Purely Pickwick

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Hello and a very good afternoon from the Isle of Lundy Charles Dickens The Pickwick Papers Chapter four An Invitation to the Country Many authors entertain not only a foolish but a really dishonest objection to acknowledge the sources from whence they derive much valuable information. We have no such feeling. We are merely endeavouring to discharge in an upright manner the responsible duties of our editorial functions, and whatever ambition we may have felt under other circumstances to lay claim to the authorship of these adventures, a regard for truth forbids us to do more than claim the merit of their judicious arrangement and impartial narration. The Pickwick Papers are our new river head, and we may be compared to the new river company. The labours of others have raised for us an immense reservoir of an important facts. We merely lay them on and communicate them in a clear and gentle stream through the medium of these numbers to a world thirsting for Pickwickian knowledge. Acting in this spirit and resolutely proceeding on our determination to avow our obligations to the authorities we have consulted, we frankly say that to the notebook of Mr Snodgrass are we indebted for the particulars recorded in this and the succeeding chapters, particulars which, now that we have disemburdened our conscience, we shall proceed to detail without further comment. The whole population of Rochester and the adjoining towns rose from their beds at an early hour of the following morning, in a state of the utmost bustle and excitement. A grand review was to take place upon the lines. The manoeuvres of half a dozen regiments were to be inspected by the eagle eye of the commander in chief, temporary fortifications had been erected, the citadel was to be attacked and taken, and a mine was to be sprung. Mr Pickwick was, as our readers may have gathered from the slight extract we gave from his description of Chatham, an enthusiastic admirer of the army. Nothing could have been more delightful to him, nothing could have harmonized so well with the peculiar feeling of each of his companions as this sight. Accordingly they were soon afoot and walking in the direction of the scene of action, towards which crowds of people were already pouring from a variety of quarters. The appearance of everything on the lines denoted that the approaching ceremony was one of the utmost grandeur and importance. There were sentries posted to keep the ground for the troops, and servants on the batteries keeping places for the ladies, and sergeants running to and fro with vellum covered books under their arms, and Colonel Bulder, Bulder, let's go Boulder, in full military uniform, on horseback, galloping first to one place and then to another, and backing his horse among the people, and prancing and curvetting and shouting in a most alarming manner, and making himself very hoarse in the voice and very red in the face, without any assignable cause or reason, whatever. Officers were running backwards and forwards, first communicating with Colonel Boulder, and then ordering the sergeants, and then running away altogether, and even the very privates themselves looking from behind their glazed stocks with an air of mysterious solemnity which sufficiently bespoke the special nature of the occasion. Mr Pickwick and his three companions stationed themselves in the front rank of the crowd and patiently awaited the commencements of the proceedings. The throng was increasing every moment, and the efforts they were compelled to make to retain the position they had gained sufficiently occupied their attention during the two hours that ensued. At one time there was a sudden pressure from behind, and then Mr Pickwick was jerked forward for several yards with a degree of speed and elasticity highly inconsistent with the general gravity of his demeanour. At another moment there was a request a keep back from the front, and then the buttend. Then some facetious gentleman on the left, after pressing sideways in a body and squeezing Mr Snodgrass into the very last extreme of human torture, would request to know where he vols a shoving to. I've got to say at this point that one of the things that was apparent in the Victorian times was common folk often swapped over their V's and W's so that were would be there, was would be voz but very but would be wery, and so there was a swap over. And so it's gonna be, I think, difficult for me to do as a narrator, and probably difficult for your ear to hear. I'll do my best though, 'cause it's you know, I want to obviously stick to the book. And when Mr Winkle had done expressing his excessive indignation at witnessing this unprovoked assault, some person behind would knock his hat over his eyes and beg the favour of his putting his head in his pocket. These and other practical witticisms that's so funny, someone from behind. Oi, can you put your head in your pocket? Or a bit tall. These and the other practical witticisms coupled with the unaccountable absence of Mr Tutman, who had suddenly disappeared and was nowhere to be found remember Mr Tutman that is always after the ladies, rendered their situation upon the whole rather more uncomfortable than pleasing or desirable. At length that low roar of many voices ran through the crowd, which usually usually announces the arrival of whatever they have been waiting for. All eyes were turned in the direction of the Sally port, a few moments