[Illustration]
_Samuel Weller makes a Pilgrimage to Dorking, and beholds his
Mother-in-law_
There still remaining an interval of two days before the time agreed
upon for the departure of the Pickwickians to Dingley Dell, Mr. Weller
sat himself down in a back room at the George and Vulture, after
eating an early dinner, to muse on the best way of disposing of his
time. It was a remarkably fine day; and he had not turned the matter
over in his mind ten minutes, when he was suddenly stricken filial and
affectionate; and it occurred to him so strongly that he ought to go
down and see his father, and pay his duty to his mother-in-law, that
he was lost in astonishment at his own remissness in never thinking of
this moral obligation before. Anxious to atone for his past neglect
without another hour's delay, he straightway walked up the stairs to
Mr. Pickwick, and requested leave of absence for this laudable purpose.
"Certainly, Sam, certainly," said Mr. Pickwick, his eyes glistening
with delight at this manifestation of filial feeling on the part of his
attendant; "certainly, Sam."
Mr. Weller made a grateful bow.
"I am very glad to see that you have so high a sense of your duties as
a son, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick.
"I always had, sir," replied Mr. Weller.
"That's a very gratifying reflection, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick,
approvingly.
"Wery, sir," replied Mr. Weller; "if ever I wanted anythin' o' my
father, I always asked for it in a very 'spectful and obligin' manner.
If he didn't give it me, I took it, for fear I should be led to do
anythin' wrong, through not havin' it. I saved him a world o' trouble
in this vay, sir."
"That's not precisely what I meant, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, shaking
his head, with a slight smile.
"All good feeling, sir--the wery best intentions, as the gen'lm'n
said ven he run away from his wife 'cos she seemed unhappy with him,"
replied Mr. Weller.
"You may go, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Thank'ee, sir," replied Mr. Weller; and having made his best bow, and
put on his best clothes, Sam planted himself on the top of the Arundel
coach, and journeyed on to Dorking.
The Marquis of Granby in Mrs. Weller's time was quite a model of a
roadside public-house of the better class--just large enough to be
convenient, and small enough to be snug. On the opposite side of the
road was a large sign-board on a high post, representing the head and
shoulders of a gentleman with an apoplectic countenance, in a red
coat with deep blue facings, and a touch of the same blue over his
three-cornered hat, for a sky. Over that again were a pair of flags;
beneath the last button of his coat were a couple of cannon; and the
whole formed an expressive and undoubted likeness of the Marquis of
Granby of glorious memory.
The bar window displayed a choice collection of geranium plants, and a
well-dusted row of spirit phials. The open shutters bore a variety of
golden inscriptions, eulogistic of good beds and neat wines; and the
choice group of countrymen and hostlers lounging about the stable-door
and horse-trough, afforded presumptive proof of the excellent quality
of the ale and spirits which were sold within. Sam Weller paused, when
he dismounted from the coach, to note all these little indications of a
thriving business, with the eye of an experienced traveller; and having
done so, stepped in at once, highly satisfied with everything he had
observed.
"Now, then!" said a shrill female voice the instant Sam thrust his head
in at the door, "what do you want, young man?"
Sam looked round in the direction whence the voice proceeded. It came
from a rather stout lady of comfortable appearance, who was seated
beside the fire-place, in the bar, blowing the fire to make the
kettle boil for tea. She was not alone; for on the other side of the
fire-place, sitting bolt upright in a high-backed chair, was a man in
threadbare black clothes, with a back almost as long and stiff as that
of the chair itself, who caught Sam's most particular and especial
attention at once.
He was a prim-faced, red-nosed man, with a long, thin countenance, and
a semi-rattlesnake sort of eye--rather sharp, but decidedly bad. He
wore very short trousers, and black cotton stockings, which, like the
rest of his apparel, were particularly rusty. His looks were starched,
but his white neckerchief was not, and its long limp ends straggled
over his closely-buttoned waistcoat in a very uncouth and unpicturesque
fashion. A pair of old, worn beaver gloves, a broad-brimmed hat, and
a faded green umbrella, with plenty of whalebone sticking through the
bottom, as if to counter-balance the want of a handle at the top, lay
on a chair beside him, and, being disposed in a very tidy and careful
manner, seemed to imply that the red-nosed man, whoever he was, had no
intention of going away in a hurry.
