IN WHICH IS GIVEN A FAITHFULPORTRAITURE OF TWO DISTINGUISHEDPERSONS; AND AN ACCURATE DESCRIPTIONOF A PUBLIC BREAKFAST IN THEIR HOUSEAND GROUNDS: WHICH PUBLIC BREAKFASTLEADS TO THE RECOGNITION OF AN OLDACQUAINTANCE, AND THE COMMENCEMENTOF ANOTHER CHAPTERr. Pickwick’s conscience had been somewhatreproaching him for his recent neglect of his friends atthe Peacock; and he was just on the point of walkingforth in quest of them, on the third morning after the election hadterminated, when his faithful valet put into his hand a card, onwhich was engraved the following inscription:―Mrs. Leo Hunter.

　　THE DEN. EATANSWILL.

　　‘Person’s a-waitin’,’ said Sam, epigrammatically.

　　‘Does the person want me, Sam?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘He wants you partickler; and no one else’ll do, as the devil’sprivate secretary said ven he fetched avay Doctor Faustus,’ repliedMr. Weller.

　　‘He. Is it a gentleman?’ said Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘A wery good imitation o’ one, if it ain’t,’ replied Mr. Weller.

　　‘But this is a lady’s card,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘Given me by a gen’l’m’n, howsoever,’ replied Sam, ‘and he’s a-waitin’ in the drawing-room―said he’d rather wait all day, thannot see you.’

　　Mr. Pickwick, on hearing this determination, descended to thedrawing-room, where sat a grave man, who started up on hisentrance, and said, with an air of profound respect:―‘Mr. Pickwick, I presume?’

　　‘The same.’

　　‘Allow me, sir, the honour of grasping your hand. Permit me,sir, to shake it,’ said the grave man.

　　‘Certainly,’ said Mr. Pickwick. The stranger shook the extendedhand, and then continued―‘We have heard of your fame, sir. The noise of your antiquariandiscussion has reached the ears of Mrs. Leo Hunter―my wife, sir;I am Mr. Leo Hunter’―the stranger paused, as if he expected thatMr. Pickwick would be overcome by the disclosure; but seeing thathe remained perfectly calm, proceeded―‘My wife, sir―Mrs. Leo Hunter―is proud to number among heracquaintance all those who have rendered themselves celebratedby their works and talents. Permit me, sir, to place in aconspicuous part of the list the name of Mr. Pickwick, and hisbrother-members of the club that derives its name from him.’

　　‘I shall be extremely happy to make the acquaintance of such alady, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘You shall make it, sir,’ said the grave man. ‘To-morrowmorning, sir, we give a public breakfast―a fête champêtre―to agreat number of those who have rendered themselves celebratedby their works and talents. Permit Mrs. Leo Hunter, sir, to havethe gratification of seeing you at the Den.’

　　‘With great pleasure,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘Mrs. Leo Hunter has many of these breakfasts, sir,’ resumedthe new acquaintance―‘“feasts of reason,” sir, “and flows of soul,”

　　as somebody who wrote a sonnet to Mrs. Leo Hunter on herbreakfasts, feelingly and originally observed.’

　　‘Was he celebrated for his works and talents?’ inquired Mr.

　　Pickwick.

　　‘He was sir,’ replied the grave man, ‘all Mrs. Leo Hunter’sacquaintances are; it is her ambition, sir, to have no otheracquaintance.’

　　‘It is a very noble ambition,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘When I inform Mrs. Leo Hunter, that that remark fell fromyour lips, sir, she will indeed be proud,’ said the grave man. ‘Youhave a gentleman in your train, who has produced some beautifullittle poems, I think, sir.’

　　‘My friend Mr. Snodgrass has a great taste for poetry,’ repliedMr. Pickwick.

　　‘So has Mrs. Leo Hunter, sir. She dotes on poetry, sir. Sheadores it; I may say that her whole soul and mind are wound up,and entwined with it. She has produced some delightful pieces,herself, sir. You may have met with her “Ode to an ExpiringFrog,” sir.’

　　‘I don’t think I have,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘You astonish me, sir,’ said Mr. Leo Hunter. ‘It created animmense sensation. It was signed with an “L” and eight stars, andappeared originally in a lady’s magazine. It commenced―‘“Can I view thee panting, lyingOn thy stomach, without sighing;Can I unmoved see thee dyingOn a logExpiring frog!”’

　　‘Beautiful!’ said Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘Fine,’ said Mr. Leo Hunter; ‘so simple.’

　　‘Very,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘The next verse is still more touching. Shall I repeat it?’

　　‘If you please,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘It runs thus,’ said the grave man, still more gravely.

　　‘“Say, have fiends in shape of boys,With wild halloo, and brutal noise,Hunted thee from marshy joys,With a dog,Expiring frog!”’

　　‘Finely expressed,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘All point, sir,’ said Mr. Leo Hunter; ‘but you shall hear Mrs.

　　Leo Hunter repeat it. She can do justice to it, sir. She will repeat it,in character, sir, to-morrow morning.’

　　‘In character!’

