of the pleasing fact, that allthe four clerks, with countenances expressive of the utmost amusement,and with their heads thrust over the wooden screen, were minutelyinspecting the figure and general appearance of the supposed triflerwith female hearts, and disturber of female happiness. On his lookingup, the row of heads suddenly disappeared, and the sound of penstravelling at a furious rate over paper, immediately succeeded.

A sudden ring at the bell which hung in the office, summoned Mr. Jacksonto the apartment of Fogg, from whence he came back to say that he (Fogg)was ready to see Mr. Pickwick if he would step upstairs. Upstairs Mr.Pickwick did step accordingly, leaving Sam Weller below. The room doorof the one-pair back, bore inscribed in legible characters the imposingwords, 'Mr. Fogg'; and, having tapped thereat, and been desired to comein, Jackson ushered Mr. Pickwick into the presence.

'Is Mr. Dodson in?' inquired Mr. Fogg.

'Just come in, Sir,' replied Jackson.

'Ask him to step here.'

'Yes, sir.' Exit Jackson.

'Take a seat, sir,' said Fogg; 'there is the paper, sir; my partner willbe here directly, and we can converse about this matter, sir.'

Mr. Pickwick took a seat and the paper, but, instead of reading thelatter, peeped over the top of it, and took a survey of the man ofbusiness, who was an elderly, pimply-faced, vegetable-diet sort of man,in a black coat, dark mixture trousers, and small black gaiters; a kindof being who seemed to be an essential part of the desk at which he waswriting, and to have as much thought or feeling.

After a few minutes' silence, Mr. Dodson, a plump, portly, stern-lookingman, with a loud voice, appeared; and the conversation commenced.

'This is Mr. Pickwick,' said Fogg.

'Ah! You are the defendant, Sir, in Bardell and Pickwick?' said Dodson.

'I am, sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'Well, sir,' said Dodson, 'and what do you propose?'

'Ah!' said Fogg, thrusting his hands into his trousers' pockets, andthrowing himself back in his chair, 'what do you propose, Mr Pickwick?'

'Hush, Fogg,' said Dodson, 'let me hear what Mr. Pickwick has to say.'

'I came, gentlemen,' said Mr. Pickwick, gazing placidly on the twopartners, 'I came here, gentlemen, to express the surprise with whichI received your letter of the other day, and to inquire what grounds ofaction you can have against me.'

'Grounds of--' Fogg had ejaculated this much, when he was stopped byDodson.

'Mr. Fogg,' said Dodson, 'I am going to speak.' 'I beg your pardon, Mr.Dodson,' said Fogg.

'For the grounds of action, sir,' continued Dodson, with moral elevationin his air, 'you will consult your own conscience and your own feelings.We, Sir, we, are guided entirely by the statement of our client. Thatstatement, Sir, may be true, or it may be false; it may be credible, orit may be incredible; but, if it be true, and if it be credible, I donot hesitate to say, Sir, that our grounds of action, Sir, are strong,and not to be shaken. You may be an unfortunate man, Sir, or you may bea designing one; but if I were called upon, as a juryman upon my oath,Sir, to express an opinion of your conduct, Sir, I do not hesitate toassert that I should have but one opinion about it.' Here Dodson drewhimself up, with an air of offended virtue, and looked at Fogg, whothrust his hands farther in his pockets, and nodding his head sagely,said, in a tone of the fullest concurrence, 'Most certainly.'

'Well, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, with considerable pain depicted inhis countenance, 'you will permit me to assure you that I am a mostunfortunate man, so far as this case is concerned.'

'I hope you are, Sir,' replied Dodson; 'I trust you may be, Sir. Ifyou are really innocent of what is laid to your charge, you are moreunfortunate than I had believed any man could possibly be. What do yousay, Mr. Fogg?'

'I say precisely what you say,' replied Fogg, with a smile ofincredulity.

'The writ, Sir, which commences the action,' continued Dodson, 'wasissued regularly. Mr. Fogg, where is the PRAECIPE book?'

'Here it is,' said Fogg, handing over a square book, with a parchmentcover.

'Here is the entry,' resumed Dodson. '"Middlesex, Capias MARTHABARDELL, WIDOW, v. SAMUEL PICKWICK. Damages #1500. Dodson & Fogg for theplaintiff, Aug. 28, 1827." All regular, Sir; perfectly.' Dodson coughedand looked at Fogg, who said 'Perfectly,' also. And then they bothlooked at Mr. Pickwick.

