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Hello and welcome to Storytime for Grown Ups. I'm Faith Moore and this season we're reading David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. Each episode I'll read a few chapters from the book, pausing from time to time to give brief explanations so it's easier to follow along. It's like an audiobook with built in notes. So brew a pot of tea, find a cozy chair and settle in. It's story time. Hi. Welcome back. I'm so glad you're here. I feel like we have so much to talk about today. I'm really excited about this intro. I really have a lot to share with you and your questions are great, your comments are great. So I'm just thrilled to be here. I hope you are too. Thanks for joining me. Before we get started, I want to let you know that I have scheduled our next tea time over in our online community, the Drawing Room. It's going to be Thursday again, so it's going to be Thursday, May 28th at 8pm Eastern. And of course I'll remind you as we get closer. But I just wanted to let you know, for those of you who like to mark your calendars, I know there are some of you and I am very grateful for that. So if you don't know what I am talking about. Tea Time is a monthly voice chat that we have over in our online community. As I say, it's called the Drawing Room. Not because we like to do a lot of drawing over there, but because it is the withdrawing room. Every old Victorian house would have had a withdrawing room where you would withdraw after dinner with your guests or with your family to read or talk, play games, play music. And we have one of those. It's just online. The podcast itself is the main room of our lovely old Victorian mansion and the drawing room is our drawing room. And if you're not yet a member, it's easy to do. You just scroll into the show notes, there's a link that's there. Click on it. We have a couple of different membership tiers. In order to join Tea Time, you have to be landed gentry. 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So please do check out the merch store and all the links that are in the show notes, if you haven't checked those out already. Okay, let's get into it because as I say, I have a lot to talk about and this chapter is kind of like a medium length chapter. So we have a lot to do today. Last time we read chapter 35. Today is going to be chapter 36. So let's begin by just reminding ourselves what happened and then we'll read some questions and comments and we'll chat. So here is the recap. All right, so where we left off, David helps find Mr. Dick a place to stay in London and he accidentally upsets him by explaining that being ruined is actually a very bad thing. But he feels bad about it and he tries to cheer him up again. Ms. Betsy is staying with David and is clearly trying to save as much money as she can and make do with less. They talk about Dora and Miss Betsy seems to approve the match, although she's kind of against marriage in general and she thinks it probably won't end very well. David is very upset because now he will be poor and he'll have to tell Dora and he's sure that she won't want to marry him anymore and that her father wouldn't allow it. But he doesn't tell Miss Betsy this and he feels bad about being so selfish. In the morning, David tries to get out of his job at Doctors Commons so that he can find a job that makes money, but Mr. Spenlow won't let him out of it. On the way home, he bumps into Agnes, who has come to London with her father and Uriah Heep. She comes back to his lodgings and Miss Betsy tells them both that she lost her money by making a bunch of bad investments after she started handling her money herself because she felt that Mr. Wickfield wasn't doing as good of a job as he used to do with it. Agnes says that David's old schoolmaster, Dr. Strong, is looking to hire someone to be his secretary and that David could do that in his spare time and earn some money. David is very grateful to Agnes for this suggestion and he writes to Dr. Strong about it. Agnes helps to tidy David's rooms and make them more comfortable for Miss Betsy and David feels very grateful to her. Mr. Wickfield and Uriah come to visit and it's clear that Mr. Wickfield is kind of a shadow of his former self and he's totally under Uriah's influence. We learn that Uriah and his mother have moved into the house with Mr. Wickfield and Agnes and that Agnes is very worried about her father in all of this. David comes back with Agnes and Mr. Wickfield and Dines with them and sees how weak and ill Mr. Wickfield seems. Agnes is upset, but she talks to David about Dora and David feels a great appreciation for her, which he thinks about on his way home. Okay, I'm going to read 4 comments today. The first one comes from Paula Fernandez. She says Miss Betsy's verbal takedown of Uriah was priceless. Only she could describe his obnoxious arm movements as an eel. This next one comes from Anne. She says, okay, I have some thoughts. Two I've thought about for a while and one was confirmed in this chapter. Mr. Spenlo, hello. It's in his name. I always felt like he was the reason money was stingy. Secondly, what about the mysterious man that Aunt Betsy is bothered by but unwilling to discuss. I think he has more to do with her loss of finances than the story she is telling. And thirdly, I like David when he is with Agnes and not with Dora. I dislike the lovesick puppy he is with her as much as I dislike her. The third one comes from Joyce Sekia. She says Agnes seems like a much better match for David than Dora. Agnes is David's best friend, who he seems to always confide in. Dora is flighty, and also David has already had a quarrel with her. I really hope Agnes never submits to marriage with the unctuous Uriah Heep. And David and Agnes somehow get together. And this last one comes from Mary Magid. I hope I'm saying that last name right. She says, the way Dickens describes David's childish infatuation with Dora is very sweet. Adult David seems to have a faith and indulgence in the innocent, impractical love he felt for Dora. But the very last paragraphs, where David praises Agnes to the stars and says, oh, Agnes, sister of my boyhood, if I had known then what I knew long afterwards, right before running into a beggar who is repeatedly calling out blind felt like the narrative calling David what he is blind about be his real love for Agnes. Okay, so now we are getting to something that I have been holding off on mentioning for a while now because I didn't want to put any ideas into anyone's heads, and I hadn't really gotten any letters about it. But this time I got a ton of letters about exactly this thing, so I think it's time to discuss it. And that thing is this question of whether or not Agnes might be a better romantic partner for David than Dora. And relatedly, whether adult David is sort of trying to signal that to us from his place at the end of the narrative, even as he tells us the story from teenage David's perspective, who obviously doesn't think that. Now, I went back and forth about discussing this because even though I got a lot of letters about it, I didn't get a letter from, like, every single person that's listening to the show. And I don't want to shift your experience of the book if this wasn't something that was on your mind, but I actually think that this is what we're meant to be thinking at this point in the narrative. I think there are enough kind of hints or ambiguities here that I think it's fair to say that Dickens is actually setting this situation up in exactly this way. I Don't think he's telling us anything definitive. And I'm not going to tell you anything definitive either. That would be a spoiler, and I hate spoilers. But I think that what's going on here, particularly in this chapter, chapter 35, is that Dickens is introducing the idea of. Or actually, you know, I was going to say that what's happening is that Dickens is introducing the idea that perhaps Dora isn't quite the right person for David and that maybe Agnes is. And that's true. But I think what's actually going on in this chapter is that for the first time, teenage David is getting some small inkling that there might be something lacking in his relationship with Dora. I mean, when he's talking to Miss Betsy about Dora and Ms. Betsy asks if Dora is silly, David says, I seriously believe it had never once entered my head for a single moment to consider whether she was or not. And I think what he means by that is he'd never really wondered whether