Chapter XIX. Moving On

by Charles Dickens

　　It is the long vacation in the regions of Chancery Lane. The goodships Law and Equity, those teak-built, copper-bottomed, iron-fastened, brazen-faced, and not by any means fast-sailing clippersare laid up in ordinary. The Flying Dutchman, with a crew ofghostly clients imploring all whom they may encounter to perusetheir papers, has drifted, for the time being, heaven knows where.The courts are all shut up; the public offices lie in a hot sleep.Westminster Hall itself is a shady solitude where nightingalesmight sing, and a tenderer class of suitors than is usually foundthere, walk.The Temple, Chancery Lane, Serjeants' Inn, and Lincoln's Inn evenunto the Fields are like tidal harbours at low water, wherestranded proceedings, offices at anchor, idle clerks lounging onlop-sided stools that will not recover their perpendicular untilthe current of Term sets in, lie high and dry upon the ooze of thelong vacation. Outer doors of chambers are shut up by the score,messages and parcels are to be left at the Porter's Lodge by thebushel. A crop of grass would grow in the chinks of the stonepavement outside Lincoln's Inn Hall, but that the ticket-porters,who have nothing to do beyond sitting in the shade there, withtheir white aprons over their heads to keep the flies off, grub itup and eat it thoughtfully.There is only one judge in town. Even he only comes twice a weekto sit in chambers. If the country folks of those assize towns onhis circuit could see him now! No full-bottomed wig, no redpetticoats, no fur, no javelin-men, no white wands. Merely aclose-shaved gentleman in white trousers and a white hat, with sea-bronze on the judicial countenance, and a strip of bark peeled bythe solar rays from the judicial nose, who calls in at the shell-fish shop as he comes along and drinks iced ginger-beer!The bar of England is scattered over the face of the earth. HowEngland can get on through four long summer months without its bar--which is its acknowledged refuge in adversity and its onlylegitimate triumph in prosperity--is beside the question; assuredlythat shield and buckler of Britannia are not in present wear. Thelearned gentleman who is always so tremendously indignant at theunprecedented outrage committed on the feelings of his client bythe opposite party that he never seems likely to recover it isdoing infinitely better than might be expected in Switzerland. Thelearned gentleman who does the withering business and who blightsall opponents with his gloomy sarcasm is as merry as a grig at aFrench watering-place. The learned gentleman who weeps by the pinton the smallest provocation has not shed a tear these six weeks.The very learned gentleman who has cooled the natural heat of hisgingery complexion in pools and fountains of law until he hasbecome great in knotty arguments for term-time, when he poses thedrowsy bench with legal "chaff," inexplicable to the uninitiatedand to most of the initiated too, is roaming, with a characteristicdelight in aridity and dust, about Constantinople. Other dispersedfragments of the same great palladium are to be found on the canalsof Venice, at the second cataract of the Nile, in the baths ofGermany, and sprinkled on the sea-sand all over the English coast.Scarcely one is to be encountered in the deserted region ofChancery Lane. If such a lonely member of the bar do flit acrossthe waste and come upon a prowling suitor who is unable to leaveoff haunting the scenes of his anxiety, they frighten one anotherand retreat into opposite shades.It is the hottest long vacation known for many years. All theyoung clerks are madly in love, and according to their variousdegrees, pine for bliss with the beloved object, at Margate,Ramsgate, or Gravesend. All the middle-aged clerks think theirfamilies too large. All the unowned dogs who stray into the Innsof Court and pant about staircases and other dry places seekingwater give short howls of aggravation. All the blind men's dogs inthe streets draw their masters against pumps or trip them overbuckets. A shop with a sun-blind, and a watered pavement, and abowl of gold and silver fish in the window, is a sanctuary. TempleBar gets so hot that it is, to the adjacent Strand and FleetStreet, what a