'I am to understand, then,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that it really is yourintention to proceed with this action?'

'Understand, sir!--that you certainly may,' replied Dodson, withsomething as near a smile as his importance would allow.

'And that the damages are actually laid at fifteen hundred pounds?' saidMr. Pickwick.

'To which understanding you may add my assurance, that if we couldhave prevailed upon our client, they would have been laid at treble theamount, sir,' replied Dodson. 'I believe Mrs. Bardell specially said,however,' observed Fogg, glancing at Dodson, 'that she would notcompromise for a farthing less.'

'Unquestionably,' replied Dodson sternly. For the action was only justbegun; and it wouldn't have done to let Mr. Pickwick compromise it then,even if he had been so disposed.

'As you offer no terms, sir,' said Dodson, displaying a slip ofparchment in his right hand, and affectionately pressing a paper copy ofit, on Mr. Pickwick with his left, 'I had better serve you with a copyof this writ, sir. Here is the original, sir.'

'Very well, gentlemen, very well,' said Mr. Pickwick, rising inperson and wrath at the same time; 'you shall hear from my solicitor,gentlemen.'

'We shall be very happy to do so,' said Fogg, rubbing his hands.

'Very,' said Dodson, opening the door.

'And before I go, gentlemen,' said the excited Mr. Pickwick, turninground on the landing, 'permit me to say, that of all the disgraceful andrascally proceedings--'

'Stay, sir, stay,' interposed Dodson, with great politeness. 'Mr.Jackson! Mr. Wicks!'

'Sir,' said the two clerks, appearing at the bottom of the stairs.

'I merely want you to hear what this gentleman says,' replied Dodson.'Pray, go on, sir--disgraceful and rascally proceedings, I think yousaid?'

'I did,' said Mr. Pickwick, thoroughly roused. 'I said, Sir, that of allthe disgraceful and rascally proceedings that ever were attempted, thisis the most so. I repeat it, sir.'

'You hear that, Mr. Wicks,' said Dodson.

'You won't forget these expressions, Mr. Jackson?' said Fogg.

'Perhaps you would like to call us swindlers, sir,' said Dodson. 'Praydo, Sir, if you feel disposed; now pray do, Sir.'

'I do,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'You ARE swindlers.'

'Very good,' said Dodson. 'You can hear down there, I hope, Mr. Wicks?'

'Oh, yes, Sir,' said Wicks.

'You had better come up a step or two higher, if you can't,' added Mr.Fogg. 'Go on, Sir; do go on. You had better call us thieves, Sir; orperhaps You would like to assault one Of US. Pray do it, Sir, if youwould; we will not make the smallest resistance. Pray do it, Sir.'

As Fogg put himself very temptingly within the reach of Mr. Pickwick'sclenched fist, there is little doubt that that gentleman would havecomplied with his earnest entreaty, but for the interposition of Sam,who, hearing the dispute, emerged from the office, mounted the stairs,and seized his master by the arm.

'You just come away,' said Mr. Weller. 'Battledore and shuttlecock'sa wery good game, vhen you ain't the shuttlecock and two lawyers thebattledores, in which case it gets too excitin' to be pleasant. Comeavay, Sir. If you want to ease your mind by blowing up somebody, comeout into the court and blow up me; but it's rayther too expensive workto be carried on here.'

And without the slightest ceremony, Mr. Weller hauled his master downthe stairs, and down the court, and having safely deposited him inCornhill, fell behind, prepared to follow whithersoever he should lead.

Mr. Pickwick walked on abstractedly, crossed opposite the Mansion House,and bent his steps up Cheapside. Sam began to wonder where they weregoing, when his master turned round, and said--

'Sam, I will go immediately to Mr. Perker's.'

'That's just exactly the wery place vere you ought to have gone lastnight, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller.

'I think it is, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'I KNOW it is,' said Mr.Weller.

'Well, well, Sam,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'we will go there at once;but first, as I have been rather ruffled, I should like a glass ofbrandy-and-water warm, Sam. Where can I have it, Sam?'

Mr. Weller's knowledge of London was extensive and peculiar. He replied,without the slightest consideration--

'Second court on the right hand side--last house but vun on the sameside the vay--take the box as stands in the first fireplace, 'cos thereain't no leg in the middle o' the table, which all the others has, andit's wery inconvenient.'

