CHAPTER 63 - A VISITOR

What I have purposed to record is nearly finished; but there is yet

an incident conspicuous in my memory, on which it often rests with

delight, and without which one thread in the web I have spun would

have a ravelled end.

I had advanced in fame and fortune, my domestic joy was perfect, I

had been married ten happy years. Agnes and I were sitting by the

fire, in our house in London, one night in spring, and three of our

children were playing in the room, when I was told that a stranger

wished to see me.

He had been asked if he came on business, and had answered No; he

had come for the pleasure of seeing me, and had come a long way.

He was an old man, my servant said, and looked like a farmer.

As this sounded mysterious to the children, and moreover was like

the beginning of a favourite story Agnes used to tell them,

introductory to the arrival of a wicked old Fairy in a cloak who

hated everybody, it produced some commotion. One of our boys laid

his head in his mother's lap to be out of harm's way, and little

Agnes (our eldest child) left her doll in a chair to represent her,

and thrust out her little heap of golden curls from between the

window-curtains, to see what happened next.

'Let him come in here!' said I.

There soon appeared, pausing in the dark doorway as he entered, a

hale, grey-haired old man. Little Agnes, attracted by his looks,

had run to bring him in, and I had not yet clearly seen his face,

when my wife, starting up, cried out to me, in a pleased and

agitated voice, that it was Mr. Peggotty!

It WAS Mr. Peggotty. An old man now, but in a ruddy, hearty,

strong old age. When our first emotion was over, and he sat before

the fire with the children on his knees, and the blaze shining on

his face, he looked, to me, as vigorous and robust, withal as

handsome, an old man, as ever I had seen.

'Mas'r Davy,' said he. And the old name in the old tone fell so

naturally on my ear! 'Mas'r Davy, 'tis a joyful hour as I see you,

once more, 'long with your own trew wife!'

'A joyful hour indeed, old friend!' cried I.

'And these heer pretty ones,' said Mr. Peggotty. 'To look at these

heer flowers! Why, Mas'r Davy, you was but the heighth of the

littlest of these, when I first see you! When Em'ly warn't no

bigger, and our poor lad were BUT a lad!'

'Time has changed me more than it has changed you since then,' said

I. 'But let these dear rogues go to bed; and as no house in

England but this must hold you, tell me where to send for your

luggage (is the old black bag among it, that went so far, I

wonder!), and then, over a glass of Yarmouth grog, we will have the

tidings of ten years!'

'Are you alone?' asked Agnes.

'Yes, ma'am,' he said, kissing her hand, 'quite alone.'

We sat him between us, not knowing how to give him welcome enough;

and as I began to listen to his old familiar voice, I could have

fancied he was still pursuing his long journey in search of his

darling niece.

'It's a mort of water,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'fur to come across, and

on'y stay a matter of fower weeks. But water ('specially when 'tis

salt) comes nat'ral to me; and friends is dear, and I am heer. -

Which is verse,' said Mr. Peggotty, surprised to find it out,

'though I hadn't such intentions.'

'Are you going back those many thousand miles, so soon?' asked

Agnes.

'Yes, ma'am,' he returned. 'I giv the promise to Em'ly, afore I

come away. You see, I doen't grow younger as the years comes

round, and if I hadn't sailed as 'twas, most like I shouldn't never

have done 't. And it's allus been on my mind, as I must come and

see Mas'r Davy and your own sweet blooming self, in your wedded

happiness, afore I got to be too old.'

He looked at us, as if he could never feast his eyes on us

sufficiently. Agnes laughingly put back some scattered locks of

his grey hair, that he might see us better.

'And now tell us,' said I, 'everything relating to your fortunes.'

'Our fortuns, Mas'r Davy,' he rejoined, 'is soon told. We haven't

fared nohows, but fared to thrive. We've allus thrived. We've

worked as we ought to 't, and maybe we lived a leetle hard at first

or so, but we have allus thrived. What with sheep-farming, and

what with stock-farming, and what with one thing and what with

t'other, we are as well to do, as well could be. Theer's been

kiender a blessing fell upon us,' said Mr. Peggotty, reverentially

inclining his head, 'and we've done nowt but prosper. That is, in

the long run. If not yesterday, why then today. If not today, why

then tomorrow.'