of eager expectation, and colours were seen fluttering gayly in the air, arms glistened brightly in the sun, column after column poured onto the plane. The troops halted and formed, the word of command run through the line, and there was a general clash of muskets as arms were presented, and the commander in chief, attended by Colonel Boulder, and numerous officers, cantered to the front. The military bands struck up altogether, the horses stood upon two legs each, cantered backwards and whisked their tails about in all directions. The dogs barked, the mobs screamed, the troops recovered, and nothing was to be seen on either side as far as the eye could reach, but a long perspective of red coats and white trousers, fixed and motionless. Mr Pickwick had been so fully occupied in fooling about and disentangling himself miraculously from between the legs of horses, that he had not enjoyed sufficient leisure to observe the scene before him until it assumed the appearance we have just described. When he was at last enabled to stand firmly on his legs, his gratification and delight were unbounded. What can anything be finer or more delightful? he inquired of Mr Winkle. Nothing, replied that gentleman, who had had a short man standing on each of his feet for the quarter for the last quarter of an hour. It is indeed a noble and brilliant sight, said Mr Snodgrass, in whose bosom a blaze of poetry was rapidly bursting forth, to see the gallant defenders of their country drawn up in brilliant array before its peaceful citizens, their faces beaming not with warlike ferocity. But with it with civilized gentleness, their eyes flashing, not with the rude fire of rapine or revenge, but with the soft light of humanity and intelligence. Mr Pickwick fully entered into the spirit of this eulogium, but he could not exactly re echo its terms, for the soft light of intelligence burnt rather feebly in the eyes of the warriors, inasmuch as the command I've front had been given, and all the spectator saw before him was several thousand pair of optics, staring straight forward, wholly divested of any expression whatsoever. We are in a capital situation now, said Mr Pickwick, looking round him. The crowd had gradually dispersed from their immediate vicinity, and they were nearly alone. Capital echoed both Mr Snodgrass and Mr Winkle. What are they doing now? inquired Mr Pickwick, adjusting his spectacles. I rather think, said Mr Winkle, changing colour, I rather think they're going to fire. Nonsense, said Mr Pickwick, hastily. I really think they are, urged Mr Snodgrass, somewhat alarmed. Impossible, replied Mr Pickwick. He had hardly uttered the word when the whole half dozen regiments levelled their muskets as if they had but one common object, and that object the Pickwickians, and burst forth with the most awful and tremendous discharge that ever shook the earth to its centre, or an elderly gentleman of his. It was in this trying situation exposed to a galling fire of blank cartridges and harassed by the operations of the military, a fresh body of whom had begun to fall in on the opposite side, that Mr Pickwick displayed that perfect coolness and self possession which are the indispensable accomplishments of a great mind. He seized Mr Winkle by the arm, and placing himself between that gentleman and Mr Snodgrass, earnestly besought them to remember that beyond the possibility of being rendered deaf by the noise, there was no immediate danger to be apprehended from the firing. But but suppose some of the men should happen to have ball cartridges by mistake, remonstrated Mr Winkle, pallid at the supposition he was himself conjuring up. I heard something whistle through the air just now, so sharp, close to my ear. We had better throw ourselves on our faces, hadn't we? said Mr Snodgrass. No no, it's over now, said Mr Pickwick. His lip might quiver, and his cheek might blanch, but no expression of fear or concern escaped the lips of that immortal man. Mr Pickwick was right. The firing ceased, but he had scarcely time to congratulate himself on the accuracy of his opinion when a quick movement was visible in the line. The hoarse shout of the word of command ran along it, and before either of the party could form a guess at the meaning of this new manoeuvre, the whole of the half dozen regiments with fixed bayonets charged at double quick time down upon the very spot on which Mr Pickwick and his friends were stationed. I don't know if you mind me interrupting, but it's what I annoyingly do. You might note it says and before either of the party, and I remember this that it's only in recent decades, maybe in the last century that either you were just used with two people rather than any more, and obviously there are three of them here, so it just sounds a bit strange to our ears. Man is but mortal, and there is a point beyond which human courage cannot extend. Mr Pickwick gazed through his spectacles for an instant on the advancing mass, and then fairly turned his back and we will not say fled, first because it is an ignobile term, and secondly because Mr Pickwick's figure was by no means adapted for that mode of retreat. He trotted away at as quick a rate as his legs would convey him, so quickly indeed that he did not perceive the awkwardness of his situation to the full extent until too late. The opposite troops, whose falling in had perplexed Mr Pickwick a few seconds before, were drawn up to repel the mimic attack of the sham besiegers of the citadel, and the