To do the red-nosed man justice, he would have been very far from
wise if he had entertained any such intention; for, to judge from all
appearances, he must have been possessed of a most desirable circle
of acquaintance, if he could have reasonably expected to be more
comfortable anywhere else. The fire was blazing brightly under the
influence of the bellows, and the kettle was singing gaily under the
influence of both. A small tray of tea-things was arranged on the
table, a plate of hot buttered toast was gently simmering before the
fire, and the red-nosed man himself was busily engaged in converting
a large slice of bread into the same agreeable edible, through the
instrumentality of a long brass toasting-fork. Beside him stood a glass
of reeking hot pine-apple rum and water, with a slice of lemon in it;
and every time the red-nosed man stopped to bring the round of toast
to his eye, with the view of ascertaining how it got on, he imbibed a
drop or two of the hot pine-apple rum and water, and smiled upon the
rather stout lady, as she blew the fire.
Sam was so lost in the contemplation of this comfortable scene, that he
suffered the first inquiry of the rather stout lady to pass unheeded.
It was not until it had been twice repeated, each time in a shriller
tone, that he became conscious of the impropriety of his behaviour.
"Governor in?" inquired Sam, in reply to the question.
"No, he isn't," replied Mrs. Weller; for the rather stout lady was no
other than the quondam relict and sole executrix of the dead-and-gone
Mr. Clarke. "No, he isn't, and I don't expect him, either."
"I suppose he's a drivin' up to-day?" said Sam.
"He may be, or he may not," replied Mrs. Weller, buttering the round of
toast which the red-nosed man had just finished. "I don't know, and,
what's more, I don't care. Ask a blessin', Mr. Stiggins."
The red-nosed man did as he was desired, and instantly commenced on the
toast with fierce voracity.
The appearance of the red-nosed man had induced Sam, at first sight,
to more than half suspect that he was the deputy shepherd of whom his
estimable parent had spoken. The moment he saw him eat, all doubt
on the subject was removed, and he perceived at once, that if he
purposed to take up his temporary quarters where he was, he must make
his footing good without delay. He therefore commenced proceedings by
putting his arm over the half-door of the bar, coolly unbolting it, and
leisurely walking in.
"Mother-in-law," said Sam, "how are you?"
"Why, I do believe he is a Weller!" said Mrs. W., raising her eyes to
Sam's face, with no very gratified expression of countenance.
"I rayther think he is," said the imperturbable Sam; "and I hope this
here reverend gen'lm'n 'll excuse me saying that I wish I was _the_
Weller as owns you, mother-in-law."
[Illustration: "_Mother-in-law," said Sam, "how are you?_"]
This was a double-barrelled compliment. It implied that Mrs. Weller was
a most agreeable female, and also that Mr. Stiggins had a clerical
appearance. It made a visible impression at once; and Sam followed up
his advantage by kissing his mother-in-law.
"Get along with you!" said Mrs. Weller, pushing him away.
"For shame, young man!" said the gentleman with the red nose.
"No offence, sir, no offence," replied Sam; "you're wery right, though;
it ain't the right sort o' thing, when mothers-in-law is young and
good-looking, is it, sir?"
"It's all vanity," said Mr. Stiggins.
"Ah, so it is," said Mrs. Weller, setting her cap to rights.
Sam thought it was, too, but he held his peace.
The deputy shepherd seemed by no means best pleased with Sam's arrival;
and when the first effervescence of the compliment had subsided, even
Mrs. Weller looked as if she could have spared him without the smallest
inconvenience. However, there he was; and as he couldn't be decently
turned out, they all three sat down to tea.
"And how's father?" said Sam.
At this inquiry Mrs. Weller raised her hands, and turned up her eyes,
as if the subject were too painful to be alluded to.