heater is in an urn, and keeps them simmering allnight.There are offices about the Inns of Court in which a man might becool, if any coolness were worth purchasing at such a price indullness; but the little thoroughfares immediately outside thoseretirements seem to blaze. In Mr. Krook's court, it is so hot thatthe people turn their houses inside out and sit in chairs upon thepavement--Mr. Krook included, who there pursues his studies, withhis cat (who never is too hot) by his side. The Sol's Arms hasdiscontinued the Harmonic Meetings for the season, and LittleSwills is engaged at the Pastoral Gardens down the river, where hecomes out in quite an innocent manner and sings comic ditties of ajuvenile complexion calculated (as the bill says) not to wound thefeelings of the most fastidious mind.Over all the legal neighbourhood there hangs, like some great veilof rust or gigantic cobweb, the idleness and pensiveness of thelong vacation. Mr. Snagsby, law-stationer of Cook's Court,Cursitor Street, is sensible of the influence not only in his mindas a sympathetic and contemplative man, but also in his business asa law-stationer aforesaid. He has more leisure for musing inStaple Inn and in the Rolls Yard during the long vacation than atother seasons, and he says to the two 'prentices, what a thing itis in such hot weather to think that you live in an island with thesea a-rolling and a-bowling right round you.Guster is busy in the little drawing-room on this present afternoonin the long vacation, when Mr. and Mrs. Snagsby have it incontemplation to receive company. The expected guests are ratherselect than numerous, being Mr. and Mrs. Chadband and no more.From Mr. Chadband's being much given to describe himself, bothverbally and in writing, as a vessel, he is occasionally mistakenby strangers for a gentleman connected with navigation, but he is,as he expresses it, "in the ministry." Mr. Chadband is attached tono particular denomination and is considered by his persecutors tohave nothing so very remarkable to say on the greatest of subjectsas to render his volunteering, on his own account, at all incumbenton his conscience; but he has his followers, and Mrs. Snagsby is ofthe number. Mrs. Snagsby has but recently taken a passage upwardby the vessel, Chadband; and her attention was attracted to thatBark A 1 when she was something flushed by the hot weather."My little woman," says Mr. Snagsby to the sparrows in Staple Inn,"likes to have her religion rather sharp, you see!"So Guster, much impressed by regarding herself for the time as thehandmaid of Chadband, whom she knows to be endowed with the gift ofholding forth for four hours at a stretch, prepares the littledrawing-room for tea. All the furniture is shaken and dusted, theportraits of Mr. and Mrs. Snagsby are touched up with a wet cloth,the best tea-service is set forth, and there is excellent provisionmade of dainty new bread, crusty twists, cool fresh butter, thinslices of ham, tongue, and German sausage, and delicate little rowsof anchovies nestling in parsley, not to mention new-laid eggs, tobe brought up warm in a napkin, and hot buttered toast. ForChadband is rather a consuming vessel--the persecutors say agorging vessel--and can wield such weapons of the flesh as a knifeand fork remarkably well.Mr. Snagsby in his best coat, looking at all the preparations whenthey are completed and coughing his cough of deference behind hishand, says to Mrs. Snagsby, "At what time did you expect Mr. andMrs. Chadband, my love?""At six," says Mrs. Snagsby.Mr. Snagsby observes in a mild and casual way that "it's gonethat.""Perhaps you'd like to begin without them," is Mrs. Snagsby'sreproachful remark.Mr. Snagsby does look as if he would like it very much, but hesays, with his cough of mildness, "No, my dear, no. I merely namedthe time.""What's time," says Mrs. Snagsby, "to eternity?""Very true, my dear," says Mr. Snagsby. "Only when a person laysin victuals for tea, a person does it with a view--perhaps--more totime. And when a time is named for having tea, it's better to comeup to it.""To come up to it!" Mrs. Snagsby repeats with severity. "Up to it!As if Mr. Chadband was a fighter!""Not at all, my dear," says Mr. Snagsby.Here, Guster, who had been looking out of the