Mr. Pickwick observed his valet's directions implicitly, and biddingSam follow him, entered the tavern he had pointed out, where the hotbrandy-and-water was speedily placed before him; while Mr. Weller,seated at a respectful distance, though at the same table with hismaster, was accommodated with a pint of porter.

The room was one of a very homely description, and was apparently underthe especial patronage of stage-coachmen; for several gentleman, whohad all the appearance of belonging to that learned profession, weredrinking and smoking in the different boxes. Among the number was onestout, red-faced, elderly man, in particular, seated in an opposite box,who attracted Mr. Pickwick's attention. The stout man was smoking withgreat vehemence, but between every half-dozen puffs, he took his pipefrom his mouth, and looked first at Mr. Weller and then at Mr. Pickwick.Then, he would bury in a quart pot, as much of his countenance as thedimensions of the quart pot admitted of its receiving, and take anotherlook at Sam and Mr. Pickwick. Then he would take another half-dozenpuffs with an air of profound meditation and look at them again. At lastthe stout man, putting up his legs on the seat, and leaning his backagainst the wall, began to puff at his pipe without leaving off at all,and to stare through the smoke at the new-comers, as if he had made uphis mind to see the most he could of them.

At first the evolutions of the stout man had escaped Mr. Weller'sobservation, but by degrees, as he saw Mr. Pickwick's eyes every now andthen turning towards him, he began to gaze in the same direction, at thesame time shading his eyes with his hand, as if he partially recognisedthe object before him, and wished to make quite sure of its identity.His doubts were speedily dispelled, however; for the stout man havingblown a thick cloud from his pipe, a hoarse voice, like some strangeeffort of ventriloquism, emerged from beneath the capacious shawls whichmuffled his throat and chest, and slowly uttered these sounds--'Wy,Sammy!'

'Who's that, Sam?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Why, I wouldn't ha' believed it, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller, withastonished eyes. 'It's the old 'un.'

'Old one,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'What old one?'

'My father, sir,' replied Mr. Weller. 'How are you, my ancient?' Andwith this beautiful ebullition of filial affection, Mr. Weller made roomon the seat beside him, for the stout man, who advanced pipe in mouthand pot in hand, to greet him.

'Wy, Sammy,' said the father, 'I ha'n't seen you, for two year andbetter.'

'Nor more you have, old codger,' replied the son. 'How's mother-in-law?'

'Wy, I'll tell you what, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, senior, with muchsolemnity in his manner; 'there never was a nicer woman as a widder,than that 'ere second wentur o' mine--a sweet creetur she was, Sammy;all I can say on her now, is, that as she was such an uncommon pleasantwidder, it's a great pity she ever changed her condition. She don't actas a vife, Sammy.' 'Don't she, though?' inquired Mr. Weller, junior.

The elder Mr. Weller shook his head, as he replied with a sigh, 'I'vedone it once too often, Sammy; I've done it once too often. Take exampleby your father, my boy, and be wery careful o' widders all your life,'specially if they've kept a public-house, Sammy.' Having delivered thisparental advice with great pathos, Mr. Weller, senior, refilled his pipefrom a tin box he carried in his pocket; and, lighting his fresh pipefrom the ashes of the old One, commenced smoking at a great rate.

'Beg your pardon, sir,' he said, renewing the subject, and addressingMr. Pickwick, after a considerable pause, 'nothin' personal, I hope,sir; I hope you ha'n't got a widder, sir.'

'Not I,' replied Mr. Pickwick, laughing; and while Mr. Pickwick laughed,Sam Weller informed his parent in a whisper, of the relation in which hestood towards that gentleman.

'Beg your pardon, sir,' said Mr. Weller, senior, taking off his hat, 'Ihope you've no fault to find with Sammy, Sir?'

'None whatever,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Wery glad to hear it, sir,' replied the old man; 'I took a good deal o'pains with his eddication, sir; let him run in the streets when hewas wery young, and shift for hisself. It's the only way to make a boysharp, sir.'

'Rather a dangerous process, I should imagine,' said Mr. Pickwick, witha smile.

'And not a wery sure one, neither,' added Mr. Weller; 'I got reg'larlydone the other day.'

'No!' said his father.

'I did,' said the son; and he proceeded to relate, in as few wordsas possible, how he had fallen a ready dupe to the stratagems of JobTrotter.

Mr. Weller, senior, listened to the tale with the most profoundattention, and, at its termination, said--

'Worn't one o' these chaps slim and tall, with long hair, and the gifto' the gab wery gallopin'?'