Mr. Stiggins groaned.
"What's the matter with that 'ere gen'lm'n?" inquired Sam.
"He's shocked at the way your father goes on in," replied Mrs. Weller.
"Oh, he is, is he?" said Sam.
"And with too good reason," added Mrs. Weller, gravely.
Mr. Stiggins took up a fresh piece of toast, and groaned heavily.
"He is a dreadful reprobate," said Mrs. Weller.
"A man of wrath!" exclaimed Mr. Stiggins. He took a large semi-circular
bite of the toast, and groaned aloud.
Sam felt very strongly disposed to give the Reverend Mr. Stiggins
something to groan for, but he repressed his inclination, and merely
asked, "What's the old 'un up to, now?"
"Up to, indeed!" said Mrs. Weller. "Oh, he has a hard heart. Night
after night does this excellent man--don't frown, Mr. Stiggins: I
_will_ say you are an excellent man--come and sit here, for hours
together, and it has not the least effect upon him."
"Well, that is odd," said Sam; "it 'ud have a wery considerable effect
upon me, if I wos in his place; I know that."
"The fact is, my young friend," said Mr. Stiggins, solemnly, "he has
an obderrate bosom. Oh, my young friend, who else could have resisted
the pleading of sixteen of our fairest sisters, and withstood their
exhortations to subscribe to our noble society for providing the
infant negroes in the West Indies with flannel waistcoats and moral
pocket-handkerchiefs?"
"What's a moral pocket ankercher?" said Sam; "I never see one o' them
articles o' furniter."
"Those which combine amusement with instruction, my young friend,"
replied Mr. Stiggins: "blending select tales with wood-cuts."
"Oh, I know," said Sam; "them as hangs up in the linen-drapers' shops,
with beggars' petitions and all that 'ere upon 'em?"
Mr. Stiggins began a third round of toast, and nodded assent.
"And he wouldn't be persuaded by the ladies, wouldn't he?" said Sam.
"Sat and smoked his pipe, and said the infant negroes were--what did he
say the infant negroes were?" said Mrs. Weller.
"Little humbugs," replied Mr. Stiggins, deeply affected.
"Said the infant negroes were little humbugs," repeated Mrs. Weller.
And they both groaned at the atrocious conduct of the old gentleman.
A great many more inquiries of a similar nature might have been
disclosed, only the toast being all eaten, the tea having got very
weak, and Sam holding out no indications of meaning to go, Mr. Stiggins
suddenly recollected that he had a most pressing appointment with the
shepherd, and took himself off accordingly.
The tea-things had scarcely been put away, and the hearth swept up,
when the London coach deposited Mr. Weller senior at the door; his legs
deposited him in the bar; and his eyes showed him his son.
"What, Sammy!" exclaimed the father.
"What, old Nobs!" ejaculated the son. And they shook hands heartily.
"Wery glad to see you, Sammy," said the elder Mr. Weller, "though how
you've managed to get over your mother-in-law, is a mystery to me. I
only vish you'd write me out the receipt, that's all."
"Hush!" said Sam, "she's at home, old feller."
"She ain't vithin hearin'," replied Mr. Weller; "she always goes and
blows up, down-stairs, for a couple of hours arter tea; so we'll just
give ourselves a damp, Sammy."
Saying this, Mr. Weller mixed two glasses of spirits and water, and
produced a couple of pipes. The father and son sitting down opposite
each other: Sam on one side of the fire, in the high-backed chair, and
Mr. Weller senior on the other, in an easy ditto: they proceeded to
enjoy themselves with all due gravity.
"Anybody been here, Sammy?" asked Mr. Weller senior, drily, after a
long silence.
Sam nodded an expressive assent.
"Red-nosed chap?" inquired Mr. Weller.
Sam nodded again.
"Amiable man that 'ere, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, smoking violently.
"Seems so," observed Sam.
"Good hand at accounts," said Mr. Weller.
"Is he?" said Sam.
