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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 getting so excited for you guys to find out what our next book is. I can barely contain myself. I can't wait to hear from you. When you hear the trailer which is coming out on Saturday, this coming Saturday, August 8th, you'll get your trailer. And I can't wait. I've known for such a long time what the book is. I've been prepping it. I'm really kind of deep in it right now, even though I'm also here with you and David Copperfield. It's wonderful. I'm like swimming in fantastic books. It's the best ever. But I want you to come along with me into the next book too. And so I can't wait for you to find out what it is. So please do get in touch once you hear it right. The next time that I talk to you on Monday, I'll be able to talk a little bit about it. I won't talk too much. I'll wait till September, but I will be able to reveal it again and just kind of let you know a few things. So I'm really looking forward to that. And I hope that in between now and then you will get in touch with me once you hear what the book is and let me know what you think about our next selection. I'm really, really excited. My weekend is going to be just like looking at my emails from you guys. I can't wait. So that's coming up. Also, I have scheduled our next tea time and I have decided that this tea time is going to happen on the same day as the last episode of this season. So that will be Thursday, August 20th and tea time will be at 8pm Eastern. So on August 20th we'll do the conclusion episode. So we will have already finished the book. The last chapter is going to be on August 17th and then the next episode will be August 20th. That will be our conclusion episode. We do one after every book. We just kind of wrap it up, we talk about the final chapter and then I try to kind of draw all of the themes and big ideas and things that we've been talking about all along together and wrap everything up nicely so that we're ready to move on to the next book. So that will happen. That conclusion episode will happen on August 20th. And then that evening at 8pm Eastern we can gather in the drawing room, our online community, and chat. We'll be able to chat about the end of the book, we'll be able to chat about our next book coming up and anything else that you want to talk about. So I think it's going to be a really fun time. I know we usually do these in the last week of the month, month I'm actually going to be away that week. But also I just thought it would be really fun to do it on the last day of this season because this has been such a wonderful, such a long season. So it's fitting that we should celebrate in some way. And we're going to celebrate with tea time. So please do come to tea time. If you have been thinking you might want to join, but you haven't yet, this is going to be a great one to be a part of. So you just need to make sure that you are a member of the drawing room and that you are landed gentry, that that's the membership tier that you belong to to do that. If you' already just scroll into the show notes, that's the description of this episode. There's a link there that'll take you to some more information. It won't just automatically sign you up, you get to decide. But if you're interested, click that link, read more about it and then make a decision. I hope you will join us on August 20th at 8pm Eastern for tea time. I'm really, really looking forward to that chat. I think it's going to be really, really fun and I'll remind you again as it gets a bit closer. Okay? Other than that, all the usual things. Please subscribe, especially now. So you get that trailer. So subscribe. Please tap the five stars. Please leave a positive review in your podcast player. Please tell a friend. You can just copy a link to an episode or to the whole show. You can text it, you can email it, you can put it in a paper airplane and throw it out the window, whatever. Please just tell everyone that you know. I love that you guys are telling. You're telling strangers. It's amazing. People are telling strangers in restaurants. They are telling co workers, they're telling friends of friends. It's fantastic and wonderful. You guys are amazing. I love you and thank you. Please keep that up. Please tell everyone you know and you know, it's great because then you'll know people in real life who are reading this book and listening to this show and then you can talk about it. Talking about books with people in real life is one of life's great joys. And so I wish that on you. And one way that you can do that is by sharing this show with other people and then having this book to talk about. But of course, it's even if you don't do that, you can talk to us. We are here. We are people that you can talk to about this book. And so I am so glad that you're here, so glad that you're listening. Thank you, thank you. Thank you for making the show what it is. All right. We are going to read chapter 61 today. Last time we read chapter 60, and I have some questions, some comments. We're going to talk about it for a little bit and then we'll keep reading because we are just dying to know how this is all going to wrap up, aren't we? So first, let's just remind ourselves of what happened last time. So here is the the recap. Okay, so where we left off, David and Miss Betsy sit together and they talk about all the people that they know and how they're doing. Miss Betsy says that all the immigrants are doing well in Australia and that Mr. Macabre has even started sending back some money to pay off his debts to his friends. Mr. Dick is doing well and Agnes and Mr. Wickfield are doing well also. David asks if Agnes has any suitors, and Ms. Betsy says that she's had tons. David asks if there's anyone who seems worthy of her, and Ms. Betsy says there may be someone, but it's not for her to say. David then goes over to visit Agnes, and he is so in love with her and so overcome with her presence, but he feels the kindest thing he can do for her is to affirm that he's her brother and that he'll support