Containing some Romantic Passages between MrsNickleby and the Gentleman in the Small-clothesnext Door.

　　Ever since her last momentous conversation with her son,Mrs Nickleby had begun to display unusual care in theadornment of her person, gradually superadding to thosestaid and matronly habiliments, which had, up to that time,formed her ordinary attire, a variety of embellishments anddecorations, slight perhaps in themselves, but, taken together, andconsidered with reference to the subject of her disclosure, of nomean importance. Even her black dress assumed something of adeadly-lively air from the jaunty style in which it was worn; and,eked out as its lingering attractions were; by a prudent disposal,here and there, of certain juvenile ornaments of little or no value,which had, for that reason alone, escaped the general wreck andbeen permitted to slumber peacefully in odd corners of olddrawers and boxes where daylight seldom shone, her mourninggarments assumed quite a new character. From being the outwardtokens of respect and sorrow for the dead, they became convertedinto signals of very slaughterous and killing designs upon theliving.

　　Mrs Nickleby might have been stimulated to this proceeding bya lofty sense of duty, and impulses of unquestionable excellence.

　　She might, by this time, have become impressed with thesinfulness of long indulgence in unavailing woe, or the necessity of setting a proper example of neatness and decorum to herblooming daughter. Considerations of duty and responsibilityapart, the change might have taken its rise in feelings of the purestand most disinterested charity. The gentleman next door had beenvilified by Nicholas; rudely stigmatised as a dotard and an idiot;and for these attacks upon his understanding, Mrs Nickleby was,in some sort, accountable. She might have felt that it was the act ofa good Christian to show by all means in her power, that theabused gentleman was neither the one nor the other. And whatbetter means could she adopt, towards so virtuous and laudable anend, than proving to all men, in her own person, that his passionwas the most rational and reasonable in the world, and just thevery result, of all others, which discreet and thinking personsmight have foreseen, from her incautiously displaying hermatured charms, without reserve, under the very eye, as it were,of an ardent and too-susceptible man?

　　‘Ah!’ said Mrs Nickleby, gravely shaking her head; ‘if Nicholasknew what his poor dear papa suffered before we were engaged,when I used to hate him, he would have a little more feeling. ShallI ever forget the morning I looked scornfully at him when heoffered to carry my parasol? Or that night, when I frowned athim? It was a mercy he didn’t emigrate. It very nearly drove himto it.’

　　Whether the deceased might not have been better off if he hademigrated in his bachelor days, was a question which his relict didnot stop to consider; for Kate entered the room, with her workbox,in this stage of her reflections; and a much slighter interruption, orno interruption at all, would have diverted Mrs Nickleby’sthoughts into a new channel at any time.

　　 ‘Kate, my dear,’ said Mrs Nickleby; ‘I don’t know how it is, but afine warm summer day like this, with the birds singing in everydirection, always puts me in mind of roast pig, with sage and onionsauce, and made gravy.’

　　‘That’s a curious association of ideas, is it not, mama?’

　　‘Upon my word, my dear, I don’t know,’ replied Mrs Nickleby.

　　‘Roast pig; let me see. On the day five weeks after you werechristened, we had a roast—no, that couldn’t have been a pig,either, because I recollect there were a pair of them to carve, andyour poor papa and I could never have thought of sitting down totwo pigs—they must have been partridges. Roast pig! I hardlythink we ever could have had one, now I come to remember, foryour papa could never bear the sight of them in the shops, andused to say that they always put him in mind of very little babies,only the pigs had much fairer complexions; and he had a horror oflittle babies, to, because he couldn’t very well afford any increaseto his family, and had a natural dislike to the subject. It’s very oddnow, what can have put that in my head! I recollect dining once atMrs Bevan’s, in that broad street round the corner by thecoachmaker’s, where the tipsy man fell through the cellar-flap ofan empty house nearly a week before the quarter-day, and wasn’tfound till the new tenant went in—and we had roast pig there. Itmust be that, I think, that reminds me of it, especially as there wasa little bird in the room that would keep on singing all the time ofdinner—at least, not a little bird, for it was a parrot, and he didn’tsing exactly, for he talked and swore dreadfully: but I think it mustbe that. Indeed I am sure it must. Shouldn’t you say so, my dear?’

　　‘I should say there was not a doubt about it, mama,’ returnedKate, with a cheerful smile.

　　 ‘No; but do you think so, Kate?’ said Mrs Nickleby, with asmuch gravity as if it were a question of the most imminent andthrilling interest. ‘If you don’t, say so at once, you know; becauseit’s just as well to be correct, particularly on a point of this kind,which is very curious and worth settling while one thinks about it.’

