A VISITOR.
What I have purposed to record is nearly finished; but there is yet an
incident conspicuous in my memory, on which it often rests with delight,
and without which one thread in the web I have spun, would have a
ravelled end.
I had advanced in fame and fortune, my domestic joy was perfect, I had
been married ten happy years. Agnes and I were sitting by the fire, in
our house in London, one night in spring, and three of our children were
playing in the room, when I was told that a stranger wished to see me.
[Illustration: A Stranger calls to see me.]
He had been asked if he came on business, and had answered No; he had
come for the pleasure of seeing me, and had come a long way. He was an
old man, my servant said, and looked like a farmer.
As this sounded mysterious to the children, and moreover was like the
beginning of a favorite story Agnes used to tell them, introductory to
the arrival of a wicked old Fairy in a cloak who hated every body, it
produced some commotion. One of our boys laid his head in his mother's
lap to be out of harm's way, and little Agnes (our eldest child) left
her doll in a chair to represent her, and thrust out her little heap of
golden curls from between the window-curtains, to see what happened
next.
"Let him come in here!" said I.
There soon appeared, pausing in the dark doorway as he entered, a hale,
grey-haired old man. Little Agnes, attracted by his looks, had run to
bring him in, and I had not yet clearly seen his face, when my wife,
starting up, cried out to me, in a pleased and agitated voice, that it
was Mr. Peggotty!
It _was_ Mr. Peggotty. An old man now, but in a ruddy, hearty, strong
old age. When our first emotion was over, and he sat before the fire
with the children on his knees, and the blaze shining on his face, he
looked, to me, as vigorous and robust, withal as handsome, an old man,
as ever I had seen.
"Mas'r Davy," said he. And the old name in the old tone fell so
naturally on my ear! "Mas'r Davy, 'tis a joyful hour as I see you, once
more, 'long with your own trew wife!"
"A joyful hour indeed, old friend!" cried I.
"And these heer pretty ones," said Mr. Peggotty. "To look at these heer
flowers! Why, Mas'r Davy, you was but the heighth of the littlest of
these, when I first see you! When Em'ly warn't no bigger, and our poor
lad were _but_ a lad!"
"Time has changed me more than it has changed you since then," said I.
"But, let these dear rogues go to bed; and as no house in England but
this must hold you, tell me where to send for your luggage (is the old
black bag among it, that went so far, I wonder!), and then, over a glass
of Yarmouth grog, we will have the tidings of ten years!"
"Are you alone?" asked Agnes.
"Yes, ma'am," he said, kissing her hand, "quite alone."
We sat him between us, not knowing how to give him welcome enough; and
as I began to listen to his old familiar voice, I could have fancied he
was still pursuing his long journey in search of his darling niece.
"It's a mort of water," said Mr. Peggotty, "fur to come across, and on'y
stay a matter of fower weeks. But water ('specially when 'tis salt)
comes nat'ral to me; and friends is dear, and I am heer.--Which is
verse," said Mr. Peggotty, surprised to find it out, "though I hadn't
such intentions."
"Are you going back those many thousand miles, so soon?" asked Agnes.
"Yes, ma'am," he returned. "I giv the promise to Em'ly, afore I come
away. You see, I doen't grow younger as the years comes round, and if I
hadn't sailed as 'twas, most like I shouldn't never have done 't. And
it's allus been on my mind, as I _must_ come and see Mas'r Davy and your
own sweet blooming self, in your wedded happiness, afore I got to be too
old."
He looked at us, as if he could never feast his eyes on us sufficiently.
Agnes laughingly put back some scattered locks of his grey hair, that he
might see us better.
"And now tell us," said I, "everything relating to your fortunes."
