No More Learning

Learning ain't for me. A person like myself had better not aspire. If he
is to get on in life, he must get on umbly, Master Copperfield! '

I never saw his mouth so wide, or the creases in his cheeks so deep, as
when he delivered himself of these sentiments: shaking his head all the
time, and writhing modestly.

'I think you are wrong, Uriah,' I said. 'I dare say there are several
things that I could teach you, if you would like to learn them. '

'Oh, I don't doubt that, Master Copperfield,' he answered; 'not in the
least. But not being umble yourself, you don't judge well, perhaps, for
them that are. I won't provoke my betters with knowledge, thank you. I'm
much too umble. Here is my umble dwelling, Master Copperfield! '

We entered a low, old-fashioned room, walked straight into from the
street, and found there Mrs. Heep, who was the dead image of Uriah, only
short. She received me with the utmost humility, and apologized to me
for giving her son a kiss, observing that, lowly as they were, they
had their natural affections, which they hoped would give no offence to
anyone. It was a perfectly decent room, half parlour and half kitchen,
but not at all a snug room. The tea-things were set upon the table, and
the kettle was boiling on the hob. There was a chest of drawers with an
escritoire top, for Uriah to read or write at of an evening; there was
Uriah's blue bag lying down and vomiting papers; there was a company of
Uriah's books commanded by Mr. Tidd; there was a corner cupboard: and
there were the usual articles of furniture. I don't remember that any
individual object had a bare, pinched, spare look; but I do remember
that the whole place had.

It was perhaps a part of Mrs. Heep's humility, that she still wore
weeds. Notwithstanding the lapse of time that had occurred since Mr.
Heep's decease, she still wore weeds. I think there was some compromise
in the cap; but otherwise she was as weedy as in the early days of her
mourning.

'This is a day to be remembered, my Uriah, I am sure,' said Mrs. Heep,
making the tea, 'when Master Copperfield pays us a visit. '

'I said you'd think so, mother,' said Uriah.

'If I could have wished father to remain among us for any reason,' said
Mrs. Heep, 'it would have been, that he might have known his company
this afternoon. '

I felt embarrassed by these compliments; but I was sensible, too, of
being entertained as an honoured guest, and I thought Mrs. Heep an
agreeable woman.

'My Uriah,' said Mrs. Heep, 'has looked forward to this, sir, a long
while. He had his fears that our umbleness stood in the way, and I
joined in them myself. Umble we are, umble we have been, umble we shall
ever be,' said Mrs. Heep.

'I am sure you have no occasion to be so, ma'am,' I said, 'unless you
like. '

'Thank you, sir,' retorted Mrs. Heep. 'We know our station and are
thankful in it. '

I found that Mrs. Heep gradually got nearer to me, and that Uriah
gradually got opposite to me, and that they respectfully plied me
with the choicest of the eatables on the table. There was nothing
particularly choice there, to be sure; but I took the will for the deed,
and felt that they were very attentive. Presently they began to talk
about aunts, and then I told them about mine; and about fathers and
mothers, and then I told them about mine; and then Mrs. Heep began to
talk about fathers-in-law, and then I began to tell her about mine--but
stopped, because my aunt had advised me to observe a silence on that
subject. A tender young cork, however, would have had no more chance
against a pair of corkscrews, or a tender young tooth against a pair of
dentists, or a little shuttlecock against two battledores, than I had
against Uriah and Mrs. Heep. They did just what they liked with me; and
wormed things out of me that I had no desire to tell, with a certainty
I blush to think of, the more especially, as in my juvenile frankness, I
took some credit to myself for being so confidential and felt that I was
quite the patron of my two respectful entertainers.

