"There are better subjects than these," said my guardian, "for such a joyful time as the time of our dear girl's recovery.

"There are better subjects than these," said my guardian, "for such a joyful time.


And I had a commission to broach one of them as soon as I should begin to talk.


When shall Ada come to see you, my love?"


A little in connexion with the absent mirrors, but not much, for I knew my loving girl would be changed by no change in my looks.


"Dear guardian," said I, "as I have shut her out so long--though indeed, indeed, she is like the light to me--"

"Dear guardian," said I, "as I have shut her out so long - though indeed, she is like the light to me-"


He was so good, his touch expressed such endearing compassion and affection, and the tone of his voice carried such comfort into my heart that I stopped for a little while, quite unable to go on.

He was so good, his touch expressed such compassion and affection, that I stopped for a little while, quite unable to go on.


"As I have kept Ada out so long," I began afresh after a short while, "I think I should like to have my own way a little longer, guardian.


It would be best to be away from here before I see her.


If Charley and I were to go to some country lodging as soon as I can move, and if I had a week there in which to grow stronger and to be revived by the sweet air and to look forward to the happiness of having Ada with me again, I think it would be better for us."

If Charley and I were to go to some country lodging when I am strong enough, and if I had a week there to recover and to be revived by the sweet air before seeing Ada again, I think it would be better for us."


I hope it was not a poor thing in me to wish to be a little more used to my altered self before I met the eyes of the dear girl I longed so ardently to see, but it is the truth.

I hope it was not weak to wish to be a little more used to my altered self before I met the dear girl I longed so ardently to see, but it is the truth.


He understood me, I was sure; but I was not afraid of that.


If it were a poor thing, I knew he would pass it over.


"Our spoilt little woman," said my guardian, "shall have her own way even in her inflexibility, though at the price, I know, of tears downstairs.

"Our spoilt little woman," said my guardian, "shall have her own way, though at the price, I know, of tears downstairs.


Here is Boythorn, heart of chivalry, breathing such ferocious vows as never were breathed on paper before, that if you don't go and occupy his whole house, he having already turned out of it expressly for that purpose, by heaven and by earth he'll pull it down and not leave one brick standing on another!"

Here is Boythorn, heart of chivalry, vowing that if you don't go and occupy his whole house, by heaven and by earth he'll pull it down and not leave one brick standing!"


And my guardian put a letter in my hand, without any ordinary beginning such as "My dear Jarndyce," but rushing at once into the words, "I swear if Miss Summerson do not come down and take possession of my house, which I vacate for her this day at one o'clock, P.M.," and then with the utmost seriousness, and in the most emphatic terms, going on to make the extraordinary declaration he had quoted.

My guardian handed me a letter without any ordinary beginning such as "My dear Jarndyce," but rushing at once into the words, "I swear if Miss Summerson do not come down and take possession of my house, which I vacate for her this day at one o'clock," and then with the utmost seriousness, and in the most emphatic terms, going on to make the extraordinary declaration he had quoted.


We did not appreciate the writer the less for laughing heartily over it, and we settled that I should send him a letter of thanks on the morrow and accept his offer.

We settled that I should send Mr. Boythorn a letter of thanks and accept his offer.


It was a most agreeable one to me, for all the places I could have thought of, I should have liked to go to none so well as Chesney Wold.

It was a most agreeable one to me, for there was nowhere I should have liked to go so well as Chesney Wold.


"Now, little housewife," said my guardian, looking at his watch, "I was strictly timed before I came upstairs, for you must not be tired too soon; and my time has waned away to the last minute.

"Now, little housewife," said my guardian, looking at his watch, "you must not be tired too soon; I have only one last minute.


Little Miss Flite, hearing a rumour that you were ill, made nothing of walking down here--twenty miles, poor soul, in a pair of dancing shoes--to inquire.

Little Miss Flite, hearing that you were ill, made nothing of walking down here - twenty miles, poor soul, in dancing shoes - to inquire.


It was heaven's mercy we were at home, or she would have walked back again."


"Now, pet," said my guardian, "if it would not be irksome to you to admit the harmless little creature one afternoon before you save Boythorn's otherwise devoted house from demolition, I believe you would make her prouder and better pleased with herself than I--though my eminent name is Jarndyce--could do in a lifetime."


I have no doubt he knew there would be something in the simple image of the poor afflicted creature that would fall like a gentle lesson on my mind at that time.


I could not tell him heartily enough how ready I was to receive her.

I could not tell him heartily enough how ready I was to receive poor Miss Flite.


I had always pitied her, never so much as now.


I had always been glad of my little power to soothe her under her calamity, but never, never, half so glad before.


We arranged a time for Miss Flite to come out by the coach and share my early dinner.

We arranged a time for her to come out by the coach and share my early dinner.


When my guardian left me, I turned my face away upon my couch and prayed to be forgiven if I, surrounded by such blessings, had magnified to myself the little trial that I had to undergo.

When my guardian left me, I prayed to be forgiven if I, surrounded by such blessings, had magnified to myself the little trial I had to undergo.


The childish prayer of that old birthday when I had aspired to be industrious, contented, and true-hearted and to do good to some one and win some love to myself if I could came back into my mind with a reproachful sense of all the happiness I had since enjoyed and all the affectionate hearts that had been turned towards me.

The childish prayer of that old birthday when I had aspired to be industrious, contented, and true-hearted, and to do good to some one and win some love to myself, came back into my mind with a reproachful sense of all the happiness I had since enjoyed.


If I were weak now, what had I profited by those mercies?


I repeated the old childish prayer in its old childish words and found that its old peace had not departed from it.

I repeated the old childish prayer and found that its old peace had not departed from it.


In a week or so more I could walk about our rooms and hold long talks with Ada from behind the window-curtain.

In a week more I could walk about our rooms and hold long talks with Ada from behind the window-curtain.


Yet I never saw her, for I had not as yet the courage to look at the dear face, though I could have done so easily without her seeing me.


On the appointed day Miss Flite arrived.


The poor little creature ran into my room quite forgetful of her usual dignity, and crying from her very heart of hearts, "My dear Fitz Jarndyce!"

She ran into my room quite forgetful of her usual dignity, and crying "My dear Fitz Jarndyce!"


fell upon my neck and kissed me twenty times.


"Dear me!" said she, putting her hand into her reticule, "I have nothing here but documents, my dear Fitz Jarndyce; I must borrow a pocket handkerchief."
Charley gave her one, and the good creature certainly made use of it, for she held it to her eyes with both hands and sat so, shedding tears for the next ten minutes.

Then she sat shedding tears for the next ten minutes, and had to ask Charley for a pocket handkerchief.


"With pleasure, my dear Fitz Jarndyce," she was careful to explain.

"Tears of pleasure, my dear Fitz Jarndyce," she was careful to explain.


Pleasure at having the honour of being admitted to see you.


I am so much fonder of you, my love, than of the Chancellor.


By the by, my dear, mentioning pocket handkerchiefs--"

By the by, my dear, mentioning pocket handkerchiefs-"


Miss Flite here looked at Charley, who had been to meet her at the place where the coach stopped.

Miss Flite here looked at Charley, who had been to meet her off the coach.


Charley glanced at me and looked unwilling to pursue the suggestion.


Highly indiscreet of me to mention it; but my dear Miss Fitz Jarndyce, I am afraid I am at times (between ourselves, you wouldn't think it) a little--rambling you know," said Miss Flite, touching her forehead.

said Miss Flite, "Highly indiscreet of me to mention it; but my dear Miss Fitz Jarndyce, I am afraid I am at times a little - rambling, you know."


said I, smiling, for I saw she wanted to go on.


"You have roused my curiosity, and now you must gratify it."


Miss Flite looked at Charley for advice in this important crisis, who said, "If you please, ma'am, you had better tell then," and therein gratified Miss Flite beyond measure.

Miss Flite looked at Charley, who said, "If you please, ma'am, you had better tell then," gratifying Miss Flite beyond measure.


"So sagacious, our young friend," said she to me in her mysterious way.

"So sagacious, our young friend," said she to me.


Who should follow us down the road from the coach, my dear, but a poor person in a very ungenteel bonnet--"

Who should follow us down the road from the coach, my dear, but a poor person in a very ungenteel bonnet-"


"Jenny, if you please, miss," said Charley.


Miss Flite acquiesced with the greatest suavity.


And what does she tell our young friend but that there has been a lady with a veil inquiring at her cottage after my dear Fitz Jarndyce's health and taking a handkerchief away with her as a little keepsake merely because it was my amiable Fitz Jarndyce's!

And she tells our young friend that there has been a lady with a veil inquiring at her cottage after your health, and taking a handkerchief away with her as a little keepsake merely because it was yours!


Now, you know, so very prepossessing in the lady with the veil!"


"If you please, miss," said Charley, to whom I looked in some astonishment, "Jenny says that when her baby died, you left a handkerchief there, and that she put it away and kept it with the baby's little things.

I looked at Charley in some astonishment.
"If you please, miss," said Charley, "Jenny says that when her baby died, you left a handkerchief there, and that she kept it with the baby's little things.


I think, if you please, partly because it was yours, miss, and partly because it had covered the baby."

I think partly because it was yours, miss, and partly because it had covered the baby."


"Diminutive," whispered Miss Flite, making a variety of motions about her own forehead to express intellect in Charley. "But exceedingly sagacious!

"Exceedingly sagacious!" whispered Miss Flite.


My love, she's clearer than any counsel I ever heard!"


"Well, miss," said Charley, "and that's the handkerchief the lady took.

"Well, miss," said Charley, "that's the handkerchief the lady took.


And Jenny wants you to know that she wouldn't have made away with it herself for a heap of money but that the lady took it and left some money instead.

And Jenny wants you to know that she wouldn't have sold it for herself but that the lady took it and left some money.


Jenny don't know her at all, if you please, miss!"


"My love," Miss Flite suggested, advancing her lips to my ear with her most mysterious look, "in MY opinion--don't mention this to our diminutive friend--she's the Lord Chancellor's wife.

"My love," Miss Flite suggested with her most mysterious look, "in my opinion she's the Lord Chancellor's wife.


And I understand she leads him a terrible life.


Throws his lordship's papers into the fire, my dear, if he won't pay the jeweller!"


I did not think very much about this lady then, for I had an impression that it might be Caddy.