her in whatever marriage she chooses because he feels that she can't possibly love him anymore the way that he loves her. She seems sort of sad sometimes, but Otherwise okay. And Mr. Wickfield is older and saddened by his hardships, but also basically okay. He tells David about Agnes's mother, who died of grief because her father wouldn't forgive her for marrying Mr. Field. And David sees what a good and dutiful daughter Agnes has been. As he's leaving, he feels that he must go on loving her in secret and that they can only really Be together in heaven. All right, I'm going to read 4 comments today. The first one comes from Ursula Poli. She says, I just finished chapter 60 and I'm so confused I'll have to listen again. What in the world is David doing? Is he priming the conversation with Agnes to reveal his true feelings with her at a later time? She obviously has feelings for him. Is he still that blind? Ugh. And then I want to read you this little exchange that happened in the drawing room between Avocjack and Rachel C. Havoc. Jack says, look, I'm not very good at these things, but if you want to get with a girl, do not start by calling her sister. It sets entirely the wrong tone. And then Rachel C. Says, and notice how she never uses the term brother until he has called her son. Come on, David. This next one comes from Kate Copeland. She says, david, just tell Agnes how you feel already. The suspense is killing me. And the last one is from Amanda B. She says, gah. Come on, David. Still blind, blind, blind. What will cause him to finally see? I can't wait to find out. Okay, so I have to tell you, I am having the most fun right now reading your emails and the comments over in the drawing room and everything. And I actually kind of think that I'm getting, like, a little taste of what Dickens might have felt too, because I think that Dickens is having, like, the best time here. I think he's got us right where he wants us, and he's sort of messing with us, but, like, in the nicest way possible. He knows what we want. He knows that we want David to tell Agnes how he feels, and he's just not given it to us. And instead, instead he's giving us this sort of rom com comedy of errors situation between David and Agnes. And I feel like I can just sort of hear him, like, laughing across the centuries, you know, not in a mean way. He's not trying to annoy us, I don't think, but in the way that all writers feel when the thing that they're trying to do is working with their readers. It's a feeling that just makes you giddy because you know what you're doing and you're watching it work. And since I also know how all of this ends, I think I'm feeling a little bit of that while I read your emails and your comments. Because this feeling of like, come on, David, you've got to tell her. I think this is exactly the feeling that Diggins is trying to cultivate in us right now. And I think he's having a lot of fun, kind of coiling that spring tighter and tighter and just not releasing it. At least not yet. So I think what's going on in chapter 60 is, on the one hand, that David is realizing what an idiot he was way back when he was a teenager and a young adult, because he sees now that at that time he was like the only person on the face of the earth or something who didn't see that he and Agnes would have made a good match. Here's what he says in chapter 60, he says thoughtfully, for I could not be here once more and so near Agnes without the revival of those regrets with which I had so long been occupied. Softened regrets. They might be teaching me what I had failed to learn when my younger life was all before me, but not the less. Regrets. Oh, trot, I seemed to hear my aunt say once more, and I understood her better now. Blind, blind, blind. Okay, so he's realizing that when Ms. Betsy was saying that to him all of those years ago, she was trying to imply to him without imposing her own wishes onto his life. She was trying to imply that Agnes was right there and she would make a perfect match for David. And he understands that to mean as well that at that point Miss Betsy at least thought that Agnes would have welcomed a marriage proposal from him. He understands now that he was the only one totally oblivious to what could have been between him and Agnes, and that he really was blind about that. So that's something David does understand. But on the other hand, what's going on in chapter 60, I think, is that we're getting these little hints that perhaps things aren't as settled as David is trying to convince himself that they are, that actually maybe David does have a chance with Agnes. But at the same time, and this is what is so brilliantly sort of rom comy about all of this, at the same time, David is working so hard to prove to Agnes and to himself and to everyone around him that he is totally fine to keep things the way that they've always been. He's trying to convince himself that he can totally live the rest of his life being madly in love with Agnes, but never confessing it. And he's trying to show Agnes that he's still her loving brother the way that he's always been, because he's convinced himself that that's what she wants, that someone as wonderful and good and angelic as Agnes couldn't possibly still love a total idiot like him. So even as Dickens is kind of signaling to us that There actually might be some hope here for David. David is actively shooting himself in the foot by trying to kind of ostentatiously act like is exactly as it's always been. I mean, that's what's going on with him, calling her sister all the time. They've called each other brother and sister throughout the book. Right. But here David is doing it really ostentatiously because he's trying to convey his commitment to not changing their relationship in any way, because he thinks that's what she wants. And he's even trying to get her to tell him all about her suitors and whether she's in love with anyone, because that's what a friend would do. A friend wouldn't feel jealous of a friend's suitors or try to ignore the fact that she might be in love with someone. A friend would want