"Our fortuns, Mas'r Davy," he rejoined, "is soon told. We haven't
fared nohows, but fared to thrive. We've allus thrived. We've worked
as we ought to 't, and maybe we lived a leetle hard at first or so,
but we have allus thrived. What with sheep-farming, and what with
stock-farming, and what with one thing and what with t'other, we are as
well to do, as well could be. Theer's been kiender a blessing fell upon
us," said Mr. Peggotty, reverentially inclining his head, "and we've
done nowt but prosper. That is, in the long run. If not yesterday, why
then to-day. If not to-day, why then to-morrow."
"And Emily?" said Agnes and I, both together.
"Em'ly," said he, "arter you left her, ma'am--and I never heerd her
saying of her prayers at night, t'other side the canvas screen, when we
was settled in the Bush, but what I heerd your name--and arter she and
me lost sight of Mas'r Davy, that theer shining sundown--was that low,
at first, that, if she had know'd then what Mas'r Davy kep from us so
kind and thowtful, 'tis my opinion she'd have drooped away. But theer
was some poor folks aboard as had illness among 'em, and she took care
of _them_; and theer was the children in our company, and she took care
of _them_; and so she got to be busy, and to be doing good, and that
helped her."
"When did she first hear of it?" I asked.
"I kep it from her arter I heerd on't," said Mr. Peggotty, "going on
nigh a year. We was living then in a solitary place, but among the
beautifullest trees, and with the roses a covering our Beein to the
roof. Theer come along one day, when I was out a working on the land, a
traveller from our own Norfolk or Suffolk in England (I doen't rightly
mind which), and of course we took him in, and giv him to eat and drink,
and made him welcome. We all do that, all the colony over. He'd got an
old newspaper with him, and some other account in print of the storm.
That's how she know'd it. When I come home at night, I found she know'd
it."
He dropped his voice as he said these words, and the gravity I so well
remembered overspread his face.
"Did it change her much?" we asked.
"Aye, for a good long time," he said, shaking his head; "if not to this
present hour. But I think the solitoode done her good. And she had a
deal to mind in the way of poultry and the like, and minded of it, and
come through. I wonder," he said thoughtfully, "if you could see my
Em'ly now, Mas'r Davy, whether you'd know her!"
"Is she so altered?" I inquired.
"I doen't know. I see her ev'ry day, and doen't know; but, odd-times, I
have thowt so. A slight figure," said Mr. Peggotty, looking at the fire,
"kiender worn; soft, sorrowful, blue eyes; a delicate face; a pritty
head, leaning a little down; a quiet voice and way--timid a'most. That's
Em'ly!"
We silently observed him as he sat, still looking at the fire.
"Some thinks," he said, "as her affection was ill-bestowed; some, as her
marriage was broke off by death. No one knows how 'tis. She might have
married well, a mort of times, 'but, uncle,' she says to me, 'that's
gone for ever.' Cheerful along with me; retired when others is by; fond
of going any distance fur to teach a child, or fur to tend a sick
person, or fur to do some kindness tow'rds a young girl's wedding (and
she's done a many, but has never seen one); fondly loving of her uncle;
patient; liked by young and old; sowt out by all that has any trouble.
That's Em'ly!"
He drew his hand across his face, and with a half-suppressed sigh looked
up from the fire.
"Is Martha with you yet?" I asked.
"Martha," he replied "got married, Mas'r Davy, in the second year. A
young man, a farm-laborer, as come by us on his way to market with his
mas'r's drays--a journey of over five hundred mile, theer and back--made
offers fur to take her fur his wife (wives is very scarce theer), and
then to set up fur their two selves in the Bush. She spoke to me fur to
tell him her trew story. I did. They was married, and they live fower
hundred mile away from any voices but their own and the singing birds."
"Mrs. Gummidge?" I suggested.
It was a pleasant key to touch, for Mr. Peggotty suddenly burst into a
roar of laughter, and rubbed his hands up and down his legs, as he had
been accustomed to do when he enjoyed himself in the long-shipwrecked
boat.
"Would you believe it!" he said. "Why, someun even made offers fur to
marry _her_! If a ship's cook that was turning settler, Mas'r Davy,
didn't make offers fur to marry Missis Gummidge, I'm Gormed--and I can't
say no fairer than that!"