'And Emily?' said Agnes and I, both together.

'Em'ly,' said he, 'arter you left her, ma'am - and I never heerd

her saying of her prayers at night, t'other side the canvas screen,

when we was settled in the Bush, but what I heerd your name - and

arter she and me lost sight of Mas'r Davy, that theer shining

sundown - was that low, at first, that, if she had know'd then what

Mas'r Davy kep from us so kind and thowtful, 'tis my opinion she'd

have drooped away. But theer was some poor folks aboard as had

illness among 'em, and she took care of them; and theer was the

children in our company, and she took care of them; and so she got

to be busy, and to be doing good, and that helped her.'

'When did she first hear of it?' I asked.

'I kep it from her arter I heerd on 't,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'going

on nigh a year. We was living then in a solitary place, but among

the beautifullest trees, and with the roses a-covering our Beein to

the roof. Theer come along one day, when I was out a-working on

the land, a traveller from our own Norfolk or Suffolk in England (I

doen't rightly mind which), and of course we took him in, and giv

him to eat and drink, and made him welcome. We all do that, all

the colony over. He'd got an old newspaper with him, and some

other account in print of the storm. That's how she know'd it.

When I came home at night, I found she know'd it.'

He dropped his voice as he said these words, and the gravity I so

well remembered overspread his face.

'Did it change her much?' we asked.

'Aye, for a good long time,' he said, shaking his head; 'if not to

this present hour. But I think the solitoode done her good. And

she had a deal to mind in the way of poultry and the like, and

minded of it, and come through. I wonder,' he said thoughtfully,

'if you could see my Em'ly now, Mas'r Davy, whether you'd know

her!'

'Is she so altered?' I inquired.

'I doen't know. I see her ev'ry day, and doen't know; But,

odd-times, I have thowt so. A slight figure,' said Mr. Peggotty,

looking at the fire, 'kiender worn; soft, sorrowful, blue eyes; a

delicate face; a pritty head, leaning a little down; a quiet voice

and way - timid a'most. That's Em'ly!'

We silently observed him as he sat, still looking at the fire.

'Some thinks,' he said, 'as her affection was ill-bestowed; some,

as her marriage was broken off by death. No one knows how 'tis.

She might have married well, a mort of times, "but, uncle," she

says to me, "that's gone for ever." Cheerful along with me; retired

when others is by; fond of going any distance fur to teach a child,

or fur to tend a sick person, or fur to do some kindness tow'rds a

young girl's wedding (and she's done a many, but has never seen

one); fondly loving of her uncle; patient; liked by young and old;

sowt out by all that has any trouble. That's Em'ly!'

He drew his hand across his face, and with a half-suppressed sigh

looked up from the fire.

'Is Martha with you yet?' I asked.

'Martha,' he replied, 'got married, Mas'r Davy, in the second year.

A young man, a farm-labourer, as come by us on his way to market

with his mas'r's drays - a journey of over five hundred mile, theer

and back - made offers fur to take her fur his wife (wives is very

scarce theer), and then to set up fur their two selves in the Bush.

She spoke to me fur to tell him her trew story. I did. They was

married, and they live fower hundred mile away from any voices but

their own and the singing birds.'

'Mrs. Gummidge?' I suggested.

It was a pleasant key to touch, for Mr. Peggotty suddenly burst

into a roar of laughter, and rubbed his hands up and down his legs,

as he had been accustomed to do when he enjoyed himself in the

long-shipwrecked boat.

'Would you believe it!' he said. 'Why, someun even made offer fur

to marry her! If a ship's cook that was turning settler, Mas'r

Davy, didn't make offers fur to marry Missis Gummidge, I'm Gormed

- and I can't say no fairer than that!'