"Borrows eighteenpence on Monday, and comes on Tuesday for a shillin'
to make it up half a crown; calls again on Vensday for another half
crown to make it five shillin's; and goes on, doubling, till he gets
it up to a five-pund note in no time, like them sums in the 'rithmetic
book 'bout the nails in the horse's shoes, Sammy."
Sam intimated by a nod that he recollected the problem alluded to by
his parent.
"So you vouldn't subscribe to the flannel veskits?" said Sam, after
another interval of smoking.
"Cert'nly not," replied Mr. Weller; "what's the good o' flannel veskits
to the young niggers abroad? But I'll tell you what it is, Sammy," said
Mr. Weller, lowering his voice, and bending across the fire-place;
"I'd come down wery handsome towards strait veskits for some people at
home."
As Mr. Weller said this, he slowly recovered his former position, and
winked at his first-born, in a profound manner.
"It cert'nly seems a queer start to send out pocket ankerchers to
people as don't know the use on 'em," observed Sam.
"They're alvays a doin' some gammon of that sort, Sammy," replied his
father. "T'other Sunday I wos walkin' up the road, ven who should I
see, a standin' at a chapel-door, with a blue soup-plate in her hand,
but your mother-in-law! I werily believe there was change for a couple
o' suvrins in it, then, Sammy, all in ha'pence: and as the people came
out, they rattled the pennies in it, till you'd ha' thought that no
mortal plate as ever was baked could ha' stood the wear and tear. What
d'ye think it was all for?"
"For another tea-drinkin', perhaps," said Sam.
"Not a bit on it," replied the father; "for the shepherd's water-rate,
Sammy."
"The shepherd's water-rate!" said Sam.
"Ay," replied Mr. Weller, "there was three quarters owin' and the
shepherd hadn't paid a farden, not he--perhaps it might be on account
that the water warn't o' much use to him, for it's wery little o' that
tap he drinks, Sammy, wery; he knows a trick worth a good half-dozen of
that, he does. Hows'ever, it warn't paid, and so they cuts the water
off. Down goes the shepherd to chapel, gives out as he's a persecuted
saint, and says he hopes the heart of the turncock as cut the water
off, 'll be softened, and turned in the right vay: but he rayther
thinks he's booked for somethin' uncomfortable. Upon this, the women
calls a meetin', sings a hymn, wotes your mother-in-law into the chair,
wolunteers a collection next Sunday, and hands it all over to the
shepherd. And if he ain't got enough out on 'em, Sammy, to make him
free of the water company for life," said Mr. Weller, in conclusion,
"I'm one Dutchman, and you're another, and that's all about it."
Mr. Weller smoked for some minutes in silence, and then resumed:
"The worst o' these here shepherds is, my boy, that they reg'larly
turns the heads of all the young ladies, about here. Lord bless their
little hearts, they thinks it's all right, and don't know no better:
but they're the wictims o' gammon, Samivel, they're the wictims o'
gammon."
"I s'pose they are," said Sam.
"Nothin' else," said Mr. Weller, shaking his head gravely; "and wot
aggrawates me, Samivel, is to see 'em a wastin' all their time and
labour in making clothes for copper-coloured people as don't want 'em,
and taking no notice of flesh-coloured Christians as do. If I'd my vay,
Samivel, I'd just stick some o' these here lazy shepherds behind a
heavy wheelbarrow, and run 'em up and down a fourteen-inch-wide plank
all day. That 'ud shake the nonsense out of 'em, if anything vould."
Mr. Weller having delivered this gentle recipe with strong emphasis,
eked out by a variety of nods and contortions of the eye, emptied his
glass at a draught, and knocked the ashes out of his pipe, with native
dignity.
He was engaged in this operation, when a shrill voice was heard in the
passage.
"Here's your dear relation, Sammy," said Mr. Weller; and Mrs. W.
hurried into the room.
"Oh, you've come back, have you!" said Mrs. Weller.
"Yes, my dear," replied Mr. Weller, filling a fresh pipe.
"Has Mr. Stiggins been back?" said Mrs. Weller.