　　Kate laughingly replied that she was quite convinced; and asher mama still appeared undetermined whether it was notabsolutely essential that the subject should be renewed, proposedthat they should take their work into the summer-house, and enjoythe beauty of the afternoon. Mrs Nickleby readily assented, and tothe summer-house they repaired, without further discussion.

　　‘Well, I will say,’ observed Mrs Nickleby, as she took her seat,‘that there never was such a good creature as Smike. Upon myword, the pains he has taken in putting this little arbour to rights,and training the sweetest flowers about it, are beyond anything Icould have—I wish he wouldn’t put all the gravel on your side,Kate, my dear, though, and leave nothing but mould for me.’

　　‘Dear mama,’ returned Kate, hastily, ‘take this seat—do—tooblige me, mama.’

　　‘No, indeed, my dear. I shall keep my own side,’ said MrsNickleby. ‘Well! I declare!’

　　Kate looked up inquiringly.

　　‘If he hasn’t been,’ said Mrs Nickleby, ‘and got, fromsomewhere or other, a couple of roots of those flowers that I said Iwas so fond of, the other night, and asked you if you were not—no,that you said you were so fond of, the other night, and asked me if Iwasn’t—it’s the same thing. Now, upon my word, I take that asvery kind and attentive indeed! I don’t see,’ added Mrs Nickleby,looking narrowly about her, ‘any of them on my side, but I suppose they grow best near the gravel. You may depend upon it they do,Kate, and that’s the reason they are all near you, and he has putthe gravel there, because it’s the sunny side. Upon my word, that’svery clever now! I shouldn’t have had half as much thoughtmyself!’

　　‘Mama,’ said Kate, bending over her work so that her face wasalmost hidden, ‘before you were married—’

　　‘Dear me, Kate,’ interrupted Mrs Nickleby, ‘what in the name ofgoodness graciousness makes you fly off to the time before I wasmarried, when I’m talking to you about his thoughtfulness andattention to me? You don’t seem to take the smallest interest inthe garden.’

　　‘Oh! mama,’ said Kate, raising her face again, ‘you know I do.’

　　‘Well then, my dear, why don’t you praise the neatness andprettiness with which it’s kept?’ said Mrs Nickleby. ‘How very oddyou are, Kate!’

　　‘I do praise it, mama,’ answered Kate, gently. ‘Poor fellow!’

　　‘I scarcely ever hear you, my dear,’ retorted Mrs Nickleby;‘that’s all I’ve got to say.’ By this time the good lady had been along while upon one topic, so she fell at once into her daughter’slittle trap, if trap it were, and inquired what she had been going tosay.

　　‘About what, mama?’ said Kate, who had apparently quiteforgotten her diversion.

　　‘Lor, Kate, my dear,’ returned her mother, ‘why, you’re asleepor stupid! About the time before I was married.’

　　‘Oh yes!’ said Kate, ‘I remember. I was going to ask, mama,before you were married, had you many suitors?’

　　‘Suitors, my dear!’ cried Mrs Nickleby, with a smile of wonderful complacency. ‘First and last, Kate, I must have had adozen at least.’

　　‘Mama!’ returned Kate, in a tone of remonstrance.

　　‘I had indeed, my dear,’ said Mrs Nickleby; ‘not including yourpoor papa, or a young gentleman who used to go, at that time, tothe same dancing school, and who would send gold watches andbracelets to our house in gilt-edged paper, (which were alwaysreturned,) and who afterwards unfortunately went out to BotanyBay in a cadet ship—a convict ship I mean—and escaped into abush and killed sheep, (I don’t know how they got there,) and wasgoing to be hung, only he accidentally choked himself, and thegovernment pardoned him. Then there was young Lukin,’ saidMrs Nickleby, beginning with her left thumb and checking off thenames on her fingers—‘Mogley—Tipslark—Cabbery—Smifser—’

　　Having now reached her little finger, Mrs Nickleby wascarrying the account over to the other hand, when a loud ‘Hem!’

　　which appeared to come from the very foundation of the garden-wall, gave both herself and her daughter a violent start.

　　‘Mama! what was that?’ said Kate, in a low tone of voice.

　　‘Upon my word, my dear,’ returned Mrs Nickleby, considerablystartled, ‘unless it was the gentleman belonging to the next house,I don’t know what it could possibly—’

　　‘A-hem!’ cried the same voice; and that, not in the tone of anordinary clearing of the throat, but in a kind of bellow, which wokeup all the echoes in the neighbourhood, and was prolonged to anextent which must have made the unseen bellower quite black inthe face.