Besides, my attention was diverted by my visitor, who was cold after her ride and looked hungry and who, our dinner being brought in, required some little assistance in arraying herself with great satisfaction in a pitiable old scarf and a much-worn and often-mended pair of gloves, which she had brought down in a paper parcel. I had to preside, too, over the entertainment, consisting of a dish of fish, a roast fowl, a sweetbread, vegetables, pudding, and Madeira; and it was so pleasant to see how she enjoyed it, and with what state and ceremony she did honour to it, that I was soon thinking of nothing else.

Besides, dinner was brought in, and I had to preside over a dish of fish, roast fowl, sweetbread, vegetables, pudding, and Madeira; and it was so pleasant to see how Miss Flite enjoyed it, that I was soon thinking of nothing else.


When we had finished and had our little dessert before us, embellished by the hands of my dear, who would yield the superintendence of everything prepared for me to no one, Miss Flite was so very chatty and happy that I thought I would lead her to her own history, as she was always pleased to talk about herself.

When we had finished, Miss Flite was so very chatty and happy that I thought I would lead her to her own history, as she was always pleased to talk about herself.


I began by saying "You have attended on the Lord Chancellor many years, Miss Flite?"

I began by saying, "You have attended on the Lord Chancellor many years, Miss Flite?"


There was an anxiety even in her hopefulness that made me doubtful if I had done right in approaching the subject.


"My father expected a judgment," said Miss Flite.


As I saw she would go on, I thought it best to try to be serviceable to her by meeting the theme rather than avoiding it.


"Would it not be wiser," said I, "to expect this judgment no more?"


"Why, my dear," she answered promptly, "of course it would!"


"Very wearing to be always in expectation of what never comes, my dear Fitz Jarndyce!

"Very wearing to be always in expectation of what never comes!


She slightly showed me her arm, and it was fearfully thin indeed.

She showed me her arm, and it was fearfully thin indeed.


"But, my dear," she went on in her mysterious way, "there's a dreadful attraction in the place.

"But, my dear," she went on, "there's a dreadful attraction in the place.


Don't mention it to our diminutive friend when she comes in.


There's a cruel attraction in the place.


I tried to assure her that this was not so.


She heard me patiently and smilingly, but was ready with her own answer.
"Aye, aye, aye!

She heard me patiently and smilingly, but answered, "Aye, aye, aye!


You think so because I am a little rambling.


Ve-ry absurd, to be a little rambling, is it not?


But, my dear, I have been there many years, and I have noticed.


What could they do, did she think? I mildly asked her.
"Draw," returned Miss Flite. "Draw people on, my dear.


Draw peace out of them. Sense out of them.


I have felt them even drawing my rest away in the night.


She tapped me several times upon the arm and nodded good-humouredly as if she were anxious I should understand that I had no cause to fear her, though she spoke so gloomily, and confided these awful secrets to me.

She tapped me upon the arm and nodded good-humouredly.


Before they ever drew me--before I had ever seen them--what was it I used to do?

Before I had ever seen them - what was it I used to do?


Our father and our brother had a builder's business.


In a few years he was a fierce, sour, angry bankrupt without a kind word or a kind look for any one.

In a few years he was a fierce, sour, angry bankrupt without a kind word for anyone.


He had been so different, Fitz Jarndyce.


Then our brother was drawn--swiftly--to drunkenness.

Then our brother was drawn - swiftly - to drunkenness.


Then I was ill and in misery, and heard, as I had often heard before, that this was all the work of Chancery.

Then I was ill and in misery, and heard that this was all the work of Chancery.


When I got better, I went to look at the monster.


And then I found out how it was, and I was drawn to stay there."


Having got over her own short narrative, in the delivery of which she had spoken in a low, strained voice, as if the shock were fresh upon her, she gradually resumed her usual air of amiable importance.


I have seen many new faces come, unsuspicious, within the influence of the mace and seal in these many years.


I hear Conversation Kenge and the rest of them say to the new faces, 'Here's little Miss Flite.


Oh, you are new here; and you must come and be presented to little Miss Flite!'


But, Fitz Jarndyce, I know what will happen.


I know, far better than they do, when the attraction has begun.


And I saw them end. Fitz Jarndyce, my love," speaking low again, "I saw them beginning in our friend the ward in Jarndyce.

I saw them," speaking low, "I saw them beginning in our friend the ward in Jarndyce.


She looked at me in silence for some moments, with her face gradually softening into a smile.


Seeming to fear that she had been too gloomy, and seeming also to lose the connexion in her mind, she said politely as she sipped her glass of wine, "Yes, my dear, as I was saying, I expect a judgment shortly.

Seeming to fear that she had been too gloomy, and seeming also to lose the connexion in her mind, she said politely, "Yes, my dear, I expect a judgment shortly.


Then I shall release my birds, you know, and confer estates."


I was much impressed by her allusion to Richard and by the sad meaning, so sadly illustrated in her poor pinched form, that made its way through all her incoherence.


But happily for her, she was quite complacent again now and beamed with nods and smiles.

Now she was quite complacent again and beamed with nods and smiles.


"But, my dear," she said, gaily, reaching another hand to put it upon mine. "You have not congratulated me on my physician.

"But, my dear," she said, gaily, "you have not congratulated me on my physician!"


I was obliged to confess that I did not quite know what she meant.

I said that I did not quite know what she meant.


"My physician, Mr. Woodcourt, my dear, who was so exceedingly attentive to me."


Though his services were rendered quite gratuitously.


I mean THE judgment that will dissolve the spell upon me of the mace and seal."


"Mr. Woodcourt is so far away, now," said I, "that I thought the time for such congratulation was past, Miss Flite."


"But, my child," she returned, "is it possible that you don't know what has happened?"


"Not what everybody has been talking of, my beloved Fitz Jarndyce!"


But my memory has been drawn out of me, with everything else, by what I mentioned.


Well, my dear, there has been a terrible shipwreck over in those East Indian seas."


Numbers of the drowning thrown upon a rock.


There, and through it all, my dear physician was a hero.

Through it all, my dear physician was a hero.


Saved many lives, never complained in hunger and thirst, wrapped naked people in his spare clothes, took the lead, showed them what to do, governed them, tended the sick, buried the dead, and brought the poor survivors safely off at last!

Saved many lives, never complained in hunger and thirst, took the lead, showed them what to do, tended the sick, buried the dead, and brought the poor survivors safely off at last!


My dear, the poor emaciated creatures all but worshipped him. They fell down at his feet when they got to the land and blessed him.

My dear, the creatures fell down at his feet when they got to land and blessed him.


I have got it there, and you shall read it, you shall read it!"

I have got it there, and you shall read it!"


And I DID read all the noble history, though very slowly and imperfectly then, for my eyes were so dimmed that I could not see the words, and I cried so much that I was many times obliged to lay down the long account she had cut out of the newspaper.

And I did read all the noble history, though very slowly and imperfectly then, for my eyes were so dimmed that I could not see the words, and I cried so much that I was many times obliged to lay down the cutting from the newspaper.


I felt so triumphant ever to have known the man who had done such generous and gallant deeds, I felt such glowing exultation in his renown, I so admired and loved what he had done, that I envied the storm-worn people who had fallen at his feet and blessed him as their preserver.

I felt so triumphant to have known the man who had done such generous and gallant deeds, I so admired and loved what he had done, that I envied the storm-worn people who had fallen at his feet and blessed him.


I could myself have kneeled down then, so far away, and blessed him in my rapture that he should be so truly good and brave.

I could myself have kneeled down then, and blessed him for being so truly good and brave.


I felt that no one--mother, sister, wife--could honour him more than I. I did, indeed!

I felt that no one could honour him more than I.


My poor little visitor made me a present of the account, and when as the evening began to close in she rose to take her leave, lest she should miss the coach by which she was to return, she was still full of the shipwreck, which I had not yet sufficiently composed myself to understand in all its details.

My poor little visitor made me a present of the account, and rose to take her leave, lest she should miss her coach.


"My dear," said she as she carefully folded up her scarf and gloves, "my brave physician ought to have a title bestowed upon him.

"My dear," said she, "my brave physician ought to have a title bestowed upon him.


I said it was not the custom in England to confer titles on men distinguished by peaceful services, however good and great, unless occasionally when they consisted of the accumulation of some very large amount of money.

I said it was not the custom in England to confer titles on men distinguished by peaceful services, however good and great, unless occasionally when they consisted of making very large amounts of money.


"Why, good gracious," said Miss Flite, "how can you say that?


Surely you know, my dear, that all the greatest ornaments of England in knowledge, imagination, active humanity, and improvement of every sort are added to its nobility!

The greatest men of England in knowledge, imagination, active humanity, and improvement of every sort are added to its nobility!"


YOU must be rambling a little now, I think, if you don't know that this is the great reason why titles will always last in the land!"


I am afraid she believed what she said, for there were moments when she was very mad indeed.


And now I must part with the little secret I have thus far tried to keep.


I had thought, sometimes, that Mr. Woodcourt loved me and that if he had been richer he would perhaps have told me that he loved me before he went away.


I had thought, sometimes, that if he had done so, I should have been glad of it.


But how much better it was now that this had never happened!


What should I have suffered if I had had to write to him and tell him that the poor face he had known as mine was quite gone from me and that I freely released him from his bondage to one whom he had never seen!

What should I have suffered if I had had to write to him, and tell him that the poor face he had known was quite gone from me, and that I released him from his bondage!


With a great pang mercifully spared me, I could take back to my heart my childish prayer to be all he had so brightly shown himself; and there was nothing to be undone: no chain for me to break or for him to drag; and I could go, please God, my lowly way along the path of duty, and he could go his nobler way upon its broader road; and though we were apart upon the journey, I might aspire to meet him, unselfishly, innocently, better far than he had thought me when I found some favour in his eyes, at the journey's end.

There was nothing to be undone: no chain for me to break or for him to drag; and I could go, please God, my lowly way along the path of duty, and he could go his nobler way upon its broader road; and though we were apart upon the journey, I might aspire to meet him, unselfishly, innocently, at the journey's end.


The name of Mr. Vholes, preceded by the legend Ground-Floor, is inscribed upon a door-post in Symond's Inn, Chancery Lane--a little, pale, wall-eyed, woebegone inn like a large dust-binn of two compartments and a sifter.

The name of Mr. Vholes is inscribed upon a door-post in Symond's Inn, Chancery Lane - a little, pale, wall-eyed, woebegone building.


It looks as if Symond were a sparing man in his way and constructed his inn of old building materials which took kindly to the dry rot and to dirt and all things decaying and dismal, and perpetuated Symond's memory with congenial shabbiness.


Quartered in this dingy hatchment commemorative of Symond are the legal bearings of Mr. Vholes.


