The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club

The Clergyman’s verses — The

ce of the ceremony of introduction, with all due formalities, Mr. Pickwick had leisure to observe the appearance, and speculate upon the char

oung ladies, and Mr. Wardle, each vying with the other in paying zealous and unremitting attentions to the old lady, crowded round her easy-chair, one holding her ear-trumpet, another an orange, and a third a smelling-bottle, while a fourth was busily engaged in patting and punching the pillows which were arranged for her support. On the opposite side sat a bald-headed old gentleman, with a good-humoured, benevolent face — the clergyman of Dingley Dell; and next him sat his wife, a stout, bloom

said Mr. Wardle, at th

ady, shaking her hea

a!’ screamed both the

it don’t much matter. He don’t care f

ertion imparted a crimson hue to his benevolent countenance —‘I assure you, ma’am, that nothing delights

short pause: ‘it’s all very fine,

Miss Isabella Wardle, in a low tone

infirmities of age, and entered into a general c

uation this,’ s

d Messrs. Snodgrass

k it is,’ sai

face; ‘there ain’t indeed, sir — I’m sure there ain’t, Sir.’ The hard-headed man looked triumphantl

ound in all Kent,’ said the hard

at man solemnly. ‘Mullins’s Meadows!’ eja

Meadows,’ repea

d that,’ interpos

sure-ly,’ said

that,’ said the

more. ‘What are they talking about?’ inquired the old lady of one of her granddaughters, in a very audible voice; for,

he land,

nd? — Nothing the

aying our land was better

xcomb, and you may tell him I said so.’ Saying which, the old lady, quite unconscious that she had

a natural anxiety to change the conversatio

replied that gentleman; ‘but pra

ery fond of a rubber,’ said M

eaf on this subject than on any o

‘Joe — damn that — oh, here he

e one for Pope Joan, and the other for whist. The whist-players were Mr. Pickwick and the o

irreverently and ignominiously applied. The round-game table, on the other hand, was so boisterously merry as materially to interrupt the contemplations of Mr. Miller, who, not being quite so much absorbed as he ought

dd trick at the conclusion of a hand; ‘that could not have been pla

ped the diamond, oughtn’t

ick nodde

e unfortunate, with a doub

id the fat gentleman

said the crest

,’ growled the

makes us eight,’

an you one?’ inqu

Pickwick. ‘Double,

ch luck,’ sai

cards,’ said t

s, the old lady serious, the fat gentl

ng a memorandum of the circumstance, by placing one si

sir,’ said

ct, Sir,’ replied the

hen he retired into a corner, and remained perfectly mute for one hour and twenty-seven minutes; at the end of which time he emerged from his retirement, and offered Mr. Pickwick a pinch of snuff with the air

ace gradually brightened up, till at last she laughed louder than any of them, Then, when the spinster aunt got ‘matrimony,’ the young ladies laughed afresh, and the Spinster aunt seemed disposed to be pettish; till, feeling Mr. Tupman squeezing her hand under the table, she brightened up too, and looked rather knowing, as if matrimony in reality were not quite so far off as some people thought for; whereupon everybody laughed again, and especially old Mr. Wardle, who enjoyed a joke as much as the youngest. As to Mr. Snodgrass, he did nothing but whisper poetical sentiments into his partner’s ear, which made one old gentleman facetiously sly, about partnerships at cards and partnerships for life, and caus

ad been despatched, and the little party formed a social circle round the fire, Mr. Pickwick thought he had nev

— the happiest moments of my life have been passed at this old fireside; and I am so attached to it, that I keep up a blazing fire here every evening, until it a

times and the happiness of many years ago is suddenly recalled, stole

know no other — the old houses and fields seem like living friends to me; and so does our little church with the ivy, about which

had been greatly excited by the last observation of his entertainer.

that,’ said the host knowingly, indica

ike to hear you repeat it,

only excuse I have for having ever perpetrated it is, that I was a young

ntleman proceeded to recite, with the aid of sundry prompting

IVY

plant is th

peth o’er

e food are his

ll so lon

e crumbled, the

re his da

ing dust that y

ry meal

here no li

plant is th

h on, though he

nch old he

twineth, how

end the hu

traileth alon

aves he ge

ly hugs and

ld of dead m

ere grim de

plant is th

fled and their

s have sca

old Ivy shal

ale and he

plant in its

ten upon

iest building

vy’s foo

n where ti

plant is th

Pickwick perused the lineaments of his face with an expression of great interest. The old gentleman having

like yourself cannot fail, I should think, to have observed many scenes and incide

, ‘but the incidents and characters have been of a homely an

ou not?’ inquired Mr. Wardle, who appeared very desirous to

in token of assent, and was proceeding to c

pray, if I may venture to i

about to ask,’ said

the curiosity of these gentlemen, sooner or later; so you had bette

er hard of hearing; and the old lady’s ear-trumpet having been duly adjusted, and Mr. Miller (who had fallen asleep during the recital of the verses) roused from his slumbers by an admonitory pinch, ad