silliness was a good thing or a bad thing. It had never occurred to him to question whether a silly girl might actually not make a great wife. He says, I resented the idea, of course, but I was in a manner struck by it as a new one altogether. Right. He knows that silly is not a positive trait, so he feels he must defend Dora against the accusation, since everything that Dora does and is to David is good. But he does now suddenly have in his mind the notion that perhaps there are qualities that you might want in your life partner that go beyond the mere infatuation of a playful personality and beautiful curly hair or whatever. And I think we've been feeling that for a while now, right? That Dora seems sweet, she seems pretty, she does seem a bit silly, and it seems more like a sort of infatuation or like Anne says, a kind of puppy love. And not like the deep soul connection that you might hope to have with the person that you eventually marry. That's what Joyce is also saying in her letter. But the thing is that David has never really felt anything other than that sort of love. This is what romantic love is to him. And so even though Ms. Betsy's comments make him kind of pause and wonder if there might actually be some other way to be in love, some not silly way. For example, his feelings for Dora are too overpowering to allow him to question whether Dora is the right person for him. And instead he just tries to sort of shove Dora, their relationship, into this new idea of romance that Ms. Betsy's comments are kind of opening up for him. And he says we are young and inexperienced, and I know, and I dare say we say and think a good deal that is rather foolish, but we love one another truly, I am sure. If I thought Dora could ever love anybody else or cease to love me or that I could ever love anybody else or cease to love her, I don't know what I should do. Go out of my mind, I think, think so again. He's discovering all of a sudden that perhaps inexperience and silliness and foolishness aren't actually what real love is all about. But that doesn't mean that he's willing to give up Dora, his feelings for her, this kind of frenzied infatuation that we were talking about before. They are love to him, so for him they must somehow be okay. But there is now this little doubt that's been introduced into David's mind. Not enough to make him stop loving Dora or to make him feel deterred in any way from marrying her, but just this tiny little seed that maybe the kind of person that she is and the way that he feels about her aren't quite the right recipe for a long and happy marriage. And I do think that it is there in the text that Agnes is being held up as an alternative. It would be hard, I think, to make the case that that isn't there in the text because this chapter is absolutely filled with praise of Agnes. I mean, David always praises Agnes when he speaks of her, which, again, it kind of bolsters this point. But this chapter is. Is like an Agnes love fest. And everything that Agnes is that is good is kind of opposite to everything that Dora is that is good. They are both good. They are just good in different ways. If Dora is silly and sweet and childish and teasing and pretty, Agnes is calm and demure and wise and steadfast and loyal. So I think it's entirely fair to say that if this little seed of doubt is introduced in this chapter as to Dora being the right sort of wife for David, and then Agnes is being introduced in this chapter as a potential alternative, except only we and potentially adult David, although that's not completely clear. And also potentially Miss Betsy, although that's not completely clear either. So let's just at this point say only we are the ones making this comparison. Teenage David is not. But I mean, listen to the way that Agnes is described in this chapter. I'm just going to read you some quotes. So Agnes shows up unexpectedly, right? She's here to visit Miss Betsy because she's heard about the money troubles. But also she's traveling with her father because she doesn't want to leave him too long alone with Uriah. So she came on this trip with him. But listen to how David describes seeing her in the carriage. Unexpectedly, he says, a fair hand was stretched forth to me from the window, and the face I had never seen without a feeling of serenity and happiness from the moment when it first turned back on the old oak staircase with the great broad balustrade, and when I associated its softened beauty with the stained glass window in the church, was smiling on me. Okay. And then later, he says, she was like hope, embodied to me how different I felt in one short minute having Agnes at my side. And here's another one, he says, when Agnes laid her bonnet on the table and sat down beside her, her being Ms. Betsey, I could not but think, looking on her mild eyes and her radiant forehead, how natural it seemed to have her there, how trustfully, although she was so young and inexperienced, my aunt confided in her how strong she was indeed, in simple love and truth. I mean, it's not hard to feel that these are the actual feelings that you would want to feel for the person you're going to spend your life with. These are deeper, more lasting, more meaningful feelings than the feelings that he feels for Dora. And the fact that they are here in this chapter, right after Ms. Betsy has introduced this little seed of doubt about Dora, it's hard not to see this as a comparison. And if you're not convinced, I want to read one more quote about Agnes. Because, remember a while ago we talked about the concept of the angel in the house. We talked about it in connection with Agnes, but when she was a girl and she was taking care of Mr. Wickfield and Mr. Wakefield's house. But the idea is usually connected with the attributes of a good wife. And the idea is that the perfect wife will make the home a beautiful, tranquil, happy place without seeming to make any effort, that she will be naturally wonderful at being a mother, naturally wonderful at running the entire household. And it will all run so smoothly that it's not even really noticeable that she's doing anything. And she will delight in doing this, in creating this home for her husband and for her children. And again, you can take issue with this if you want. I feel like it is a little twee, It's a little over the top, but I actually think it's also very beautiful. And I'll talk more some other time about what I find beautiful and meaningful about it. But what's important now is that it's clearly Dickens's picture of the perfect wife and the perfect home, based on this book, but on his other books as well. The angel in the House is clearly the type of wife who that Dickens feels is the best kind. And it does kind of speak to what I was saying a moment ago, this calmer, deeper, less frenzied way of being in which everything runs smoothly and the couple is in perfect harmony and all of this. So knowing that Dickens approves of this and knowing that this is the kind of Victorian ideal of wifehood, listen to the way that David describes Agnes as she moves about his rooms in London. It says, wherever Agnes was, some agreeable token of her noiseless presence seemed inseparable from the place. When I came back, I found my aunt's birds hanging just as they had hung so long in the parlor window of the cottage, and my easy chair imitating my aunt's much easier chair in its position at the open window, and even the round green fan, which my aunt had brought away with her, screwed on to the window sill. I knew who had done all this by its seeming to have quietly done itself, and I should have known in a moment who had arranged my neglected books at the old order of my school days, even if I had supposed Agnes to be miles away instead of seeing her busy with them and smiling at the disorder into which they had fallen. Okay, so again, it's hard not to make a comparison between Dora and Agnes here and to feel that perhaps it's Agnes that David should be with in the long term. And the last thing I want to point out about this before I talk about a couple of other things from this chapter, and then we can move on, is this motif that Mary brings up in her letter that runs throughout this chapter of Blind, Blind, Blind. Okay, we get it twice from Miss Betsy and then once from a beggar man at the very end of the chapter. Miss Betsy says it first, right after the quote I read a little bit ago where David is trying to convince Miss Betsy and I think himself, that even though his love for Dora might