Mr. Vholes's office, in disposition retiring and in situation retired, is squeezed up in a corner and blinks at a dead wall.

Mr. Vholes's office is squeezed up in a corner and blinks at a dead wall.


Three feet of knotty-floored dark passage bring the client to Mr. Vholes's jet-black door, in an angle profoundly dark on the brightest midsummer morning and encumbered by a black bulk-head of cellarage staircase against which belated civilians generally strike their brows.

Three feet of knotty-floored dark passage bring the client to Mr. Vholes's jet-black door.


Mr. Vholes's chambers are on so small a scale that one clerk can open the door without getting off his stool, while the other who elbows him at the same desk has equal facilities for poking the fire.

Mr. Vholes's chambers are on so small a scale that one clerk can open the door without getting off his stool, while the other has equal facilities for poking the fire.


A smell as of unwholesome sheep blending with the smell of must and dust is referable to the nightly (and often daily) consumption of mutton fat in candles and to the fretting of parchment forms and skins in greasy drawers.

An unwholesome smell of mutton is due to the nightly consumption of candles and to the keeping of parchment skins in greasy drawers.


The atmosphere is otherwise stale and close.


The place was last painted or whitewashed beyond the memory of man, and the two chimneys smoke, and there is a loose outer surface of soot everywhere, and the dull cracked windows in their heavy frames have but one piece of character in them, which is a determination to be always dirty and always shut unless coerced.

The two chimneys smoke, and there is a loose surface of soot everywhere, and the dull cracked windows are always dirty and always shut.


This accounts for the phenomenon of the weaker of the two usually having a bundle of firewood thrust between its jaws in hot weather.


He has not a large business, but he is a very respectable man.


He is allowed by the greater attorneys who have made good fortunes or are making them to be a most respectable man.


He never misses a chance in his practice, which is a mark of respectability.


He never takes any pleasure, which is another mark of respectability.

He never takes any pleasure, which is a mark of respectability.


He is reserved and serious, which is another mark of respectability.


His digestion is impaired, which is highly respectable.


And he is making hay of the grass which is flesh, for his three daughters.


And his father is dependent on him in the Vale of Taunton.


The one great principle of the English law is to make business for itself.


There is no other principle distinctly, certainly, and consistently maintained through all its narrow turnings.

There is no other principle so consistently maintained through all its narrow turnings.


Viewed by this light it becomes a coherent scheme and not the monstrous maze the laity are apt to think it.

Viewed by this light it becomes a coherent scheme and not the monstrous maze most people think it.


Let them but once clearly perceive that its grand principle is to make business for itself at their expense, and surely they will cease to grumble.

If they perceive that its grand principle is to make business for itself at their expense, surely they will cease to grumble.


But not perceiving this quite plainly--only seeing it by halves in a confused way--the laity sometimes suffer in peace and pocket, with a bad grace, and DO grumble very much.

But not perceiving this quite plainly, most people do grumble.


Then this respectability of Mr. Vholes is brought into powerful play against them.

Then this respectability of Mr. Vholes is brought into powerful play.


Alter this law, sir, and what will be the effect of your rash proceeding on a class of practitioners very worthily represented, allow me to say to you, by the opposite attorney in the case, Mr. Vholes?


Sir, that class of practitioners would be swept from the face of the earth.


Now you cannot afford--I will say, the social system cannot afford--to lose an order of men like Mr. Vholes.

"The social system cannot afford," Mr. Kenge will say, "to lose an order of men like Mr. Vholes.


Diligent, persevering, steady, acute in business.


My dear sir, I understand your present feelings against the existing state of things, which I grant to be a little hard in your case; but I can never raise my voice for the demolition of a class of men like Mr. Vholes."

My dear sir, I understand your feelings; but I can never raise my voice for the demolition of a class of men like Mr. Vholes."


The respectability of Mr. Vholes has even been cited with crushing effect before Parliamentary committees, as in the following blue minutes of a distinguished attorney's evidence.


"Question (number five hundred and seventeen thousand eight hundred and sixty-nine): If I understand you, these forms of practice indisputably occasion delay?


Answer: Most assuredly they cannot be gone through for nothing.


They have never given ME any vexation; quite the contrary.


Question: But you think that their abolition would damage a class of practitioners?


Question: Can you instance any type of that class?


I would unhesitatingly mention Mr. Vholes.


Question: Mr. Vholes is considered, in the profession, a respectable man?


Answer:"--which proved fatal to the inquiry for ten years--"Mr. Vholes is considered, in the profession, a MOST respectable man."


So in familiar conversation, private authorities no less disinterested will remark that they don't know what this age is coming to, that we are plunging down precipices, that now here is something else gone, that these changes are death to people like Vholes--a man of undoubted respectability, with a father in the Vale of Taunton, and three daughters at home.

Some authorities will remark that they don't know what this age is coming to, that we are plunging down precipices, that these changes are death to people like Vholes - a man of undoubted respectability, with a father in the Vale of Taunton, and three daughters at home.


Take a few steps more in this direction, say they, and what is to become of Vholes's father?


Are they to be shirt-makers, or governesses?


As though, Mr. Vholes and his relations being minor cannibal chiefs and it being proposed to abolish cannibalism, indignant champions were to put the case thus: Make man-eating unlawful, and you starve the Vholeses!


In a word, Mr. Vholes, with his three daughters and his father in the Vale of Taunton, is continually doing duty, like a piece of timber, to shore up some decayed foundation that has become a pitfall and a nuisance.

In a word, Mr. Vholes is continually doing duty, like a piece of timber, to shore up some decayed foundation that has become a pitfall and a nuisance.


And with a great many people in a great many instances, the question is never one of a change from wrong to right (which is quite an extraneous consideration), but is always one of injury or advantage to that eminently respectable legion, Vholes.


The Chancellor is, within these ten minutes, "up" for the long vacation.

The Chancellor is "up" for the long vacation.


Mr. Vholes, and his young client, and several blue bags hastily stuffed out of all regularity of form, as the larger sort of serpents are in their first gorged state, have returned to the official den.

Mr. Vholes, and his young client, and several blue bags hastily stuffed, have returned to the official den.


Mr. Vholes, quiet and unmoved, as a man of so much respectability ought to be, takes off his close black gloves as if he were skinning his hands, lifts off his tight hat as if he were scalping himself, and sits down at his desk.

Mr. Vholes, quiet and unmoved in his respectability, takes off his close black gloves as if he were skinning his hands, lifts off his tight hat and sits down at his desk.


The client throws his hat and gloves upon the ground--tosses them anywhere, without looking after them or caring where they go; flings himself into a chair, half sighing and half groaning; rests his aching head upon his hand and looks the portrait of young despair.

The client throws his hat and gloves anywhere, without caring where they go; flings himself into a chair, half sighing and half groaning; rests his aching head upon his hand and looks the portrait of young despair.


"Don't say nothing done, sir," returns the placid Vholes.


"That is scarcely fair, sir, scarcely fair!"


says Richard, turning gloomily upon him.


"That may not be the whole question," returns Vholes, "The question may branch off into what is doing, what is doing?"

"That may not be the whole question," returns Vholes. "The question may be, what is doing?"


Vholes, sitting with his arms on the desk, quietly bringing the tips of his five right fingers to meet the tips of his five left fingers, and quietly separating them again, and fixedly and slowly looking at his client, replies, "A good deal is doing, sir.


We have put our shoulders to the wheel, Mr. Carstone, and the wheel is going round."


"How am I to get through the next four or five accursed months?"


exclaims the young man, rising from his chair and walking about the room.


"Mr. C.," returns Vholes, following him close with his eyes wherever he goes, "your spirits are hasty, and I am sorry for it on your account.

"Mr. C.," returns Vholes, following him with his eyes wherever he goes, "your spirits are hasty.


Excuse me if I recommend you not to chafe so much, not to be so impetuous, not to wear yourself out so.

Excuse me if I recommend you not to be so impetuous, not to wear yourself out so.


"I ought to imitate you, in fact, Mr. Vholes?"


says Richard, sitting down again with an impatient laugh and beating the devil's tattoo with his boot on the patternless carpet.

says Richard, sitting down again with an impatient laugh.


"Sir," returns Vholes, always looking at the client as if he were making a lingering meal of him with his eyes as well as with his professional appetite. "Sir," returns Vholes with his inward manner of speech and his bloodless quietude, "I should not have had the presumption to propose myself as a model for your imitation or any man's.

"Sir," returns Vholes, always looking at the client as if he were making a lingering meal of him with his eyes as well as with his professional appetite, "Sir, I should not have the presumption to propose myself as a model for your imitation.


Let me but leave the good name to my three daughters, and that is enough for me; I am not a self-seeker.


But since you mention me so pointedly, I will acknowledge that I should like to impart to you a little of my--come, sir, you are disposed to call it insensibility, and I am sure I have no objection--say insensibility--a little of my insensibility."

But I will acknowledge that I should like to impart to you a little of my - come, sir, you call it insensibility, and I have no objection - a little of my insensibility."


"Mr. Vholes," explains the client, somewhat abashed, "I had no intention to accuse you of insensibility."

"Mr. Vholes," explains the client, somewhat abashed, "I did not mean to accuse you of insensibility."


"I think you had, sir, without knowing it," returns the equable Vholes. "Very naturally.

"I think you did, sir, very naturally," returns the equable Vholes.


It is my duty to attend to your interests with a cool head, and I can quite understand that to your excited feelings I may appear, at such times as the present, insensible.

"It is my duty to attend to your interests with a cool head, and I can quite understand that to your excited feelings I may appear insensible.


My daughters may know me better; my aged father may know me better.


But they have known me much longer than you have, and the confiding eye of affection is not the distrustful eye of business.

But they have known me much longer than you have.


Not that I complain, sir, of the eye of business being distrustful; quite the contrary.


In attending to your interests, I wish to have all possible checks upon me; it is right that I should have them; I court inquiry.


But your interests demand that I should be cool and methodical, Mr. Carstone; and I cannot be otherwise--no, sir, not even to please you."

Your interests demand that I should be cool and methodical, Mr. Carstone."


Mr. Vholes, after glancing at the official cat who is patiently watching a mouse's hole, fixes his charmed gaze again on his young client and proceeds in his buttoned-up, half-audible voice as if there were an unclean spirit in him that will neither come out nor speak out, "What are you to do, sir, you inquire, during the vacation.

Mr. Vholes fixes his charmed gaze again on his young client and proceeds in his half-audible voice, "What are you to do, sir, you inquire, during the vacation?