consequence was that Mr Pickwick and his two companions found themselves suddenly enclosed between two lines of great length, the one advancing at a rapid pace, and the other firmly waiting the collision in hostile array. Hoy shouted the officers of the advancing line. Get out of the way cried the officers of the stationary one. Where are we going to go? screamed the agitated Pickwickians. Hoy hoy hoy was the only reply. There was a moment of intense bewilderment, a heavy tramp of footsteps, a violent concussion, a smothered laugh. The half dozen regiments were half a thousand yards off, and the soles of Mr Pickwick's boots were elevated in air. Mr Snodgrass and Mr Winkle had each performed a compulsory somerset Somerset? It does say somerset, but you know, we would say somersault, with remarkable agility, when the first object that met the eyes of the latter as he sat on the ground, staunching with a yellow silk handkerchief, the stream of life which issued from his nose was his venerated leader at some distance off, running after his own hat, which was gambling playfully away in perspective. There are very few moments in a man's existence when he experiences so much ludicrous distress or meets with so little charitable commiseration as when he is in pursuit of his own hat. I love this bit. I love I remember it so well that it's so adorable, and so that I don't interrupt it, I'm going to read it read just this little bit again, but I just remember it just I remember laughing, thinking the eye it's so true that no one cares and everyone finds it funny when a man runs after his own fat hat. There are very few moments in a man's existence when he experiences so much ludicrous distress or meets with so little charitable commiseration as when he is in pursuit of his own hat. A vast deal of coolness and a peculiar degree of judgment are requisite in catching a hat. A man must not be precipitate or he runs over it, he must not rush into the opposite extreme, or he loses it altogether. The best way is to keep gently up with the object of pursuit. To be wary and cautious, to watch your opportunity well, get gradually before it, then make a rapid dive, seize it by the crown, and stick it firmly on your head, smiling pleasantly all the time, as if you thought it a as good a joke as anybody else. There was a fine gentle wind and Mr Pickwick's hat rolled sportively before it. The wind puffed and Mr Pickwick puffed, and the hat rolled over and over as merrily as a lively porpoise in a strong tide, and on it might have rolled far beyond Mr Pickwick's reach had not its course been providentially stopped just as that gentleman was on the point of resigning it to its fate. Mr Pickwick, we say, was completely exhausted, and about to give up the chase when the hat was blown with some violence against the wheel of a carriage which was drawn up in a line with half a dozen other vehicles on the spot to which his steps had been directed. Mr Pickwick, perceiving his advantage, darted briskly forward, secured his property, planted it on his head, and paused to take breath. He had not been stationary half a minute when he heard his own name eagerly pronounced by a voice which he at once recognised as Mr Tutman's, and looking upwards he beheld a sight which filled him with surprise and pleasure. In an open barrouche, the horses of which had been taken out, the better to accommodate it to the crowded place, stood a stout old gentleman in a blue coat, and bright buttons, cordroy breeches and top boots, two young ladies in scarfs and feathers, a young gentleman apparently enamoured of one of the young ladies in scarfs and feathers, a lady of doubtful age, probably the ad the aunt of the aforesaid, and Mr Tupman, as easy and unconcerned as if he had belonged to the family from the first moments of his infancy. Fastened up behind the barouche was a hamper of spacious dimensions, one of those hampers which always awakens in a contemplative mind, associations connected with cold fowls, tongue and bottles of wine, and on the box sat a fat and red faced boy in a state of somnolency, whom no speculative observer could have regarded for an instant without setting down as the official dispenser of the contents of the before mentioned hamper, when the proper time for their consumption should arrive. Mr Pickwick had bestowed a hasty glance on these interesting objects when he was again greeted by his faithful disciple. Pickwick, Pickwick, said Mr Tupman, come up here. Make haste. Come along, sir, pray, come up, said the stout gentleman. Joe, damn that boy he's gone to sleep again. Joe, let down the steps. The fat boy rolled slowly off the box, let down the steps, and held the carriage door invitingly open. Mr Snodgrass and Mr Winkle came up at that moment. Room for you all, gentlemen, said the stout man. Two inside and one out. Joe, make room for one of these gentlemen on the box. Now, sir, come along, said and the stout gentleman extended his arm and pulled first Mr Pickwick, and then Mr Snodgrass into the barouche by main force. Mr Winkle mounted to the box. The fat boy waddled to the same perch and fell fast asleep instantly. Well, gentlemen, said the stout man, very glad to see you. Know you very well, gentlemen, though you mayn't remember me. I spent some evenings at your club last winter, picked up my friend, Mr Tupman here this morning, and very glad I was to see him. Well, sir, and how are you? You do look uncommon well, to be sure. Mr Pickwick acknowledged the