seem a little bit foolish, it is real love, it is true love. And Miss Betsy says, ah, trot. Blind, blind, blind. Meaning we assume that he's not really seeing the situation clearly, that he's blinded by his infatuation for Dora. And she says it again a few lines later, when David is still trying to convince her that Dora is a person of substance and their love is strong enough to go the distance, and it Says, oh, trot. She said again, blind, blind, okay? And then David says, and without knowing why, I felt a vague, unhappy loss or want of something overshadow me like a complete cloud. Now, he doesn't say what it is. He doesn't know what it is at this point, but I think it's fair to say that a guess we could make is that it's the seed of doubt again, that. That sense that actually maybe something is lacking in his relationship with Dora, and that maybe there's something about Dora, as she currently is anyway, that's not quite cut out for being the angel in the house. And finally, at the very end of the chapter, the very last lines, we get this blind thing repeated again, not by Miss Betsy, but by a stranger. Now, this person isn't talking to David about David's situation with Dora at all. He's crying out, blind, blind, blind. Because he is literally blind and he's begging for money by telling people that he's blind, and that's why he needs charity. So David's reaction here has everything to do with David's own feelings and nothing at all to do with what this guy is trying to tell him. But David is leaving Agnes after again feeling in her presence the sense of calm and happiness that he always feels when he's with her. And he says, there was a beggar in the street when I went down. And as I turned my head towards the window, thinking of her calm seraphic eyes, he made me start by muttering as if he were an echo of the morning, blind, blind, blind. Okay, so it's like David knows that there's something he's not seeing, something that's right in front of him, but because he's blinded by something. Maybe it's his infatuation with Dora, maybe it's something else, but because he's blinded, he can't see it, even though it's right. There is that thing, in fact, that Agnes is actually the person he should marry. Is it the fact that he's actually already in love with Agnes and he just doesn't know it yet? I mean, he would say, no, not at all. He sees her as his sister, as his good angel, not at all as his lover. So maybe we should take his word for it. Except that's what he would say if he was blind to his own feelings, right? So again, I think think we are meant to make a comparison in this chapter between Dora and Agnes. And I think we are meant to take from this repeated refrain of blind, blind, blind that there is something that David is missing. And the last thing about this, I know I said that the other thing was the last thing, but this is the last thing because I just remembered it. So the last thing is this quote that Mary points out, which is clearly some kind of foreshadowing from adult David, but it's not entirely clear what it is foreshadowing. He says, oh, Agnes, sister of my boyhood. If I had known then what I knew long afterwards. Okay, so again, there is something about Agnes that he doesn't see now, but according to adult David, he will eventually see, but apparently not for a long time. So I wanted to lay all of that out because I do think it's there in the chapter. I do think it's meant to be part of our emotional experience of reading this book. And I got so many letters about it as well that I felt it made sense to discuss. But I want to end by just coming back around to Miss Betsy and her money troubles, because last time we talked a bit about what this might mean for. For her and for David, but we didn't have the full story yet of what actually happened, and now we know a lot more, so I want to just talk a bit about that as well. So Anne brings up the mysterious man that has been hounding Miss Betsy for money. And a lot of you wrote in after chapter 34 to say that you thought her money problems had to do with this mysterious guy. And that was a totally valid guess because we know that there is this mysterious person who keeps showing up and asking for money, which she gives him. So it makes sense to wonder if perhaps this man showed up and forced her to give over far more money than normal or something, and now she doesn't have any left. But that's not what she says happens. She says that she took her finances into her own hands after taking them out of Mr. Wakefield's hands, because Mr. Wakefield, as we saw in this chapter, he's kind of a shell of himself now that Uriah has taken control of things and his alcoholism is clearly pretty out of control. But when she took her money herself, she made a series of bad investments and now it's all gone. That's what she says. But I do think that Anne and the rest of you who wrote in, I don't think you're totally off base to be a little suspicious of this explanation. It doesn't totally sound like Miss Betsy to make a bunch of weird investments, does it? I mean, yes, she is weird, that's true. And she does go off on weird fancies and things like the donkeys and the fire and whatnot. But she's very practical in a lot of other matters. So I'm on board with being a little skeptical here about all of this. The mysterious man is still in the background. But there is also something else that I just want to point out, because it was a little bit subtle, but it was in there. And that is that Agnes is clearly very anxious about the possibility that it was Mr. Wickfield that somehow lost all of Miss Betsy's money. When Miss Betsy begins to talk about what happened to her money, David says, I observed Agnes turn pale, and she looked very attentively at my aunt. My aunt, patting her cat, looked very attentively at Agnes. Okay, so Agnes is clearly worried about what Ms. Betsy is going to say. Say. And Ms. Betsy clearly knows that Agnes is worried about it. And then later, after Miss Betsy has told her long story about all the ways that she invested her money and all the ways that she lost it, David then says, my aunt concluded this philosophical summary by fixing her eyes with a kind of triumph on Agnes, whose color was gradually returning. Okay, so Agnes feels better after this because Ms. Betsy says that it wasn't Mr. Wickfield who lost her money by making bad investments or whatever. Agnes is worried that her father's alcoholism and his ceding control to Uriah might have made him make some kind of mistake that had lost Miss Betsy her money. So she is relieved to find out that that's not true, and Miss Betsy is clearly happy to be able to relieve her of those worries. And David makes this plain a little bit later on. He says Agnes had listened at first with suspended breath. Her color still came and went, but she breathed more freely. I thought I knew why. I thought she had had some fear that her unhappy father might be in some way to blame for what had happened. So, I mean, Ms. Betsy is saying that it wasn't Mr. Wakefield, but she also seems triumphant. Right? That was the word that David used. She seems triumphant at having put Agnes's fears to rest. And Mr. Wakefield does seem like a totally broken man. He does seem, at this point, like the sort of person who might be capable of, like, accidentally investing his friend's money into something weird. So was it Mr. Wakefield and not Miss Betsy, and she's trying to hide that from Agnes so as not to upset her. Was it not Mr. Wakefield and it really was Miss Betsy making bad investments, or was it neither of those things and it was actually the mysterious man who took all of her money? We really don't know at this point, although on the surface it seems that it was Ms. Betsy's fault and no one else's. So I think that's what we have to go with for now. But it's okay, I think, to be skeptical at this point. I don't think that we can leave this section of the story, by the way, without talking about Miss Betsy's absolutely epic takedown of Uriah. As Paula said, it is so satisfying to have someone finally say to Uriah, his face, what an icky, slimy piece of work he is. It's kind of like when Ms. Betsy told Mr. Murdstone to his face what a villain he was. And of course it's Miss Betsy again, who has never had a problem with telling people what she thinks of them. But it's her who says, here is the quote. If you're an eel, sir, conduct yourself like one. If you're a man, control your limbs, sir. Good God, said my aunt with great indignation, I am not