I should hope you gentlemen of the army may find many means of amusing yourselves if you give your minds to it.

I should hope you gentlemen of the army may find many means of amusing yourselves.


If you had asked me what I was to do during the vacation, I could have answered you more readily.

If you had asked me what I was to do during the vacation, I could have answered you readily.


I am to be found here, day by day, attending to your interests.


That is my duty, Mr. C., and term-time or vacation makes no difference to me. If you wish to consult me as to your interests, you will find me here at all times alike. Other professional men go out of town.

That is my duty, Mr. C. Other professional men go out of town.


Not that I blame them for going; I merely say I don't go.


Mr. Vholes gives it a rap, and it sounds as hollow as a coffin.


There is encouragement in the sound to him.


"I am perfectly aware, Mr. Vholes," says Richard, more familiarly and good-humouredly, "that you are the most reliable fellow in the world and that to have to do with you is to have to do with a man of business who is not to be hoodwinked.

"I am perfectly aware, Mr. Vholes," says Richard, more good-humouredly, "that you are the most reliable fellow in the world.


But put yourself in my case, dragging on this dislocated life, sinking deeper and deeper into difficulty every day, continually hoping and continually disappointed, conscious of change upon change for the worse in myself, and of no change for the better in anything else, and you will find it a dark-looking case sometimes, as I do."

But put yourself in my case, dragging on this dislocated life, sinking deeper and deeper into difficulty every day, continually hoping and continually disappointed, with no change for the better, and you will find it a dark-looking case sometimes, as I do."


"You know," says Mr. Vholes, "that I never give hopes, sir.


I told you from the first, Mr. C., that I never give hopes. Particularly in a case like this, where the greater part of the costs comes out of the estate, I should not be considerate of my good name if I gave hopes.

I told you that from the first, Mr. C. Particularly in a case like this, where the greater part of the costs comes out of the estate, I never give hopes.


It might seem as if costs were my object.


Still, when you say there is no change for the better, I must, as a bare matter of fact, deny that."

Still, when you say there is no change for the better, I must deny that."


"Mr. Carstone, you are represented by--"


"Yes, sir," says Mr. Vholes, gently shaking his head and rapping the hollow desk, with a sound as if ashes were falling on ashes, and dust on dust, "a rock.


You are separately represented, and no longer hidden and lost in the interests of others.

"Mr. Carstone, you are separately represented now, and no longer hidden and lost in the interests of others.


The suit does not sleep; we wake it up, we air it, we walk it about.

The suit does not sleep; we wake it up, we walk it about.


It's not all Jarndyce, in fact as well as in name.


Richard, his face flushing suddenly, strikes the desk with his clenched hand.


If any man had told me when I first went to John Jarndyce's house that he was anything but the disinterested friend he seemed--that he was what he has gradually turned out to be--I could have found no words strong enough to repel the slander; I could not have defended him too ardently.

If any man had told me when I first went to John Jarndyce's house that he was anything but a disinterested friend - I could have found no words strong enough to repel the slander.


Whereas now I do declare to you that he becomes to me the embodiment of the suit; that in place of its being an abstraction, it is John Jarndyce; that the more I suffer, the more indignant I am with him; that every new delay and every new disappointment is only a new injury from John Jarndyce's hand."

Whereas now he has become to me the embodiment of the suit; the more I suffer, the more indignant I am with him; every new delay and disappointment is only a new injury from John Jarndyce's hand."


"You know as well as I that he would have strangled the suit if he could."


"He was not active in it," Mr. Vholes admits with an appearance of reluctance.

"He certainly was not active in it," Mr. Vholes admits with an appearance of reluctance.


But however, but however, he might have had amiable intentions.

"However, he might have had amiable intentions.


"Well enough to know what his intentions were.


Are or are not our interests conflicting?


says Richard, accompanying his last three words with three raps on his rock of trust.


"Mr. C.," returns Vholes, immovable in attitude and never winking his hungry eyes, "I should be wanting in my duty as your professional adviser, I should be departing from my fidelity to your interests, if I represented those interests as identical with the interests of Mr. Jarndyce.

"Mr. C.," returns Vholes, never winking his hungry eyes, "I should be wanting in my duty as your adviser, if I said your interests are identical with the interests of Mr. Jarndyce.


I never impute motives; I both have and am a father, and I never impute motives.


But I must not shrink from a professional duty, even if it sows dissensions in families.


I understand you to be now consulting me professionally as to your interests?


I reply, then, they are not identical with those of Mr. Jarndyce."


"Mr. C.," returns Vholes, "I wish to say no more of any third party than is necessary.


I wish to leave my good name unsullied, together with any little property of which I may become possessed through industry and perseverance, to my daughters Emma, Jane, and Caroline.


I also desire to live in amity with my professional brethren.


When Mr. Skimpole did me the honour, sir--I will not say the very high honour, for I never stoop to flattery--of bringing us together in this room, I mentioned to you that I could offer no opinion or advice as to your interests while those interests were entrusted to another member of the profession.

When Mr. Skimpole did me the honour, sir, of bringing us together, I mentioned to you that I could offer no advice while your interests were entrusted to another member of the profession.


And I spoke in such terms as I was bound to speak of Kenge and Carboy's office, which stands high. You, sir, thought fit to withdraw your interests from that keeping nevertheless and to offer them to me.

You, sir, thought fit to withdraw your interests from Kenge and Carboy's office and to offer them to me.


You brought them with clean hands, sir, and I accepted them with clean hands.


Those interests are now paramount in this office.


My digestive functions, as you may have heard me mention, are not in a good state, and rest might improve them; but I shall not rest, sir, while I am your representative.


Whenever you want me, you will find me here.


During the long vacation, sir, I shall devote my leisure to studying your interests more and more closely and to making arrangements for moving heaven and earth (including, of course, the Chancellor) after Michaelmas term; and when I ultimately congratulate you, sir," says Mr. Vholes with the severity of a determined man, "when I ultimately congratulate you, sir, with all my heart, on your accession to fortune--which, but that I never give hopes, I might say something further about--you will owe me nothing beyond whatever little balance may be then outstanding of the costs as between solicitor and client not included in the taxed costs allowed out of the estate.

During the long vacation, sir, I shall devote my leisure to studying your interests closely; and when I ultimately congratulate you, sir, on your accession to fortune, you will owe me nothing beyond whatever little balance may be then outstanding of the costs as between solicitor and client not included in the taxed costs allowed out of the estate.


I pretend to no claim upon you, Mr. C., but for the zealous and active discharge--not the languid and routine discharge, sir: that much credit I stipulate for--of my professional duty.

I pretend to no claim upon you, Mr. C., but for the zealous and active discharge of my professional duty."


My duty prosperously ended, all between us is ended."


Vholes finally adds, by way of rider to this declaration of his principles, that as Mr. Carstone is about to rejoin his regiment, perhaps Mr. C. will favour him with an order on his agent for twenty pounds on account.

Vholes finally adds that perhaps Mr. C. will favour him with an order on his agent for twenty pounds on account.


"For there have been many little consultations and attendances of late, sir," observes Vholes, turning over the leaves of his diary, "and these things mount up, and I don't profess to be a man of capital.

"For there have been many little consultations of late, sir," observes Vholes, turning over the leaves of his diary, "and these things mount up."


When we first entered on our present relations I stated to you openly--it is a principle of mine that there never can be too much openness between solicitor and client--that I was not a man of capital and that if capital was your object you had better leave your papers in Kenge's office.


No, Mr. C., you will find none of the advantages or disadvantages of capital here, sir.


This," Vholes gives the desk one hollow blow again, "is your rock; it pretends to be nothing more."


The client, with his dejection insensibly relieved and his vague hopes rekindled, takes pen and ink and writes the draft, not without perplexed consideration and calculation of the date it may bear, implying scant effects in the agent's hands.

The client, with his vague hopes rekindled, writes the draft, not without perplexed consideration and calculation of the date it may bear.


All the while, Vholes, buttoned up in body and mind, looks at him attentively.

All the while, Vholes looks at him attentively.


All the while, Vholes's official cat watches the mouse's hole.


Lastly, the client, shaking hands, beseeches Mr. Vholes, for heaven's sake and earth's sake, to do his utmost to "pull him through" the Court of Chancery.

Lastly, the client, shaking hands, beseeches Mr. Vholes to do his utmost to "pull him through" the Court of Chancery.


Mr. Vholes, who never gives hopes, lays his palm upon the client's shoulder and answers with a smile, "Always here, sir. Personally, or by letter, you will always find me here, sir, with my shoulder to the wheel."

Mr. Vholes, who never gives hopes, answers with a smile, "You will always find me here, sir, with my shoulder to the wheel."


Thus they part, and Vholes, left alone, employs himself in carrying sundry little matters out of his diary into his draft bill book for the ultimate behoof of his three daughters.


So might an industrious fox or bear make up his account of chickens or stray travellers with an eye to his cubs, not to disparage by that word the three raw-visaged, lank, and buttoned-up maidens who dwell with the parent Vholes in an earthy cottage situated in a damp garden at Kennington.


Richard, emerging from the heavy shade of Symond's Inn into the sunshine of Chancery Lane--for there happens to be sunshine there to-day--walks thoughtfully on, and turns into Lincoln's Inn, and passes under the shadow of the Lincoln's Inn trees.

Richard, emerging from the heavy shade of Symond's Inn into the sunshine, walks thoughtfully on to Lincoln's Inn, and passes under the shadow of the trees there.


On many such loungers have the speckled shadows of those trees often fallen; on the like bent head, the bitten nail, the lowering eye, the lingering step, the purposeless and dreamy air, the good consuming and consumed, the life turned sour.

On many such loungers have the speckled shadows of those trees fallen; on the bent head, the bitten nail, the lingering step, the purposeless and dreamy air, the life turned sour.


This lounger is not shabby yet, but that may come.


Chancery, which knows no wisdom but in precedent, is very rich in such precedents; and why should one be different from ten thousand?


Yet the time is so short since his depreciation began that as he saunters away, reluctant to leave the spot for some long months together, though he hates it, Richard himself may feel his own case as if it were a startling one. While his heart is heavy with corroding care, suspense, distrust, and doubt, it may have room for some sorrowful wonder when he recalls how different his first visit there, how different he, how different all the colours of his mind.

As Richard saunters away, his heart is heavy with corroding care and doubt, yet he may feel some sorrowful wonder when he recalls how different his first visit there, how different all the colours of his mind.