to be the confidant and to hear all the news and the gossip and to give advice. So he's trying to convince her that that's exactly how he feels. But of course, he does feel jealous. He is worried that she's going to marry, so he's also hoping that she'll tell him about her suitors so that he can understand exactly what's going on here. But to answer Ursula's question, he is not trying to clear the way, to make his own declaration. He really has decided that he's going to do that, that she is not in love with him at all, and that he's got to keep his feelings a secret. And so he calls her his sister to try to signal to her that everything's still the same between them. But when he calls her sister, we. So not David, but we the reader, we get this little inkling that actually maybe Agnes doesn't like that very much. Here's what David says. He says, is there nothing else, sister? Right. He's trying to get her to confide in him about her suitors. But then it says her color, which had just now faded, returned and faded again. She smiled with a quiet sadness, I thought, and shook her head. Okay, so the fact that David called her sister seemed to kind of upset or rattle her in some way. But being Agnes, she pulls herself together pretty quickly. And all David can detect is a kind of quiet sadness. Why? Why is she quietly sad? Is it because she actually is hoping that he'll declare his love for her? And when he calls her sister, she felt disappointed because it means that he's not thinking of her that way? Or is it something else, something we don't know about yet, we just don't know. But we get that little moment, that little glimmer of potential hope. And we've also got Miss Betsy, who again, she's not telling David anything. She's not ever going to tell him what to do. This is another wonderful thing about Miss Betsy. She's always allowed David to make his own choices and his own mistakes and she has stood by him no matter what he chooses. So she's not going to tell him what to do or even that Agnes is in love with him, because I don't think she actually knows that. But it seems like she might have a sense that Agnes is in love with David and that David should reveal his feelings. And again, we're getting this sort of comedy of errors like talking at cross purposes vibe here because if we stipulate that Miss Betsy is trying to hint to David that he should pursue Agnes, which she might not be, but let's just stipulate it for a second, okay? Let's just say that she is. Every time she says anything that she means to be encouragement to David to go for it, David takes it as a reproach that he should have gone for it back then but can't go for it now because the chance has passed. So when David initially asks Miss Betsy about Agnes, Miss Betsy says, this is a quote. You will find her as good, as beautiful, as earnest, as disinterested as she has always been. If I knew higher praise trot, I would bestow it on her. And then David says, there was no higher praise for her, no higher reproach for me. Oh, how had I strayed so far away? Okay, so again, if we stipulate that Miss Betsy is trying to alert David to the fact that Agnes might welcome his advances, then we could say that she's saying all these wonderful things about Agnes here to kind of get David to say, like, yes, you're right and I'm in love with her, so that then Miss Betsy could say something more definitive once she knew David's feelings and. But instead, David takes it as further proof that he's let this wonderful woman pass him by and there's no hope for him now. Similarly, when Miss Betsy tells him that Agnes has had lots of suitors in the past three years, which again, she might be telling him to get him to sort of get a move on and confess his love before it's too late. But when she tells him that, and David asks if there's anyone in particular that she seems to like, Miss Betsy says, I suspect she has an attachment. Trot. And then David says, a prosperous one. And then Miss Betsy says, trot. I can't say, I have no right to tell you even so much. She has never confided it to me, but I suspect it. Now, again, going with this hypothesis that Miss Betsy thinks there's a chance here, it's possible. She's trying to imply that the prosperous attachment is actually to David, right? That David does have a chance because Agnes is in love with him. But of course, David takes it to mean that he's right, his chance is over. There's some other guy who Agnes is going to marry. And so he's definitely got to just keep acting like her brother or risk losing her friendship entirely. Now, that may not be what Miss Betsy is talking about. There may actually be another suitor, or it may be that that's what Miss Betsy is talking about. But she's wrong, right? She says she doesn't actually know that Agnes hasn't confided in her, so it may just be wishful thinking on her part. So we don't know either. But I think that Dickens is implying here that David may actually have a chance with Agnes. But of course, David is taking all this information in exactly the opposite way and using it all to further confirm his opinion that there's no hope at all. So it's all wonderfully rom com, I think. And this whole kind of frustrating talking at cross purposes that's going on here is exacerbated by the fact that when David and Agnes are actually in the same room with each other, it is so clear that they should be together. I mean, the way that they greet each other even when David shows up at the house, it's exactly the way that two people in love would greet each other after like a long separation. Here's what it says. I folded her to my heart and for a little while we were both silent. Presently we sat down side by side and her angel face was turned upon me with the welcome I had dreamed of waking and sleeping for whole years. I mean, don't you kind of expect that the very next thing that's gonna happen is that they kiss or something? That is what it feels like to me. But then nothing. Except that the feelings that David feels while he's with her, they are so romantic, right? He says, she was so true, she was so