going to be serpentined and corkscrewed out of my senses. I mean, that is just brilliant. Save that one up, right? If you ever need to insult like a slimy, humble person in your life. Because Uriah more and more is turning out to be a pretty bad guy. He's moved into Mr. Wickfield's house and tellingly, he has taken David's old bedroom, right? So he's moved in there, he's moved his mother into the house and Agnes has to keep her company. Now he's taking over the law firm. He's like grasping and clawing his way up the social ladder. And we know what he wants next. Next, right? He told us he wants Agnes, which after this chapter, which was totally glorifying Agnes, it feels even more horrific, I think, to think about that. So that is bad. And of course, now David's whole situation has changed as well because of Miss Betsy's financial problems. This middle class life that he craved so much and finally got it is potentially vanishing before his eyes. And on the one hand, this is actually really, as we might say in like modern parlance, we might say this is very triggering for David because he knows what it is to be poor, he knows what it is to be destitute and he never wants that again. But also he's thinking about his Persona as chivalric knight, right? And he says he's thinking about, this is a quote coming down to have no money in my pocket and to wear a shabby coat and to be able to carry Dora no little presents and to ride no gallant greys and to show myself in no agreeable light. So he's not really thinking about his days of homelessness, actually, he's thinking about his sort of foppish lifestyle and how he's gonna have to potentially give that up. But he isn't being entirely silly here because he is thinking practically. He does go and try to get his money back from Mr. Spenlow. And Anne's point about Mr. Spenlow's name is brilliant. I mean, it's Spenlo, not spend low, but still, he's clearly the one not Mr. Jorkins, who we met in the last chapter. It's clearly Mr. Spenlo who is not willing to spend any more than he has to spend or to give any money back or anything. It's not Jorkins. So David tried to get his money back and he tried to get out of his unpaid job so that he could get a paid one that didn't work. But then Agnes, like the angel that she is, she sort of drops this solution into David's lap, which is that he can work for Dr. Strong in his free time, helping him with his dictionary because now he's retired and he's just working on the dictionary and in that way he can earn a living. So, so that is where we left him. Miss Betsy is now living in London with him. Mr. Dick is nearby. David is going to try to make some money in the hopes that he'll one day be able to marry Dora. And it's in a sense, I guess it's another one of these new beginnings. The end of this totally carefree middle class life and the beginning of a still middle class life, but financially a more uncertain life in which he has to make his own way. He has to go out into the world and work and make something of himself. So let's see if he can do that. Right, let us keep reading and find out. I have talked for a very long time, but we had a lot to say. But let's stop now and get to the chapter. But of course, don't forget to write to me. It's faithkmore.com click on contact. Or you can scroll into the show notes and click the link that's there. I absolutely love to hear from you. You are never bothering me. I would love to hear your reactions to this chapter. So please do write in. All right, let's get started with chapter 36 of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. It's story time. Chapter 36, enthusiasm. I began the next day with another dive into the Roman bath and then started for Highgate. I was not dispirited now. I was not afraid of the shabby coat and had no yearnings after gallant grace. My whole manner of thinking of our late misfortune was changed. What I had to do was to show my aunt that her past goodness to me had not been thrown away on an insensible, ungrateful object. What I had to do was to turn the painful discipline of my younger days to account by going to work with a resolute and steady heart. What I had to do was to take my woodsman's axe in my hand and clear my own way through the forest of difficulty by cutting down the trees until I came to Dora. And I went on at a mighty rate, as if it could be done by walking. When I found myself on the familiar Highgate road pursuing such a different errand from that old one of pleasure with which it was associated, it seemed as if a complete change had come on my whole life. But that did not discourage me. With the new life came new purpose, new intention. Great was the labor, priceless the reward. Dora was the reward, and Dora must be won. I got into such a transport that I felt quite sorry my coat was not a little shabby already. I wanted to be cutting at those trees in the forest of difficulty under circumstances that should prove my strength. I had a good mind to ask an old man in wire spectacles who was breaking stones upon the road to lend me his hammer for a little while and let me begin to beat a path to Dora out of granite. It I stimulated myself into such a heat and got so out of breath that I felt as if I had been earning I don't know how much in this state. I went into a cottage that I saw was to let and examined it narrowly, for I felt it necessary to be practical. It would do for me and Dora admirably. With a little front garden for Gyp to run about in and bark at the tradespeople through the railings, and a capital room upstairs for my aunt, I came out again hotter and faster than ever, and dashed up to Highgate at such a rate that I was there an hour too early. And though I had not been should have been obliged to stroll about to cool myself before I was at all presentable. My first care, after putting myself under this necessary course of preparation, was to find the doctor's house. It was not in that part of Highgate where Mrs. Steerforth lived, but quite on the opposite side of the little town. When I had made this discovery, I went back in an attraction I could not resist, to a Lane by Mrs. Steerforth's and looked over the corner of the garden wall. His room was shut up close, the conservatory doors were standing open, and Rosa Dardall was walking bareheaded with a quick impetuous step up and down a gravel walk on one side of the lawn. She gave me the idea of some fierce thing that was dragging the length of its chain to and fro upon a beaten track and wearing its heart out. I came softly away from my place of observation and avoiding that part of the neighborhood and wishing I had not gone near it, strolled about until it was 10 o'. Clock. The church with the slender spire that stands on the top of the hill now was not there then to tell me the time. An old red brick mansion used as a school was in its place, and a fine old house it must have been to go to school at, as I recollect it, when I approached the doctor's cottage, a pretty old place on which he seemed to have expended some money, if I might judge from the embellishments and repairs that had the look of being just completed. I saw him walking in the garden at the side, gaiters and all, as if he had never left off walking since the days of my pupilage. He had his old companions about him too, for there were plenty of high trees in the neighbourhood, and two or three rooks were on the grass looking after him as if they had been written to about him by the Canterbury rooks, and were observing him closely. In consequence, knowing the utter hopelessness of attracting his attention from that distance, I made bold to open the gate and walk after him him so as to meet him when he should turn round. When he did and came towards me, he looked at me thoughtfully for a few moments, evidently without thinking about me at all, and then his benevolent face expressed extraordinary pleasure, and he took me by both hands. Why, my dear Copperfield, said the doctor, you are a man. How do you do? I am delighted to see you. My dear Copperfield, how very much you have him improved. You are quite. Yes. Dear me, I hoped he was well. And Mrs. Strong, too. Oh, dear, yes, said the doctor. Annie's quite well and she'll be delighted to see you. You were always her favorite. She said so last night when I showed her your letter. And yes, to be sure you recollect Mr. Jack Malden Copperfield? Perfectly, sir. Of course I, said the doctor, to be sure. He's pretty well too. Has he come home, sir? I inquired from India, said The