compliment and cordially shook hands with the stout gentleman in the top boots. Well, and how are you, sir? said the stout gentleman, addressing Mr Snodgrass with paternal anxiety. Charming, eh? Well, that's right, that's right. And how are you, sir, to Mr Winkle? Well, I'm glad to hear you say you are well. Very glad I am, to be sure. My daughter's gentlemen, my gals these are and that's my sister, Miss Rachel Wardle. She's a miss she is, and yet she ain't a miss, eh, sir, eh? And the stout gentleman playfully insisted. deserted his elbow between the ribs of Mr Pickwick, and laughed very heartily. Lord, brother, said Miss Wardle, in a deprecating smile. True, true, said the stout gentleman, no one can deny it. Gentlemen, I beg your pardon. This is my friend Mr Trundle, and now you all got to know each other. Let's be comfortable and happy and see what's going forward. That's what I say. So the stout gentleman put on his spectacles, and Mr Pickwick put out his glass, and everybody stood up in the carriage and looked over somebody else's shoulder at the evolutions of the military. Astounding evolutions they were one firing rank over the one rank firing over the heads of another rank, then running away, and then the other rank firing over the heads of another rank and running away in their turn, and then forming squares with officers in the centre, and then descending the trench on the one side with scaling ladders, and descending it on the other again, by the same means and knocking down the barricades of baskets, and behaving in the most gallant manner possible. Then there was much ramming down of the contents of enormous guns on the battery, with instruments like magnified mops, such a preparation before they were let off, and an enormous noise when they did go that the air resounded with the screams of the ladies. The young Miss Wardles were so frightened that Mr Trundle was actually obliged to hold one of them up in the carriage while Mr Snodgrass supported the other, and Mr Wardle's sister suffered under such a dreadful state of nervous alarm that Mr Tutman found it indispensably necessary to put his arm around her waist to keep her up at all. Everybody was excited except the fat boy, and he slept as soundly as if the roaring of cannon were his ordinary lullaby. Joe Joe, said the stout gentleman when the citadel was taken, and the besiegers and the besieged sat down to dinner. Damn that boy he's gone to sleep again. Be good enough to pinch him, sir. In the leg, if you please nothing else wakes him thank you. Undo the hamper, Joe. The fat boy, who had been effectually roused by the compression of a portion of his leg between the finger and thumb of Mr Winkle, rolled off the box once again and proceeded to unpack the hamper with more expedition than could have been expected from his previous inactivity. Now we must sit close, said the stout gentleman, after a great many jokes about squeezing the ladies' sleeves and a vast quantity of blushing at sundry jigos proposals that the ladies should sit in the gentleman's laps you're gonna have to bear with this stuff in this book, and please please bear with it if you're finding that annoying because you'll be so glad you've listened to it because there is so much beautiful stuff that comes through without you realising it, so please bear with stuff like the gentleman's laps. The whole party was stowed down in the burish, and the stout gentleman proceeded to hand the things to the fat from the fat boy who had mounted up behind from the purpose into the carriage Now Joe, knives and forks the knives and forks were handed in, and the ladies and gentlemen inside and Mr Winkle on the box were each furnished with those useful implements plates, Joe, plates a similar process employed in the distribution of the crockery Now Joe the fowls Damn that boy he's gone to sleep again. Joe, Joe Sundry taps on the head with a stick and the fat boy with some difficulty roused from his lethargy. Come, hand in the eatables There was something in the sound of this last word which roused the uncuous boy he jumped up, and the leaden eyes which twinkled behind his mountainous cheeks leered horribly upon the food as he unpacked it from the basket horrible leering Now make haste, said Mr Wardle, for the fat boy was hanging fondly over a capon, which he seemed wholly unable to part with. The boy sighed deeply, and bestowing an ardent gaze upon its plumpness, unwillingly consigned it to his master That's right, look sharp now the tongue, now the pigeon pie, take care of that veal and ham, mind the lobsters, take the salad out of the cloth give me the dressing such were the hurried orders which issued from the lips of Mr Wardle as he handed in the different articles described, and placed dishes in everybody's hands and on everybody's knees an endless number. Now ain't this capital? inquired that jolly personage, when the work of destruction had commenced Capital said Mr Winkle, who was carving a fowl on the box. Glass of wine with greatest pleasure You'd better have a bottle to yourself up there, hadn't you? Oh you're very good Joe? Yes, sir He wasn't asleep this time, having just succeeded in abstracting a veal patty bottle of wine to the gentleman on the box glad to see you, sir. Thank ye, Mr Winkle emptied his glass and placed the bottle on the coach box by his side. Will you permit me to have the pleasure, sir? said Mr Trundle to Mr Winkle. With great pleasure, replied Mr Winkle to Mr Trundle, and then the two