They were very fond of one another: that was certain. I take it, that
had its effect upon me, as a touch of nature; but the skill with which
the one followed up whatever the other said, was a touch of art which I
was still less proof against. When there was nothing more to be got
out of me about myself (for on the Murdstone and Grinby life, and on my
journey, I was dumb), they began about Mr. Wickfield and Agnes. Uriah
threw the ball to Mrs. Heep, Mrs. Heep caught it and threw it back to
Uriah, Uriah kept it up a little while, then sent it back to Mrs. Heep,
and so they went on tossing it about until I had no idea who had got it,
and was quite bewildered. The ball itself was always changing too. Now
it was Mr. Wickfield, now Agnes, now the excellence of Mr. Wickfield,
now my admiration of Agnes; now the extent of Mr. Wickfield's business
and resources, now our domestic life after dinner; now, the wine that
Mr. Wickfield took, the reason why he took it, and the pity that it was
he took so much; now one thing, now another, then everything at once;
and all the time, without appearing to speak very often, or to do
anything but sometimes encourage them a little, for fear they should be
overcome by their humility and the honour of my company, I found myself
perpetually letting out something or other that I had no business to
let out and seeing the effect of it in the twinkling of Uriah's dinted
nostrils.

I had begun to be a little uncomfortable, and to wish myself well out
of the visit, when a figure coming down the street passed the door--it
stood open to air the room, which was warm, the weather being close for
the time of year--came back again, looked in, and walked in, exclaiming
loudly, 'Copperfield! Is it possible? '

It was Mr. Micawber! It was Mr. Micawber, with his eye-glass, and
his walking-stick, and his shirt-collar, and his genteel air, and the
condescending roll in his voice, all complete!

'My dear Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, putting out his hand, 'this is
indeed a meeting which is calculated to impress the mind with a sense
of the instability and uncertainty of all human--in short, it is a most
extraordinary meeting. Walking along the street, reflecting upon the
probability of something turning up (of which I am at present rather
sanguine), I find a young but valued friend turn up, who is connected
with the most eventful period of my life; I may say, with the
turning-point of my existence. Copperfield, my dear fellow, how do you
do? '

I cannot say--I really cannot say--that I was glad to see Mr. Micawber
there; but I was glad to see him too, and shook hands with him,
heartily, inquiring how Mrs. Micawber was.

'Thank you,' said Mr. Micawber, waving his hand as of old, and settling
his chin in his shirt-collar. 'She is tolerably convalescent. The twins
no longer derive their sustenance from Nature's founts--in short,' said
Mr. Micawber, in one of his bursts of confidence, 'they are weaned--and
Mrs. Micawber is, at present, my travelling companion. She will be
rejoiced, Copperfield, to renew her acquaintance with one who has
proved himself in all respects a worthy minister at the sacred altar of
friendship. '

I said I should be delighted to see her.

'You are very good,' said Mr. Micawber.

Mr. Micawber then smiled, settled his chin again, and looked about him.

'I have discovered my friend Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber genteelly,
and without addressing himself particularly to anyone, 'not in solitude,
but partaking of a social meal in company with a widow lady, and one who
is apparently her offspring--in short,' said Mr. Micawber, in another
of his bursts of confidence, 'her son. I shall esteem it an honour to be
presented. '

I could do no less, under these circumstances, than make Mr. Micawber
known to Uriah Heep and his mother; which I accordingly did. As they
abased themselves before him, Mr. Micawber took a seat, and waved his
hand in his most courtly manner.

'Any friend of my friend Copperfield's,' said Mr. Micawber, 'has a
personal claim upon myself. '

'We are too umble, sir,' said Mrs. Heep, 'my son and me, to be the
friends of Master Copperfield. He has been so good as take his tea with
us, and we are thankful to him for his company, also to you, sir, for
your notice. '

'Ma'am,' returned Mr. Micawber, with a bow, 'you are very obliging: and
what are you doing, Copperfield? Still in the wine trade? '

I was excessively anxious to get Mr. Micawber away; and replied, with my
hat in my hand, and a very red face, I have no doubt, that I was a pupil
at Doctor Strong's.

'A pupil? ' said Mr. Micawber, raising his eyebrows. 'I am extremely
happy to hear it. Although a mind like my friend Copperfield's'--to
Uriah and Mrs. Heep--'does not require that cultivation which, without
his knowledge of men and things, it would require, still it is a rich
soil teeming with latent vegetation--in short,' said Mr. Micawber,
smiling, in another burst of confidence, 'it is an intellect capable of
getting up the classics to any extent. '

Uriah, with his long hands slowly twining over one another, made a
ghastly writhe from the waist upwards, to express his concurrence in
this estimation of me.