bedroom window, comesrustling and scratching down the little staircase like a popularghost, and falling flushed into the drawing-room, announces thatMr. and Mrs. Chadband have appeared in the court. The bell at theinner door in the passage immediately thereafter tinkling, she isadmonished by Mrs. Snagsby, on pain of instant reconsignment to herpatron saint, not to omit the ceremony of announcement. Muchdiscomposed in her nerves (which were previously in the best order)by this threat, she so fearfully mutilates that point of state asto announce "Mr. and Mrs. Cheeseming, least which, Imeantersay,whatsername!" and retires conscience-stricken from the presence.Mr. Chadband is a large yellow man with a fat smile and a generalappearance of having a good deal of train oil in his system. Mrs.Chadband is a stern, severe-looking, silent woman. Mr. Chadbandmoves softly and cumbrously, not unlike a bear who has been taughtto walk upright. He is very much embarrassed about the arms, as ifthey were inconvenient to him and he wanted to grovel, is very muchin a perspiration about the head, and never speaks without firstputting up his great hand, as delivering a token to his hearersthat he is going to edify them."My friends," says Mr. Chadband, "peace be on this house! On themaster thereof, on the mistress thereof, on the young maidens, andon the young men! My friends, why do I wish for peace? What ispeace? Is it war? No. Is it strife? No. Is it lovely, andgentle, and beautiful, and pleasant, and serene, and joyful? Oh,yes! Therefore, my friends, I wish for peace, upon you and uponyours."In consequence of Mrs. Snagsby looking deeply edified, Mr. Snagsbythinks it expedient on the whole to say amen, which is wellreceived."Now, my friends," proceeds Mr. Chadband, "since I am upon thistheme--"Guster presents herself. Mrs. Snagsby, in a spectral bass voiceand without removing her eyes from Chadband, says with dreadfuldistinctness, "Go away!""Now, my friends," says Chadband, "since I am upon this theme, andin my lowly path improving it--"Guster is heard unaccountably to murmur "one thousing seven hundredand eighty-two." The spectral voice repeats more solemnly, "Goaway!""Now, my friends," says Mr. Chadband, "we will inquire in a spiritof love--"Still Guster reiterates "one thousing seven hundred and eighty-two."Mr. Chadband, pausing with the resignation of a man accustomed tobe persecuted and languidly folding up his chin into his fat smile,says, "Let us hear the maiden! Speak, maiden!""One thousing seven hundred and eighty-two, if you please, sir.Which he wish to know what the shilling ware for," says Guster,breathless."For?" returns Mrs. Chadband. "For his fare!"Guster replied that "he insistes on one and eightpence or onsummonsizzing the party." Mrs. Snagsby and Mrs. Chadband areproceeding to grow shrill in indignation when Mr. Chadband quietsthe tumult by lifting up his hand."My friends," says he, "I remember a duty unfulfilled yesterday.It is right that I should be chastened in some penalty. I oughtnot to murmur. Rachael, pay the eightpence!"While Mrs. Snagsby, drawing her breath, looks hard at Mr. Snagsby,as who should say, "You hear this apostle!" and while Mr. Chadbandglows with humility and train oil, Mrs. Chadband pays the money.It is Mr. Chadband's habit--it is the head and front of hispretensions indeed--to keep this sort of debtor and creditoraccount in the smallest items and to post it publicly on the mosttrivial occasions."My friends," says Chadband, "eightpence is not much; it mightjustly have been one and fourpence; it might justly have been halfa crown. O let us be joyful, joyful! O let us be joyful!"With which remark, which appears from its sound to be an extract inverse, Mr. Chadband stalks to the table, and before taking a chair,lifts up his admonitory hand."My friends," says he, "what is this which we now behold as beingspread before us? Refreshment. Do we need refreshment then, myfriends? We do. And why do we need refreshment, my friends?Because we are but mortal, because we are but sinful, because weare but of the earth, because we are not of the air. Can we fly,my friends? We cannot. Why can we not fly, my friends?"Mr. Snagsby, presuming on the success of his last point, venturesto observe