up to ; or will you, in climbing the ladder as
you're certain to get to the top of, take me along
with you at a respectful distance ? Now, sir,"
said Mark, " it's of very little importance to you,
I know â€” there's the difficulty ; but it's of very
great importance to me ; and will you be so
good as to consider of it ?"
If this were meant as a second appeal to
Martin's weak side, founded on his observation
of the effect of the first, Mr. Tapley was a skilful
and shrewd observer. Whether an intentional
or an accidental shot, it hit the mark full ; for
Martin, relenting more and more, said with a
condescension which was inexpressibly delicious
to him, after his recent humiliation :
" Well see about it, Tapley. You shall tell
me in what disposition you find yourself to-
" Then, sir," said Mark, rubbing his hands,
" the job's done. Go on, sir, if you please. I'm
Throwing himself back in his arm-chair, and
looking at the fire, with now and then a glance
at Mark, who at such times nodded his head
sagely, to express his profound interest and
attention ; Martin ran over the chief points in
his history, to the same effect as he had related
them, weeks before, to Mr. Pinch. But lie
adapted them, according to the best of his judg-
ment, to Mr. Tapley's comprehension ; and witli
that view made as light of his love affair as he
could, and referred to it in very few words. But
here he reckoned without his host ; for Mark's
interest was keenest in this part of the business,
and prompted him to ask sundry questions in
relation to it ; for which he apologised as one in
some measure privileged to do so, from having
seen (as Martin explained to him) the young-
lady at the Blue Dragon.
"And a young lady as any gentleman ought
to feel more proud of being in love with," said
Mark, energetically, " don't draw breath."
" Aye ! You saw her when she was not
happy," said Martin, gazing at the fire again.
MA R TIN CHUZZLE J I 'IT
" If you had seen her in the old times, in-
" Why, she certainly was a little down-
hearted, sir. and something paler in her colour
than I could have wished," said Mark, "but
none the worse in her looks for that. I think she
seemed better, sir, after she came to London."
M rl in with Irew his eyes from the fire ; stared
at Mark as if he thought he had suddenly gone
mad : and asked him what he meant.
â€¢â€¢ Xo offence intended, sir," urged Mark. " I
don't mean to say she was any the happier
without you; but I thought she was a looking
" Do you mean to tell me she has been in
London?*' asked Martin, rising hurriedly, and
pushing back his chair.
" Of course I do," said Mark, rising too, in
great amazement, from the bedstead.
" Do you mean to tell me she's in London
" Most likely, sir. I mean to say she was, a
" And you know where?"
â€¢â€¢ Yes !" cried Mark. " What ! Don't you?"
" My good fellow !" exclaimed Martin, clutch-
ing him by both arms, " I have never seen her
since I left my grandfather's house."
"Why then!" cried Mark, giving the little
table such a blow with his clenched fist that the
slices of beef and ham danced upon it, while all
his features seemed, with delight, to be going
up into his forehead, and never coming back
again any more, " if I an't your nat'ral born
servant, hired by Fate, there an't such a thing
in natur' as a Blue Dragon. What ! when I was
a rambling up and down a old church-yard in
the City, getting myself into a jolly state, didn't
I see your grandfather a toddling to and fro for
pretty nigh a mortal hour ! Didn't I watch him
into Codgers's commercial boardingdiouse, and
watch him out, and watch him home to his
hotel, and go and tell him as his was the service
for my money, and I had said so, afore I left the
Dragon ! Wasn't the young lady a sitting with
him then, and didn't she fall a laughing in a
manner as was beautiful to see ! Didn't your
grandfather say, ' Come back again next week,'
and didn't I go next week ; and didn't he say
that he couldn't make up his mind to trust
nobody no more, and therefore wouldn't engage
me; but at the same time stood something to
drink as was handsome ! Why," cried Mr.
Tapley, with a comical mixture of delight and
chagrin, " where',s the credit of a man's being
jolly under such circumstances ! who could help
it, when things come about like this !"
For some moments, Martin stood gazing at
him, as if he really doubted the evidence of
his senses, and could not believe that Mark
stood there, in the body before him. At length
he asked him whether, if the young lady were
still in London, he thought he could contrive to
deliver a letter to her secretly.
"Do I think I can!" cried Mark. "Think
I can ! Here, sit down, sir. Write it out, sir!"
