said Mr. Pancks, breaking off and looking|ing Heart Yard, rippling through the air, and round, "acquainted with the English Gram- making it ring again. mar?" Bleeding Heart Yard was shy of claiming that acquaintance. CHAPTER LXIX.-GOING. THE changes of a fevered room are slow and "It's no matter," said Mr. Pancks. "I fluctuating; but the changes of the fevered merely wish to remark that the task this Pro-world are rapid and irrevocable. prietor has set me has been, never to leave off It was Little Dorrit's lot to wait upon both conjugating the Imperative Mood Present Tense kinds of change. The Marshalsea walls, durof the verb To keep always at it. Keep thouing a portion of every day, again embraced her always at it. Let him keep always at it. Keep in their shadows as their child while she thought we or do we keep always at it. Keep ye or do for Clennam, worked for him, watched him, and ye or you keep always at it. Let them keep only left him still to devote her utmost love and always at it. Here is your benevolent Patri- care to him. Her part in the life outside the arch of a Casby, and there is his golden rule! gate urged its pressing claims upon her, too, He is uncommonly improving to look at, and and her patience untiringly responded to them. I am not at all so. He is as sweet as honey, Here was Fanny, proud, fitful, whimsical, furand I am as dull as ditch-water. He provides ther advanced in that disqualified state for gothe pitch, and I handle it, and it sticks to me. ing into society which had so much fretted her Now," said Mr. Pancks, closing upon his late on the evening of the tortoise-shell knife, reProprietor again, from whom he had withdrawn solved always to want comfort, resolved not to a little, for the better display of him to the be comforted, resolved to be deeply wronged, Yard, "as I am not accustomed to speak in pub- and resolved that nobody should have the aulic, and as I have made a rather lengthy speech, dacity to think her so. Here was her brother, all circumstances considered, I shall bring my a weak, proud, tipsy, young-old man, shaking observations to a close by requesting you to get from head to foot, talking as indistinctly as if out of this." some of the money he plumed himself upon had got into his mouth and couldn't be got out, unable to walk alone in any act of his life, and patronizing the sister whom he selfishly loved The Last of the Patriarchs had been so seized by assault, and required so much room to catch an idea in, and so much more room to turn it in, that he had not a word to offer in re-(he always had that negative merit, ill-starred ply. He appeared to be meditating some Patriarchal way out of his delicate position, when Mr. Pancks, once more suddenly applying the trigger to his hat, shot it off again with his former dexterity. On the preceding occasion, one or two of the Bleeding Heart Yarders had obsequiously picked it up and handed it to its owner; but Mr. Pancks had now so far impressed his audience, that the Patriarch had to turn and stoop for it himself. and ill-launched Tip!) because he suffered her to lead him. Here was Mrs. Merdle in gauzy mourning-the original cap whereof had possibly been rent to pieces in a fit of grief, but had certainly yielded to a highly becoming article from the Parisian market-warring with Fanny foot to foot, and breasting her with her desolate bosom every hour in the day. Here was poor Mr. Sparkler, not knowing how to keep the peace between them, but humbly inQuick as lightning, Mr. Pancks, who for some clining to the opinion that they could do no moments had had his right hand in his coat better than agree that they were both remarkapocket, whipped out a pair of shears, swooped bly fine women, and that there was no nonsense upon the Patriarch behind, and snipped off about either of them-for which gentle recomshort the sacred locks that flowed upon his mendation they united in falling upon him shoulders. In a paroxysm of animosity and frightfully. Then, too, here was Mrs. Genrapidity, Mr. Pancks then caught the broad-eral, got home from foreign parts, sending a brimmed hat out of the astounded Patriarch's hand, cut it down into a mere stew-pan, and fixed it on the Patriarch's head. Before the frightful results of this desperate action, Mr. Pancks himself recoiled in consternation. A bare-polled, goggle-eyed, big-headed, lumbering personage stood staring at him, not in the least impressive, not in the least venerable, who seemed to have started out of the earth to ask what was become of Casby. After staring at this phantom in return, in silent awe, Mr. Pancks threw down his shears, and fled for a place of hiding, where he might lie sheltered from the consequences of his crime. Mr. Pancks deemed it prudent to use all possible dispatch in making off, though he was pursued by nothing but the sound of laughter in Bleed Prune and a Prism by post every other day, demanding a new Testimonial by way of recommendation to some vacant appointment or other. Of which remarkable gentlewoman it may be finally observed, that there surely never was a gentlewoman