Mr. Pickwick did not quite understand the last item of description, but,comprehending the first, said 'Yes,' at a venture.

'T' other's a black-haired chap in mulberry livery, with a wery largehead?'

'Yes, yes, he is,' said Mr. Pickwick and Sam, with great earnestness.'Then I know where they are, and that's all about it,' said Mr. Weller;'they're at Ipswich, safe enough, them two.'

'No!' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Fact,' said Mr. Weller, 'and I'll tell you how I know it. I work anIpswich coach now and then for a friend o' mine. I worked down the weryday arter the night as you caught the rheumatic, and at the Black Boy atChelmsford--the wery place they'd come to--I took 'em up, right throughto Ipswich, where the man-servant--him in the mulberries--told me theywas a-goin' to put up for a long time.'

'I'll follow him,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'we may as well see Ipswich as anyother place. I'll follow him.'

'You're quite certain it was them, governor?' inquired Mr. Weller,junior.

'Quite, Sammy, quite,' replied his father, 'for their appearance iswery sing'ler; besides that 'ere, I wondered to see the gen'l'm'n soformiliar with his servant; and, more than that, as they sat in thefront, right behind the box, I heerd 'em laughing and saying how they'ddone old Fireworks.'

'Old who?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Old Fireworks, Sir; by which, I've no doubt, they meant you, Sir.'There is nothing positively vile or atrocious in the appellation of'old Fireworks,' but still it is by no means a respectful or flatteringdesignation. The recollection of all the wrongs he had sustained atJingle's hands, had crowded on Mr. Pickwick's mind, the moment Mr.Weller began to speak; it wanted but a feather to turn the scale, and'old Fireworks' did it.

'I'll follow him,' said Mr. Pickwick, with an emphatic blow on thetable.

'I shall work down to Ipswich the day arter to-morrow, Sir,' said Mr.Weller the elder, 'from the Bull in Whitechapel; and if you really meanto go, you'd better go with me.'

'So we had,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'very true; I can write to Bury, andtell them to meet me at Ipswich. We will go with you. But don't hurryaway, Mr. Weller; won't you take anything?'

'You're wery good, Sir,' replied Mr. W., stopping short;--'perhaps asmall glass of brandy to drink your health, and success to Sammy, Sir,wouldn't be amiss.'

'Certainly not,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'A glass of brandy here!' Thebrandy was brought; and Mr. Weller, after pulling his hair to Mr.Pickwick, and nodding to Sam, jerked it down his capacious throat asif it had been a small thimbleful. 'Well done, father,' said Sam, 'takecare, old fellow, or you'll have a touch of your old complaint, thegout.'

'I've found a sov'rin' cure for that, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, settingdown the glass.

'A sovereign cure for the gout,' said Mr. Pickwick, hastily producinghis note-book--'what is it?'

'The gout, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller, 'the gout is a complaint as arisesfrom too much ease and comfort. If ever you're attacked with the gout,sir, jist you marry a widder as has got a good loud woice, with a decentnotion of usin' it, and you'll never have the gout agin. It's a capitalprescription, sir. I takes it reg'lar, and I can warrant it to driveaway any illness as is caused by too much jollity.' Having impartedthis valuable secret, Mr. Weller drained his glass once more, produced alaboured wink, sighed deeply, and slowly retired.

'Well, what do you think of what your father says, Sam?' inquired Mr.Pickwick, with a smile.

'Think, Sir!' replied Mr. Weller; 'why, I think he's the wictim o'connubiality, as Blue Beard's domestic chaplain said, vith a tear ofpity, ven he buried him.'

There was no replying to this very apposite conclusion, and, therefore,Mr. Pickwick, after settling the reckoning, resumed his walk to Gray'sInn. By the time he reached its secluded groves, however, eight o'clockhad struck, and the unbroken stream of gentlemen in muddy high-lows,soiled white hats, and rusty apparel, who were pouring towards thedifferent avenues of egress, warned him that the majority of the officeshad closed for that day.

After climbing two pairs of steep and dirty stairs, he found hisanticipations were realised. Mr. Perker's 'outer door' was closed; andthe dead silence which followed Mr. Weller's repeated kicks thereat,announced that the officials had retired from business for the night.

'This is pleasant, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'I shouldn't lose an hourin seeing him; I shall not be able to get one wink of sleep to-night, Iknow, unless I have the satisfaction of reflecting that I have confidedthis matter to a professional man.'