'Shall we go and see Mrs. Micawber, sir? ' I said, to get Mr. Micawber
away.

'If you will do her that favour, Copperfield,' replied Mr. Micawber,
rising. 'I have no scruple in saying, in the presence of our friends
here, that I am a man who has, for some years, contended against the
pressure of pecuniary difficulties. ' I knew he was certain to say
something of this kind; he always would be so boastful about his
difficulties. 'Sometimes I have risen superior to my difficulties.
Sometimes my difficulties have--in short, have floored me. There have
been times when I have administered a succession of facers to them;
there have been times when they have been too many for me, and I have
given in, and said to Mrs. Micawber, in the words of Cato, "Plato, thou
reasonest well. It's all up now. I can show fight no more. " But at no
time of my life,' said Mr. Micawber, 'have I enjoyed a higher degree of
satisfaction than in pouring my griefs (if I may describe difficulties,
chiefly arising out of warrants of attorney and promissory notes at two
and four months, by that word) into the bosom of my friend Copperfield. '

Mr. Micawber closed this handsome tribute by saying, 'Mr. Heep! Good
evening. Mrs. Heep! Your servant,' and then walking out with me in his
most fashionable manner, making a good deal of noise on the pavement
with his shoes, and humming a tune as we went.

It was a little inn where Mr. Micawber put up, and he occupied a little
room in it, partitioned off from the commercial room, and strongly
flavoured with tobacco-smoke. I think it was over the kitchen, because
a warm greasy smell appeared to come up through the chinks in the floor,
and there was a flabby perspiration on the walls. I know it was near the
bar, on account of the smell of spirits and jingling of glasses. Here,
recumbent on a small sofa, underneath a picture of a race-horse, with
her head close to the fire, and her feet pushing the mustard off the
dumb-waiter at the other end of the room, was Mrs. Micawber, to whom Mr.
Micawber entered first, saying, 'My dear, allow me to introduce to you a
pupil of Doctor Strong's. '

I noticed, by the by, that although Mr. Micawber was just as much
confused as ever about my age and standing, he always remembered, as a
genteel thing, that I was a pupil of Doctor Strong's.

Mrs. Micawber was amazed, but very glad to see me. I was very glad to
see her too, and, after an affectionate greeting on both sides, sat down
on the small sofa near her.

'My dear,' said Mr. Micawber, 'if you will mention to Copperfield what
our present position is, which I have no doubt he will like to know, I
will go and look at the paper the while, and see whether anything turns
up among the advertisements. '

'I thought you were at Plymouth, ma'am,' I said to Mrs. Micawber, as he
went out.

'My dear Master Copperfield,' she replied, 'we went to Plymouth. '

'To be on the spot,' I hinted.

'Just so,' said Mrs. Micawber. 'To be on the spot. But, the truth is,
talent is not wanted in the Custom House. The local influence of my
family was quite unavailing to obtain any employment in that department,
for a man of Mr. Micawber's abilities. They would rather NOT have a man
of Mr. Micawber's abilities. He would only show the deficiency of the
others. Apart from which,' said Mrs. Micawber, 'I will not disguise
from you, my dear Master Copperfield, that when that branch of my
family which is settled in Plymouth, became aware that Mr. Micawber was
accompanied by myself, and by little Wilkins and his sister, and by the
twins, they did not receive him with that ardour which he might have
expected, being so newly released from captivity. In fact,' said Mrs.
Micawber, lowering her voice,--'this is between ourselves--our reception
was cool. '

'Dear me! ' I said.

'Yes,' said Mrs. Micawber. 'It is truly painful to contemplate mankind
in such an aspect, Master Copperfield, but our reception was, decidedly,
cool. There is no doubt about it. In fact, that branch of my family
which is settled in Plymouth became quite personal to Mr. Micawber,
before we had been there a week. '

I said, and thought, that they ought to be ashamed of themselves.

'Still, so it was,' continued Mrs. Micawber. 'Under such circumstances,
what could a man of Mr. Micawber's spirit do? But one obvious course
was left. To borrow, of that branch of my family, the money to return to
London, and to return at any sacrifice. '

'Then you all came back again, ma'am? ' I said.