of whose transcendent fitness for any vacant appointment on the face of this earth so many people were (as the warmth of her Testimonials evinced) so perfectly satisfied or who was so very unfortunate in having a large circle of ardent and distinguished admirers, who never themselves happened to want her, in any capacity. On the first crash of the eminent Mr. Merdle's disease, many important persons had been unable to determine whether they should cut Mrs. Merdle, or comfort her. As it seemed, however, essential to the strength of their own case that they should admit her to have been cruelly deceived, they graciously made the admission and continued to know her. It followed that Mrs. Merdle, as a woman of fashion and good breeding, who had been sacrificed to the wiles of a vulgar barbarian (for Mr. Merdle was found out, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, the moment he was found out in his pocket), must be actively championed by her order, for her order's sake. She returned this fealty, by causing it to be understood that she was even more incensed against the felonious shade of the deceased than any body else was; thus, on the whole, she came out of her furnace like a wise woman, and did exceedingly well. Mr. Sparkler's lordship was fortunately one of those shelves on which a gentleman is considered to be put away for life, unless there should be reasons for hoisting him up with the Barnacle crane to a more lucrative height. That patriotic servant accordingly stuck to his colors (the Standard of four Quarterings), and was a perfect Nelson in respect of nailing them to the mast. On the profits of his intrepidity, Mrs. Sparkler and Mrs. Merdle, inhabiting different floors of the genteel little temple of inconvenience to which the smell of the day before yesterday's soup, and coach-horses was as constant as Death to man, arrayed themselves to fight it out in the lists of Society, sworn rivals. And Little Dorrit, seeing all these things as they developed themselves, could not but wonder, anxiously, into what back corner of the genteel establishment Fanny's children would be poked by-and-by, and who would take care of those unborn little victims. up his mind that it would be agreeable to him not to know the Meagleses. He was so considerate as to lay no injunctions on his wife in that particular; but he mentioned to Mr. Meagles that personally they did not appear to him to get on together, and that he thought it would be a good thing if-politely, and without any scene, or any thing of that sort—they agreed that they were the best fellows in the world, but were best apart. Poor Mr. Meagles, who was already sensible that he did not advance his daughter's happiness by being constantly slighted in her presence, said "Good, Henry! You are my Pet's husband; you have displaced me, in the course of nature; if you wish it, good!" This arrangement involved the contingent advantage, which perhaps Henry Gowan had not foreseen, that both Mr. and Mrs. Meagles were more liberal than before to their daughter, when their communication was only with her and her young child; and that his high spirit found itself better provided with money, without being under the degrading necessity of knowing whence it came. Mr. Meagles, at such a period, naturally seized an occupation with great ardor. He knew from his daughter the various towns which Rigaud had been haunting, and the various hotels at which he had been living for some time back. The occupation he set himself was, to visit these with all discretion and speed, and, in the event of finding any where that he had left a bill unpaid and a box or parcel behind, to pay such bill, and bring away such box or parcel. With no other attendant than mother, Mr. Meagles went upon this pilgrimage, and encountered a number of adventures. Not the least of his difficulties was, that he never knew what was said to him, and that he pursued his inquiries among people who never knew what he said to them. Still, with an unshaken confidence that the English tongue was somehow the mother-tongue of the whole world, only the people were too stupid to know it, Mr. Meagles harangued innkeepers in the most voluble man Arthur being far too ill to be spoken with on subjects of emotion or anxiety, and his recovery greatly depending on the repose into which his weakness could be hushed, Little Dorrit's sole reliance during this heavy period was on Mr. Meagles. He was still abroad; but, she had written to him, through his daughter, immediately after first seeing Arthur in the Marshal-ner, entered into loud explanations of the most sea, and since, confiding her uneasiness to him on the points on which she was most anxious, but especially on one. To that one, the continued absence of Mr. Meagles abroad, instead of his comforting presence in the Marshalsea, was referable. complicated sort, and utterly renounced replies in the native language of the respondents, on the ground that they were "all bosh." Sometimes interpreters were called in; whom Mr. Meagles addressed in such idiomatic terms of speech as instantly