With that he cleared the table by the summary
process of tilting everything upon it into the
lire-place ; snatched some writing materials from
the mantel-shelf; set Martin's chair before them ;
forced him down into it ; dipped a pen into the
ink ; and put it in his hand.
"Cut away, sir!" cried Mark. "Make it
strong, sir. Let it be wery pinted, sir. Do I
think so ? / should think so. Go to work, sir !"
Martin required no further adjuration, but
went to work at a great rate ; while Mr. Tapley,
installing himself without any more formalities
into the functions of his valet and general attend-
ant, divested himself of his coat, and went on
to clear the fire-place a v .d arrange the room:
talking to himself in o iow voice the whole time.
"Jolly sort of lodgings," said Mark, rubbing
his nose with the knob at the end of the fire-
shovel, and looking round the poor chamber :
" that's a comfort. The rain's come through
the roof too. That an't bad. A lively old
bedstead, I'll be bound ; popilated by lots of
wampires, no doubt. Come ! my spirits is a
getting up again. An uncommon ragged night-
cap this. A very good sign. We shall do yet !
Here Jane, my dear," calling down the stairs,
" bring up that there hot tumbler for my master,
as was a mixing when I come in. That's right,
sir," to Martin. "Co at it as if you meant it,
sir. Be very tender, sir, if you please. You
can't make it too strong, sir!"
IN WHICH MARTIN BIDS ADIEU TO THF. LADY OF
HIS LOVE; AND HONOURS AN OBSCURE IN'DIVIIU'AI.
WHOSE FORTUNE HE INTENDS TO MAKE, BY COM-
MENDING HER TO HIS PROTECTION.
p% HE letter being duly signed, sealed,
and delivered, was handed to Mark
Tapley, for immediate conveyance
if possible. And he succeeded so
well in his embassy as to be enabled
to return that same night, just as the
house was closing ; with the welcome
' ; P intelligence that he had sent it up-stairs
to the young lady, enclosed in a small manu-
script of his own, purporting to contain his
further petition to be engaged in Mr. Chuzzle-
wit's service ; and that she had herself come
down and told him, in great haste and agitation,
that she would meet the gentleman at eight
o'clock to-morrow morning in St. James's Park.
It was then agreed between the new master and
the new man, that Mark should be in waiting
near the hotel in good time, to escort the young
lady to the place of appointment; and when
they had parted for the night with this under-
standing, Martin took up his pen again ; and
before he went to bed wrote another letter,
whereof more will be seen presently.
He was up before day-break, and came upon
the Park with the morning, which was clad with
the least engaging of the three hundred and
sixty-five dresses in the wardrobe of the year.
It was raw, damp, dark, and dismal ; the clouds
were as muddy as the ground ; and the short
perspective of every street and avenue, was
closed up by the mist as by a filthy curtain.
" Fine weather indeed," Martin bitterly solilo-
quised, " to be wandering up and down here in,
SEEING THAT THERE AVAS NO ONE NEAR, AND THAT MARK WAS STILL INTENT UPON THE FOG, HE NOT
ONLY LOOKED AT HER LIPS, BUT KISSED THEM INTO THE BARGAIN."
like a thief! Fine weather indeed, for a meeting
of lovers in the open air, and in a public walk !
I need be departing, with all speed, for another
country â– for I have come to a pretty pass in
He might perhaps have gone on to reflect
that of all mornings in the year, it was not the
best calculated for a young lady's coming forth
on such an errand, either. But he was stopped
on the road to this reflection, if his thoughts
tended that way, by her appearance at a short
distance, on which he hurried forward to meet
her. Her squire, Mr. Tapley, at the same time,
fell discreetly back, and surveyed the fog above
him with an appearance of attentive interest.
" My dear Martin," said Mary.
" My dear Mary," said Martin ; and lovers
are such a singular kind of people that this is
all they did say just then, though Martin took
her arm, and her hand too, and they paced up
and down a short walk that was least exposed to
observation, half-a-dozen times
" If you have changed at all, my love, since
we parted," said Martin at length, as he looked
upon her with a proud delight, " it is only to be
more beautiful than ever !"