NVICT’

all farm near this spot. He was a morose, savage-hearted, bad man; idle and dissolute in his habits; cruel and ferocious in his disposition. Beyond the few lazy and reckless vagabonds with whom he sauntered

ate conception. Heaven forgive me the supposition, if it be an uncharitable one, but I do firmly and in my soul believe, that the man systematically tried for many years to break her heart; but she bore it all for her child’s sake, and, however strange it may seem to many, for

. These exertions were but ill repaid. People who passed the spot in the evening — sometimes at a late hour of the night — reported that they had heard the moans and sobs of a woman in distress, and th

orly dressed — much more so than many of their neighbours who were in a lower station — they were always neat and clean. Every one had a friendly nod and a kind word for “poor Mrs. Edmunds”; and sometimes, when she stopped to exchange a few words with a neighbour at the conclusion of the service in the little row of elm-trees

ce that should have cheered her, no more looked upon her own. She occupied her old seat, but there was a vacant one beside her. The Bible was kept as carefully as ever, the places were found and folded down as they used to be: but there was no one to read it with her; and the tears fell thick and fast upon the book, and bl

with a long series of voluntary privations suffered by his mother for his sake, with ill-usage, and insult, and violence, and all endured for him — shall I tell you, that he, with a reckless disregard for her breaking heart, and a sullen, wilful forg

calculated on. Young Edmunds was suspected, with three companions. He was apprehended — committed — tried — condemned — to die. ‘The wild and piercing shriek from a woman’s voice, which resounded through the court when the solemn sentence was pronounced, rings in my ears at this moment. That cry struck a terror to the culprit’s hear

ef, and a violent struggle, such as I hope I may never have to witness again, succeeded. I knew that her heart was breaking from that hour; but I never once heard complaint or murmur escape her lips. ‘It was a piteous spectacle to see that woman in the prison-yard from day to day, eagerly and fervent

against bodily weakness and infirmity. She fell sick. She dragged her tottering limbs from the b

w the long-forgotten thoughts of former days rushed upon his mind, as he almost ran up and down the narrow yard — as if intelligence would arrive the sooner for his hurrying — and how bitterly a sense of his helplessness and desolation rushed upon him, when he heard the truth! His mother, the only parent he had ever known, lay ill — it might be, dying — within one mile of the ground

by night. A few weeks afterwards the poor woman’s soul took its flight, I confidently hope, and solemnly believe, to a place of eternal happiness and rest. I performed the burial service over her remains. She lies in our little churchyard. There is no stone at her grave’s head. Her sorrows were known to man; her virtues to God. ‘it had been arranged previously to the convict’s departure, that he should write to his mother as soon as he c

hough several letters were despatched, none of them ever reached my hands. He remained in the same place during the whole fourteen years. At the expiration of the term, steadi

tter tears hers were. He thought how often he had run merrily down that path with some childish playfellow, looking back, ever and again, to catch his mother’s smile, or hear her gentle voice; and then a veil seemed lifted from his memory, and words of kindness unrequited, and warnings despised, and promises broken, thronged upon his recollection till his heart failed him, and he could bear it no longer. ‘He entered the church. The evening service was concluded and the congregation had dispersed, but it was not yet closed. His steps echoed through the low building with a hollow sound, and he almost feared to be alone, it was so still and quiet. He looked round him. Nothing was changed. The place seemed smaller than it used to be; but there were the old monuments on

nger’s face, bade him “good-evening,” an

s turned towards him, and many a doubtful glance he cast on either side to see whether any knew and shunned him. There were strange faces in almost every house; in some he recognised the burly form of some old schoolfellow — a boy when he last saw

an there used to be, but there were the old trees still — the very tree under which he had lain a thousand times when tired of playing in the sun, and felt the soft, mild sleep of happy boyhood steal gently upon him. There were voices within the house. He listened, but they fell strangely upon his ear; he knew them not. They were merry too; and he well knew that his poor old mother could not be cheerful, and he away. The door opened, and a group of little children bounded out, shouting and romping. The father, with a little boy in

ndergone so much suffering! No face of welcome, no look of forgiveness, no house to receive, no hand to help him —

ck coldly at his heart, and his spirit sank within him. He had not courage to make inquiries, or to present himself to the only person who was likely to receive him with kindness and c

side him; his garments rustled as he turned round to ste

dissipation or disease, than the length of years. He was staring hard at the stranger, and though his eyes were lustreless and heavy at first, they appeared to glow with an unnatural and alarmed expression after they had been f

tottered to his feet. Edmunds sprang to his. H

,” said the convict, in

man, with a dreadful oath. T

s with terror, he raised his stick, and st

e rushed wildly forward, and clenched the old man by the throat

vessel, and he was a dead man before his son could raise him. ‘In that corner of the churchyard,’ said the old gentleman, after a silence of a few moments, ‘in that corner of the churchyard of which I have before spoken, there lies buried a man who was i