to extinguish and shut upwhich made the matter worse. On a balance of the account, however, it may be doubted whether he lost much; for, although he found no property, he found so many debts and various asso Without disclosing the precise nature of the documents that had fallen into Rigaud's hands, Little Dorrit had confided the general outline of that story to Mr. Meagles, to whom she had also recounted his fate. The old cautious hab-ciations of discredit with the proper name which its of the scales and scoop at once showed Mr. Meagles the importance of recovering the original papers; wherefore, he wrote back to Little Dorrit, strongly confirming her in the solicitude she expressed on that head, and adding that he would not come over to England "without making some attempt to trace them out." By this time, Mr. Henry Gowan had made was the only word he made intelligible, that he was almost every where overwhelmed with injurious accusations. On no fewer than four occa sions, the police were called in to receive denunciations of Mr. Meagles as a Knight of Industry, a good-for-nothing, and a thief; all of which opprobrious language he bore with the best temper (having no idea what it meant), and was in man. "Don't say so," said Mr. Meagles; "you do yourself an injustice. However, to come to the point." For he was sensible of having gained nothing by approaching it in a roundabout way. "I have heard from my friend Clennam, who, you will be sorry to hear, has been and still is very ill-" the most ignominious manner escorted to steam- | a smile, "that my good-nature is not to be calboats and public carriages, to be got rid of, talk- | culated upon." ing all the while, like a cheerful and fluent Briton as he was with Mother under his arm. But, in his own tongue, and in his own head, Mr. Meagles was a clear, shrewd, persevering When he had "worked round," as he called it, to Paris in his pilgrimage, and had wholly failed in it so far, he was not disheartened. "The nearer to England I follow him, you see, Mother," argued Mr. Meagles, "the nearer I am likely to come to the papers, whether they turn up or no. Because it is only reasonable to conclude that he would deposit them somewhere where they would be safe from people over in England, and where they would yet be accessible to himself, don't you see?" At Paris, Mr. Meagles found a letter from Little Dorrit lying waiting for him; in which she mentioned that she had been able to talk for a minute or two with Mr. Clennam, about this man who was no more; and that when she told Mr. Clennam that his friend Mr. Meagles, who was on his way to see him, had an interest in ascertaining something about the man if he could, he had asked her to tell Mr. Meagles that he had been known to Miss Wade, then living in such a street at Calais. "Oho!" said Mr. Meagles. As soon afterward as might be, in those Diligence days, Mr. Meagles rang the cracked bell at the cracked gate, and it jarred open, and the peasant-woman stood in the dark door-way, saying, "Ice-say! Seer! Who?" In acknowledgment of whose address, Mr. Meagles murmured to himself that there was some sense about these Calais people, who really did know something of what you and themselves were up to; and returned, "Miss Wade, my dear." He was then shown into the presence of Miss Wade. "It's some time since we met," said Mr. Meagles, clearing his throat; "I hope you have been pretty well, Miss Wade ?" Without hoping that he or any body else had been pretty well, Miss Wade asked him to what she was indebted for the honor of seeing him again? Mr. Meagles, in the mean while, glanced all round the room, without observing any thing in the shape of a box. "Why, the truth is, Miss Wade," said Mr. Meagles, in a comfortable, managing, not to say coaxing, voice, "it is possible that you may be able to throw a light upon a little something that is at present dark. Any unpleasant by-gones between us are by-gones, I hope. Can't be helped now. You recollect my daughter? Times change so! A mother!" In his innocence, Mr. Meagles could not have struck a worse key-note. He paused for any expression of interest, but paused in vain. "That is not the subject you wished to enter on?" she said, after a cold silence. "No, no," returned Mr. Meagles, "No. I thought your good-nature might—” "I thought you knew," she interrupted, with He paused again, and again she was silent. "that you had some knowledge of one Blandois, lately killed in London by a violent accident. Now, don't mistake me! I know it was a slight knowledge," said Mr. Meagles, dexterously forestalling an angry interruption which he saw about to break. "I am fully aware of that. It was a slight knowledge, I know. But, the question is," Mr. Meagles's voice here became comfortable again, "did he, on his way to England last time, leave a box of papers, or a bundle of papers, or some papers or other in some receptacle or other-any papers |—with you: begging you to allow him to leave them here for a short time, until he wanted them?" "The question is ?" she repeated. "Whose question is ?" "Mine," said