beautiful, she was so good. I owed her so much gratitude. She was so dear to me that I could find no utterance for what I felt. I tried to bless her, tried to thank her, tried to tell her, as I had often done in letters, what an influence she had upon me. But all my efforts were in vain. My love and joy were dumb. Okay, this should be a love scene. It should be the moment where he confesses that he's been blind and stupid, but now he knows he loves her more than he's ever loved anyone ever, and will she please marry him, like right this second. But it is not that moment at all. Because she can't do anything, even if she wanted to, which we don't know. But she can't do anything if he doesn't confess his love. The conventions of the day prevented it. And he's not doing anything because he's convinced that she doesn't want him to. But I think if we want to make a case for the fact that she does want him to, then it's not that hard to do it. We have what I was talking about a moment ago, about her getting upset when he called her sister. But we also have the way in which she has restored the house to the way that it was when David was living there, right before the heaps took over. David says the books that Agnes and I had read together were on their shelves and the desk where I had laboured at my lessons many a night stood yet at the same old corner of the table. All the little changes that had crept in when the heaps were there were changed again. Everything was as it used to be in the happy time. And then Agnes tells him, I have found pleasure while you have been absent, in keeping everything as it used to be when we were children, for we were very happy then. I think, think, okay, so it's almost like she's saying that she wants to start again, that she wants to reset the clock and go back to the time before David married Dora and kind of have a do over in which David marries Agnes. I mean, it's possible that's not what's going on. But it's interesting that she's not saying, oh, I'm so glad to get the house back to the way it was before the heaps took over. She's saying she wanted it to be the way that it was when David was living there. It's about David, which I think could point to her having feelings for him. And it's another one of these full circle moments. Kind of like the meeting with Mr. Chillip in the last chapter. This sense of things coming back to the beginning, right, of potentially getting to do it over again in some way. But David, idiot that he is, he doesn't catch on to any of this. He is so preoccupied with making sure that Agnes doesn't know that he's in love with her, that he's going out of his way to talk about how he's always going to view her as a sister and their friends and all this, which, if you're Agnes, and if you were hoping that he was going to come back from abroad and confess his love, then it sounds an awful lot like what he's doing is trying to telegraph to her that he doesn't love her, doesn't want to be with her romantically, and that the door is totally closed on that. Here's what he says to her. He says, whatever new ties you may form, whatever changes may come between us, I shall always look to you and love you as I do now and have always done, done. You will always be my solace and resource, as you have always been. Until I die, my dearest sister, I shall see you always before me, pointing upward. Which, if you were hoping for a marriage proposal or a confession of love or whatever, it is not at all what you were hoping for. But David is just so stubbornly convinced that Agnes couldn't possibly love him and that he's doing her a kindness by not revealing his feelings to her, that he doesn't pick up on any of the things that we, the reader, feel like we're picking up on, which makes us have to question whether we really are picking up on them or if we are just wishfully thinking that Agnes is waiting for him to declare his love and actually she's not hoping for that at all. I mean, it's so deliciously messy and complicated, isn't it? So, basically, the question is, is there hope, right? Will David kind of crack and just spill the beans, come what may? Will Dickens ever let this spring go so that we can see what happens? Or will he just keep coiling it tighter and tighter? I mean, there's only one way to find out, right? We have to keep reading. We have to see what happens next. So let's do that. But of course, don't forget to write to me. Write to me about this next chapter, but also, please write to me about your reactions to the trailer and finding out what book we're reading. It's faith k.moore.com. click on contact. Or you can scroll into the Show Notes and click that same link. I can't wait to hear from you. All right, let's get started with chapter 61 of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. It's story time. Chapter 61 I am shown two interesting penitents for a time, at all events until my book should be completed, which would be the work of several months I took up my abode in my aunt's house at Dover, and there, sitting in the window from which I had looked out at the moon upon the sea when that roof first gave me shelter, I quietly pursued my task in pursuance of my intention of referring to my own fictions only when their course should incidentally connect itself with the progress of my story. I do not enter on the aspirations, the delights, anxieties and triumphs of my art, that I truly devoted myself to it with my strongest earnestness and bestowed upon it every energy of my soul. I have already said, if the books I have written be of any worth, they will supply the rest I shall otherwise have written to poor purpose, and the rest will be of interest to no one. Occasionally I went to London to lose myself in the swarm of life there, or to consult with Traddles on some business point. He had managed for me in my absence with the soundest judgment, and my worldly affairs were prospering as my notoriety began to bring upon me an enormous quantity of letters from people of whom I had no knowledge, chiefly about nothing and extremely difficult to answer. I agreed with Traddles to have