The two old gentlemen were next-door neighbours, and,
      although Mr. Shuttleworthy seldom, if ever, visited “Old Charley,” and
      never was known to take a meal in his house, still this did not prevent
      the two friends from being exceedingly intimate, as I have just observed;
      for “Old Charley” never let a day pass without stepping in three or four
      times to see how his neighbour came on, and very often he would stay to
      breakfast or tea, and almost always to dinner, and then the amount of wine
      that was made way with by the two cronies at a sitting, it would really be
      a difficult thing to ascertain. “Old Charleys” favorite beverage was
      Chateau-Margaux, and it appeared to do Mr. Shuttleworthy’s heart good to
      see the old fellow swallow it, as he did, quart after quart; so that, one
      day, when the wine was in and the wit as a natural consequence, somewhat
      out, he said to his crony, as he slapped him upon the back—“I tell
      you what it is, ‘Old Charley,’ you are, by all odds, the heartiest old
      fellow I ever came across in all my born days; and, since you love to
      guzzle the wine at that fashion, I’ll be darned if I don’t have to make
      thee a present of a big box of the Chateau-Margaux. Od rot me,”—(Mr.
      Shuttleworthy had a sad habit of swearing, although he seldom went beyond
      “Od rot me,” or “By gosh,” or “By the jolly golly,”)—“Od rot me,”
       says he, “if I don’t send an order to town this very afternoon for a
      double box of the best that can be got, and I’ll make ye a present of it,
      I will!—ye needn’t say a word now—I will, I tell ye, and
      there’s an end of it; so look out for it—it will come to hand some
      of these fine days, precisely when ye are looking for it the least!” I
      mention this little bit of liberality on the part of Mr. Shuttleworthy,
      just by way of showing you how very intimate an understanding existed
      between the two friends. Well, on the Sunday morning in question, when it came to be fairly
      understood that Mr. Shuttleworthy had met with foul play, I never saw any
      one so profoundly affected as “Old Charley Goodfellow.” When he first
      heard that the horse had come home without his master, and without his
      master’s saddle-bags, and all bloody from a pistol-shot, that had gone
      clean through and through the poor animal’s chest without quite killing
      him; when he heard all this, he turned as pale as if the missing man had
      been his own dear brother or father, and shivered and shook all over as if
      he had had a fit of the ague. At first he was too much overpowered with grief to be able to do any thing
      at all, or to concert upon any plan of action; so that for a long time he
      endeavored to dissuade Mr. Shuttleworthy’s other friends from making a
      stir about the matter, thinking it best to wait awhile—say for a
      week or two, or a month, or two—to see if something wouldn’t turn
      up, or if Mr. Shuttleworthy wouldn’t come in the natural way, and explain
      his reasons for sending his horse on before. I dare say you have often
      observed this disposition to temporize, or to procrastinate, in people who
      are labouring under any very poignant sorrow. Their powers of mind seem to
      be rendered torpid, so that they have a horror of any thing like action,
      and like nothing in the world so well as to lie quietly in bed and “nurse
      their grief,” as the old ladies express it—that is to say, ruminate
      over the trouble. The people of Rattleborough had, indeed, so high an opinion of the wisdom
      and discretion of “Old Charley,” that the greater part of them felt
      disposed to agree with him, and not make a stir in the business “until
      something should turn up,” as the honest old gentleman worded it; and I
      believe that, after all this would have been the general determination,
      but for the very suspicious interference of Mr. Shuttleworthy’s nephew, a
      young man of very dissipated habits, and otherwise of rather bad
      character. This nephew, whose name was Pennifeather, would listen to
      nothing like reason in the matter of “lying quiet,” but insisted upon
      making immediate search for the “corpse of the murdered man.” This
      was the expression he employed; and Mr. Goodfellow acutely remarked at the
      time, that it was “a singular expression, to say no more.” This remark of
      “Old Charley’s,” too, had great effect upon the crowd; and one of the
      party was heard to ask, very impressively, “how it happened that young Mr.
      Pennifeather was so intimately cognizant of all the circumstances
      connected with his wealthy uncle’s disappearance, as to feel authorized to
      assert, distinctly and unequivocally, that his uncle was ‘a murdered
      man.’” Hereupon some little squibbing and bickering occurred among various
      members of the crowd, and especially between “Old Charley” and Mr.
      Pennifeather—although this latter occurrence was, indeed, by no
      means a novelty, for little good-will had subsisted between the parties for
      the last three or four months; and matters had even gone so far that Mr.
      Pennifeather had actually knocked down his uncle’s friend for some alleged
      excess of liberty that the latter had taken in the uncle’s house, of which
      the nephew was an inmate. Upon this occasion “Old Charley” is said to have
      behaved with exemplary moderation and Christian charity. He arose from the
      blow, adjusted his clothes, and made no attempt at retaliation at all—merely
      muttering a few words about “taking summary vengeance at the first
      convenient opportunity,”—a natural and very justifiable ebullition
      of anger, which meant nothing, however, and, beyond doubt, was no sooner
      given vent to than forgotten. However these matters may be (which have no reference to the point now at
      issue), it is quite certain that the people of Rattleborough, principally
      through the persuasion of Mr. Pennifeather, came at length to the
      determination of dispersion over the adjacent country in search of the
      missing Mr. Shuttleworthy. I say they came to this determination in the
      first instance. After it had been fully resolved that a search should be
      made, it was considered almost a matter of course that the seekers should
      disperse—that is to say, distribute themselves in parties—for
      the more thorough examination of the region round about. I forget,
      however, by what ingenious train of reasoning it was that “Old Charley”
       finally convinced the assembly that this was the most injudicious plan
      that could be pursued.