"No, my dear, he hasn't," replied Mr. Weller, lighting the pipe by the
ingenious process of holding to the bowl thereof, between the tongs, a
red-hot coal from the adjacent fire; "and what's more, my dear, I shall
manage to survive it, if he don't come back at all."
"Ugh, you wretch!" said Mrs. Weller.
"Thank'ee, my love," said Mr. Weller.
"Come, come, father," said Sam, "none o' these little lovins afore
strangers. Here's the reverend gen'lm'n a comin' in now."
At this announcement, Mrs. Weller hastily wiped off the tears which she
had just begun to force on; and Mr. W. drew his chair sullenly into the
chimney corner.
Mr. Stiggins was easily prevailed on to take another glass of the
hot pine-apple rum and water, and a second, and a third, and then to
refresh himself with a slight supper, previous to beginning again.
He sat on the same side as Mr. Weller senior; and every time he could
contrive to do so, unseen by his wife, that gentleman indicated to
his son the hidden emotions of his bosom, by shaking his fist over
the deputy shepherd's head: a process which afforded his son the most
unmingled delight and satisfaction, and more especially as Mr. Stiggins
went on quietly drinking the hot pine-apple rum and water, wholly
unconscious of what was going on.
The major part of the conversation was confined to Mrs. Weller and the
Reverend Mr. Stiggins; and the topics principally descanted on, were
the virtues of the shepherd, the worthiness of his flock, and the high
crimes and misdemeanours of everybody beside; dissertations which the
elder Mr. Weller occasionally interrupted by half-suppressed references
to a gentleman of the name of Walker, and other running commentaries of
the same kind.
At length, Mr. Stiggins, with several most indubitable symptoms of
having quite as much pine-apple rum and water about him, as he could
comfortably accommodate, took his hat and his leave: and Sam was,
immediately afterwards, shown to bed by his father. The respectable old
gentleman wrung his hand fervently, and seemed disposed to address some
observation to his son; but on Mrs. Weller advancing towards him, he
appeared to relinquish that intention, and abruptly bade him good night.
Sam was up betimes next day, and having partaken of a hasty breakfast,
prepared to return to London. He had scarcely set foot without the
house, when his father stood before him.
"Goin', Sammy?" inquired Mr. Weller.
"Off at once," replied Sam.
"I vish you could muffle that 'ere Stiggins, and take him with you,"
said Mr. Weller.
"I am ashamed on you!" said Sam, reproachfully; "what do you let him
show his red nose in the Markis o' Granby at all, for?"
Mr. Weller the elder fixed on his son an earnest look, and replied,
"'Cause I'm a married man, Samivel, 'cause I'm a married man. When
you're a married man, Samivel, you'll understand a good many things as
you don't understand now; but vether it's worth while going through so
much, to learn so little, as the charity boy said ven he got to the end
of the alphabet, is a matter o' taste. _I_ rayther think it isn't."
"Well," said Sam, "good-bye."
"Tar tar, Sammy," replied his father.
"I've only got to say this here," said Sam, stopping short, "that if
_I_ was the properiator o' the Markis o' Granby, and that 'ere Stiggins
came and made toast in _my_ bar, I'd----"
"What?" interposed Mr. Weller, with great anxiety. "What?"
"--Pison his rum and water," said Sam.
"No!" said Mr. Weller, shaking his son eagerly by the hand; "would you
raly, Sammy? would you though?"
"I would," said Sam. "I wouldn't be too hard upon him at first. I'd
drop him in the water-butt, and put the lid on; and if I found he was
insensible to kindness, I'd try the other persvasion."
The elder Mr. Weller bestowed a look of deep, unspeakable admiration on
his son: and, having once more grasped his hand, walked slowly away,
revolving in his mind the numerous reflections to which his advice had
given rise.
Sam looked after him, until he turned a corner of the road: and
then set forward on his walk to London. He meditated, at first, on
the probable consequences of his own advice, and the likelihood and
unlikelihood of his father's adopting it. He dismissed the subject
from his mind, however, with the consolatory reflection that time
alone would show; and this is the reflection we would impress upon the
reader.