my name painted up on his door There the devoted postman on that beat delivered bushels of letters for me, me, and there at intervals I labored through them like a Home Secretary of State without the salary. Among this correspondence there dropped in every now and then an obliging proposal from one of the numerous outsiders always lurking about the Commons to practise under cover of my name if I would take the necessary steps remaining to make a proctor of myself and pay me a percentage of the profits. But I declined these offers, being already aware that there were plenty of such covert practitioners in existence, and considering the Commons, quite bad enough without my doing anything to make it worse. The girls had gone home when my name burst into bloom on Traddles door, and the sharp boy looked all day as if he had never heard of Sophie, shut up in a back room, glancing down from her work into a sooty little strip of garden with a pump in it. But there I always found her, the same bright housewife, often humming her Devonshire ballads when no strange foot was coming up the stairs and blunting the sharp boy in his official closet with melody. I wondered at first why I so often found Sophie writing in a copy book, and why she always shut it up when I appeared and hurried it into the table drawer. But the secret soon came out. One day Traddles, who had just come home through the drizzling sleet from court, took a paper out of his desk and asked me what I thought of that handwriting. Oh, don't, Tom. Cried Sophy, who was warming his slippers before the fire. My dear, returned Tom in a delighted state. Why not? What do you say to that writing, Copperfield? It's extraordinarily legal and formal, said I. I don't think I ever saw such a stiff hand. Not like a lady's hand, is it? Said Traddles. A lady's, I repeated. Bricks and mortar are more like a lady's hand. Traddles broke into a rapturous laugh and informed me that it was Sophie's writing that Sophie had vowed and declared he would need a copying clerk soon and she would be that clerk, that she had acquired this hand from a pattern and that she could throw off. I forget how many folios an hour. Sophie was very much confused by my being told all this, this and said that when Tom was made a judge he wouldn't be so ready to proclaim it, which Tom denied, averring that he should always be equally proud of it under all circumstances. What a thoroughly good and charming wife she is, my dear Traddles, said I when she had gone away laughing. My dear Copperfield, returned Traddles. She is without any exception the dearest girl. The way she manages this place, her punctuality, domestic knowledge, economy and order, her cheerfulness. Copperfield, indeed. You have reason to commend her, I returned. You are a happy fellow. I believe you make yourselves and each other two of the happiest people in the world. I am sure we are two of the happiest people, returned Traddles. I admit that at all events, bless my soul, when I see her getting up by candlelight on these dark mornings, busying herself in the day's arrangements, going out to market before the clerks come into the inn, caring for no weather, devising the most capital little dinners out of the plainest materials, making puddings and pies, keeping everything in its right place, always so neat and ornamental herself, sitting up at night with me if it's ever so late, sweet tempered and encouraging always, and all for me. I positively sometimes can't believe it. Copperfield. He was tender of the very slippers she had been warming as he put them on and stretched his feet enjoyingly upon the fender. I positively sometimes can't believe it, said Traddles then our pleasures, dear me, they are inexpensive, but they are quite wonderful. When we are at home here of an evening and shut the outer door and draw those curtains which she made. Where could we be more snug when it's fine and we go out for a walk in the evening the streets abound in enjoyment for us. We look into the glittering windows of the jewelers shops and I show Sophie which of the diamond eyed serpents coiled up on white satin rising grounds I would give her if I could afford it. And Sophie shows me which of the gold watches that are capped and jeweled and engine turned and possessed of the horizontal lever escape movement and all sorts of things she would buy for me if she could afford it. It. And we pick out the spoons and forks, fish slices, butter knives and sugar tongs we should both prefer if we could both afford it. And really we go away as if we had got them. Then when we stroll into the squares and great streets and see a house to let, sometimes we look up at it and say, how would that do if I was made a judge? And we parcel it out, Such a room for us, such rooms for the girls and so forth, until we settled to our satisfaction that it would do or it wouldn't do, as the case may be be. Sometimes we go at half price to the pit of the theatre, the very smell of which is cheap in my opinion, at the money. And there we thoroughly enjoy the play, which Sophie believes every word of and so do I in walking home. Perhaps we buy a little bit of something at a cook shop or a little lobster at the fishmonger's and bring it here and make a splendid supper chatting about what we have seen. Now you know, Copperfield, if I was Lord Chancellor, we couldn't do this. You would do something, whatever you were, my dear Traddles, thought I, that would be pleasant and amiable. And by the way, I said aloud, I suppose you never draw any skeletons. Now really, replied Traddles, laughing and reddening, I can't wholly deny that I do, my dear Copperfield, for being in one of the back rows of the King's bench the other day with a pen in my hand, the fancy came into my head to try how I had preserved that accomplishment. And I am afraid there's a skeleton in a wig on the ledge of the desk. After we had both laughed heartily, Traddles wound up by looking with a smile at the fire and saying in his forgiving way, old Creakle, I have a letter from that old rascal here, said I, for I never was less disposed to forgive