doctor. Yes. Mr. Jack Malden couldn't bear the climate. My dear Mrs. Markleham, you have not forgotten, Mrs. Markleham forgotten the old soldier? And in that short time, Mrs. Markleham said the doctor was quite vexed about him, poor thing. So we have got him at home again, and we have bought him a little patent place which agrees with him much better. I knew enough of Mr. Jack Malden to suspect from this account that it was a place where there was not much to do, and which was pretty well paid. The doctor, walking up and down with his hand on my shoulder, and his kind face turned encouragingly to mine, went on. Now, my dear Copperfield, in reference to this proposal of yours, it's very gratifying and agreeable to me, I am sure. But don't you think you could do better? You achieve distinction, you know. When you are with us you are qualified for many good things. You have laid a foundation that any edifice may be raised upon. And is it not a pity that you should devote the springtime of your life to such a poor pursuit as I can offer? I became very glowing again, and expressing myself in a rhapsodical style, I am afraid, urged my request strongly, reminding the doctor that I had already a profession. Well, well, said the doctor, that's true. Certainly you're having a profession, and being actually engaged in studying it makes a difference. But, my good friend, what's £70 a year? It doubles our income. Dr. Strong, said I. Dear me, replied the doctor, to think of that. Not that I mean to say it's rigidly limited to £70 a year, because I've always contemplated making any young friend I might thus employ a too. Undoubtedly, said the doctor, still walking me up and down with his hand on my shoulder, I have always taken an annual present into account. My dear tutor, said I, now really, without any nonsense, to whom I owe more obligations already than I ever can acknowledge. No, no, interposed the doctor. Pardon me. If you will take such time as I have, and that is my mornings and evenings, and can think it worth 70 pounds a year, you will do me such a service as I cann express. Dear me, said the doctor innocently, to think that so little should go for so much. Dear, dear. And when you can do better, you will on your word. Now, said the doctor, which he had always made a very grave appeal to the honor of us boys. On my word, sir, I returned, answering in our old school manner. Then be it so, said the doctor, clapping me on the shoulder and still keeping his hand there as we still walked up and down, down. And I shall be 20 times happier, sir, said I, with a little, I hope, innocent flattery, if my employment is to be on the dictionary. The Doctor stopped smilingly, clapped me on the shoulder again, and exclaimed with a triumph most delightful to behold, as if I had penetrated to the profoundest depths of moral sagacity. My dear young friend, you have hid it. It is the dictionary. How could it be anything else? His pockets were as full of it as his head. It was sticking out of him in all directions. He told me that since his retirement from scholastic life he had been advancing with it wonderfully, and that nothing could suit him better than the proposed arrangements for morning and evening work, as it was his custom to walk about in the daytime with his considering cap on. His papers were in a little confusion in consequence of Mr. Jack Malden having lately proffered his occasional service services as an amanuensis. An amanuensis is a person who takes dictation and helps prepare manuscripts, and not being accustomed to that occupation, but we should soon put right what was amiss and go on swimmingly afterwards, when we were fairly at our work. I found Mr. Jack Malden's efforts more troublesome to me than I had expected, as he had not confined himself to making numerous mistakes, but had sketched so many soldiers and ladies heads over the Doctor's manuscript script, that I often became involved in labyrinths of obscurity. The Doctor was quite happy in the prospect of our going to work together on that wonderful performance, and we settled to begin next morning at 7 o'. Clock. We were to work two hours every morning and two or three hours every night, except on Saturdays, when I was to rest. On Sundays, of course, I was to rest also, and I considered these very easy terms, our plans being thus arranged. To our mutual satisfaction, the Doctor took me into the house to present me to Mrs. Strong. Strong, whom we found in the Doctor's new study dusting his booksa freedom which he never permitted anybody else to take with those sacred favourites. They had postponed their breakfast on my account, and we sat down to table together. We had not been seated long when I saw an Approaching Arrival in Mrs. Strong's face. Before I heard any sound of it, a gentleman on horseback came to the gate and, leading his horse into the little court with the bridle over his arm as if he were quite at home, tied him to a ring in the empty coach house wall and came into the breakfast parlour, whip in hand. It was Mr. Jack Malden. And Mr. Jack Malden was not at all improved by India. I thought I was in a state of ferocious virtue. However, as to young men who were not cutting down trees in the forest, of difficulty and my impression must be received with due allowance, Mr. Jack, said the doctor. Copperfield. Mr. Jack Malden shook hands with me. Me, but not very warmly, I believed, and with an air of languid patronage at which I secretly took great umbrage. But his languor altogether was quite a wonderful sight, except when he addressed himself to his cousin Annie. Have you breakfasted this morning, Mr. Jack? Said the doctor. I hardly ever take breakfast, sir, he replied with his head thrown back in an easy chair. I find it bores me. Is there any news today? Inquired the doctor. Nothing at all, sir, replied Mr. Malden. There's an account about the people being hungry and discontented down in the north. But they're always being hungry and discontented somewhere. The doctor looked grave and said, as though he wished to change the subject, then there's no news at all. And no news, they say, is good news. There's a long statement in the papers, sir, about a murder, observed Mr. Malden. But somebody is always being murdered, and I didn't read it. A display of indifference to all the actions and passions of mankind was not supposed to be such a distinguished quality at that time. I think, as I have observed it to be considered since I have known it, very fashionable indeed. I have seen it displayed with such success that I have encountered some fine ladies and gentlemen who might as well have been born caterpillars. Perhaps it impressed me the more then, because it was new to me, me. But it certainly did not tend to exalt my opinion of, or to strengthen my confidence in Mr. Jack Malden. I came out to inquire whether Annie would like to go to the opera to night, said Mr. Malden, turning to her. It's the last good night there will be this season, and there's a singer there whom she really ought to hear. She is perfectly exquisite. Besides which, she is so charmingly ugly. Relapsing into languor. The doctor, ever pleased with what was likely to please his young wife, turned to her and said, you must go, Annie. You must go. I would rather not, she said to the doctor. I prefer to remain at home. I would much rather remain at home. Without looking at her cousin, she then addressed me and asked me about Agnes and whether she should see her and whether she was not likely to come that day and was so much disturbed Observed that I wondered how even the doctor, buttering his toast, could be blind to what was so obvious. But he saw nothing. He told her good naturedly that she was young and ought to be amused and entertained and must not allow herself to be made dull by a dull old fellow. Moreover, he said he wanted to hear her sing all the new singers songs to him. And how could she do that? Well, unless she went. So the doctor persisted in making the engagement for her and Mr. Jack Malden was to come back to dinner. Dinner, this concluded. He went to his patent place, I suppose, but at all events went away on his horse, looking very idle. I was curious to find out next morning whether she had been she had not but had sent into London to put her cousin off, and had gone out in the afternoon to see Agnes, and had prevailed upon the doctor to go with her. And they had walked home by the fields. The doctor told me, the evening being delightful. I wondered then whether she would have gone