But injustice breeds injustice; the fighting with shadows and being defeated by them necessitates the setting up of substances to combat; from the impalpable suit which no man alive can understand, the time for that being long gone by, it has become a gloomy relief to turn to the palpable figure of the friend who would have saved him from this ruin and make HIM his enemy.

But injustice breeds injustice; the fighting with shadows necessitates the setting up of substances to combat; from the impalpable suit which no man alive can understand, it has become a gloomy relief to turn to the palpable figure of the friend who would have saved him from this ruin, and make him his enemy.


Is he in a hardened or a softened mood, he still lays his injuries equally at that door; he was thwarted, in that quarter, of a set purpose, and that purpose could only originate in the one subject that is resolving his existence into itself; besides, it is a justification to him in his own eyes to have an embodied antagonist and oppressor.


Is Richard a monster in all this, or would Chancery be found rich in such precedents too if they could be got for citation from the Recording Angel?


Two pairs of eyes not unused to such people look after him, as, biting his nails and brooding, he crosses the square and is swallowed up by the shadow of the southern gateway.

Two pairs of eyes look after him, as, biting his nails and brooding, he crosses the square and is swallowed up by shadow.


Mr. Guppy and Mr. Weevle are the possessors of those eyes, and they have been leaning in conversation against the low stone parapet under the trees.

Mr. Guppy and Mr. Weevle have been leaning in conversation against the low stone parapet under the trees.


He passes close by them, seeing nothing but the ground.


"William," says Mr. Weevle, adjusting his whiskers, "there's combustion going on there!

"William," says Mr. Weevle, "there's combustion going on there!


It's not a case of spontaneous, but it's smouldering combustion it is."

It's not spontaneous, but it's smouldering combustion, it is."


"He wouldn't keep out of Jarndyce, and I suppose he's over head and ears in debt.

"He wouldn't keep out of Jarndyce, and I suppose he's head over heels in debt.


He was as high as the monument when he was on trial at our place.


A good riddance to me, whether as clerk or client!


Well, Tony, that as I was mentioning is what they're up to."


Mr. Guppy, refolding his arms, resettles himself against the parapet, as resuming a conversation of interest.

Mr. Guppy resettles himself against the parapet, resuming a conversation of interest.


"They are still up to it, sir," says Mr. Guppy, "still taking stock, still examining papers, still going over the heaps and heaps of rubbish.

"They are still up to it, sir," says Mr. Guppy, "still examining papers, still going over the heaps of Krook's rubbish.


At this rate they'll be at it these seven years."


Told Kenge his grandfather's business was too much for the old gentleman and he could better himself by undertaking it.


There had been a coolness between myself and Small on account of his being so close.


But he said you and I began it, and as he had me there--for we did--I put our acquaintance on the old footing.


That's how I come to know what they're up to."


"Tony," says Mr. Guppy, a little disconcerted, "to be unreserved with you, I don't greatly relish the house, except in your company, and therefore I have not; and therefore I proposed this little appointment for our fetching away your things.

"Tony," says Mr. Guppy, a little disconcerted, "I don't greatly relish the house, except in your company, and therefore I have not; and therefore I proposed this little appointment for our fetching away your things.


Tony"--Mr. Guppy becomes mysteriously and tenderly eloquent--"it is necessary that I should impress upon your mind once more that circumstances over which I have no control have made a melancholy alteration in my most cherished plans and in that unrequited image which I formerly mentioned to you as a friend.

Tony-" Mr. Guppy becomes mysteriously eloquent - "circumstances over which I have no control have made a melancholy alteration in my most cherished plans and in that unrequited image which I formerly mentioned to you.


That image is shattered, and that idol is laid low.


My only wish now in connexion with the objects which I had an idea of carrying out in the court with your aid as a friend is to let 'em alone and bury 'em in oblivion.

My only wish now in connexion with those objects which I had an idea of carrying out with your aid is to let 'em alone and bury 'em in oblivion.


Do you think it possible, do you think it at all likely (I put it to you, Tony, as a friend), from your knowledge of that capricious and deep old character who fell a prey to the--spontaneous element, do you, Tony, think it at all likely that on second thoughts he put those letters away anywhere, after you saw him alive, and that they were not destroyed that night?"

Do you think it possible, Tony, that he put those letters away anywhere, after you saw him alive, and that they were not destroyed that night?"


"Tony," says Mr. Guppy as they walk towards the court, "once again understand me, as a friend. Without entering into further explanations, I may repeat that the idol is down.

"Tony," says Mr. Guppy as they walk towards the court, "without entering into further explanations, I may repeat that the idol is laid low.


I have no purpose to serve now but burial in oblivion.

I have no purpose now but burial in oblivion.


I owe it to myself, and I owe it to the shattered image, as also to the circumstances over which I have no control.


If you was to express to me by a gesture, by a wink, that you saw lying anywhere in your late lodgings any papers that so much as looked like the papers in question, I would pitch them into the fire, sir, on my own responsibility."

If you was to tell me with a wink or a nod that you saw lying anywhere in your late lodgings any papers that looked like the papers in question, I would pitch them into the fire, sir."


Mr. Guppy, much elevated in his own opinion by having delivered these observations, with an air in part forensic and in part romantic--this gentleman having a passion for conducting anything in the form of an examination, or delivering anything in the form of a summing up or a speech--accompanies his friend with dignity to the court.

Mr. Guppy, much elevated in his own opinion by these observations, accompanies his friend with dignity to the court.


Never since it has been a court has it had such a Fortunatus' purse of gossip as in the proceedings at the rag and bottle shop.

Never has the court been so full of gossip.


Regularly, every morning at eight, is the elder Mr. Smallweed brought down to the corner and carried in, accompanied by Mrs. Smallweed, Judy, and Bart; and regularly, all day, do they all remain there until nine at night, solaced by gipsy dinners, not abundant in quantity, from the cook's shop, rummaging and searching, digging, delving, and diving among the treasures of the late lamented.

Every morning at eight, the elder Mr. Smallweed is carried into the rag and bottle shop, accompanied by Mrs. Smallweed, Judy, and Bart; and there they remain until nine at night, rummaging and searching, digging and delving among the treasures of the late lamented.


What those treasures are they keep so secret that the court is maddened.

What those treasures are, they keep so secret that the court is maddened.


In its delirium it imagines guineas pouring out of tea-pots, crown-pieces overflowing punch-bowls, old chairs and mattresses stuffed with Bank of England notes.

It imagines guineas pouring out of tea-pots, and mattresses stuffed with bank-notes.


It possesses itself of the sixpenny history (with highly coloured folding frontispiece) of Mr. Daniel Dancer and his sister, and also of Mr. Elwes, of Suffolk, and transfers all the facts from those authentic narratives to Mr. Krook.


Twice when the dustman is called in to carry off a cartload of old paper, ashes, and broken bottles, the whole court assembles and pries into the baskets as they come forth.

Twice when the dustman is called in to carry off a cartload of old paper and broken bottles, the whole court assembles and pries into the baskets as they come forth.


Many times the two gentlemen who write with the ravenous little pens on the tissue-paper are seen prowling in the neighbourhood--shy of each other, their late partnership being dissolved.


The Sol skilfully carries a vein of the prevailing interest through the Harmonic nights.


Little Swills, in what are professionally known as "patter" allusions to the subject, is received with loud applause; and the same vocalist "gags" in the regular business like a man inspired.


Even Miss M. Melvilleson, in the revived Caledonian melody of "We're a-Nodding," points the sentiment that "the dogs love broo" (whatever the nature of that refreshment may be) with such archness and such a turn of the head towards next door that she is immediately understood to mean Mr. Smallweed loves to find money, and is nightly honoured with a double encore.


For all this, the court discovers nothing; and as Mrs. Piper and Mrs. Perkins now communicate to the late lodger whose appearance is the signal for a general rally, it is in one continual ferment to discover everything, and more.

As Mrs. Piper and Mrs. Perkins now tell Mr. Weevle, the court is in one continual ferment.


Mr. Weevle and Mr. Guppy, with every eye in the court's head upon them, knock at the closed door of the late lamented's house, in a high state of popularity.

Mr. Weevle and Mr. Guppy, with every eye in the court upon them, knock at the closed door of the late lamented's house.


But being contrary to the court's expectation admitted, they immediately become unpopular and are considered to mean no good.

Contrary to the court's expectation, they are admitted and are immediately considered to mean no good.


The shutters are more or less closed all over the house, and the ground-floor is sufficiently dark to require candles.

The shutters are closed all over the house, and the ground-floor is dark enough to require candles.


Introduced into the back shop by Mr. Smallweed the younger, they, fresh from the sunlight, can at first see nothing save darkness and shadows; but they gradually discern the elder Mr. Smallweed seated in his chair upon the brink of a well or grave of waste-paper, the virtuous Judy groping therein like a female sexton, and Mrs. Smallweed on the level ground in the vicinity snowed up in a heap of paper fragments, print, and manuscript which would appear to be the accumulated compliments that have been sent flying at her in the course of the day.

Introduced into the back shop by Mr. Smallweed the younger, they can at first see nothing save darkness and shadows; but they gradually discern the elder Mr. Smallweed seated in his chair upon the brink of a well of waste-paper, Judy groping therein, and Mrs. Smallweed nearby snowed up in a heap of paper fragments.


The whole party, Small included, are blackened with dust and dirt and present a fiendish appearance not relieved by the general aspect of the room.

They are all blackened with dust and dirt and present a fiendish appearance; while the room is more littered and dirtier, if possible, than of old.


There is more litter and lumber in it than of old, and it is dirtier if possible; likewise, it is ghostly with traces of its dead inhabitant and even with his chalked writing on the wall.

It is ghostly with traces of its dead inhabitant and even his chalked writing on the wall.


On the entrance of visitors, Mr. Smallweed and Judy simultaneously fold their arms and stop in their researches.


Come to fetch your property, Mr. Weevle?


We should have been forced to sell you up, sir, to pay your warehouse room if you had left it here much longer.

We should have been forced to sell you up, sir, if you had left it here much longer.


You feel quite at home here again, I dare say?


Mr. Weevle, thanking him, casts an eye about.


Mr. Guppy's eye follows Mr. Weevle's eye. Mr. Weevle's eye comes back without any new intelligence in it. Mr. Guppy's eye comes back and meets Mr. Smallweed's eye. That engaging old gentleman is still murmuring, like some wound-up instrument running down, "How de do, sir--how de--how--" And then having run down, he lapses into grinning silence, as Mr. Guppy starts at seeing Mr. Tulkinghorn standing in the darkness opposite with his hands behind him.