gentlemen took wine, after which they took a glass of wine round, ladies and all How dear Emily's flirting with the strange oh no wrong voice How dear Emily's flirting with the strange gentleman, whispered the spinster aunt, with too spinster aunt like envy to her brother Mr Wardle. Oh I don't know, said the jolly old gentleman. All very natural I dare say nothing unusual. Mr Pickwick some wine, sir. Mr Pickwick, who'd been deeply investigating the interior of the pigeon pie, readily assented. Emily, my dear, said the spinster aunt, with a patronizing air don't talk so loud, love Law Aunt Aunt and the little old gentleman want to have it all to themselves, I think, whispered Miss Isabella Wardle to her sister Emily. The young ladies laughed very heartily, and the one old one older one tried to look amiable but couldn't manage it. Young girls have such spirits, said Miss Wardle to Mr Tupman, with an air of gentle commiseration as if animal spirits were contraband, and their possession without a permit a high crime and misdemeanour. Oh they have, replied Mr Tupman, not exactly making the sort of reply that was expected from him. It's quite delightful. Hem, said Miss Wardle rather dubiously. Will you permit me? said Mr Tupman, in his blandest manner, touching the enchanted Rachel's wrist with one hand and gently elevating the bottle with the other will you permit me? Oh sir, Mr Tupman looked most impressive, and Rachel expressed her fear that more guns were going off, in which case of course she would have required support again. Do you think my niece is pretty? whispered their affectionate aunts to Mr Aunt to Mr Tupman. I should if their aunt wasn't here, replied the ready Pickwickian with a passionate glance. Oh you naughty man but really if their complexions were a little better, don't you think they would be nice looking girls by candlelight? Yes, I think they would, said Mr Tupman, with an air of indifference. Oh you quiz I know what you were going to say. What? inquired Mr Tupman, who had not precisely made up his mind to say anything at all. You were going to say that Isabella stoops I know you were you men are such observers well so she does it cannot be denied and certainly there is one thing more than another that makes the girl look ugly it is stooping. I often tell her that when she gets a little older she'll be quite frightful Well you are a quiz. Mr Tupman had no objection to earning the reputation at so cheap a rate, so he looked very knowing and smiled mysteriously I'm sure Aunt's talking about us, whispered Miss Emily Wardle to her sister. I'm quite certain of it she looks so malicious. Is she? replied Isabella Hm Aunt dear Yes, my dear love I'm so afraid you'll catch cold aunt have a silk handkerchief to tie round your dear old head you really should take care of yourself. Consider your age however well deserved this piece of retaliation might have been, it was as vindictive as one could well have been resorted to there is no guessing in what form of reply the aunt's indignation would have vented itself had not Mr Wardle's unc had not Mr Wardle unconsciously changed the subject by calling emphatically for Joe Very extraordinary boy that, said Mr Pickwick. Does he always sleep in this way? Sleep, said the old gentleman he's always asleep, goes on errands fast asleep and snores as he waits at a table. How very odd, said Mr Pickwick. Ah, odd indeed, returned the old gentleman I'm proud of that boy, wouldn't part with him on any account. Damn me he's a natural curiosity here, Joe, Joe, take these things away and open another bottle do you hear? The fat boy rose, opened his eyes, swallowed the huge piece of pie that he had been in the act of masticating when he last fell asleep, and slowly obeyed his master's orders, gloating languidly over the remains of the feast as he removed the plates and deposited them in the hamper. The fresh bottle was produced and speedily emptied, the hamper was made fast in its old place, the fat boy once more mounted the box, the spectacles and pocket glass were again adjusted, and the evolutions of the military recommenced. There was a great fizzing and banging of guns and starting of the ladies and then a mine was sprung to the gratification of everybody, and when the mine had gone off the military and the company followed its example and went off too. Now mind, said the old gentleman, as he shook hands with Mr Pickwick at the conclusion of a conversation which had been carried on at intervals during the conclusion of the proceedings we shall see you all tomorrow. Most certainly replied Mr Pickwick you have the address Manor Farm Dinglydell, said Mr Pickwick, consulting his pocket book. That's it, said the old gentleman I don't let you off mind under a week and under a t undertake that you shall see everything worth seeing if you come down for a country life come to me and I'll give you plenty of it Joe Damn that boy he's gone to sleep again. Joe, help Tom put in the horses The horses were put in, the driver mounted, the fat boy clambered up by his side, farewells were exchanged, and the carriage rattled off. As the Pickwickians turned round to take a last glance glance of it, the setting sun cast a rich glow on the faces of their entertainers and fell upon the form of the fat boy. His head was sunk on his bosom and he slumbered again. And next chapter is chapter five, a short one, showing among other matters, how Mr Pickwick undertook to drive and Mr Winkle to ride, and how they both did it.