　　‘As Minerva. But I forgot―it’s a fancy-dress breakfast.’

　　‘Dear me,’ said Mr. Pickwick, glancing at his own figure―‘Ican’t possibly―’

　　‘Can’t, sir; can’t!’ exclaimed Mr. Leo Hunter. ‘Solomon Lucas,the Jew in the High Street, has thousands of fancy-dresses.

　　Consider, sir, how many appropriate characters are open for yourselection. Plato, Zeno, Epicurus, Pythagoras―all founders ofclubs.’

　　‘I know that,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘but as I cannot put myself incompetition with those great men, I cannot presume to wear theirdresses.’

　　The grave man considered deeply, for a few seconds, and thensaid―‘On reflection, sir, I don’t know whether it would not affordMrs. Leo Hunter greater pleasure, if her guests saw a gentlemanof your celebrity in his own costume, rather than in an assumedone. I may venture to promise an exception in your case, sir―yes,I am quite certain that, on behalf of Mrs. Leo Hunter, I mayventure to do so.’

　　‘In that case,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I shall have great pleasure incoming.’

　　‘But I waste your time, sir,’ said the grave man, as if suddenlyrecollecting himself. ‘I know its value, sir. I will not detain you. Imay tell Mrs. Leo Hunter, then, that she may confidently expectyou and your distinguished friends? Good-morning, sir, I amproud to have beheld so eminent a personage―not a step sir; not aword.’ And without giving Mr. Pickwick time to offerremonstrance or denial, Mr. Leo Hunter stalked gravely away.

　　Mr. Pickwick took up his hat, and repaired to the Peacock, butMr. Winkle had conveyed the intelligence of the fancy-ball there,before him.

　　‘Mrs. Pott’s going,’ were the first words with which he salutedhis leader.

　　‘Is she?’ said Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘As Apollo,’ replied Winkle. ‘Only Pott objects to the tunic.’

　　He is right. He is quite right,’ said Mr. Pickwick emphatically.

　　‘Yes; so she’s going to wear a white satin gown with goldspangles.’

　　‘They’ll hardly know what she’s meant for; will they?’ inquiredMr. Snodgrass.

　　‘Of course they will,’ replied Mr. Winkle indignantly. ‘They’llsee her lyre, won’t they?’

　　‘True; I forgot that,’ said Mr. Snodgrass.

　　‘I shall go as a bandit,’ interposed Mr. Tupman.

　　‘What!’ said Mr. Pickwick, with a sudden start.

　　‘As a bandit,’ repeated Mr. Tupman, mildly.

　　‘You don’t mean to say,’ said Mr. Pickwick, gazing with solemnsternness at his friend―‘you don’t mean to say, Mr. Tupman, thatit is your intention to put yourself into a green velvet jacket, with atwo-inch tail?’

　　‘Such is my intention, sir,’ replied Mr. Tupman warmly. ‘Andwhy not, sir?’

　　‘Because, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, considerably excited―‘because you are too old, sir.’

　　‘Too old!’ exclaimed Mr. Tupman.

　　‘And if any further ground of objection be wanting,’ continuedMr. Pickwick, ‘you are too fat, sir.’

　　‘Sir,’ said Mr. Tupman, his face suffused with a crimson glow,‘this is an insult.’

　　‘Sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, in the same tone, ‘it is not half theinsult to you, that your appearance in my presence in a greenvelvet jacket, with a two-inch tail, would be to me.’

　　‘Sir,’ said Mr. Tupman, ‘you’re a fellow.’

　　‘Sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘you’re another!’

　　Mr. Tupman advanced a step or two, and glared at Mr.

　　Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick returned the glare, concentrated into afocus by means of his spectacles, and breathed a bold defiance.

　　Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle looked on, petrified at beholdingsuch a scene between two such men.

　　‘Sir,’ said Mr. Tupman, after a short pause, speaking in a low,deep voice, ‘you have called me old.’

　　‘I have,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘And fat.’

　　‘I reiterate the charge.’

　　‘And a fellow.’

　　‘So you are!’

　　There was a fearful pause.

　　‘My attachment to your person, sir,’ said Mr. Tupman, speakingin a voice tremulous with emotion, and tucking up his wristbandsmeanwhile, ‘is great―very great―but upon that person, I musttake summary vengeance.’

　　‘Come on, sir!’ replied Mr. Pickwick. Stimulated by the excitingnature of the dialogue, the heroic man actually threw himself intoa paralytic attitude, confidently supposed by the two bystanders tohave been intended as a posture of defence.

　　‘What!’ exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass, suddenly recovering thepower of speech, of which intense astonishment had previouslybereft him, and rushing between the two, at the imminent hazardof receiving an application on the temple from each―‘what! Mr.

　　Pickwick, with the eyes of the world upon you! Mr. Tupman! who,in common with us all, derives a lustre from his undying name!

　　For shame, gentlemen; for shame.’

　　The unwonted lines which momentary passion had ruled in Mr.

　　Pickwick’s clear and open brow, gradually melted away, as hisyoung friend spoke, like the marks of a black-lead pencil beneaththe softening influence of india-rubber. His countenance hadresumed its usual benign expression, ere he concluded.