if Agnes had not been in town, and whether Agnes had some good influence. Influence over her too. She did not look very happy, I thought, but it was a good face or a very false one. I often glanced at it, for she sat in the window all the time we were at work, and made our breakfast, which we took by snatches as we were employed. When I left at 9 o', clock, she was kneeling on the ground at the doctor's feet, putting on his shoes and gaiters for him. There was a softened shade upon her face, thrown from some green leaves overhanging the open window of the low room room. And I thought all the way to doctor's commons of the night when I had seen it, looking at him as he read. I was pretty busy now, up at 5 in the morning and home at 9 or 10 at night. But I had infinite satisfaction in being so closely engaged, and never walked slowly on any account, and felt enthusiastically that the more I tired myself, the more I was doing to deserve Dora. I had not revealed myself in my altered character to Dora yet, because she was coming to see Miss Mills in a few days, and I deferred all I had to tell her until then, merely informing her in my letters. All our communications were secretly forwarded through Miss Mills, that I had much to tell her. In the meantime I put myself on a short allowance of bear's grease, wholly abandoned scented soap and lavender water, and sold off three waistcoats at a prodigious sacrifice as being too luxurious for my stern career, not satisfied with all these proceedings, but burning with impatience to do something more. I went to see Traddles, now lodging up behind the parapet of a house in Castle Street, Holborn. Mr. Dick, who had been with me to Highgate twice already and had resumed his companionship with the doctor, I took with me. I took Mr. Dick with me because, acutely sensitive to my aunt's reverses and sincerely believing that no galley, slave or convict worked as I did, he had begun to fret and worry himself out of spirits and appetite, as having nothing useful to do in this condition, he felt more incapable of finishing the memorial than ever, and the harder he worked at it, the oftener that unlucky head of King Charles. I got into it seriously, apprehending that his malady would increase unless we put some innocent deception upon him and caused him to believe that he was useful, or unless we could put him in the way of being really useful, which would be better. I made up my mind to try if Traddles could help me. Us. Before we went, I wrote Traddles a full statement of all that had happened, and Traddles wrote me back a capital answer expressive of his sympathy and friendship. We found him hard at work with his inkstand and papers, refreshed by the sight of the flower pot stand and the little round table in a corner of the small apartment. He received us cordially and made friends with Mr. Dick. In a moment. Mr. Dick professed an absolute certainty of having seen him before, and we both said, very likely. The first subject on which I had to consult Traddles was I had heard that many men distinguished in various pursuits had begun life by reporting the debates in Parliament. Traddles having mentioned newspapers to me as one of his hopes. I had put the two things together and told Traddles in my letter that I wished to know how I could qualify myself for this pursuit. Traddles now informed me, as the result of his inquiries that the mere mechanical acquisition necessary, except in rare cases, pieces for thorough excellence in it, that is to say, a perfect and entire command of the mystery of shorthand. Writing and reading was about equal in difficulty to the mastery of six languages, and that it might perhaps be attained by dint of perseverance in the course of a few years. Traddles reasonably supposed that this would settle the business, But I only feeling that here indeed were a few tall trees to be hewn down, immediately resolved to work my way on to Dora through this thicket, it axe in hand. Okay, so if he wants to report on court proceedings, he needs to know shorthand, which Traddles says is very hard to learn, but David is willing to try. I am very much obliged to you, my dear Traddles, said I. I'll begin tomorrow. Traddles looked astonished, as well he might, but he had no notion as yet of my rapturous condition. I'll buy a book, said I, with a good scheme of this art in it. I'll work at it at the Commons, where I haven't half enough to do to. I'll take down the speeches in our court for practice. Traddles, my dear fellow, I'll master it. Dear me, said Traddles, opening his eyes. I had no idea you were such a determined character, Copperfield. I don't know how he should have said, for it was new enough to me. I passed that off and brought Mr. Dick on the carpet. You see, said Mr. Dick wistfully. If I could exert myself, Mr. Traddles, if I could beat a drum or blow anything. Poor fellow, I have little doubt he would have preferred such an employment in his heart to all others. Traddles, who would not have smiled for the world, replied composedly. But you are a very good penman, sir. You told me so, Copperfield. Excellent, said I. Indeed he was. He wrote with extraordinary neatness. Do you think, said Traddles, you could copy writings, sir, if I got them for you? Mr. Dick looked doubtfully at me. Eh, Trotwood? I shook my head. Mr. Dick shook his and sighed. Tell him about the memorial, said Mr. Dick. I explained to Traddles that there was a difficulty in keeping King Charles I out of Mr. Dick's manuscript scripts. Mr. Dick in the meanwhile looking very deferentially and seriously at Traddles and sucking his thumb. But these writings, you know, that I speak of are already drawn up and finished, said Traddles, after a little consideration. Mr. Dick has nothing to do with them. Wouldn't that make a difference, Copperfield? At all events, wouldn't it be well to try? This gave us new hope, Traddles and I, laying our heads together apart. But while Mr. Dick anxiously watched us from his chair, we concocted a scheme, in virtue of which we got him to work next day with triumphant success. On a table by the window in Buckingham street, we set out the work Traddles procured for him, which was to make I forget how many copies of a legal document about some right of way. And on another table we spread the last unfinished original of the great memorial. Our instructions to Mr. Dick were that he should copy exactly what he had before him without the least departure from the original and that when he felt it necessary to make the slightest allusion to King Charles I, he should fly to the memorial. We exhorted him to be resolute in this, and left my aunt to observe him. My aunt reported to us afterwards that at first he was like a man playing the kettle drums, and constantly divided his attentions between the two but that finding this confuse and fatigue him, and having his copy there plainly before his eyes, he soon sat at it in an orderly business like manner, and postponed the memorial to a more convenient time. In a word, although we took great care that he should have no more to do than was good for him, and although he did not begin with the beginning of a week, he earned by the following Saturday night 10 shillings and ninepence. And never, while I live, shall I forget his going about to all the shops in the neighbourhood to change this treasure into sixpences, or his bringing them to my aunt, arranged in the form of a heart upon a waiter year, with tears of joy and pride in his eyes. He was like one under the propitious influence of a charm from the moment of his being usefully employed. And if there were a happy man in the world that Saturday night, it was the grateful creature who thought my aunt the most wonderful woman in existence, and me the most wonderful young man. No starving now, trotwood, said Mr. Dick, shaking hands with me in a corner. All provide for her, sir. And he flourished his ten fingers in the air as if they were ten banks. I hardly know which was the better pleased Traddles or I. It really, said Traddles, suddenly, taking a letter out of his pocket and giving it to me put Mr. Micawber quite out of my head. The letter Mr. Micawber never missed any possible opportunity of writing a letter was addressed to me, me, by the kindness of T. Traddles, Esq. Of the Inner Temple, it ran thus. My dear Copperfield, you may possibly not be unprepared to receive the intimation that something has turned up. I may have mentioned to you on a former occasion that I was in expectation of such an event. I