English novels




     I  have often thought, since, what an odd, innocent, out‐of‐
the‐way kind of wedding it must have been! We got into the chaise
again soon after dark, and drove cosily back, looking up  at  the
stars,  and  talking  about them. I was their chief exponent, and
opened Mr. Barkis’s mind to an amazing extent. I told him  all  I
knew,  but  he would have believed anything I might have taken it
into my head to impart to him; for he had a  profound  veneration
for  my  abilities,  and informed his wife in my hearing, on that
very occasion, that I was ’a young Roeshus’ ‐ by which I think he
meant prodigy.


     When we had exhausted the subject of the  stars,  or  rather
when  I  had exhausted the mental faculties of Mr. Barkis, little
Em’ly and I made a cloak of an old wrapper, and sat under it  for
the  rest  of the journey. Ah, how I loved her! What happiness (I
thought) if we were married, and were going away anywhere to live
among the trees and in the fields,  never  growing  older,  never
growing  wiser, children ever, rambling hand in hand through sun‐
shine and among flowery meadows, laying down our heads on moss at
night, in a sweet sleep of purity and peace, and  buried  by  the
birds when we were dead! Some such picture, with no real world in
it,  bright  with  the  light  of our innocence, and vague as the
stars afar off, was in my mind all the way. I am  glad  to  think
there  were  two  such guileless hearts at Peggotty’s marriage as
little Em’ly’s and mine. I am glad to hink the Loves  and  Graces
took such airy forms in its homely procession.

Well,  we  came  to the old boat again in good time at night; and
there Mr. and Mrs. Barkis bade us good‐bye, and drove away snugly
to their own home. I felt then, for the first time,  that  I  had
lost Peggotty. I should have gone to bed with a sore heart indeed
under  any  other  roof  but  that which sheltered little Em’ly’s
head.

Mr. Peggotty and Ham knew what was in my thoughts as  well  as  I
did,  and were ready with some supper and their hospital faces to
drive it away. Little Em’ly came and sat beside me on the  locker
for the only time in all that visit; and it was altogether a won‐
derful close to a wonderful day.

It  was a night tide; and soon after we went to bed, Mr. Peggotty
and Ham went out to fish. I felt very brave at being  left  alone
in  the solitary house, the protector of Em’ly and Mrs. Gummidge,
and only wished that a lion or a  serpent,  or  any  ill‐disposed
monster,  would make an attack upon us, that I might destroy him,









                               ‐2‐


and cover myself with glory. But as nothing of the sort  happened
to  be walking about on Yarmouth flats that night, I provided the
best substitute I could by dreaming of dragons until morning.


With morning came Peggotty; who called to me, as usual  under  my
window,  as if Mr. Barkis the carrier had been from first to last
a dream too. After breakfast she took me to her own home,  and  a
beautiful  little  home it was. Of all the movables in it, I must
have been most impressed by a certain old  bureau  of  some  dark
wood  in  the  parlour,  with  a retreating top which opened, let
down, and became a desk, within which was a large quarto  edition
of  Foxe’s  Book  of Martyrs. This precious volume, of which I do
not recollect one word, I immediately discovered and  immediately
applied  myself to; and I never visited the casket where this gem
was enshrined, spread my arms over the desk, and fell to  devour‐
ing  the  book afresh. I was chiefly edified, I am afraid, by the
pictures, which were numerous, and represented all kinds of  dis‐
mal  horrors;  but the Martyrs and Peggotty’s house have been in‐
separable in my mind ever since, and are now.

I took leave of Mr. Peggotty, and Ham,  and  Mrs.  Gummidge,  and
little  Em’ly,  that day; and passed the night at Peggotty’s in a
little room in the roof, which was to be  always  mine,  Peggotty
said, and should always be kept for me in exactly the same state.







Another retrospect


     Once again, let me pause upon a memorable period of my life.
Let  me  stand aside, to see the phantoms of those days go by me,
accompanying the shadow of myself, in dim procession.


In a breath, the river that flows through  our  Sunday  walks  is
sparkling  in  the  summer sun, is ruffled by the winter wind, or
thickened with drifting heaps of ice. Faster than ever river  ran
towards the sea, it flashes, darkens, and rolls away.