MARTIN CHUZZLE J J 'IT
Had she been of the common metal of love-
worn young ladies, she -would have denied this
in her most interesting manner ; and would have
told him that she knew she had become a perfect
fright ; or that she had wasted away with weeping
and anxiety ; or that she was dwindling gently
into an early grave ; or that her mental sufferings
were unspeakable ; or would, either by tears or
words, or a mixture of both, have furnished him
with some other information to that effect, and
made him as miserable as possible. But she
had been reared up in a sterner school than the
minds of most young girls are formed in ; she
had had her nature strengthened by the hands
of hard endurance and necessity; had come out
from her young trials constant, self-denying,
earnest, and devoted ; had acquired in her
maidenhood â€” whether happily in the end, for
herself or him, is foreign to our present purpose
to inquire â€” something of that nobler quality of
gentle hearts which is developed often by the
sorrows and struggles of matronly years, but
often by their lessons only. Unspoiled, unpam-
pered in her joys or griefs; with frank, and full,
and deep affection for the object of her early
love ; she saw in him one who for her sake was
an outcast from his home and fortune, and she
had no more idea of bestowing that love upon
him in other than cheerful and sustaining words,
full of high hope and grateful trustfulness, than
she had of being unworthy of it, in her lightest
thought or deed, for anv base temptation that
the world could offer.
" What change is there in you, Martin," she
replied; "for that concerns me nearest? You
look more anxious and more thoughtful than
" Why as to that, my love," said Martin, as he
drew her waist within his arm, first looking round
to see that there were no observers near, and
beholding Mr. Tapley more intent than ever
on the fog; "it would be strange if I did not;
for my life â€” especially of late â€” has been a hard
" I know it must have been," she answered.
" When have I forgotten to think of it and you ?"
" Not often, I hope," said Martin. " Not
often, I am sure. Not often, I have some right
to expect, Mary; for I have undergone a great
deal of vexation and privation, and I naturally
look for that return, you know."
"A very, very poor return," she answered
with a fainter smile. " But you have it, and
will have it always. You have paid a dear
price for a poor heart, Martin ; but it is at
least your own, and a true one."
" Of course I feel quite certain of that," said
Martin, " or I shouldn't have put myself in my
present position. And don't say a poor heart,
Mary, for I say a rich one. Nov,-, I am about to
break a design to you. dearest, which will startle
you at first, but which is undertaken for your
sake. I am going," he added slowly, looking
far into the dee]) wonder of her bright dark
" Only to America. See now â€” how you droop
" If I do, or, I hope I may say, if I did,"
she answered, raising her head after a short
silence, and looking once more into his face,
" it was for grief to think of what you are
resolved to undergo for me. I would not ven-
ture to dissuade you, Martin ; but it is a long,
long distance ; there is a wide ocean to be
crossed ; illness and want arc sad calamities in
any place, but in a foreign country dreadful to
endure. Have you thought of all this?"
"Thought of it!" cried Martin, abating, in
his fondness â€” and he was very fond of her â€”
hardly an iota of his usual impetuosity. " What
am I to do ? It's very well to say, ' Have I
thought of it ?' my love ; but you should ask
me in the same breath, have I thought of starv-
ing at home ; have I thought of doing porter's work
for a living ; have I thought of holding horses
in the streets to earn my roll of bread from day
to day ? Come, come," he added, in a gentler
tone, " do not hang down your head, my dear,
for I need the encouragement that your sweet
face alone can give me. Why, that's well !
Now you are brave again.'
" I am endeavouring to be," she answered,
smiling through her tears.
" Endeavouring to be anything that's good,
and being it, is, with you, all one. Don't I
know that of old?" cried Martin, gaily. "So!
That's famous ! Now I can tell you all my
plans as cheerfully as if you were my little wife
She hung more closely on his arm, and look-
ing upward in his face, bade him speak on.
" You see," said Martin, playing with the
little hand upon his wrist, " that my attempts
to advance myself at home have been baffled
and rendered abortive. I will not say by whom,
Mary, for that would give pain to us both. But
so it is. Have you heard him speak of late
of any relative of mine or his, called Pecksniff?
Only tell me what I ask you, no more.'
" I have heard, to my surprise, that he is a
better man than was supposed."
" I thought so," interrupted Martin.
" And that it is likely we may come to know
TOM PINCH TAKEN INTO CONFIDENCE.
him, if not to visit and reside with him and â€” I
think â€” his daughters. He has daughters, has
"A pair of them," Martin answered. "A
precious pair ! Gems of the first water !"