in a cheerful and rather knowing tone, "No wings." Butis immediately frowned down by Mrs. Snagsby."I say, my friends," pursues Mr. Chadband, utterly rejecting andobliterating Mr. Snagsby's suggestion, "why can we not fly? Is itbecause we are calculated to walk? It is. Could we walk, myfriends, without strength? We could not. What should we dowithout strength, my friends? Our legs would refuse to bear us,our knees would double up, our ankles would turn over, and weshould come to the ground. Then from whence, my friends, in ahuman point of view, do we derive the strength that is necessary toour limbs? Is it," says Chadband, glancing over the table, "frombread in various forms, from butter which is churned from the milkwhich is yielded unto us by the cow, from the eggs which are laidby the fowl, from ham, from tongue, from sausage, and from suchlike? It is. Then let us partake of the good things which are setbefore us!"The persecutors denied that there was any particular gift in Mr.Chadband's piling verbose flights of stairs, one upon another,after this fashion. But this can only be received as a proof oftheir determination to persecute, since it must be withineverybody's experience that the Chadband style of oratory is widelyreceived and much admired.Mr. Chadband, however, having concluded for the present, sits downat Mr. Snagsby's table and lays about him prodigiously. Theconversion of nutriment of any sort into oil of the quality alreadymentioned appears to be a process so inseparable from theconstitution of this exemplary vessel that in beginning to eat anddrink, he may be described as always becoming a kind ofconsiderable oil mills or other large factory for the production ofthat article on a wholesale scale. On the present evening of thelong vacation, in Cook's Court, Cursitor Street, he does such apowerful stroke of business that the warehouse appears to be quitefull when the works cease.At this period of the entertainment, Guster, who has neverrecovered her first failure, but has neglected no possible orimpossible means of bringing the establishment and herself intocontempt--among which may be briefly enumerated her unexpectedlyperforming clashing military music on Mr. Chadband's head withplates, and afterwards crowning that gentleman with muffins--atwhich period of the entertainment, Guster whispers Mr. Snagsby thathe is wanted."And being wanted in the--not to put too fine a point upon it--inthe shop," says Mr. Snagsby, rising, "perhaps this good companywill excuse me for half a minute."Mr. Snagsby descends and finds the two 'prentices intentlycontemplating a police constable, who holds a ragged boy by thearm."Why, bless my heart," says Mr. Snagsby, "what's the matter!""This boy," says the constable, "although he's repeatedly told to,won't move on--""I'm always a-moving on, sar, cries the boy, wiping away his grimytears with his arm. "I've always been a-moving and a-moving on,ever since I was born. Where can I possibly move to, sir, more norI do move!""He won't move on," says the constable calmly, with a slightprofessional hitch of his neck involving its better settlement inhis stiff stock, "although he has been repeatedly cautioned, andtherefore I am obliged to take him into custody. He's as obstinatea young gonoph as I know. He won't move on.""Oh, my eye! Where can I move to!" cries the boy, clutching quitedesperately at his hair and beating his bare feet upon the floor ofMr. Snagsby's passage."Don't you come none of that or I shall make blessed short work ofyou!" says the constable, giving him a passionless shake. "Myinstructions are that you are to move on. I have told you so fivehundred times.""But where?" cries the boy."Well! Really, constable, you know," says Mr. Snagsby wistfully,and coughing behind his hand his cough of great perplexity anddoubt, "really, that does seem a question. Where, you know?""My instructions don't go to that," replies the constable. "Myinstructions are that this boy is to move on."Do you hear, Jo? It is nothing to you or to any one else that thegreat lights of the parliamentary sky have failed for some fewyears in this business to set you the example of moving on. Theone grand recipe remains for you--the profound philosophicalprescription--the be-all and