am about to establish myself in one of the provincial towns of our favored island, where the society may be described as a happy admixture of the agricultural and the clerical in immediate connection with one of the learned professions. Mrs. Micawber and our offspring will accompany me. Our ashes at a future period will probably be found commingled in the cemetery, attached to a venerable pile, for which the spot to which I refer has acquired a Reputation, shall I say, from China to Peru in bidding adieu to the modern Babylon, where we have undergone many vicissitudes. I Trust not ignobly, Mrs. Micawber and myself cannot disguise from our minds that we part. It may be for years, and it may be forever, with an individual link by strong associations to the altar of our domestic life. If, on the eve of such a departure you will accompany our mutual friend, Mr. Thomas Traddles, to our present abode and there reciprocate the witches natural to the occasion, you will confer a boon on one who is ever yours, Wilkins Micawber. I was glad to find that Mr. Micawber had got rid of his dust and ashes bushes and that something really had turned up. At last, learning from Traddles that the invitation referred to the evening then wearing away, I expressed my readiness to do honour to it and we went off together to the lodging which Mr. Micawber occupied as Mr. Mortimer, and which was situated near the top of the Gray's Inn Road. The resources of this lodging were so limited that we found the twins, now some eight or nine years old, reposing in a turn up bedstead in the family sitting room room where Mr. Micawber had prepared in a wash hand stand jug what he called a brew of the agreeable beverage for which he was famous. I had the pleasure on this occasion of renewing the acquaintance of Master Micawber, whom I found a promising boy of about 12 or 13, very subject to that restlessness of limb which is not an unfrequent phenomenon in youths of his age. I also became once more known to his sister, Ms. Micawber, in whom, as Mr. Micawber told us, her mother renewed her youth like the phoenix. My Dear Copperfield, said Mr. Micawber, yourself and Mr. Traddles find us on the brink of migration and will excuse any little discomforts incidental to that position. Glancing round as I made a suitable reply, I observed that the family effects were already packed and that the amount of luggage was by no means overwhelming. I congratulated Mrs. Micawber on the approaching change. My dear Mr. Copperfield, said Mrs. Micawber, of your friendly interest in all our affairs I am well assured. My family may consider it banishment if they please, but I am a wife and mother, and I will never desert Mr. Micawber. Traddles, appealed to by Mrs. Micawber's eye, feelingly acquiesced. That, said Mrs. Micawber, that at least is my view. My dear Mr. Copperfield and Mr. Traddles of the obligation which I took upon myself when I repeated the irrevocable words. Words I, Emma, take thee, Wilkins. I read the service over with a flat candle on the previous night, and the conclusion I derived from it was that I never could desert Mr. Micawber. And, said Mrs. Micawber, though it is possible I may be mistaken in my view of the ceremony, I never will. My dear, said Mr. Micawber, a little impatiently, I am not conscious that you are expected to do anything of the sort. I am aware, my dear Mr. Copperfield, pursued Mrs. Micawber, that I am now about to cast my lot among strangers. And I am also aware that the various members of my family to whom Mr. Micawber has written in the most gentlemanly terms announcing that fact, have not taken the least notice of Mr. Micawber's communication. Indeed, I may be superstitious, said Mrs. Micawber, but it appears to me that Mr. Micawber is destined never to receive any answers whatever to the great, the great majority of the communications, he writes. I may augur from the silence of my family that they object to the resolution I have taken. But I should not allow myself to be swerved from the path of duty, Mr. Copperfield, even by my papa and mama, were they still living. I expressed my opinion that this was going in the right direction. It may be a sacrifice, said Mrs. Micawber, to immure oneself in a cathedral town. But surely, Mr. Copperfield, if it is a sacrifice in me, it is much more a sacrifice in a man of Mr. Micawber's abilities. Oh, are you going to a cathedral town? Said I. Mr. Micawber, who had been helping us all out of the washhand stand jug, replied to Canterbury. In fact, my dear Copperfield, I have entered into arrangements by virtue of which I stand pledged and contracted to our friend he keep to assist and serve him in the capacity of and to be his confidential clerk. I stared at Mr. Micawber, who greatly enjoyed my surprise. I am bound to state to you, he said with an official air, that the business habits and the prudent suggestions of Mrs. Micawber have in a great measure conduced to this result. The gauntlet to which Mrs. Micawber referred upon a former occasion being thrown down in the form of an advertisement, was taken up by my friend Heap and led to a mutual recognition of my friend heap, said Mr. Micawber, who is a man of remarkable shrewdness. I desire to speak. With all possible respect, my friend Heep has not fixed a positive remuneration at Too high a figure. But he has made a great deal in the way of extrication from the pressure of pecuniary difficulties contingent on the value of my services, and on the value of those services I pin my faith. Such address and intelligence as I chance to possess, said Mr. Micawber, boastfully disparaging himself with the old genteel air, will be devoted to my friend Heaps service. I have already some acquaintance with the law as a defendant on civil process, and I shall immediately apply myself to the the commentaries of one of the most eminent and remarkable of our English jurists. I believe it is unnecessary to add that I allude to Mr. Justice Blackstone these observations, and indeed the greater part of the observations made that evening, were interrupted by Mrs. Micawber's discovering that Master Micawber was sitting on his boots, or holding his head on with both arms as if he felt it loose, or accidentally kicking Traddles under the table, or shuffling his feet over one another, or producing them at distances from himself apparently outrageous to nature, or lying sideways with his hair among the wine glasses, or developing his restlessness of limb in some other form incompatible with the general interests of society, and by Master Micawber's receiving those discoveries in a resentful spirit. I sat all the while amazed by Mr. Micawber's disclosure and wondering what it meant, until Mrs. Micawber resumed the thread of the discourse course and claimed my attention. What I particularly request Mr. Micawber to be careful of is, said Mrs. Micawber, that he does not, my dear Mr. Copperfield, in applying himself to this subordinate branch of the law, place it out of his power to rise ultimately to the top of the tree. I am convinced that Mr. Micawber, giving his mind to a profession so adapted to his fertile resources and his flow of language, must. Must distinguish himself. Now, for example, Mr. Traddles, said Mrs. Micawber, assuming a profound air, a judge, or even, say, a chancellor, does an individual place himself beyond the pale of those preferments by entering on such an office as Mr. Micawber has accepted? She's asking if there's any way for a clerk like Micawber is going to be to rise in the ranks to becoming something much grander like a judge. My dear, observed Mr. Micawber, but glancing inquisitively at Traddles too, we have time enough before us for the consideration of those questions. Micawber, she returned, no. Your mistake in life is that you do not look forward far enough. You are bound in justice to your family if not to yourself, to take in at a comprehensive glance the extremest point in the horizon to which your abilities may lead you. Mr. Micawber coughed and drank his punch with an air of exceeding satisfaction, still glancing at Traddles as if he desired to have his opinion. Why the plain state of the case, Mrs. Micawber? Said traddles mildly, breaking the truth to her I mean the real prosaic fact, you know. Just so, said Mrs. Micawber. My dear Mr. Traddles, I wish to be as prosaic and literal as possible on a subject of so much importance. Is, said Traddles, that this branch of the law, even if Mr. Micawber were a regular solicitor. Exactly so, returned