So does Mr. Guppy; who starts at seeing Mr. Tulkinghorn standing in the darkness opposite with his hands behind him.


"Gentleman so kind as to act as my solicitor," says Grandfather Smallweed.


"I am not the sort of client for a gentleman of such note, but he is so good!"


Mr. Guppy, slightly nudging his friend to take another look, makes a shuffling bow to Mr. Tulkinghorn, who returns it with an easy nod.

Mr. Guppy, slightly nudging his friend to take another look around, makes a shuffling bow to Mr. Tulkinghorn, who returns it with an easy, amused nod.


Mr. Tulkinghorn is looking on as if he had nothing else to do and were rather amused by the novelty.


"A good deal of property here, sir, I should say," Mr. Guppy observes to Mr. Smallweed.


"Principally rags and rubbish, my dear friend!


Me and Bart and my granddaughter Judy are endeavouring to make out an inventory of what's worth anything to sell.

We are trying to make out an inventory of what's worth anything to sell.


But we haven't come to much as yet; we--haven't--come--to--hah!"


Mr. Smallweed has run down again, while Mr. Weevle's eye, attended by Mr. Guppy's eye, has again gone round the room and come back.

Mr. Weevle's eye has again gone round the room and come back.


"We won't intrude any longer if you'll allow us to go upstairs."


As they go upstairs, Mr. Guppy lifts his eyebrows inquiringly and looks at Tony.


They find the old room very dull and dismal, with the ashes of the fire that was burning on that memorable night yet in the discoloured grate.

They find the old room very dull and dismal.


They have a great disinclination to touch any object, and carefully blow the dust from it first. Nor are they desirous to prolong their visit, packing the few movables with all possible speed and never speaking above a whisper.

They have a great disinclination to touch any object, and do not prolong their visit, packing up with all possible speed and never speaking above a whisper.


She went leaping and bounding and tearing about that night like a dragon, and got out on the house-top, and roamed about up there for a fortnight, and then came tumbling down the chimney very thin.

"Small told me she went leaping and tearing about that night like a dragon, and got out on the house-top, and roamed about up there for a fortnight, and then came tumbling down the chimney.


Looks as if she knew all about it, don't she?


Lady Jane, in the doorway, with her tiger snarl from ear to ear and her club of a tail, shows no intention of obeying; but Mr. Tulkinghorn stumbling over her, she spits at his rusty legs, and swearing wrathfully, takes her arched back upstairs.

Lady Jane in the doorway, with her tiger snarl, shows no intention of obeying; but when Mr. Tulkinghorn stumbles over her, she spits and runs upstairs.


Possibly to roam the house-tops again and return by the chimney.


"Mr. Guppy," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, "could I have a word with you?"


Mr. Guppy is engaged in collecting the Galaxy Gallery of British Beauty from the wall and depositing those works of art in their old ignoble band-box.

Mr. Guppy is engaged in collecting the Galaxy Gallery of British Beauty from the wall.


"Sir," he returns, reddening, "I wish to act with courtesy towards every member of the profession, and especially, I am sure, towards a member of it so well known as yourself--I will truly add, sir, so distinguished as yourself.

"Sir," he returns, reddening, "I wish to act with courtesy towards every member of the profession, and especially, I am sure, towards a member so distinguished as yourself.


Still, Mr. Tulkinghorn, sir, I must stipulate that if you have any word with me, that word is spoken in the presence of my friend."

Still, Mr. Tulkinghorn, sir, I must ask that if you have any word with me, it is spoken in the presence of my friend."


My reasons are not of a personal nature at all, but they are amply sufficient for myself."


Mr. Tulkinghorn is as imperturbable as the hearthstone to which he has quietly walked.


"The matter is not of that consequence that I need put you to the trouble of making any conditions, Mr. Guppy."

"The matter is not of that much consequence, Mr. Guppy."


He pauses here to smile, and his smile is as dull and rusty as his pantaloons.

Mr. Tulkinghorn pauses here to smile a dull and rusty smile.


"You are to be congratulated, Mr. Guppy; you are a fortunate young man, sir."


"Pretty well so, Mr. Tulkinghorn; I don't complain."


High friends, free admission to great houses, and access to elegant ladies!

You have high friends, free admission to great houses, and access to elegant ladies!"


Why, Mr. Guppy, there are people in London who would give their ears to be you."


Mr. Guppy, looking as if he would give his own reddening and still reddening ears to be one of those people at present instead of himself, replies, "Sir, if I attend to my profession and do what is right by Kenge and Carboy, my friends and acquaintances are of no consequence to them nor to any member of the profession, not excepting Mr. Tulkinghorn of the Fields.

Mr. Guppy says, reddening still more, "Sir, if I attend to my profession and do what is right by Kenge and Carboy, my friends are of no consequence to them nor to anyone else.


I am not under any obligation to explain myself further; and with all respect for you, sir, and without offence--I repeat, without offence--"

I am not under any obligation to explain myself further."


"Quite so," says Mr. Tulkinghorn with a calm nod.


"Very good; I see by these portraits that you take a strong interest in the fashionable great, sir?"


He addresses this to the astounded Tony, who admits the soft impeachment.

He addresses this to the astounded Tony, who admits it.


"A virtue in which few Englishmen are deficient," observes Mr. Tulkinghorn. He has been standing on the hearthstone with his back to the smoked chimney-piece, and now turns round with his glasses to his eyes.

Mr. Tulkinghorn puts his glasses to his eyes.


A very good likeness in its way, but it wants force of character.


When he has walked out, Mr. Guppy, in a great perspiration, nerves himself to the hasty completion of the taking down of the Galaxy Gallery, concluding with Lady Dedlock.

When he has walked out, Mr. Guppy, in a great perspiration, hastily takes down the rest of the Galaxy Gallery.


"Tony," he says hurriedly to his astonished companion, "let us be quick in putting the things together and in getting out of this place.

"Tony," he says hurriedly, "let us be quick in getting out of this place.


It were in vain longer to conceal from you, Tony, that between myself and one of the members of a swan-like aristocracy whom I now hold in my hand, there has been undivulged communication and association.

I cannot conceal from you, Tony, that between myself and one of the members of a swan-like aristocracy whom I now hold in my hand, there has been some communication.


The time might have been when I might have revealed it to you.


It is due alike to the oath I have taken, alike to the shattered idol, and alike to circumstances over which I have no control, that the whole should be buried in oblivion.

I can say no more due to the oath I have taken, the shattered idol, and circumstances over which I have no control.


I charge you as a friend, by the interest you have ever testified in the fashionable intelligence, and by any little advances with which I may have been able to accommodate you, so to bury it without a word of inquiry!"

I charge you as a friend to bury it in oblivion without a word of inquiry!"


This charge Mr. Guppy delivers in a state little short of forensic lunacy, while his friend shows a dazed mind in his whole head of hair and even in his cultivated whiskers.

This charge Mr. Guppy delivers in a state little short of lunacy, while his friend appears dazed down to his whiskers.


On the eastern borders of Chancery Lane, that is to say, more particularly in Cook's Court, Cursitor Street, Mr. Snagsby, law-stationer, pursues his lawful calling.

On the eastern borders of Chancery Lane, in Cook's Court, Mr. Snagsby, law-stationer, pursues his lawful calling.


In the shade of Cook's Court, at most times a shady place, Mr. Snagsby has dealt in all sorts of blank forms of legal process; in skins and rolls of parchment; in paper--foolscap, brief, draft, brown, white, whitey-brown, and blotting; in stamps; in office-quills, pens, ink, India-rubber, pounce, pins, pencils, sealing-wax, and wafers; in red tape and green ferret; in pocket-books, almanacs, diaries, and law lists; in string boxes, rulers, inkstands--glass and leaden--pen-knives, scissors, bodkins, and other small office-cutlery; in short, in articles too numerous to mention, ever since he was out of his time and went into partnership with Peffer.

In the shade of Cook's Court, at most times a shady place, Mr. Snagsby has dealt in all sorts of blank legal forms; in rolls of parchment; in paper; in stamps; in quills, pens, ink, India-rubber, pencils, sealing-wax, and wafers; in pocket-books, almanacs, and diaries; in ink-stands, scissors, and other small office-cutlery; in short, in articles too numerous to mention, ever since he went into partnership with Peffer.


On that occasion, Cook's Court was in a manner revolutionized by the new inscription in fresh paint, PEFFER AND SNAGSBY, displacing the time-honoured and not easily to be deciphered legend PEFFER only. For smoke, which is the London ivy, had so wreathed itself round Peffer's name and clung to his dwelling-place that the affectionate parasite quite overpowered the parent tree.
Peffer is never seen in Cook's Court now. He is not expected there, for he has been recumbent this quarter of a century in the churchyard of St. Andrews, Holborn, with the waggons and hackney-coaches roaring past him all the day and half the night like one great dragon.

The inscription in Cook's Court used to read PEFFER AND SNAGSBY, but Peffer has been lying for a quarter of a century in the churchyard.


If he ever steal forth when the dragon is at rest to air himself again in Cook's Court until admonished to return by the crowing of the sanguine cock in the cellar at the little dairy in Cursitor Street, whose ideas of daylight it would be curious to ascertain, since he knows from his personal observation next to nothing about it--if Peffer ever do revisit the pale glimpses of Cook's Court, which no law-stationer in the trade can positively deny, he comes invisibly, and no one is the worse or wiser.


In his lifetime, and likewise in the period of Snagsby's "time" of seven long years, there dwelt with Peffer in the same law-stationering premises a niece--a short, shrewd niece, something too violently compressed about the waist, and with a sharp nose like a sharp autumn evening, inclining to be frosty towards the end.

In his lifetime, there dwelt with Peffer a niece - a short, shrewd niece, with a sharp nose.


The Cook's Courtiers had a rumour flying among them that the mother of this niece did, in her daughter's childhood, moved by too jealous a solicitude that her figure should approach perfection, lace her up every morning with her maternal foot against the bed-post for a stronger hold and purchase; and further, that she exhibited internally pints of vinegar and lemon-juice, which acids, they held, had mounted to the nose and temper of the patient.

The Cook's Courtiers had a rumour that this niece had been dosed with pints of vinegar, which had mounted to her temper.


With whichsoever of the many tongues of Rumour this frothy report originated, it either never reached or never influenced the ears of young Snagsby, who, having wooed and won its fair subject on his arrival at man's estate, entered into two partnerships at once.

However, this rumour never reached the ears of young Snagsby, who wooed and won her, and so entered into two partnerships at once.