'Here's an old 'ooman comin' upstairs, sir,' replied Mr. Weller; 'p'rapsshe knows where we can find somebody. Hollo, old lady, vere's Mr.Perker's people?'

'Mr. Perker's people,' said a thin, miserable-looking old woman,stopping to recover breath after the ascent of the staircase--'Mr.Perker's people's gone, and I'm a-goin' to do the office out.' 'Are youMr. Perker's servant?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'I am Mr. Perker's laundress,' replied the woman.

'Ah,' said Mr. Pickwick, half aside to Sam, 'it's a curiouscircumstance, Sam, that they call the old women in these inns,laundresses. I wonder what's that for?'

''Cos they has a mortal awersion to washing anythin', I suppose, Sir,'replied Mr. Weller.

'I shouldn't wonder,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking at the old woman, whoseappearance, as well as the condition of the office, which she had bythis time opened, indicated a rooted antipathy to the applicationof soap and water; 'do you know where I can find Mr. Perker, my goodwoman?'

'No, I don't,' replied the old woman gruffly; 'he's out o' town now.'

'That's unfortunate,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'where's his clerk? Do youknow?'

'Yes, I know where he is, but he won't thank me for telling you,'replied the laundress.

'I have very particular business with him,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Won't itdo in the morning?' said the woman.

'Not so well,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'Well,' said the old woman, 'if it was anything very particular, I wasto say where he was, so I suppose there's no harm in telling. If youjust go to the Magpie and Stump, and ask at the bar for Mr. Lowten,they'll show you in to him, and he's Mr. Perker's clerk.'

With this direction, and having been furthermore informed that thehostelry in question was situated in a court, happy in the doubleadvantage of being in the vicinity of Clare Market, and closelyapproximating to the back of New Inn, Mr. Pickwick and Sam descended therickety staircase in safety, and issued forth in quest of the Magpie andStump.

This favoured tavern, sacred to the evening orgies of Mr. Lowten andhis companions, was what ordinary people would designate a public-house.That the landlord was a man of money-making turn was sufficientlytestified by the fact of a small bulkhead beneath the tap-room window,in size and shape not unlike a sedan-chair, being underlet to a menderof shoes: and that he was a being of a philanthropic mind was evidentfrom the protection he afforded to a pieman, who vended his delicacieswithout fear of interruption, on the very door-step. In the lowerwindows, which were decorated with curtains of a saffron hue, dangledtwo or three printed cards, bearing reference to Devonshire cider andDantzic spruce, while a large blackboard, announcing in white letters toan enlightened public, that there were 500,000 barrels of double stoutin the cellars of the establishment, left the mind in a state of notunpleasing doubt and uncertainty as to the precise direction in thebowels of the earth, in which this mighty cavern might be supposedto extend. When we add that the weather-beaten signboard bore thehalf-obliterated semblance of a magpie intently eyeing a crooked streakof brown paint, which the neighbours had been taught from infancy toconsider as the 'stump,' we have said all that need be said of theexterior of the edifice.

On Mr. Pickwick's presenting himself at the bar, an elderly femaleemerged from behind the screen therein, and presented herself beforehim.

'Is Mr. Lowten here, ma'am?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Yes, he is, Sir,' replied the landlady. 'Here, Charley, show thegentleman in to Mr. Lowten.'

'The gen'l'm'n can't go in just now,' said a shambling pot-boy, with ared head, 'cos' Mr. Lowten's a-singin' a comic song, and he'll put himout. He'll be done directly, Sir.'

The red-headed pot-boy had scarcely finished speaking, when a mostunanimous hammering of tables, and jingling of glasses, announced thatthe song had that instant terminated; and Mr. Pickwick, after desiringSam to solace himself in the tap, suffered himself to be conducted intothe presence of Mr. Lowten.

At the announcement of 'A gentleman to speak to you, Sir,' a puffy-facedyoung man, who filled the chair at the head of the table, looked withsome surprise in the direction from whence the voice proceeded; and thesurprise seemed to be by no means diminished, when his eyes rested on anindividual whom he had never seen before.

'I beg your pardon, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'and I am very sorryto disturb the other gentlemen, too, but I come on very particularbusiness; and if you will suffer me to detain you at this end of theroom for five minutes, I shall be very much obliged to you.'