I never saw Agnes laugh so. This sudden ecstacy on the part of Mr.
Peggotty was so delightful to her, that she could not leave off
laughing; and the more she laughed the more she made me laugh, and the
greater Mr. Peggotty's ecstacy became, and the more he rubbed his legs.
"And what did Mrs. Gummidge say?" I asked, when I was grave enough.
"If you'll believe me," returned Mr. Peggotty, "Missis Gummidge, 'stead
of saying 'thank you, I'm much obleeged to you, I ain't a going fur to
change my condition at my time of life,' up'd with a bucket as was
standing by, and laid it over that theer ship's cook's head 'till he
sung out for help, and I went in and reskied of him."
Mr. Peggotty burst into a great roar of laughter, and Agnes and I both
kept him company.
"But I must say this, for the good creetur," he resumed, wiping his face
when we were quite exhausted; "she has been all she said she'd be to us,
and more. She's the willingest, the trewest, the honestest-helping
woman, Mas'r Davy, as ever draw'd the breath of life. I have never
know'd her to be lone and lorn, for a single minute, not even when the
colony was all afore us, and we was new to it. And thinking of the old
'un is a thing she never done, I do assure you, since she left England!"
"Now, last, not least, Mr. Micawber," said I. "He has paid off every
obligation he incurred here--even to Traddles's bill, you remember, my
dear Agnes--and therefore we may take it for granted that he is doing
well. But what is the latest news of him?"
Mr. Peggotty, with a smile, put his hand in his breast-pocket, and
produced a flat-folded, paper parcel, from which he took out, with much
care, a little odd-looking newspaper.
"You are to unnerstan', Mas'r Davy," said he, "as we have left the Bush
now, being so well to do; and have gone right away round to Port
Middlebay Harbor, wheer theer's what _we_ call a town."
"Mr. Micawber was in the Bush near you?" said I.
"Bless you, yes," said Mr. Peggotty, "and turned to with a will. I never
wish to meet a better gen'lman for turning to, with a will. I've seen
that theer bald head of his, a perspiring in the sun, Mas'r Davy, 'till
I a'most thowt it would have melted away. And now he's a Magistrate."
"A Magistrate, eh?" said I.
Mr. Peggotty pointed to a certain paragraph in the newspaper, where I
read aloud as follows, from the "Port Middlebay Times:"
"-->The public dinner to our distinguished fellow-colonist and
townsman, WILKINS MICAWBER, ESQUIRE, Port Middlebay District
Magistrate, came off yesterday in the large room of the Hotel,
which was crowded to suffocation. It is estimated that not
fewer than forty-seven persons must have been accommodated with
dinner at one time, exclusive of the company in the passage and
on the stairs. The beauty, fashion, and exclusiveness of Port
Middlebay, flocked to do honor to one so deservedly esteemed, so
highly talented, and so widely popular. Doctor Mell (of Colonial
Salem-House Grammar School, Port Middlebay) presided, and on
his right sat the distinguished guest. After the removal of the
cloth, and the singing of Non Nobis (beautifully executed, and
in which we were at no loss to distinguish the bell-like notes
of that gifted amateur, WILKINS MICAWBER, ESQUIRE, JUNIOR),
the usual loyal and patriotic toasts were severally given and
rapturously received. Doctor Mell, in a speech replete with
feeling, then proposed 'Our distinguished Guest, the ornament of
our town. May he never leave us but to better himself, and may
his success among us be such as to render his bettering himself
impossible!' The cheering with which the toast was received
defies description. Again and again it rose and fell, like the
waves of ocean. At length all was hushed, and WILKINS MICAWBER,
ESQUIRE, presented himself to return thanks. Far be it from us,
in the present comparatively imperfect state of the resources
of our establishment, to endeavour to follow our distinguished
townsman through the smoothly-flowing periods of his polished
and highly-ornate address! Suffice it to observe, that it was a