　　‘I understand it now, my dear,’ said Mrs Nickleby, laying herhand on Kate’s; ‘don’t be alarmed, my love, it’s not directed to you, and is not intended to frighten anybody. Let us give everybodytheir due, Kate; I am bound to say that.’

　　So saying, Mrs Nickleby nodded her head, and patted the backof her daughter’s hand, a great many times, and looked as if shecould tell something vastly important if she chose, but had self-denial, thank Heaven; and wouldn’t do it.

　　‘What do you mean, mama?’ demanded Kate, in evidentsurprise.

　　‘Don’t be flurried, my dear,’ replied Mrs Nickleby, lookingtowards the garden-wall, ‘for you see I’m not, and if it would beexcusable in anybody to be flurried, it certainly would—under allthe circumstances—be excusable in me, but I am not, Kate—not atall.’

　　‘It seems designed to attract our attention, mama,’ said Kate.

　　‘It is designed to attract our attention, my dear; at least,’

　　rejoined Mrs Nickleby, drawing herself up, and patting herdaughter’s hand more blandly than before, ‘to attract the attentionof one of us. Hem! you needn’t be at all uneasy, my dear.’

　　Kate looked very much perplexed, and was apparently about toask for further explanation, when a shouting and scuffling noise,as of an elderly gentleman whooping, and kicking up his legs onloose gravel, with great violence, was heard to proceed from thesame direction as the former sounds; and before they hadsubsided, a large cucumber was seen to shoot up in the air withthe velocity of a sky-rocket, whence it descended, tumbling overand over, until it fell at Mrs Nickleby’s feet.

　　This remarkable appearance was succeeded by another of aprecisely similar description; then a fine vegetable marrow, ofunusually large dimensions, was seen to whirl aloft, and come toppling down; then, several cucumbers shot up together; and,finally, the air was darkened by a shower of onions, turnip-radishes, and other small vegetables, which fell rolling andscattering, and bumping about, in all directions.

　　As Kate rose from her seat, in some alarm, and caught hermother’s hand to run with her into the house, she felt herselfrather retarded than assisted in her intention; and following thedirection of Mrs Nickleby’s eyes, was quite terrified by theapparition of an old black velvet cap, which, by slow degrees, as ifits wearer were ascending a ladder or pair of steps, rose above thewall dividing their garden from that of the next cottage, (which,like their own, was a detached building,) and was graduallyfollowed by a very large head, and an old face, in which were apair of most extraordinary grey eyes: very wild, very wide open,and rolling in their sockets, with a dull, languishing, leering look,most ugly to behold.

　　‘Mama!’ cried Kate, really terrified for the moment, ‘why do youstop, why do you lose an instant? Mama, pray come in!’

　　‘Kate, my dear,’ returned her mother, still holding back, ‘howcan you be so foolish? I’m ashamed of you. How do you supposeyou are ever to get through life, if you’re such a coward as this?

　　What do you want, sir?’ said Mrs Nickleby, addressing theintruder with a sort of simpering displeasure. ‘How dare you lookinto this garden?’

　　‘Queen of my soul,’ replied the stranger, folding his handstogether, ‘this goblet sip!’

　　‘Nonsense, sir,’ said Mrs Nickleby. ‘Kate, my love, pray bequiet.’

　　‘Won’t you sip the goblet?’ urged the stranger, with his head imploringly on one side, and his right hand on his breast. ‘Oh, dosip the goblet!’

　　‘I shall not consent to do anything of the kind, sir,’ said MrsNickleby. ‘Pray, begone.’

　　‘Why is it,’ said the old gentleman, coming up a step higher, andleaning his elbows on the wall, with as much complacency as if hewere looking out of window, ‘why is it that beauty is alwaysobdurate, even when admiration is as honourable and respectfulas mine?’ Here he smiled, kissed his hand, and made several lowbows. ‘Is it owing to the bees, who, when the honey season is over,and they are supposed to have been killed with brimstone, inreality fly to Barbary and lull the captive Moors to sleep with theirdrowsy songs? Or is it,’ he added, dropping his voice almost to awhisper, ‘in consequence of the statue at Charing Cross havingbeen lately seen, on the Stock Exchange at midnight, walking arm-in-arm with the Pump from Aldgate, in a riding-habit?’

　　‘Mama,’ murmured Kate, ‘do you hear him?’

　　‘Hush, my dear!’ replied Mrs Nickleby, in the same tone ofvoice, ‘he is very polite, and I think th............