Mrs. Micawber. Wilkins, you are squinting and will not be able to get your eyes back. Has nothing pursued Traddles to do with that? Only a barrister is eligible for such performance, and Mr. Macawer would not be a barrister without being entered at an inter of court as a student for five years. Do I follow you? Said Mrs. Micawber, with her most affable air of business. Do I understand, my dear Mr. Traddles, that at the expiration of that period Mr. Micawber would be eligible as a judge or chancellor? He would be eligible, returned Traddles, with a strong emphasis on that word. Thank you, said Mrs. Micawber. That is quite sufficient. If such is the case, and Mr. Micawber forfeits no privilege by entering on these duties, my anxiety is set at rest. I speak, said Mrs. Micawber, as a female necessarily, but I have always been of opinion that Mr. Micawber possesses what I have heard my papa call when I lived at home, the judicial mind, And I hope Mr. Micawber, is now entering on a field where that mind will develop itself and take a commanding station. I quite believe that Mr. Micawber saw himself in his judicial mind's eye on the woolsack, meaning he sees himself as the head speaker in the House of Lords, which is a very exalted position. He passed his hand complacently over his bald head, and said with ostentatious resignation, my dear, we will not anticipate the degrees of fortune. If I am reserved to wear a wig, meaning to become a barrister, I am at least prepared externally, in allusion to his baldness, for that distinction. I do not, said Mr. Micawber, regret my hair, and I may have been deprived of it for a specific purpose. I cannot say it is my intention, my dear Copperfield, to educate my son for the church. I will not deny that I should be happy on his account to attain to eminence for the church, said I, still pondering between whiles on Uriah he keep. Yes, said Mr. Micawber, he has a remarkable head voice and will commence as a chorister. Our residence at Canterbury and our local connection will no doubt enable him to take advantage of any vacancy that may arise in the cathedral corps. On looking at Master Micawber again, I saw that he had a certain expression of face as if his voice were behind his eyebrows, where it presently appeared to be on his singing eyes. Us as an alternative between that and bed the woodpecker tapping after many compliments on this performance, we fell into some general conversation, and as I was too full of my desperate intentions to keep my altered circumstances to myself, I made them known to Mr. And Mrs. Micawber. I cannot express how extremely delighted they both were by the idea of my aunt's being in difficulties, and how comfortable and friendly it made them. When we were nearly come to the last round of the punch, I addressed myself to Traddles and reminded him him that we must not separate without wishing our friends health, happiness, and success in their new career. I begged Mr. Micawber to fill us bumpers and proposed the toast in due form, shaking hands with him across the table and kissing Mrs. Micawber to commemorate that eventful occasion. Traddles imitated me in the first particular, but did not consider himself a sufficiently old friend to venture on the second. My dear Copperfield, said Mr. Micawber, rising with one of his thumbs in each of his waistcoat pockets, the companion of my youth, if I may be allowed the expression, and my esteemed friend Traddles, if I may be permitted to call him so, will allow me on the part of Mrs. Macawer, myself, and our offspring to thank them in the warmest and most uncompromising terms for their good wishes. It may be expected that on the eve of a migration which will consign us to a perfectly new existence, Mr. Micawber spoke as if they were going 500,000 miles. I should offer a few valedictory remarks to two such friends as I see before me but all that I have to say in this way I have said, whatever station in society I may attain through the medium of the learned profession of which I am about to become an unworthy member I shall endeavour not to disgrace and Mrs. M. Macawer will be safe to adorn under the temporary pressure of pecuniary liabilities contracted with a view to their immediate liquidation. But remaining Unliquidated. Through a combination of circumstances, I have been under the necessity of assuming a garb from which my natural instincts recoil. I allude to spectacles and possessing myself of a cognomen to which I can establish no legitimate pretensions, meaning he's had to disguise himself and his name because of his financial problems. All I have to say on that score is that the cloud has passed from the dreary scene and the God of day is once more high upon the mountain tops. On Monday next, on the arrival of the 4 o' clock afternoon coach at Canterbury, my foot will be on my native heath. My name Micawber. Mr. Micawber resumed his seat on the close of these remarks and drank two glasses of punch in grave success session. He then said with much solemnity, one thing more I have to do before this separation is complete, and that is to perform an act of justice. My friend, Mr. Thomas Traddles has on two several occasions put his name, if I may use a common expression, to the bills of exchange for my accommodation. On the first occasion, Mr. Thomas Traddles was. Was left, let me say, in short, in the lurch. The fulfillment of the second has not yet arrived. The amount of the first obligation here Mr. McCover carefully referred to papers was, I believe, 23, 49 and a half of the second, according to my entry of that transaction, 1862. These sums united make a total, if my calculation is correct, amounting to 41, 10, 11 and a half. My friend Copperfield will perhaps do me the favor to check that total. I did so and found it correct to leave this metropolis, said Mr. Micawber. And my friend, Mr. Thomas Traddles, without acquitting myself of the pecuniary part of this obligation, would weigh upon my mind to an insupportable extent. I have therefore prepared for my friend Mr. Thomas Traddles, and I now hold in my hand and a document which accomplishes the desired object. I beg to hand to my friend Mr. Thomas traddles my IOU for 41, 10, 11 and a half, and I am happy to recover my moral dignity and to know that I can once more walk erect before my fellow man. With this introduction which greatly affected him, Mr. Micawber placed his IOU in the hands of Traddles and said he wished him well in every relation of life. Life. I am persuaded not only that this was quite the same to Mr. Micawber as paying the money, but that Traddles himself hardly knew the difference until he had had time to think about it. Meaning Mr. Micawber is probably never going to pay back the IOU. Mr. Micawber walked so erect before his fellow man on the strength of this virtuous action, that his chest looked half as broad again when he lighted us downstairs. We parted with great heartiness on both sides and when I had seen Traddles to his own door, and was going home alone, I thought among the other odd and contradictory things I mused upon, that, slippery as Mr. Micawber was, I was probably indebted to some compassionate recollection he retained of me as his boy lodger for never having been asked by him for money. I certainly should not have had the moral courage to refuse it, and I have no doubt he knew that to his credit. Be it written quite as well as I. Thank you so much for listening, I'd love to know what you thought of the chapters. Is there anything you'd like me to clarify? Did something particularly interest you? Please go to my website, faithkmoore.com, click on Contact and send me your questions and thoughts. Or you can click on the link in the Show Notes to contact me. I'll feature one or two of your entries at the start of the next episode. Speaking of links, don't forget to take a look at the other links in the Show Notes. You can learn more about me, check out our merch store, or become a member of the Storytime for Grown Ups online community. Before I go, I'd like to ask a quick favor. This is an independent podcast. It's produced, recorded and marketed by me, so I need your help. Spread the word about the show by posting about it on social media or texting a link to your friends. Subscribe, tap those five stars and leave a positive review wherever you're listening. If you are able to support the show financially, there's a link in the Show Notes to make a donation. I would really, really appreciate it. Alright everyone, story time is over. To be continued.