'We all came back again,' replied Mrs. Micawber. 'Since then, I have
consulted other branches of my family on the course which it is most
expedient for Mr. Micawber to take--for I maintain that he must take
some course, Master Copperfield,' said Mrs. Micawber, argumentatively.
'It is clear that a family of six, not including a domestic, cannot live
upon air. '

'Certainly, ma'am,' said I.

'The opinion of those other branches of my family,' pursued Mrs.
Micawber, 'is, that Mr. Micawber should immediately turn his attention
to coals. '

'To what, ma'am? '

'To coals,' said Mrs. Micawber. 'To the coal trade. Mr.
Micawber was
induced to think, on inquiry, that there might be an opening for a
man of his talent in the Medway Coal Trade. Then, as Mr. Micawber very
properly said, the first step to be taken clearly was, to come and see
the Medway. Which we came and saw. I say "we", Master Copperfield; for
I never will,' said Mrs. Micawber with emotion, 'I never will desert Mr.
Micawber. '

I murmured my admiration and approbation.

'We came,' repeated Mrs. Micawber, 'and saw the Medway. My opinion of
the coal trade on that river is, that it may require talent, but that
it certainly requires capital. Talent, Mr. Micawber has; capital, Mr.
Micawber has not. We saw, I think, the greater part of the Medway; and
that is my individual conclusion. Being so near here, Mr. Micawber was
of opinion that it would be rash not to come on, and see the Cathedral.
Firstly, on account of its being so well worth seeing, and our never
having seen it; and secondly, on account of the great probability of
something turning up in a cathedral town. We have been here,' said Mrs.
Micawber, 'three days. Nothing has, as yet, turned up; and it may
not surprise you, my dear Master Copperfield, so much as it would a
stranger, to know that we are at present waiting for a remittance from
London, to discharge our pecuniary obligations at this hotel. Until the
arrival of that remittance,' said Mrs. Micawber with much feeling, 'I am
cut off from my home (I allude to lodgings in Pentonville), from my boy
and girl, and from my twins. '

I felt the utmost sympathy for Mr. and Mrs. Micawber in this anxious
extremity, and said as much to Mr. Micawber, who now returned: adding
that I only wished I had money enough, to lend them the amount they
needed. Mr. Micawber's answer expressed the disturbance of his mind. He
said, shaking hands with me, 'Copperfield, you are a true friend; but
when the worst comes to the worst, no man is without a friend who is
possessed of shaving materials. ' At this dreadful hint Mrs. Micawber
threw her arms round Mr. Micawber's neck and entreated him to be calm.
He wept; but so far recovered, almost immediately, as to ring the bell
for the waiter, and bespeak a hot kidney pudding and a plate of shrimps
for breakfast in the morning.

When I took my leave of them, they both pressed me so much to come and
dine before they went away, that I could not refuse. But, as I knew I
could not come next day, when I should have a good deal to prepare in
the evening, Mr. Micawber arranged that he would call at Doctor Strong's
in the course of the morning (having a presentiment that the remittance
would arrive by that post), and propose the day after, if it would suit
me better. Accordingly I was called out of school next forenoon, and
found Mr. Micawber in the parlour; who had called to say that the dinner
would take place as proposed. When I asked him if the remittance had
come, he pressed my hand and departed.

As I was looking out of window that same evening, it surprised me, and
made me rather uneasy, to see Mr. Micawber and Uriah Heep walk past, arm
in arm: Uriah humbly sensible of the honour that was done him, and Mr.
Micawber taking a bland delight in extending his patronage to Uriah. But
I was still more surprised, when I went to the little hotel next day at
the appointed dinner-hour, which was four o'clock, to find, from what
Mr. Micawber said, that he had gone home with Uriah, and had drunk
brandy-and-water at Mrs. Heep's.

'And I'll tell you what, my dear Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, 'your
friend Heep is a young fellow who might be attorney-general. If I had
known that young man, at the period when my difficulties came to a
crisis, all I can say is, that I believe my creditors would have been a
great deal better managed than they were. '

I hardly understood how this could have been, seeing that Mr. Micawber
had paid them nothing at all as it was; but I did not like to
ask. Neither did I like to say, that I hoped he had not been too
communicative to Uriah; or to inquire if they had talked much about me.
I was afraid of hurting Mr. Micawber's feelings, or, at all events, Mrs.
Micawber's, she being very sensitive; but I was uncomfortable about it,
too, and often thought about it afterwards.