I never saw Agnes laugh so. This sudden ecstasy on the part of Mr.

Peggotty was so delightful to her, that she could not leave off

laughing; and the more she laughed the more she made me laugh, and

the greater Mr. Peggotty's ecstasy became, and the more he rubbed

his legs.

'And what did Mrs. Gummidge say?' I asked, when I was grave enough.

'If you'll believe me,' returned Mr. Peggotty, 'Missis Gummidge,

'stead of saying "thank you, I'm much obleeged to you, I ain't

a-going fur to change my condition at my time of life," up'd with

a bucket as was standing by, and laid it over that theer ship's

cook's head 'till he sung out fur help, and I went in and reskied

of him.'

Mr. Peggotty burst into a great roar of laughter, and Agnes and I

both kept him company.

'But I must say this, for the good creetur,' he resumed, wiping his

face, when we were quite exhausted; 'she has been all she said

she'd be to us, and more. She's the willingest, the trewest, the

honestest-helping woman, Mas'r Davy, as ever draw'd the breath of

life. I have never know'd her to be lone and lorn, for a single

minute, not even when the colony was all afore us, and we was new

to it. And thinking of the old 'un is a thing she never done, I do

assure you, since she left England!'

'Now, last, not least, Mr. Micawber,' said I. 'He has paid off

every obligation he incurred here - even to Traddles's bill, you

remember my dear Agnes - and therefore we may take it for granted

that he is doing well. But what is the latest news of him?'

Mr. Peggotty, with a smile, put his hand in his breast-pocket, and

produced a flat-folded, paper parcel, from which he took out, with

much care, a little odd-looking newspaper.

'You are to understan', Mas'r Davy,' said he, 'as we have left the

Bush now, being so well to do; and have gone right away round to

Port Middlebay Harbour, wheer theer's what we call a town.'

'Mr. Micawber was in the Bush near you?' said I.

'Bless you, yes,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'and turned to with a will.

I never wish to meet a better gen'l'man for turning to with a will.

I've seen that theer bald head of his a perspiring in the sun,

Mas'r Davy, till I a'most thowt it would have melted away. And now

he's a Magistrate.'

'A Magistrate, eh?' said I.

Mr. Peggotty pointed to a certain paragraph in the newspaper, where

I read aloud as follows, from the Port Middlebay Times:

'The public dinner to our distinguished fellow-colonist and

townsman, WILKINS MICAWBER, ESQUIRE, Port Middlebay District

Magistrate, came off yesterday in the large room of the Hotel,

which was crowded to suffocation. It is estimated that not fewer

than forty-seven persons must have been accommodated with dinner at

one time, exclusive of the company in the passage and on the

stairs. The beauty, fashion, and exclusiveness of Port Middlebay,

flocked to do honour to one so deservedly esteemed, so highly

talented, and so widely popular. Doctor Mell (of Colonial

Salem-House Grammar School, Port Middlebay) presided, and on his

right sat the distinguished guest. After the removal of the cloth,

and the singing of Non Nobis (beautifully executed, and in which we

were at no loss to distinguish the bell-like notes of that gifted

amateur, WILKINS MICAWBER, ESQUIRE, JUNIOR), the usual loyal and

patriotic toasts were severally given and rapturously received.

Doctor Mell, in a speech replete with feeling, then proposed "Our

distinguished Guest, the ornament of our town. May he never leave

us but to better himself, and may his success among us be such as

to render his bettering himself impossible!" The cheering with

which the toast was received defies description. Again and again

it rose and fell, like the waves of ocean. At length all was

hushed, and WILKINS MICAWBER, ESQUIRE, presented himself to return

thanks. Far be it from us, in the present comparatively imperfect

state of the resources of our establishment, to endeavour to follow

our distinguished townsman through the smoothly-flowing periods of

his polished and highly-ornate address! Suffice it to observe, that

it was a masterpiece of eloquence; and that those passages in which

he more particularly traced his own successful career to its

source, and warned the younger portion of his auditory from the

shoals of ever incurring pecuniary liabilities which they were

unable to liquidate, brought a tear into the manliest eye present.