masterpiece of eloquence; and that those passages in which he
more particularly traced his own successful career to its source,
and warned the younger portion of his auditory from the shoals
of ever incurring pecuniary liabilities which they were unable
to liquidate, brought a tear into the manliest eye present. The
remaining toasts were DOCTOR MELL; MRS. MICAWBER (who gracefully
bowed her acknowledgments from the side-door, where a galaxy
of beauty was elevated on chairs, at once to witness and adorn
the gratifying scene); MRS. RIDGER BEGS (late Miss Micawber);
MRS. MELL; WILKINS MICAWBER, ESQUIRE, JUNIOR (who convulsed the
assembly by humorously remarking that he found himself unable to
return thanks in a speech, but would do so, with their permission,
in a song); MRS. MICAWBER'S FAMILY (well-known, it is needless to
remark, in the mother-country), &c. &c. &c. At the conclusion
of the proceedings the tables were cleared as if by art-magic
for dancing. Among the votaries of TERPSICHORE, who disported
themselves until Sol gave warning for departure, Wilkins Micawber,
Esquire, Junior, and the lovely and accomplished Miss Helena,
fourth daughter of Doctor Mell, were particularly remarkable."
I was looking back to the name of Doctor Mell, pleased to have
discovered, in these happier circumstances, Mr. Mell, formerly poor
pinched usher to my Middlesex magistrate, when Mr. Peggotty pointing to
another part of the paper, my eyes rested on my own name, and I read
thus:
"TO DAVID COPPERFIELD, ESQUIRE,
"THE EMINENT AUTHOR.
"MY DEAR SIR,
"Years have elapsed, since I had an opportunity of ocularly
perusing the lineaments, now familiar to the imaginations of a
considerable portion of the civilised world.
"But, my dear sir, though estranged (by the force of circumstances
over which I have had no controul) from the personal society of
the friend and companion of my youth, I have not been unmindful of
his soaring flight. Nor have I been debarred,
Though seas between us braid ha' roared,
(BURNS) from participating in the intellectual feasts he has
spread before us.
"I cannot, therefore, allow of the departure from this place of an
individual whom we mutually respect and esteem, without, my dear
sir, taking this public opportunity of thanking you, on my own
behalf, and, I may undertake to add, on that of the whole of the
Inhabitants of Port Middlebay, for the gratification of which you
are the ministering agent.
"Go on, my dear sir! You are not unknown here, you are not
unappreciated. Though 'remote,' we are neither 'unfriended,'
'melancholy,' nor (I may add) 'slow.' Go on, my dear sir, in
your Eagle course! The Inhabitants of Port Middlebay may at
least aspire to watch it, with delight, with entertainment, with
instruction!
"Among the eyes elevated towards you from this portion of the
globe, will ever be found, while it has light and life,
"The
"Eye
"Appertaining to
"WILKINS MICAWBER,
"Magistrate."
I found, on glancing at the remaining contents of the newspaper, that
Mr. Micawber was a diligent and esteemed correspondent of that Journal.
There was another letter from him in the same paper, touching a bridge;
there was an advertisement of a collection of similar letters by him, to
be shortly republished, in a neat volume, "with considerable additions;"
and, unless I am very much mistaken, the Leading Article was his also.
We talked much of Mr. Micawber, on many other evenings while Mr.
Peggotty remained with us. He lived with us during the whole term of his
stay,--which, I think, was something less than a month,--and his sister
and my aunt came to London to see him. Agnes and I parted from him
aboardship, when he sailed; and we shall never part from him more, on
earth.
But before he left, he went with me to Yarmouth, to see a little tablet
I had put up in the churchyard to the memory of Ham. While I was copying
the plain inscription for him at his request, I saw him stoop, and
gather a tuft of grass from the grave, and a little earth.
"For Em'ly," he said, as he put it in his breast. "I promised, Mas'r
Davy."