" Ah ! You are jesting ! "
" There is a sort of jesting which is very much
in earnest, and includes some pretty serious
disgust," said Martin. " I jest in reference to
Mr. Pecksniff (at whose house I have been liv-
ing as his assistant, and at whose hands I have
received insult and injury), in that vein. What-
ever betides, or however closely you may be
brought into communication with his family,
never forget that, Mary ; and never for an
instant, whatever appearances may seem to con-
tradict me, lose sight of this assurance â€” Peck-
sniff is a scoundrel."
"In thought, and in deed, and in everything
else. A scoundrel from the topmost hair of his
head, to the nethermost atom of his heel. Of
his daughters I will only say that, to the best of
my knowledge and belief, they are dutiful young
ladies, and take after their father closely. This
is a digression from the main point, and yet it
brings me to what I was going to say."
He stopped to look into her eyes again, and
seeing, in a hasty glance over his shoulder, that
there was no one near, and that Mark was still
intent upon the fog, not only looked at her lips
too, but kissed them into the bargain
" Now, I am going to America, with great
prospects of doing well, and of returning home
myself very soon ; it may be to take you there
for a few years, but, at all events, to claim you
for my wife ; which, after such trials, I should
do with no fear of your still thinking it a duty to
cleave to him who will not suffer me to live (for
this is true), if he can help it, in my own land.
How long I may be absent is, of course, uncertain ;
but it shall not be very long. Trust me for that."
" In the meantime, dear Martin â€” "
" That's the very thing I am coming to. In
the meantime you shall hear, constantly, of all
my goings-on. Thus."
He paused to take from his pocket the letter
he had written over-night, and then resumed :
"In this fellow's employment, and living in
this fellow's house (by fellow, I mean Mr. Peck-
sniff, of course), there is a certain person of the
name of Pinch â€” don't forget it ; a poor, strange,
simple oddity, Mary; but thoroughly honest
and sincere; full of zeal, and with a cordial
regard for me ; which I mean to return one of
these days, by setting him up in life in some
way or otlrer."
" Your old kind nature, Martin !"
" Oh !" said Martin, " that's not worth speak-
ing of, my love. He's very grateful and desirous
to serve me ; and I am more than repaid. Now
one night I told this Pinch my history, and all
about myself and you ; in which he was not a
little interested, I can tell you, for he knows
you ! Aye, you may look surprised â€” and the
longer the better, for it becomes you â€” but you
have heard him play the organ in the church of
that village before now ; and he has seen you
listening to his music ; and has caught his
inspiration from you, too !"
"Was he the organist?" cried Mary. "I
thank him from my heart."
" Yes he was," said Martin, " and is, and
gets nothing for it either. There never was
such a simple fellow ! Quite an infant ! But a
very good sort of creature, I assure you."
" I am sure of that," she said, with great
earnestness. " He must be !"
" Oh, yes, no doubt at all about it," rejoined
Martin, in his usual careless way. " He is.
Well ! It has occurred to me â€” but stay, if I
read you what I have written and intend sending
to him by post to-night, it will explain itself.
' My dear Tom Pinch.' That's rather familiar,
perhaps," said Martin, suddenly remembering
that he was proud when they had last met, " but
I call him my dear Tom Pinch, because he
likes it, and it pleases him."
"Very right, and very kind," said Mary.
"Exactly so!" cried Martin. "It's as well
to be kind whenever one can ; and, as I said
before, he really is an excellent fellow. 'My
dear Tom Pinch, â€” I address this under cover
to Mrs. Lupin, at the Blue Dragon, and have
begged her in a short note to deliver it to you
without saying anything about it elsewhere;
and to do the same with all future letters she
may receive from me. My reason for so doing
will be at once apparent to you ' â€” I don't know-
that it will be, by the bye," said Martin,
breaking off, "for he's slow of comprehen-
sion, poor fellow ; but he'll find it out in time.
My reason simply is, that I don't want my
letters to be read by other people; and par-
ticularly by the scoundrel whom he thinks an
"Mr. Pecksniff again?" asKed Mary.
" The same," said Martin : " ' â€”will be at
once apparent to you. I have completed my
arrangements for going to America; and you
will be surprised to hear that I am to be accom-
panied by Mark Tapley, upon whom I have
stumbled strangely in London, and who insists
on putting himself under my protection' â€”
meaning, my love," said Martin, breaking off
again, " our friend in the rear, of course."
She was delighted to hear this, and bestowed
a kind glance upon Mark, which he brought his
eyes down from the fog to encounter, and re-
ceived with immense satisfaction. She said in
his hearing, too, that he was a good soul and a
merry creature, and would be faithful, she was
certain; commendations which Mr. Tapley in-
wardly resolved to deserve, from such lips, if he
died for it.