We had a beautiful little dinner. Quite an elegant dish of fish; the
kidney-end of a loin of veal, roasted; fried sausage-meat; a partridge,
and a pudding. There was wine, and there was strong ale; and after
dinner Mrs. Micawber made us a bowl of hot punch with her own hands.

Mr. Micawber was uncommonly convivial. I never saw him such good
company. He made his face shine with the punch, so that it looked as if
it had been varnished all over. He got cheerfully sentimental about
the town, and proposed success to it; observing that Mrs. Micawber and
himself had been made extremely snug and comfortable there and that he
never should forget the agreeable hours they had passed in Canterbury.
He proposed me afterwards; and he, and Mrs. Micawber, and I, took a
review of our past acquaintance, in the course of which we sold the
property all over again. Then I proposed Mrs. Micawber: or, at least,
said, modestly, 'If you'll allow me, Mrs. Micawber, I shall now have
the pleasure of drinking your health, ma'am. ' On which Mr. Micawber
delivered an eulogium on Mrs. Micawber's character, and said she
had ever been his guide, philosopher, and friend, and that he would
recommend me, when I came to a marrying time of life, to marry such
another woman, if such another woman could be found.

As the punch disappeared, Mr. Micawber became still more friendly and
convivial. Mrs. Micawber's spirits becoming elevated, too, we sang 'Auld
Lang Syne'. When we came to 'Here's a hand, my trusty frere', we all
joined hands round the table; and when we declared we would 'take a
right gude Willie Waught', and hadn't the least idea what it meant, we
were really affected.

In a word, I never saw anybody so thoroughly jovial as Mr. Micawber
was, down to the very last moment of the evening, when I took a hearty
farewell of himself and his amiable wife. Consequently, I was not
prepared, at seven o'clock next morning, to receive the following
communication, dated half past nine in the evening; a quarter of an hour
after I had left him:--

'My DEAR YOUNG FRIEND,

'The die is cast--all is over. Hiding the ravages of care with a sickly
mask of mirth, I have not informed you, this evening, that there is no
hope of the remittance! Under these circumstances, alike humiliating to
endure, humiliating to contemplate, and humiliating to relate, I have
discharged the pecuniary liability contracted at this establishment,
by giving a note of hand, made payable fourteen days after date, at
my residence, Pentonville, London. When it becomes due, it will not be
taken up. The result is destruction. The bolt is impending, and the tree
must fall.

'Let the wretched man who now addresses you, my dear Copperfield, be a
beacon to you through life. He writes with that intention, and in that
hope. If he could think himself of so much use, one gleam of day might,
by possibility, penetrate into the cheerless dungeon of his remaining
existence--though his longevity is, at present (to say the least of it),
extremely problematical.

'This is the last communication, my dear Copperfield, you will ever
receive

'From

'The

'Beggared Outcast,

'WILKINS MICAWBER. '


I was so shocked by the contents of this heart-rending letter, that I
ran off directly towards the little hotel with the intention of taking
it on my way to Doctor Strong's, and trying to soothe Mr. Micawber with
a word of comfort. But, half-way there, I met the London coach with Mr.
and Mrs. Micawber up behind; Mr. Micawber, the very picture of tranquil
enjoyment, smiling at Mrs. Micawber's conversation, eating walnuts out
of a paper bag, with a bottle sticking out of his breast pocket. As they
did not see me, I thought it best, all things considered, not to
see them. So, with a great weight taken off my mind, I turned into a
by-street that was the nearest way to school, and felt, upon the whole,
relieved that they were gone; though I still liked them very much,
nevertheless.



CHAPTER 18. A RETROSPECT


My school-days! The silent gliding on of my existence--the unseen,
unfelt progress of my life--from childhood up to youth! Let me think,
as I look back upon that flowing water, now a dry channel overgrown with
leaves, whether there are any marks along its course, by which I can
remember how it ran.