So now, in Cook's Court, Cursitor Street, Mr. Snagsby and the niece are one; and the niece still cherishes her figure, which, however tastes may differ, is unquestionably so far precious that there is mighty little of it.


Mr. and Mrs. Snagsby are not only one bone and one flesh, but, to the neighbours' thinking, one voice too.

Mr. and Mrs. Snagsby are not only one flesh, but, to the neighbours' thinking, one voice too.


That voice, appearing to proceed from Mrs. Snagsby alone, is heard in Cook's Court very often.

That voice, through Mrs. Snagsby, is heard in Cook's Court very often.


Mr. Snagsby, otherwise than as he finds expression through these dulcet tones, is rarely heard.


He is a mild, bald, timid man with a shining head and a scrubby clump of black hair sticking out at the back.

He is a mild, bald, timid man with a shining head.


As he stands at his door in Cook's Court in his grey shop-coat and black calico sleeves, looking up at the clouds, or stands behind a desk in his dark shop with a heavy flat ruler, snipping and slicing at sheepskin in company with his two 'prentices, he is emphatically a retiring and unassuming man.

As he stands behind a desk in his dark shop, snipping parchment with his two apprentices, he is an unassuming man.


From beneath his feet, at such times, as from a shrill ghost unquiet in its grave, there frequently arise complainings and lamentations in the voice already mentioned; and haply, on some occasions when these reach a sharper pitch than usual, Mr. Snagsby mentions to the 'prentices, "I think my little woman is a-giving it to Guster!"

At such times, as from a shrill ghost unquiet in its grave, there frequently arise complainings in the voice already mentioned; and Mr. Snagsby says, "I think my little woman is a-giving it to Guster!"


This proper name, so used by Mr. Snagsby, has before now sharpened the wit of the Cook's Courtiers to remark that it ought to be the name of Mrs. Snagsby, seeing that she might with great force and expression be termed a Guster, in compliment to her stormy character.


It is, however, the possession, and the only possession except fifty shillings per annum and a very small box indifferently filled with clothing, of a lean young woman from a workhouse (by some supposed to have been christened Augusta) who, although she was farmed or contracted for during her growing time by an amiable benefactor of his species resident at Tooting, and cannot fail to have been developed under the most favourable circumstances, "has fits," which the parish can't account for.

Guster is the name of a lean young woman from a workhouse (supposed to have been christened Augusta), who "has fits".


Guster, really aged three or four and twenty, but looking a round ten years older, goes cheap with this unaccountable drawback of fits, and is so apprehensive of being returned on the hands of her patron saint that except when she is found with her head in the pail, or the sink, or the copper, or the dinner, or anything else that happens to be near her at the time of her seizure, she is always at work.

Guster, aged three or four and twenty, but looking ten years older, is cheap because of this drawback of fits, and is so apprehensive of being returned to the workhouse that she is always at work.


She is a satisfaction to the parents and guardians of the 'prentices, who feel that there is little danger of her inspiring tender emotions in the breast of youth; she is a satisfaction to Mrs. Snagsby, who can always find fault with her; she is a satisfaction to Mr. Snagsby, who thinks it a charity to keep her.


The law-stationer's establishment is, in Guster's eyes, a temple of plenty and splendour.

The law-stationer's establishment is, in her eyes, a temple of plenty and splendour.


She believes the little drawing-room upstairs, always kept, as one may say, with its hair in papers and its pinafore on, to be the most elegant apartment in Christendom. The view it commands of Cook's Court at one end (not to mention a squint into Cursitor Street) and of Coavinses' the sheriff's officer's backyard at the other she regards as a prospect of unequalled beauty.

She believes the little drawing-room to be the most elegant apartment in Christendom, and its view of Cook's Court and Coavinses' the sheriff's officer's backyard to be a prospect of unequalled beauty.


The portraits it displays in oil--and plenty of it too--of Mr. Snagsby looking at Mrs. Snagsby and of Mrs. Snagsby looking at Mr. Snagsby are in her eyes as achievements of Raphael or Titian.


Guster has some recompenses for her many privations.


Mr. Snagsby refers everything not in the practical mysteries of the business to Mrs. Snagsby.

Mr. Snagsby refers everything apart from stationery to Mrs. Snagsby.


She manages the money, reproaches the tax-gatherers, appoints the times and places of devotion on Sundays, licenses Mr. Snagsby's entertainments, and acknowledges no responsibility as to what she thinks fit to provide for dinner, insomuch that she is the high standard of comparison among the neighbouring wives a long way down Chancery Lane on both sides, and even out in Holborn, who in any domestic passages of arms habitually call upon their husbands to look at the difference between their (the wives') position and Mrs. Snagsby's, and their (the husbands') behaviour and Mr. Snagsby's.

She manages the money, reproaches the tax-gatherers, licenses Mr. Snagsby's entertainments, and orders what she likes for dinner.


Rumour, always flying bat-like about Cook's Court and skimming in and out at everybody's windows, does say that Mrs. Snagsby is jealous and inquisitive and that Mr. Snagsby is sometimes worried out of house and home, and that if he had the spirit of a mouse he wouldn't stand it.

Rumour, always flying bat-like about Cook's Court and skimming in and out at everybody's windows, does say that Mrs. Snagsby is jealous and inquisitive and that if Mr. Snagsby had the spirit of a mouse he wouldn't stand it.


It is even observed that the wives who quote him to their self-willed husbands as a shining example in reality look down upon him and that nobody does so with greater superciliousness than one particular lady whose lord is more than suspected of laying his umbrella on her as an instrument of correction.


But these vague whisperings may arise from Mr. Snagsby's being in his way rather a meditative and poetical man, loving to walk in Staple Inn in the summer-time and to observe how countrified the sparrows and the leaves are, also to lounge about the Rolls Yard of a Sunday afternoon and to remark (if in good spirits) that there were old times once and that you'd find a stone coffin or two now under that chapel, he'll be bound, if you was to dig for it.

But these vague whisperings may arise from Mr. Snagsby's being rather a meditative and poetical man.


He solaces his imagination, too, by thinking of the many Chancellors and Vices, and Masters of the Rolls who are deceased; and he gets such a flavour of the country out of telling the two 'prentices how he HAS heard say that a brook "as clear as crystal" once ran right down the middle of Holborn, when Turnstile really was a turnstile, leading slap away into the meadows--gets such a flavour of the country out of this that he never wants to go there.


The day is closing in and the gas is lighted, but is not yet fully effective, for it is not quite dark.

The day is closing in now and the gas is lit.


Mr. Snagsby standing at his shop-door looking up at the clouds sees a crow who is out late skim westward over the slice of sky belonging to Cook's Court. The crow flies straight across Chancery Lane and Lincoln's Inn Garden into Lincoln's Inn Fields.

Mr. Snagsby, standing at his shop-door, sees a crow skim westward over the slice of sky belonging to Cook's Court, and straight across Chancery Lane into Lincoln's Inn Fields.


Here, in a large house, formerly a house of state, lives Mr. Tulkinghorn.

Here, in a large house, lives Mr. Tulkinghorn.


It is let off in sets of chambers now, and in those shrunken fragments of its greatness, lawyers lie like maggots in nuts.


But its roomy staircases, passages, and antechambers still remain; and even its painted ceilings, where Allegory, in Roman helmet and celestial linen, sprawls among balustrades and pillars, flowers, clouds, and big-legged boys, and makes the head ache--as would seem to be Allegory's object always, more or less.

But its roomy staircases, passages, and antechambers remain; and even its painted ceilings, where Allegory, in Roman helmet and celestial linen, sprawls among pillars, flowers, and clouds.


Here, among his many boxes labelled with transcendent names, lives Mr. Tulkinghorn, when not speechlessly at home in country-houses where the great ones of the earth are bored to death.

Here lives Mr. Tulkinghorn, when not speechless in country-houses.


Here he is to-day, quiet at his table. An oyster of the old school whom nobody can open.

Here he is today, quiet at his table; an oyster of the old school whom nobody can open.


Like as he is to look at, so is his apartment in the dusk of the present afternoon. Rusty, out of date, withdrawing from attention, able to afford it.


Heavy, broad-backed, old-fashioned, mahogany-and-horsehair chairs, not easily lifted; obsolete tables with spindle-legs and dusty baize covers; presentation prints of the holders of great titles in the last generation or the last but one, environ him.

Heavy, old-fashioned, mahogany-and-horsehair chairs; obsolete tables with spindle-legs and dusty baize covers.


A thick and dingy Turkey-carpet muffles the floor where he sits, attended by two candles in old-fashioned silver candlesticks that give a very insufficient light to his large room.

Two candles that give a very insufficient light to his large room.


The titles on the backs of his books have retired into the binding; everything that can have a lock has got one; no key is visible.

The titles on the backs of his books have retired into the binding; everything that can have a lock has got one.


He has some manuscript near him, but is not referring to it.

He has some manuscript near him, but is not reading.


With the round top of an inkstand and two broken bits of sealing-wax he is silently and slowly working out whatever train of indecision is in his mind.

He is fiddling with some sealing-wax, and thinking.


Now the inkstand top is in the middle, now the red bit of sealing-wax, now the black bit.


Mr. Tulkinghorn must gather them all up and begin again.


Here, beneath the painted ceiling, with foreshortened Allegory staring down at his intrusion as if it meant to swoop upon him, and he cutting it dead, Mr. Tulkinghorn has at once his house and office.

Here, beneath the painted ceiling, with Allegory staring down at him, Mr. Tulkinghorn has at once his house and office.


He keeps no staff, only one middle-aged man, usually a little out at elbows, who sits in a high pew in the hall and is rarely overburdened with business.

He keeps no staff, only one middle-aged man, who sits in a high pew in the hall and is rarely overburdened with business.


Mr. Tulkinghorn is not in a common way. He wants no clerks.


He is a great reservoir of confidences, not to be so tapped. His clients want HIM; he is all in all.

He is a great reservoir of confidences; his clients want him; he is all in all.


Drafts that he requires to be drawn are drawn by special-pleaders in the temple on mysterious instructions; fair copies that he requires to be made are made at the stationers', expense being no consideration.

Any copies that he requires are made at the stationers'.


The middle-aged man in the pew knows scarcely more of the affairs of the peerage than any crossing-sweeper in Holborn.


The red bit, the black bit, the inkstand top, the other inkstand top, the little sand-box.


You to the middle, you to the right, you to the left.


This train of indecision must surely be worked out now or never.