"'Now, my dear Pinch,'" resumed Martin.
proceeding with his letter; "'I am going to
repose great trust in you, knowing that I may
do so with perfect reliance on your honour and
secrecy, and having nobody else just now to
trust in.' "
â€¢â€¢ I don't think I would say that, Martin.''
- Wouldn't you ? Well ! I'll take that out.
It's perfectly true, though."
" But it might seem ungracious, perhaps."
" Oh, I don't mind Pinch," said Martin.
" There's no occasion to stand on any ceremony
with him. However, I'll take it out, as you
wish it, and make the full stop at ' secrecy.'
Very well ! ' I shall not only ' â€” this is the letter
again, you know."
" I understand."
"'I shall not only enclose my letters to the
young lady of whom 1 have told you, to your
charge, to be forwarded as she may request ;
but I most earnestly commit her, the young
lady herself, to your care and regard, in the
event of your meeting in my absence. I have
reason to think that the probabilities of your
encountering each other â€” perhaps very fre-
quently â€” are now neither remote nor few; and
although in your position you can do very little
to lessen the uneasiness of hers, I trust to you
implicitly to do that much, and so deserve the
i >nfidence I have reposed in you.' You see,
my dear Mary," said Martin, " it will be a great
consolation to you to have anybody, no matter
how simple, with whom you can speak about mi: ;
and the very first time you talk to Pinch, you'll
feel at once, that there is no more occasion fur
any embarrassment or hesitation in talking to
him, than if he were an old woman."
" However that may be," she returned, smiling,
"he is your friend, and that is enough."
"Oh, yes, he's my friend," said Martin,
"certainly. In fact, I have told him in so
many words that we'll always take notice of him,
and protect him: and it's a good trait in his
character that he's grateful â€” very grateful indeed.
You'll like him of all things, my love, I know.
You'll observe very much that's comical and
old-fashioned about Pinch, but you needn't
mind laughing at him ; for he'll not care about
it. He'll rather like it, indeed !"
" I don't think I shall put that to the test,
"You won't if you can help it, of course," he
said, "but I think you'll find him a little too
much for your gravity. However, that's neither
here nor there, and it certainly is not the letter;
which ends thus : ' Knowing that I need not
impress the nature and extent of that confidence
upon you at any greater length, as it is already
sufficiently established in your mind, I will only
say in bidding you farewell, and looking forward
to our next meeting, that I shall charge myself
from this time, through all changes for the better,
with your advancement and happiness, as if
they were my own. You may rely upon that.
And always believe me, my dear Tom Pinch,
faithfully your friend, Martin Chuzzlewit. P.S.
I enclose the amount which you so kindly ' â€”
Oh," said Martin, checking himself, and folding
up the letter, " that's nothing ! "
At this crisis Mark Tapley interposed, with
an apology for remarking that the clock at the
Horse Guards was striking.
" Which I shouldn't have said nothing about,
sir," added Mark, " if the young lady hadn't
begged me to be particular in mentioning it."
" I did," said Mary. " Thank you. You are
quite right. In another minute I shall be ready
to return. We have time for a very k\v words
more, clear Martin, and although I had much to
say, it must remain unsaid until the happy time
of our next meeting. Heaven send it may come
speedily and prosperously ! But I have no fear
"Fear!" cried Martin. "Why, who has?
What are a few months? What is a whole year?
When I come gaily back, with a road through
life hewn out before me, then indeed, looking
back upon this parting, it may seem a dismal
one. But now ! I swear I wouldn't have it
happen under more favourable auspices, if I
could : for then I should be less inclined to go,
and less impressed with the necessity."
" Yes, yes. I feel that too. When do you
SÂ° ? "
"To-night. We leave for Liverpool to-night.
A vessel sails from that port, as I hear, in three
days. In a month, or less, we shall be there.
Why, what's a month ! How many months
have flown by since our last parting ! "
" Long to look back upon," said Mary, echo-
ing his cheerful tone, " but nothing in their
course ! "
"Nothing at all!" cried Martin. "I shall
THE LOVERS PART.
have change of scene and change of place :
change of people, change of manners, change of
cares and hopes ! Time will wear wings indeed !
I can bear anything, so that I have swift action,
Was he thinking solely of her care for him,
when he took so little heed of her share in the
separation ; of her quiet monotonous endurance,