A moment, and I occupy my place in the Cathedral, where we all went
together, every Sunday morning, assembling first at school for that
purpose. The earthy smell, the sunless air, the sensation of the world
being shut out, the resounding of the organ through the black and white
arched galleries and aisles, are wings that take me back, and hold me
hovering above those days, in a half-sleeping and half-waking dream.

I am not the last boy in the school. I have risen in a few months, over
several heads. But the first boy seems to me a mighty creature, dwelling
afar off, whose giddy height is unattainable. Agnes says 'No,' but I say
'Yes,' and tell her that she little thinks what stores of knowledge have
been mastered by the wonderful Being, at whose place she thinks I, even
I, weak aspirant, may arrive in time. He is not my private friend
and public patron, as Steerforth was, but I hold him in a reverential
respect. I chiefly wonder what he'll be, when he leaves Doctor Strong's,
and what mankind will do to maintain any place against him.

But who is this that breaks upon me? This is Miss Shepherd, whom I love.

Miss Shepherd is a boarder at the Misses Nettingalls' establishment. I
adore Miss Shepherd. She is a little girl, in a spencer, with a round
face and curly flaxen hair. The Misses Nettingalls' young ladies come to
the Cathedral too. I cannot look upon my book, for I must look upon
Miss Shepherd. When the choristers chaunt, I hear Miss Shepherd. In the
service I mentally insert Miss Shepherd's name--I put her in among the
Royal Family. At home, in my own room, I am sometimes moved to cry out,
'Oh, Miss Shepherd! ' in a transport of love.

For some time, I am doubtful of Miss Shepherd's feelings, but, at
length, Fate being propitious, we meet at the dancing-school. I have
Miss Shepherd for my partner. I touch Miss Shepherd's glove, and feel a
thrill go up the right arm of my jacket, and come out at my hair. I say
nothing to Miss Shepherd, but we understand each other. Miss Shepherd
and myself live but to be united.

Why do I secretly give Miss Shepherd twelve Brazil nuts for a present, I
wonder? They are not expressive of affection, they are difficult to pack
into a parcel of any regular shape, they are hard to crack, even in
room doors, and they are oily when cracked; yet I feel that they are
appropriate to Miss Shepherd. Soft, seedy biscuits, also, I bestow upon
Miss Shepherd; and oranges innumerable. Once, I kiss Miss Shepherd in
the cloak-room. Ecstasy! What are my agony and indignation next day,
when I hear a flying rumour that the Misses Nettingall have stood Miss
Shepherd in the stocks for turning in her toes!

Miss Shepherd being the one pervading theme and vision of my life, how
do I ever come to break with her? I can't conceive. And yet a coolness
grows between Miss Shepherd and myself. Whispers reach me of Miss
Shepherd having said she wished I wouldn't stare so, and having avowed a
preference for Master Jones--for Jones! a boy of no merit whatever! The
gulf between me and Miss Shepherd widens. At last, one day, I meet the
Misses Nettingalls' establishment out walking. Miss Shepherd makes
a face as she goes by, and laughs to her companion. All is over. The
devotion of a life--it seems a life, it is all the same--is at an end;
Miss Shepherd comes out of the morning service, and the Royal Family
know her no more.

I am higher in the school, and no one breaks my peace. I am not at all
polite, now, to the Misses Nettingalls' young ladies, and shouldn't
dote on any of them, if they were twice as many and twenty times as
beautiful. I think the dancing-school a tiresome affair, and wonder why
the girls can't dance by themselves and leave us alone. I am growing
great in Latin verses, and neglect the laces of my boots. Doctor Strong
refers to me in public as a promising young scholar. Mr. Dick is wild
with joy, and my aunt remits me a guinea by the next post.

The shade of a young butcher rises, like the apparition of an armed head
in Macbeth. Who is this young butcher? He is the terror of the youth
of Canterbury. There is a vague belief abroad, that the beef suet with
which he anoints his hair gives him unnatural strength, and that he is
a match for a man. He is a broad-faced, bull-necked, young butcher, with
rough red cheeks, an ill-conditioned mind, and an injurious tongue.
His main use of this tongue, is, to disparage Doctor Strong's young
gentlemen. He says, publicly, that if they want anything he'll give it
'em. He names individuals among them (myself included), whom he could
undertake to settle with one hand, and the other tied behind him. He
waylays the smaller boys to punch their unprotected heads, and calls
challenges after me in the open streets. For these sufficient reasons I
resolve to fight the butcher.