　　‘I have been hasty,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘very hasty. Tupman;your hand.’

　　The dark shadow passed from Mr. Tupman’s face, as he warmlygrasped the hand of his friend.

　　‘I have been hasty, too,’ said he.

　　‘No, no,’ interrupted Mr. Pickwick, ‘the fault was mine. You willwear the green velvet jacket?’

　　‘No, no,’ replied Mr. Tupman.

　　‘To oblige me, you will,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick.

　　‘Well, well, I will,’ said Mr. Tupman.

　　It was accordingly settled that Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, andMr. Snodgrass, should all wear fancy-dresses. Thus Mr. Pickwickwas led by the very warmth of his own good feelings to give hisconsent to a proceeding from which his better judgment wouldhave recoiled―a more striking illustration of his amiablecharacter could hardly have been conceived, even if the eventsrecorded in these pages had been wholly imaginary.

　　Mr. Leo Hunter had not exaggerated the resources of Mr.

　　Solomon Lucas. His wardrobe was extensive―very extensive―notstrictly classical perhaps, not quite new, nor did it contain any onegarment made precisely after the fashion of any age or time, buteverything was more or less spangled; and what can be prettierthan spangles! It may be objected that they are not adapted to thedaylight, but everybody knows that they would glitter if there werelamps; and nothing can be clearer than that if people give fancy-balls in the day-time, and the dresses do not show quite as well asthey would by night, the fault lies solely with the people who givethe fancy-balls, and is in no wise chargeable on the spangles. Suchwas the convincing reasoning of Mr. Solomon Lucas; andinfluenced by such arguments did Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, andMr. Snodgrass engage to array themselves in costumes which histaste and experience induced him to recommend as admirablysuited to the occasion.

　　A carriage was hired from the Town Arms, for theaccommodation of the Pickwickians, and a chariot was orderedfrom the same repository, for the purpose of conveying Mr. andMrs. Pott to Mrs. Leo Hunter’s grounds, which Mr. Pott, as adelicate acknowledgment of having received an invitation, hadalready confidently predicted in the Eatanswill Gazette ‘wouldpresent a scene of varied and delicious enchantment―abewildering coruscation of beauty and talent―a lavish andprodigal display of hospitality―above all, a degree of splendoursoftened by the most exquisite taste; and adornment refined withperfect harmony and the chastest good keeping―compared withwhich, the fabled gorgeousness of Eastern fairyland itself wouldappear to be clothed in as many dark and murky colours, as mustbe the mind of the splenetic and unmanly being who couldpresume to taint with the venom of his envy, the preparationsmade by the virtuous and highly distinguished lady at whoseshrine this humble tribute of admiration was offered.’ This lastwas a piece of biting sarcasm against the Independent, who, inconsequence of not having been invited at all, had been, throughfour numbers, affecting to sneer at the whole affair, in his verylargest type, with all the adjectives in capital letters.

　　The morning came: it was a pleasant sight to behold Mr.

　　Tupman in full brigand’s costume, with a very tight jacket, sittinglike a pincushion over his back and shoulders, the upper portionof his legs incased in the velvet shorts, and the lower part thereofswathed in the complicated bandages to which all brigands arepeculiarly attached. It was pleasing to see his open and ingenuouscountenance, well mustachioed and corked, looking out from anopen shirt collar; and to contemplate the sugar-loaf hat, decoratedwith ribbons of all colours, which he was compelled to carry on hisknee, inasmuch as no known conveyance with a top to it, wouldadmit of any man’s carrying it between his head and the roof.

　　Equally humorous and agreeable was the appearance of Mr.

　　Snodgrass in blue satin trunks and cloak, white silk tights andshoes, and Grecian helmet, which everybody knows (and if they donot, Mr. Solomon Lucas did) to have been the regular, authentic,everyday costume of a troubadour, from the earliest ages down tothe time of their final disappearance from the face of the earth. Allthis was pleasant, but this was as nothing compared with theshouting of the populace when the carriage drew up, behind Mr.

　　Pott’s chariot, which chariot itself drew up at Mr. Pott’s door,which door itself opened, and displayed the great Pott accoutredas a Russian officer of justice, with a tremendous knout in hishand―tastefully typical of the stern and mighty power of theEatanswill Gazette, and the fearful lashings it bestowed on publicoffenders.

　　‘Bravo!’ shouted Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass from thepassage, when they beheld the walking allegory.

　　‘Bravo!’ Mr. Pickwick was heard to exclaim, from the passage.

　　‘Hoo-roar Pott!’ shouted the populace. Amid these salutations,Mr. Pott, smiling with that kind of bland dignity which sufficientlytestified that he felt his power, and knew how to exert it, got intothe chariot.

　　Then there emerged from the house, Mrs. Pott, who would havelooked very like Apollo if she hadn’t had a gown on, conducted byMr. Winkle, who, in his light-red coat could not possibly have beenmistaken for anything but a sportsman, if he had not borne anequal resemblance to a general postman. Last of all came Mr.

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