him the way he used to batter Traddles, than when I saw Traddles so ready to forgive him himself. From Creakle the schoolmaster. Exclaimed Traddles. No. Among the persons who are attracted to me in my rising fame and fortune, said I, looking over my letters, and who discover that they were always much attached to me, is the self same Creakle. He is not a schoolmaster now, Traddles. He is retired. He is a Middlesex magistrate. I thought Traddles might be surprised to hear it, but he was not so at all. How do you suppose he comes to be a Middlesex magistrate? Said I. Oh, dear me, replied Traddles, it would be very difficult to answer that question. Perhaps he voted for somebody, or lent money to somebody, or bought something of somebody, or otherwise obliged somebody, or jobbed for somebody who knew somebody, who got the lieutenant of the county to nominate him for the commission. On the commission he is at any rate, said I, and he writes to me here that he will be glad to show me in operation the only true system of prison discipline, the only unchallengeable way of making sincere and lasting converts and penitents, which you know is by solitary confinement. What do you say to the system? Inquired Traddles, looking grave. No, to my accepting the offer and your going with me. I don't object, said Traddles. Then I'll write to say so. You remember to say nothing of our treatment. This same Creakle turning his son out of doors, I suppose, and the life he used to lead his wife and daughter. Perfectly, said Traddles. Yet if you'll read his letter, you'll find he is the tenderest of men to prisoners convicted of the whole calendar of felonies, said I, though I can't find that his tenderness extends to any other class of created beings. Traddles shrugged his shoulders and was not at all surprised. I had not expected him to be, and was not surprised myself, or my observation of similar practical satires would have been but scanty. We arranged the time of our visit, and I wrote accordingly to Mr. Creakle that evening. On the appointed day. I think it was the next day. But no matter. Traddles and I repaired to the prison where Mr. Creakle was powerful. It was an immense and solid building, erected at a vast expense. I could not help thinking as we approached the gate, what an uproar would have been made in the country if any deluded man had proposed to spend one half the money it had cost on the erection of an industrial school for the young or a house of refuge for the deserving old in an office that might have been on the ground floor of the Tower of Babel, it was so massively constructed. We were presented to our old schoolmaster who was one of a group composed of two or three of the busier sort of magistrates and some visitors they had brought. He received me like a man who had formed my mind in bygone years and had always loved me tenderly. On my introducing traddles, Mr. Creakle expressed in like manner, but in an inferior degree, that he had always been Traddles guide, philosopher and friend. Our venerable instructor was a great deal older and not improved in appearance. His face was as fiery as ever, his eyes were as small and rather deep set. The scanty wet looking gray hair by which I remembered him was almost gone, and the thick veins in his bald head were none the more agreeable to look at. After some conversation among these gentlemen, from which I might have supposed that there was nothing in the world to be legitimately taken into account but the supreme comfort of of prisoners at any expense, and nothing on the wide earth to be done outside prison doors, we began our inspection. It being then just dinner time. We went first into the great kitchen where every prisoner's dinner was in course of being set out separately to be handed to him in his cell with the regularity and precision of clockwork. I said aside to Traddles that I wondered whether it occurred to anybody that there was a striking contrast between these his plentiful repasts of choice quality and the dinners, not to say of paupers, but of soldiers, sailors, labourers, the great bulk of the honest working community of whom not one man in 500 ever dined half so well. But I learned that the system required high living and in short, to dispose of the system once for all. I found that on that head and on all others the system put an end to all doubts and disposed of all anomalies. Nobody appeared to have the least idea that there was any other system but the system to be considered. As we were going through some of the magnificent passages, I inquired of Mr. Creakle and his friends what were supposed to be the main advantages of this all governing and universally overriding system. I found them to be the perfect isolation of prisoners, so that no one man in confinement there knew anything about another, and the reduction of prisoners to a wholesome state of mind leading to sincere contrition and repentance. Now it struck me when we began to visit individuals in their cells, and to traverse the passages in which those cells were, and to have the manner of the going to chapel and so forth, explained to us that there was a strong probability of the prisoners knowing a good deal about each other. And of their carrying on a pretty complete system of intercourse. Course, this, at the time I write, has been proved, I believe to be the case. But as it would have been flat blasphemy against the system to have hinted such a doubt, Then I looked out for the penitents as diligently as I could, and here again I had great misgivings. I found as prevalent a fashion in the form of the penitents as I had left outside in the forms of the coats and waistcoats in the windows of the tailor's shop. I found a vast amount of profession, varying very little in character, varying very little, which I thought exceedingly suspicious, even in words. I found a great many foxes disparaging whole vineyards of inaccessible grapes. But I found very few foxes whom I would have trusted within reach of a bunch. Above all, I found that the most professing men Were the greatest objects of interest, and that their conceit, their vanity, their want of excitement, and their love of deception, which many of them possess to an almost incredible extent, as their histories showed, all prompted to these professions, and were all gratified by them. However, I heard so repeatedly in the course of our goings to and fro. Of a certain number 27, who was the favourite and who really appeared to be a model prisoner, that I resolved to suspend my judgment until I should see 27. 