the end-all of your strange existenceupon earth. Move on! You are by no means to move off, Jo, for thegreat lights can't at all agree about that. Move on!Mr. Snagsby says nothing to this effect, says nothing at allindeed, but coughs his forlornest cough, expressive of nothoroughfare in any direction. By this time Mr. and Mrs. Chadbandand Mrs. Snagsby, hearing the altercation, have appeared upon thestairs. Guster having never left the end of the passage, the wholehousehold are assembled."The simple question is, sir," says the constable, "whether youknow this boy. He says you do."Mrs. Snagsby, from her elevation, instantly cries out, "No hedon't!""My lit-tle woman!" says Mr. Snagsby, looking up the staircase."My love, permit me! Pray have a moment's patience, my dear. I doknow something of this lad, and in what I know of him, I can't saythat there's any harm; perhaps on the contrary, constable." Towhom the law-stationer relates his Joful and woful experience,suppressing the half-crown fact."Well!" says the constable, "so far, it seems, he had grounds forwhat he said. When I took him into custody up in Holborn, he saidyou knew him. Upon that, a young man who was in the crowd said hewas acquainted with you, and you were a respectable housekeeper,and if I'd call and make the inquiry, he'd appear. The young mandon't seem inclined to keep his word, but-- Oh! Here is the youngman!"Enter Mr. Guppy, who nods to Mr. Snagsby and touches his hat withthe chivalry of clerkship to the ladies on the stairs."I was strolling away from the office just now when I found thisrow going on," says Mr. Guppy to the law-stationer, "and as yourname was mentioned, I thought it was right the thing should belooked into.""It was very good-natured of you, sir," says Mr. Snagsby, "and I amobliged to you." And Mr. Snagsby again relates his experience,again suppressing the half-crown fact."Now, I know where you live," says the constable, then, to Jo."You live down in Tom-all-Alone's. That's a nice innocent place tolive in, ain't it?""I can't go and live in no nicer place, sir," replies Jo. "Theywouldn't have nothink to say to me if I wos to go to a niceinnocent place fur to live. Who ud go and let a nice innocentlodging to such a reg'lar one as me!""You are very poor, ain't you?" says the constable."Yes, I am indeed, sir, wery poor in gin'ral," replies Jo. "Ileave you to judge now! I shook these two half-crowns out of him,"says the constable, producing them to the company, "in only puttingmy hand upon him!""They're wot's left, Mr. Snagsby," says Jo, "out of a sov-ring aswos give me by a lady in a wale as sed she wos a servant and ascome to my crossin one night and asked to be showd this 'ere ouseand the ouse wot him as you giv the writin to died at, and theberrin-ground wot he's berrid in. She ses to me she ses 'are youthe boy at the inkwhich?' she ses. I ses 'yes' I ses. She ses tome she ses 'can you show me all them places?' I ses 'yes I can' Ises. And she ses to me 'do it' and I dun it and she giv me asov'ring and hooked it. And I an't had much of the sov'ringneither," says Jo, with dirty tears, "fur I had to pay five bob,down in Tom-all-Alone's, afore they'd square it fur to give mechange, and then a young man he thieved another five while I wasasleep and another boy he thieved ninepence and the landlord hestood drains round with a lot more on it.""You don't expect anybody to believe this, about the lady and thesovereign, do you?" says the constable, eyeing him aside withineffable disdain."I don't know as I do, sir," replies Jo. "I don't expect nothinkat all, sir, much, but that's the true hist'ry on it.""You see what he is!" the constable observes to the audience."Well, Mr. Snagsby, if I don't lock him up this time, will youengage for his moving on?""No!" cries Mrs. Snagsby from the stairs."My little woman!" pleads her husband. "Constable, I have no doubthe'll move on. You know you really must do it," says Mr. Snagsby."I'm everyways agreeable, sir," says the hapless Jo."Do it, then," observes the constable. "You know what you have gotto do. Do it! And recollect you won't get off so easy next time.Catch hold of your money. Now, the sooner you're five mile off,the better for all parties."With this farewell hint and pointing