The puffy-faced young man rose, and drawing a chair close to Mr.Pickwick in an obscure corner of the room, listened attentively to histale of woe.

'Ah,'he said, when Mr. Pickwick had concluded, 'Dodson and Fogg--sharppractice theirs--capital men of business, Dodson and Fogg, sir.'

Mr. Pickwick admitted the sharp practice of Dodson and Fogg, and Lowtenresumed. 'Perker ain't in town, and he won't be, neither, before the endof next week; but if you want the action defended, and will leave thecopy with me, I can do all that's needful till he comes back.'

'That's exactly what I came here for,' said Mr. Pickwick, handing overthe document. 'If anything particular occurs, you can write to me at thepost-office, Ipswich.'

'That's all right,' replied Mr. Perker's clerk; and then seeing Mr.Pickwick's eye wandering curiously towards the table, he added, 'willyou join us, for half an hour or so? We are capital company hereto-night. There's Samkin and Green's managing-clerk, and Smithers andPrice's chancery, and Pimkin and Thomas's out o' doors--sings a capitalsong, he does--and Jack Bamber, and ever so many more. You're come outof the country, I suppose. Would you like to join us?'

Mr. Pickwick could not resist so tempting an opportunity of studyinghuman nature. He suffered himself to be led to the table, where, afterhaving been introduced to the company in due form, he was accommodatedwith a seat near the chairman and called for a glass of his favouritebeverage.

A profound silence, quite contrary to Mr. Pickwick's expectation,succeeded. 'You don't find this sort of thing disagreeable, I hope,sir?' said his right hand neighbour, a gentleman in a checked shirt andMosaic studs, with a cigar in his mouth.

'Not in the least,' replied Mr. Pickwick; 'I like it very much, althoughI am no smoker myself.'

'I should be very sorry to say I wasn't,' interposed another gentlemanon the opposite side of the table. 'It's board and lodgings to me, issmoke.'

Mr. Pickwick glanced at the speaker, and thought that if it were washingtoo, it would be all the better.

Here there was another pause. Mr. Pickwick was a stranger, and hiscoming had evidently cast a damp upon the party.

'Mr. Grundy's going to oblige the company with a song,' said thechairman.

'No, he ain't,' said Mr. Grundy.

'Why not?' said the chairman.

'Because he can't,' said Mr. Grundy. 'You had better say he won't,'replied the chairman.

'Well, then, he won't,' retorted Mr. Grundy. Mr. Grundy's positiverefusal to gratify the company occasioned another silence. 'Won'tanybody enliven us?' said the chairman, despondingly.

'Why don't you enliven us yourself, Mr. Chairman?' said a young man witha whisker, a squint, and an open shirt collar (dirty), from the bottomof the table.

'Hear! hear!' said the smoking gentleman, in the Mosaic jewellery.

'Because I only know one song, and I have sung it already, and it's afine of "glasses round" to sing the same song twice in a night,' repliedthe chairman.

This was an unanswerable reply, and silence prevailed again.

'I have been to-night, gentlemen,' said Mr. Pickwick, hoping to start asubject which all the company could take a part in discussing, 'I havebeen to-night, in a place which you all know very well, doubtless, butwhich I have not been in for some years, and know very little of; Imean Gray's Inn, gentlemen. Curious little nooks in a great place, likeLondon, these old inns are.'

'By Jove!' said the chairman, whispering across the table to Mr.Pickwick, 'you have hit upon something that one of us, at least, wouldtalk upon for ever. You'll draw old Jack Bamber out; he was never heardto talk about anything else but the inns, and he has lived alone in themtill he's half crazy.'

The individual to whom Lowten alluded, was a little, yellow,high-shouldered man, whose countenance, from his habit of stoopingforward when silent, Mr. Pickwick had not observed before. He wondered,though, when the old man raised his shrivelled face, and bent his grayeye upon him, with a keen inquiring look, that such remarkable featurescould have escaped his attention for a moment. There was a fixed grimsmile perpetually on his countenance; he leaned his chin on a long,skinny hand, with nails of extraordinary length; and as he inclined hishead to one side, and looked keenly out from beneath his ragged grayeyebrows, there was a strange, wild slyness in his leer, quite repulsiveto behold.

This was the figure that now started forward, and burst into an animatedtorrent of words. As this chapter has been a long one, however, and asthe old man was a remarkable personage, it will be more respectful tohim, and more convenient to us, to let him speak for himself in a freshone.