28, I understood, was also a bright particular star. But it was his misfortune to have his glory a little dimmed by the extraordinary lustre of 27. I heard so much of 27, of his pious admonitions to everybody around him, and of the beautiful letters he constantly wrote to his mother, whom he seemed to consider in a very bad way, that I became quite impatient to see him. Him I had to restrain my impatience for some time. On account of 27 being reserved for a concluding effect. But at last we came to the door of his cell, and Mr. Creakle, looking through a little hole in it, Reported to us in a state of the greatest admiration. That he was reading a hymn book. There was such a rush of heads immediately to see number 27 reading his hymn book. That the little hole was blocked up, up six or seven heads deep. To remedy this inconvenience and give us an opportunity of conversing with 27 in all his purity. Mr. Creakle directed the door of the cell to be unlocked and 27 to be invited out into the passage. This was done, and whom should Traddles and I then behold to our amazement, in this converted number 27. But Uriah Heep, he knew us directly, and said as he came out with the old writhe, how do you do, Mr. Copperfield? How do you do, Mr. Traddles? This recognition caused a general admiration in the party. I rather thought that every one was struck by his not being proud and taking notice of us. Well, 27, said Mr. Creakle, mournfully admiring him, how do you find yourself today? I am very humble, sir, replied Uriah Heep. You are always so, 27, said Mr. Creakle. Here another gentleman asked with extreme anxiety, are you quite comfortable? Yes, I thank you, sir, said Uriah Heep, looking in that direction, far more comfortable here than I ever was outside. I see my follies now, sir. That's what makes me comfortable. Several gentlemen were much affected, and a third questioner, forcing himself to the front, inquired with extreme feeling, how do you find the beef? Thank you, sir, replied Uriah, glancing in the new direction of this voice. It was tougher yesterday than I could wish, but it's my duty to bear. I have committed follies, gentlemen, said Uriah, looking round with a meek smile, and I ought to bear the consequences without repining a murmur, partly of gratification at 27's celestial state of mind, and partly of indignation against the contractor who had given him any cause of complaint, a note of which was immediately made by Mr. Creakle. Having subsided, 27 stood in the midst of us as if he felt himself the principal object of merit in a highly meritorious museum, that we the neophytes might have an excess of light shining upon us all. At once orders were given to let out. 28 I had been so much astonished already that I only felt a kind of resigned wonderful when Mr. Littimer walked forth reading a book. 28, said a gentleman in spectacles, who had not yet spoken. You complained last week, my good fellow, of the cocoa. How has it been since? I thank you, sir, said Mr. Littimer. It has been better made, if I might take the liberty of saying so, sir. I do. I don't think the milk which is boiled with it is quite genuine, but I am aware, sir, that there is a great adulteration of milk in London, and that the article in a pure state is difficult to be obtained. It appeared to me that the gentleman in spectacles backed his 28 against Mr. Creakle's 27, for each of them took his own man in hand. What is your state of mind, 28? Said the questioner, in spectacles. I thank you, sir, returned Mr. Littimer. I see my follies now, sir. I am a good deal troubled when I think of the sins of my former companions, sir, but I trust they may find forgiveness. You are quite happy yourself, said the questioner, nodding encouragement. I am much obliged to you, sir, returned Mr. Littimer. Perfectly so. Is there anything at all on your mind now? Said the questioner. If so, mention it, 28, sir, said Mr. Littimer, without looking up, if my eyes have not deceived me, there is a gentleman present who was acquainted with me in my former life. It may be profitable to that gentleman to know, sir, that I attribute my past follies entirely to having lived a thoughtless life in the service of young men, and to having allowed myself to be led by them into weaknesses which I had not the strength to resist. I hope that gentleman will take warning, sir, and will not be offended at my freedom. It is for his good. I am conscious of my own past follies. I hope he may repent of all the wickedness and sin to which he has been a party. I observed that several gentlemen were shading their eyes, each with one hand, as if they had just come into church. This does you credit, 28, returned the questioner. I should have expected it of you. Is there anything else, sir? Returned Mr. Littimer, slightly, lifting up his eyebrows, but not his eyes. There was a young woman who fell into dissolute courses, that I endeavored to save, sir, but could not rescue. I beg that gentleman, if he has it in his power, to inform that young woman from me, that I forgive her her bad conduct towards myself, and that I call her to repentance, if he will be so good. I have no doubt, 28, returned the questioner, that the gentleman you refer to feels very strongly, as we all must, what you have so properly said, we will not detain you. I thank you, sir, said Mr. Littimer. Gentlemen, I wish you good day, and hoping you and your families will also see your wickedness and amend with this. Number 28 retired after a glance between him and Uriah, as if they were not altogether unknown to each other through some medium of communication. And a murmur went round the group as his door shut