The remaining toasts were DOCTOR MELL; Mrs. MICAWBER (who

gracefully bowed her acknowledgements from the side-door, where a

galaxy of beauty was elevated on chairs, at once to witness and

adorn the gratifying scene), Mrs. RIDGER BEGS (late Miss Micawber);

Mrs. MELL; WILKINS MICAWBER, ESQUIRE, JUNIOR (who convulsed the

assembly by humorously remarking that he found himself unable to

return thanks in a speech, but would do so, with their permission,

in a song); Mrs. MICAWBER'S FAMILY (well known, it is needless to

remark, in the mother-country), &c. &c. &c. At the conclusion of

the proceedings the tables were cleared as if by art-magic for

dancing. Among the votaries of TERPSICHORE, who disported

themselves until Sol gave warning for departure, Wilkins Micawber,

Esquire, Junior, and the lovely and accomplished Miss Helena,

fourth daughter of Doctor Mell, were particularly remarkable.'

I was looking back to the name of Doctor Mell, pleased to have

discovered, in these happier circumstances, Mr. Mell, formerly poor

pinched usher to my Middlesex magistrate, when Mr. Peggotty

pointing to another part of the paper, my eyes rested on my own

name, and I read thus:

' TO DAVID COPPERFIELD, ESQUIRE,

'THE EMINENT AUTHOR.

'My Dear Sir,

'Years have elapsed, since I had an opportunity of ocularly

perusing the lineaments, now familiar to the imaginations of a

considerable portion of the civilized world.

'But, my dear Sir, though estranged (by the force of circumstances

over which I have had no control) from the personal society of the

friend and companion of my youth, I have not been unmindful of his

soaring flight. Nor have I been debarred,

Though seas between us braid ha' roared,

(BURNS) from participating in the intellectual feasts he has spread

before us.

'I cannot, therefore, allow of the departure from this place of an

individual whom we mutually respect and esteem, without, my dear

Sir, taking this public opportunity of thanking you, on my own

behalf, and, I may undertake to add, on that of the whole of the

Inhabitants of Port Middlebay, for the gratification of which you

are the ministering agent.

'Go on, my dear Sir! You are not unknown here, you are not

unappreciated. Though "remote", we are neither "unfriended",

"melancholy", nor (I may add) "slow". Go on, my dear Sir, in your

Eagle course! The inhabitants of Port Middlebay may at least aspire

to watch it, with delight, with entertainment, with instruction!

'Among the eyes elevated towards you from this portion of the

globe, will ever be found, while it has light and life,

'The

'Eye

'Appertaining to

'WILKINS MICAWBER,

'Magistrate.'

I found, on glancing at the remaining contents of the newspaper,

that Mr. Micawber was a diligent and esteemed correspondent of that

journal. There was another letter from him in the same paper,

touching a bridge; there was an advertisement of a collection of

similar letters by him, to be shortly republished, in a neat

volume, 'with considerable additions'; and, unless I am very much

mistaken, the Leading Article was his also.

We talked much of Mr. Micawber, on many other evenings while Mr.

Peggotty remained with us. He lived with us during the whole term

of his stay, - which, I think, was something less than a month, -

and his sister and my aunt came to London to see him. Agnes and I

parted from him aboard-ship, when he sailed; and we shall never

part from him more, on earth.

But before he left, he went with me to Yarmouth, to see a little

tablet I had put up in the churchyard to the memory of Ham. While

I was copying the plain inscription for him at his request, I saw

him stoop, and gather a tuft of grass from the grave and a little

earth.

'For Em'ly,' he said, as he put it in his breast. 'I promised,

Mas'r Davy.'

Read next: CHAPTER 64 - A LAST RETROSPECT

Read previous: CHAPTER 62 - A LIGHT SHINES ON MY WAY

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