Mr. Tulkinghorn gets up, adjusts his spectacles, puts on his hat, puts the manuscript in his pocket, goes out, tells the middle-aged man out at elbows, "I shall be back presently."

Now Mr. Tulkinghorn gets up, puts on his hat, puts the manuscript in his pocket, and goes out, telling the middle-aged man, "I shall be back presently."


Very rarely tells him anything more explicit.


Mr. Tulkinghorn goes, as the crow came--not quite so straight, but nearly--to Cook's Court, Cursitor Street. To Snagsby's, Law-Stationer's, Deeds engrossed and copied, Law-Writing executed in all its branches, &c., &c., &c.

He goes, as the crow came, to Cook's Court: to Snagsby's, Law-Stationer's.


It is somewhere about five or six o'clock in the afternoon, and a balmy fragrance of warm tea hovers in Cook's Court.

It is five or six o'clock in the afternoon, and a balmy fragrance of warm tea hovers in Cook's Court.


The hours are early there: dinner at half-past one and supper at half-past nine.


Mr. Snagsby was about to descend into the subterranean regions to take tea when he looked out of his door just now and saw the crow who was out late.

Mr. Snagsby has descended into the subterranean regions to take tea.


Guster is minding the shop, for the 'prentices take tea in the kitchen with Mr. and Mrs. Snagsby; consequently, the robe-maker's two daughters, combing their curls at the two glasses in the two second-floor windows of the opposite house, are not driving the two 'prentices to distraction as they fondly suppose, but are merely awakening the unprofitable admiration of Guster, whose hair won't grow, and never would, and it is confidently thought, never will.


Master is at home, and Guster will fetch him.


Guster disappears, glad to get out of the shop, which she regards with mingled dread and veneration as a storehouse of awful implements of the great torture of the law--a place not to be entered after the gas is turned off.

She disappears, glad to get out of the shop, which she regards with mingled dread and veneration.


Mr. Snagsby appears, greasy, warm, herbaceous, and chewing.

Mr. Snagsby appears, greasy, warm, and chewing.


Bolts a bit of bread and butter. Says, "Bless my soul, sir!

He bolts a bit of bread and butter, and says, "Bless my soul, sir!


Dear me, sir, why didn't you send your young man round for me?


The confined room, strong of parchment-grease, is warehouse, counting-house, and copying-office.

The confined room is warehouse, counting-house, and copying-office.


Mr. Tulkinghorn sits, facing round, on a stool at the desk.

Mr. Tulkinghorn sits on a stool at the desk.


Mr. Snagsby turns up the gas and coughs behind his hand, modestly anticipating profit.

Mr. Snagsby turns up the gas and coughs, modestly anticipating profit.


Mr. Snagsby, as a timid man, is accustomed to cough with a variety of expressions, and so to save words.

Mr. Snagsby, as a timid man, is accustomed to cough with a variety of expressions, so as to save words.


"You copied some affidavits in that cause for me lately."


"There was one of them," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, carelessly feeling--tight, unopenable oyster of the old school!--in the wrong coat-pocket, "the handwriting of which is peculiar, and I rather like.

"There was one of them," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, carelessly feeling in the wrong coat-pocket, "the handwriting of which is peculiar, and which I rather like.


As I happened to be passing, and thought I had it about me, I looked in to ask you--but I haven't got it. No matter, any other time will do. Ah! here it is! I looked in to ask you who copied this."

As I happened to be passing, I looked in to ask you who copied this."


says Mr. Snagsby, taking it, laying it flat on the desk, and separating all the sheets at once with a twirl and a twist of the left hand peculiar to lawstationers.

says Mr. Snagsby, laying it flat on the desk.


We were giving out rather a large quantity of work just at that time.


I can tell you in a moment who copied it, sir, by referring to my book."


Mr. Snagsby takes his book down from the safe, makes another bolt of the bit of bread and butter which seemed to have stopped short, eyes the affidavit aside, and brings his right forefinger travelling down a page of the book, "Jewby--Packer--Jarndyce."

Mr. Snagsby takes his book down from the safe, and brings his right forefinger down a page.


This was given out, sir, to a writer who lodges just over on the opposite side of the lane."

This was given out, sir, to a writer who lodges just across the lane."


Mr. Tulkinghorn has seen the entry, found it before the law-stationer, read it while the forefinger was coming down the hill.

Mr. Tulkinghorn has seen the entry and read it while the forefinger was still coming down the page.


Given out on the Wednesday night at eight o'clock, brought in on the Thursday morning at half after nine."


"It must be English for some one, sir, I think," Mr. Snagsby submits with his deferential cough.


Given out Wednesday night, eight o'clock; brought in Thursday morning, half after nine."


The tail of Mr. Snagsby's eye becomes conscious of the head of Mrs. Snagsby looking in at the shop-door to know what he means by deserting his tea.

Mr. Snagsby becomes conscious of the head of Mrs. Snagsby looking in at the shop-door to know what he means by deserting his tea.


Mr. Snagsby addresses an explanatory cough to Mrs. Snagsby, as who should say, "My dear, a customer!"

Mr. Snagsby addresses an explanatory cough to her.


"Half after nine, sir," repeats Mr. Snagsby.


"Our law-writers, who live by job-work, are a queer lot; and this may not be his name, but it's the name he goes by.

"Our law-writers, who live by job-work, are a queer lot, sir; and this may not be his name, but it's the name he goes by.


I remember now, sir, that he gives it in a written advertisement he sticks up down at the Rule Office, and the King's Bench Office, and the Judges' Chambers, and so forth.

He has an advertisement stuck up at the Rule Office, and the Judges' Chambers, and so forth.


You know the kind of document, sir--wanting employ?"

You know the kind of document, sir - wanting employ?"


Mr. Tulkinghorn glances through the little window at the back of Coavinses', the sheriff's officer's, where lights shine in Coavinses' windows.

Mr. Tulkinghorn glances through the little window at Coavinses', the sheriff's officer's, where lights shine in the windows.


Coavinses' coffee-room is at the back, and the shadows of several gentlemen under a cloud loom cloudily upon the blinds.

Coavinses' coffee-room is at the back, and the shadows of several gentlemen loom cloudily upon the blinds.


Mr. Snagsby takes the opportunity of slightly turning his head to glance over his shoulder at his little woman and to make apologetic motions with his mouth to this effect: "Tul-king-horn--rich--in-flu-en-tial!"


"Thinking of more important matters, I forget where you said he lived?"


In fact, he lodges at a--" Mr. Snagsby makes another bolt, as if the bit of bread and butter were insurmountable "--at a rag and bottle shop."


"Can you show me the place as I go back?"


Mr. Snagsby pulls off his sleeves and his grey coat, pulls on his black coat, takes his hat from its peg.

Mr. Snagsby pulls on his black coat, and takes his hat from its peg.


"My dear, will you be so kind as to tell one of the lads to look after the shop while I step across the lane with Mr. Tulkinghorn?"


Mrs. Snagsby, sir--I shan't be two minutes, my love!"


Mrs. Snagsby bends to the lawyer, retires behind the counter, peeps at them through the window-blind, goes softly into the back office, refers to the entries in the book still lying open.

Mrs. Snagsby retires behind the counter, peeps at them through the window-blind, goes softly into the back office, and looks at the entries in the book still lying open.


"You will find that the place is rough, sir," says Mr. Snagsby, walking deferentially in the road and leaving the narrow pavement to the lawyer; "and the party is very rough.

"You will find that the place is rough, sir," says Mr. Snagsby.


"But they're a wild lot in general, sir.


The advantage of this particular man is that he never wants sleep.


He'll go at it right on end if you want him to, as long as ever you like."


It is quite dark now, and the gas-lamps have acquired their full effect.


Jostling against clerks going to post the day's letters, and against counsel and attorneys going home to dinner, and against plaintiffs and defendants and suitors of all sorts, and against the general crowd, in whose way the forensic wisdom of ages has interposed a million of obstacles to the transaction of the commonest business of life; diving through law and equity, and through that kindred mystery, the street mud, which is made of nobody knows what and collects about us nobody knows whence or how--we only knowing in general that when there is too much of it we find it necessary to shovel it away--the lawyer and the law-stationer come to a rag and bottle shop and general emporium of much disregarded merchandise, lying and being in the shadow of the wall of Lincoln's Inn, and kept, as is announced in paint, to all whom it may concern, by one Krook.

Jostling against clerks going to post the day's letters, and against counsel and attorneys going home to dinner, and against plaintiffs and defendants and suitors of all sorts, the lawyer and the law-stationer come to a rag and bottle shop in the shadow of the wall of Lincoln's Inn, kept by one Krook.


"This is where he lives, sir," says the law-stationer.


"No, thank you, no; I am going on to the Fields at present.


Mr. Snagsby lifts his hat and returns to his little woman and his tea.


But Mr. Tulkinghorn does not go on to the Fields at present. He goes a short way, turns back, comes again to the shop of Mr. Krook, and enters it straight.


It is dim enough, with a blot-headed candle or so in the windows, and an old man and a cat sitting in the back part by a fire.

It is dim enough, with a candle in the window, and an old man and a cat sitting in the back by a fire.


The old man rises and comes forward, with another blot-headed candle in his hand.

The old man rises and comes forward, with another candle in his hand.


Has an indistinct impression of his aristocratic repute.

Has an impression of his aristocratic repute.


"It's what I seldom do myself," says Mr. Krook with a grin. "Shall I call him down? But it's a weak chance if he'd come, sir!"

"Shall I call him down? But it's a weak chance he'd come, sir!" says Mr. Krook with a grin.


"I'll go up to him, then," says Mr. Tulkinghorn.


Mr. Krook, with his cat beside him, stands at the bottom of the staircase, looking after Mr. Tulkinghorn.

Mr. Krook, with his cat beside him, stands at the bottom of the staircase.


he says when Mr. Tulkinghorn has nearly disappeared.


The lawyer looks down over the hand-rail.


The cat expands her wicked mouth and snarls at him.


"They say he has sold himself to the enemy, but you and I know better--he don't buy.

"They say he has sold himself to the devil, but you and I know better.


I'll tell you what, though; my lodger is so black-humoured and gloomy that I believe he'd as soon make that bargain as any other.


Mr. Tulkinghorn with a nod goes on his way.


He comes to the dark door on the second floor.


He knocks, receives no answer, opens it, and accidentally extinguishes his candle in doing so.

He knocks, receives no answer; opens it.


The air of the room is almost bad enough to have extinguished it if he had not.


It is a small room, nearly black with soot, and grease, and dirt.

It is a small room, nearly black with soot and dirt.