generally to the setting sunas a likely place to move on to, the constable bids his auditorsgood afternoon and makes the echoes of Cook's Court perform slowmusic for him as he walks away on the shady side, carrying hisiron-bound hat in his hand for a little ventilation.Now, Jo's improbable story concerning the lady and the sovereignhas awakened more or less the curiosity of all the company. Mr.Guppy, who has an inquiring mind in matters of evidence and who hasbeen suffering severely from the lassitude of the long vacation,takes that interest in the case that he enters on a regular cross-examination of the witness, which is found so interesting by theladies that Mrs. Snagsby politely invites him to step upstairs anddrink a cup of tea, if he will excuse the disarranged state of thetea-table, consequent on their previous exertions. Mr. Guppyyielding his assent to this proposal, Jo is requested to followinto the drawing-room doorway, where Mr. Guppy takes him in hand asa witness, patting him into this shape, that shape, and the othershape like a butterman dealing with so much butter, and worryinghim according to the best models. Nor is the examination unlikemany such model displays, both in respect of its eliciting nothingand of its being lengthy, for Mr. Guppy is sensible of his talent,and Mrs. Snagsby feels not only that it gratifies her inquisitivedisposition, but that it lifts her husband's establishment higherup in the law. During the progress of this keen encounter, thevessel Chadband, being merely engaged in the oil trade, getsaground and waits to be floated off."Well!" says Mr. Guppy. "Either this boy sticks to it likecobbler's-wax or there is something out of the common here thatbeats anything that ever came into my way at Kenge and Carboy's."Mrs. Chadband whispers Mrs. Snagsby, who exclaims, "You don't sayso!""For years!" replied Mrs. Chadband."Has known Kenge and Carboy's office for years," Mrs. Snagsbytriumphantly explains to Mr. Guppy. "Mrs. Chadband--thisgentleman's wife--Reverend Mr. Chadband.""Oh, indeed!" says Mr. Guppy."Before I married my present husband," says Mrs. Chadband."Was you a party in anything, ma'am?" says Mr. Guppy, transferringhis cross-examination."No.""Not a party in anything, ma'am?" says Mr. Guppy.Mrs. Chadband shakes her head."Perhaps you were acquainted with somebody who was a party insomething, ma'am?" says Mr. Guppy, who likes nothing better than tomodel his conversation on forensic principles."Not exactly that, either," replies Mrs. Chadband, humouring thejoke with a hard-favoured smile."Not exactly that, either!" repeats Mr. Guppy. "Very good. Pray,ma'am, was it a lady of your acquaintance who had some transactions(we will not at present say what transactions) with Kenge andCarboy's office, or was it a gentleman of your acquaintance? Taketime, ma'am. We shall come to it presently. Man or woman, ma'am?""Neither," says Mrs. Chadband as before."Oh! A child!" says Mr. Guppy, throwing on the admiring Mrs.Snagsby the regular acute professional eye which is thrown onBritish jurymen. "Now, ma'am, perhaps you'll have the kindness totell us what child.""You have got it at last, sir," says Mrs. Chadband with anotherhard-favoured smile. "Well, sir, it was before your time, mostlikely, judging from your appearance. I was left in charge of achild named Esther Summerson, who was put out in life by Messrs.Kenge and Carboy.""Miss Summerson, ma'am!" cries Mr. Guppy, excited."I call her Esther Summerson," says Mrs. Chadband with austerity."There was no Miss-ing of the girl in my time. It was Esther.'Esther, do this! Esther, do that!' and she was made to do it.""My dear ma'am," returns Mr. Guppy, moving across the smallapartment, "the humble individual who now addresses you receivedthat young lady in London when she first came here from theestablishment to which you have alluded. Allow me to have thepleasure of taking you by the hand."Mr. Chadband, at last seeing his opportunity, makes his accustomedsignal and rises with a smoking head, which he dabs with hispocket-handkerchief. Mrs. Snagsby whispers "Hush!""My friends," says Chadband, "we have partaken in moderation"(which was certainly not the case so far as he was concerned) "ofthe comforts which have been provided for