It is a summer evening, down in a green hollow, at the corner of a wall.
I meet the butcher by appointment. I am attended by a select body of our
boys; the butcher, by two other butchers, a young publican, and a sweep.
The preliminaries are adjusted, and the butcher and myself stand face to
face. In a moment the butcher lights ten thousand candles out of my left
eyebrow. In another moment, I don't know where the wall is, or where
I am, or where anybody is. I hardly know which is myself and which the
butcher, we are always in such a tangle and tussle, knocking about upon
the trodden grass. Sometimes I see the butcher, bloody but confident;
sometimes I see nothing, and sit gasping on my second's knee; sometimes
I go in at the butcher madly, and cut my knuckles open against his face,
without appearing to discompose him at all. At last I awake, very queer
about the head, as from a giddy sleep, and see the butcher walking off,
congratulated by the two other butchers and the sweep and publican, and
putting on his coat as he goes; from which I augur, justly, that the
victory is his.

I am taken home in a sad plight, and I have beef-steaks put to my eyes,
and am rubbed with vinegar and brandy, and find a great puffy place
bursting out on my upper lip, which swells immoderately. For three or
four days I remain at home, a very ill-looking subject, with a green
shade over my eyes; and I should be very dull, but that Agnes is a
sister to me, and condoles with me, and reads to me, and makes the time
light and happy. Agnes has my confidence completely, always; I tell her
all about the butcher, and the wrongs he has heaped upon me; she thinks
I couldn't have done otherwise than fight the butcher, while she shrinks
and trembles at my having fought him.

Time has stolen on unobserved, for Adams is not the head-boy in the days
that are come now, nor has he been this many and many a day. Adams has
left the school so long, that when he comes back, on a visit to Doctor
Strong, there are not many there, besides myself, who know him. Adams is
going to be called to the bar almost directly, and is to be an advocate,
and to wear a wig. I am surprised to find him a meeker man than I had
thought, and less imposing in appearance. He has not staggered the world
yet, either; for it goes on (as well as I can make out) pretty much the
same as if he had never joined it.

A blank, through which the warriors of poetry and history march on in
stately hosts that seem to have no end--and what comes next! I am
the head-boy, now! I look down on the line of boys below me, with a
condescending interest in such of them as bring to my mind the boy I was
myself, when I first came there. That little fellow seems to be no part
of me; I remember him as something left behind upon the road of life--as
something I have passed, rather than have actually been--and almost
think of him as of someone else.

And the little girl I saw on that first day at Mr. Wickfield's, where
is she? Gone also. In her stead, the perfect likeness of the picture,
a child likeness no more, moves about the house; and Agnes--my sweet
sister, as I call her in my thoughts, my counsellor and friend, the
better angel of the lives of all who come within her calm, good,
self-denying influence--is quite a woman.

What other changes have come upon me, besides the changes in my growth
and looks, and in the knowledge I have garnered all this while? I wear
a gold watch and chain, a ring upon my little finger, and a long-tailed
coat; and I use a great deal of bear's grease--which, taken in
conjunction with the ring, looks bad. Am I in love again? I am. I
worship the eldest Miss Larkins.

The eldest Miss Larkins is not a little girl. She is a tall, dark,
black-eyed, fine figure of a woman. The eldest Miss Larkins is not a
chicken; for the youngest Miss Larkins is not that, and the eldest must
be three or four years older. Perhaps the eldest Miss Larkins may be
about thirty. My passion for her is beyond all bounds.

The eldest Miss Larkins knows officers. It is an awful thing to bear. I
see them speaking to her in the street. I see them cross the way to meet
her, when her bonnet (she has a bright taste in bonnets) is seen coming
down the pavement, accompanied by her sister's bonnet. She laughs and
talks, and seems to like it. I spend a good deal of my own spare time in
walking up and down to meet her.