upon him that he was a most respectable man and a beautiful case. Now, 27, said Mr. Creakle, entering on a Clear stage with his man. Is there anything that anyone can do for you? If so, mention it, I would humbly ask, sir, returned Uriah, with a jerk of his malevolent head, for leave to write again to mother. It shall certainly be granted, said Mr. Creakle. Thank you, sir. I am anxious about mother. I am afraid she ain't safe. Somebody incautiously asked what from? But there was a scandalized whisper of hush. Immortally safe, sir, returned Uriah, writhing in the direction of the voice. I should wish mother to be got into my state. I never should have been got into my present state if I hadn't come here. I wish mother had come here. It would be better for everybody if they got took up and was brought here. This sentiment gave unbounded satisfaction, greater satisfaction, I think, than anything that had passed yet before. I come here, said Uriah, stealing a look at us, as if he would have blighted the outer world to which we belonged if he could. I was given to follies, but now I am sensible of my follies. There's a deal of sin outside. There's a deal of sin in mother. There's nothing but sin everywhere except here. You are quite changed, said Mr. Creakle. Oh, dear, yes, sir, Cried this hopeful penitent. You wouldn't relapse if you were going out? Asked somebody else. Oh, dear, no, Sir. Well, said Mr. Creakle, this is very gratifying. You have addressed Mr. Copperfield 27. Do you wish to say anything further to him? You knew me a long time before I came here and was changed, Mr. Copperfield, said Uriah, looking at me, and a more villainous look I never saw even on his visage. You knew me when, in spite of my follies, I was umble among them that was proud and meek among them that was violent. Violent? You was violent to me yourself, Mr. Copperfield. Once you struck me a blow in the face, you know, general commiseration, several indignant glances directed at me. But I forgive you, Mr. Copperfield, said Uriah, making his forgiving nature the subject of a most impious and awful parallel which I shall not record. I forgive everybody. It would ill become me to bear malice. I freely forgive you, and I hope you'll curb your passions in future. I hope Mr. W will repent. And Ms. W and all of that sinful lot. You've been visited with affliction, and I hope it may do you good. But you'd better have come here. Mr. W had better have come here, and Miss W too. The best Wish I could give you Mr. Copperfield, and give all of you gentlemen, is that you could be took up and brought here. When I think of my past follies and my present state, I am sure it would be best for you. I pity all who ain't brought here. He sneaked back into his cell amidst a little chorus of approbation, and both Traddles and I experienced a great relief when he was locked in. It was a characteristic feature in this repentance that I was fain to ask what these two men had done to be there at all. That appeared to be the last thing about which they had anything to say. I addressed myself to one of the two warders who I suspected from certain latent indications in their faces, knew pretty well what all this stir was worth. Do you know, said I as we walked along the passage, what felony was number 27's last folly? The answer was that it was a bank case. A fraud on the bank of England? I asked. Yes, sir. Fraud, forgery and conspiracy. He and some others he set the others on. It was a deep plot for a large sum sentence, transportation for life. 27 was the knowingest bird of the lot and had very nearly kept himself safe. But not quite the bank was just able to put salt upon his tail and only just. Do you know 28's offence? 28 returned my informant, speaking throughout in a low tone and looking over his shoulder as we walked along the passage to guard himself from being overheard in such an unlawful reference to these immaculates by creakle and the rest. 28. Also transportation got a place and robbed a young master of a matter of £250 in money and valuables the night before they were going abroad. I particularly recollect his case from his being took by a dwarf. A what? A little woman. I have forgot her name. Not Mowcher. That's it. He had eluded pursuit and was going to America in a flaxen wig and whiskers and such a complete disguise as never you see in all your born days. Gaze when the little woman, being in Southampton, met him walking along the street, picked him out with her sharp eye in a moment, ran betwixt his legs to upset him and held on to him like grim death. Excellent, Miss Moucher, cried I. You'd have said so if you had seen her standing on a chair in the witness box at the trial, as I did, said my friend. He cut her face right open and pounded her in the most brutal manner when she took him. Him. But she never loosed her hold till he was locked up. She held so tight to him, in fact, that the officers were obliged to take em both together. She gave her evidence in the gamest way, and was highly complimented by the bench, and cheered right home to her lodgings. She said in court that she'd have took em single handed on account of what she knew concerning him. If he had been Sampsonand, it's my belief she would. It was mine too, and I highly respected Ms. Moucher for it. We had now seen all there was to see. It would have been in vain to represent to such a man as the worshipful Mr. Creakle that 27 and 28 were perfectly consistent and unchanged that exactly what they were then they had always been that the hypocritical knaves were just the subjects to make that sort of profession in such a place that they knew its market value at least as well as we did in the immediate service it would do them when they were expatriated. In a word, that it was a rotten, hollow, painfully suggestive piece of business altogether. We left them to their system and themselves, and went home wondering. Perhaps it's a good thing, Traddles, said I, to have an unsound hobby ridden hard for it's the sooner ridden to death. I hope so, replied Traddles. 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.