us. May this house liveupon the fatness of the land; may corn and wine be plentifultherein; may it grow, may it thrive, may it prosper, may itadvance, may it proceed, may it press forward! But, my friends,have we partaken of any-hing else? We have. My friends, of whatelse have we partaken? Of spiritual profit? Yes. From whencehave we derived that spiritual profit? My young friend, standforth!"Jo, thus apostrophized, gives a slouch backward, and another slouchforward, and another slouch to each side, and confronts theeloquent Chadband with evident doubts of his intentions."My young friend," says Chadband, "you are to us a pearl, you areto us a diamond, you are to us a gem, you are to us a jewel. Andwhy, my young friend?""I don't know," replies Jo. "I don't know nothink.""My young friend," says Chadband, "it is because you know nothingthat you are to us a gem and jewel. For what are you, my youngfriend? Are you a beast of the field? No. A bird of the air?No. A fish of the sea or river? No. You are a human boy, myyoung friend. A human boy. O glorious to be a human boy! And whyglorious, my young friend? Because you are capable of receivingthe lessons of wisdom, because you are capable of profiting by thisdiscourse which I now deliver for your good, because you are not astick, or a staff, or a stock, or a stone, or a post, or a pillar.O running stream of sparkling joyTo be a soaring human boy!And do you cool yourself in that stream now, my young friend? No.Why do you not cool yourself in that stream now? Because you arein a state of darkness, because you are in a state of obscurity,because you are in a state of sinfulness, because you are in astate of bondage. My young friend, what is bondage? Let us, in aspirit of love, inquire."At this threatening stage of the discourse, Jo, who seems to havebeen gradually going out of his mind, smears his right arm over hisface and gives a terrible yawn. Mrs. Snagsby indignantly expressesher belief that he is a limb of the arch-fiend."My friends," says Mr. Chadband with his persecuted chin foldingitself into its fat smile again as he looks round, "it is rightthat I should be humbled, it is right that I should be tried, it isright that I should be mortified, it is right that I should becorrected. I stumbled, on Sabbath last, when I thought with prideof my three hours' improving. The account is now favourablybalanced: my creditor has accepted a composition. O let us bejoyful, joyful! O let us be joyful!"Great sensation on the part of Mrs. Snagsby."My friends," says Chadband, looking round him in conclusion, "Iwill not proceed with my young friend now. Will you come to-morrow, my young friend, and inquire of this good lady where I amto be found to deliver a discourse unto you, and will you come likethe thirsty swallow upon the next day, and upon the day after that,and upon the day after that, and upon many pleasant days, to heardiscourses?" (This with a cow-like lightness.)Jo, whose immediate object seems to be to get away on any terms,gives a shuffling nod. Mr. Guppy then throws him a penny, and Mrs.Snagsby calls to Guster to see him safely out of the house. Butbefore he goes downstairs, Mr. Snagsby loads him with some brokenmeats from the table, which he carries away, hugging in his arms.So, Mr. Chadband--of whom the persecutors say that it is no wonderhe should go on for any length of time uttering such abominablenonsense, but that the wonder rather is that he should ever leaveoff, having once the audacity to begin--retires into private lifeuntil he invests a little capital of supper in the oil-trade. Jomoves on, through the long vacation, down to Blackfriars Bridge,where he finds a baking stony corner wherein to settle to hisrepast.And there he sits, munching and gnawing, and looking up at thegreat cross on the summit of St. Paul's Cathedral, glittering abovea red-and-violet-tinted cloud of smoke. From the boy's face onemight suppose that sacred emblem to be, in his eyes, the crowningconfusion of the great, confused city--so golden, so high up, sofar out of his reach. There he sits, the sun going down, the riverrunning fast, the crowd flowing by him in two streams--everythingmoving on to some purpose and to one end--until he is stirred upand told to "move on" too.