Mr. Meagles. "And not only mine, but Clennam's question, and other people's question. Now, I am sure," continued Mr. Meagles, whose heart was overflowing with Pet, "that you can't have any unkind feeling toward my daughter; it's impossible. Well! It's her question, too; being one in which a particular friend of hers is nearly interested. So here I am, frankly to say that is the question, and to ask, Now, did he?" "Upon my word," she returned, "I seem to be a mark for every body who knew any thing of a man I once in my life hired, and paid, and dismissed, to aim their questions at!" "Now, don't," remonstrated Mr. Meagles, "don't! Don't take offense, because it's the plainest question in the world, and might be asked of any one. The documents I refer to were not his own, were wrongfully obtained, might at some time or other be troublesome to an innocent person to have in keeping, and are sought by the people to whom they really belong. He passed through Calais going to London, and there were reasons why he should not take them with him then, why he should wish to be able to put his hand upon them readily, and why he should distrust leaving them with people of his own sort. Did he leave them here? I declare, if I knew how to avoid giving you offense, I would take any pains to do it. I put the question personally, but there's nothing personal in it. I might put it to any one; I have put it already to many people. Did he leave them here? Did he leave any thing here?" "No." "Then unfortunately, Miss Wade, you know nothing about them?" "I know nothing about them. I have now answered your unaccountable question. He did not leave them here, and I know nothing about them." "There!" said Mr. Meagles, rising. "I am sorry for it; that's over; and I hope there is not much harm done.-Tattycoram well, Miss Wade?" "Harriet well? Oh y yes!" "I have put my foot in it again," said Mr. Meagles, thus corrected. "I can't keep my foot out of it, here, it seems. Perhaps, if I had thought twice about it, I might never have given her the jingling name. But, when one means to be good-natured and sportive with young people, one doesn't think twice. Her old friend leaves a kind word for her, Miss Wade, if you should think proper to deliver it." She said nothing as to that; and Mr. Meagles, taking his honest face out of the dull room, where it shone like a sun, took it to the Hotel where he had left Mrs. Meagles, and where he made the report: "Beaten, Mother; no ef THE THIRD VOLUME OF THE REGISTERS. fects!" He took it next to the London Steam- | back again, and give me back the dear old packet, which sailed in the night, and next to the Marshalsea. The faithful John was on duty when Father and Mother Meagles presented themselves at the wicket toward nightfall. Miss Dorrit was not there then, he said; but she had been there in the morning, and invariably came in the evening. Mr. Clennam was slowly mending; and Maggy, and Mrs. Plornish, and Mr. Baptist took care of him by turns. Miss Dorrit was sure to come back that evening before the bell rang. There was the room the Marshal had lent her up stairs, in which they could wait for her if they pleased. Mistrustful that it might be hazardous to Arthur to see him without preparation, Mr. Meagles accepted the offer; and they were left shut up in the room, looking down through its barred window into the jail. The cramped area of the prison had such an effect on Mrs. Meagles that she began to weep, and such an effect on Mr. Meagles that he began to gasp for air. He was walking up and down the room, panting and making himself worse by laboriously fanning himself with his handkerchief, when he turned toward the opening door. "Eh! Good gracious!" said Mr. Meagles; "this is not Miss Dorrit! Why, mother, look! Tattycoram !" name! Let this intercede for me. Here it is!" Father and Mother Meagles never deserved their names better than when they took the headstrong foundling-girl into their protection again. "Oh, I have been so wretched!" cried Tattycoram, weeping much more after that than before; "always so unhappy, and so repentant! I was afraid of her from the first time I ever saw her. I knew she had got a power over me, through understanding what was bad in me so well. It was a madness in me, and she could raise it whenever she liked. I used to think, when I got into that state, that people were all against me because of my first beginning; and the kinder they were to me the worse fault I found in them. I made it out that they triumphed above me, and that they wanted to make me envy them, when I know-when I even knew then, if I would-that they never thought of such a thing. And my beautiful young mistress not so happy as she ought to have been, and I gone away from her! Such a brute and wretch as she must think me! But you'll say a word to her for me, and ask her to be as forgiving as you two are! For I am not so bad as I was,” pleaded Tattycoram; "I am bad enough, but not so bad as I was, indeed. I have had Miss Wade before me all this time, as if it was my own self grown ripe-turning every thing the wrong way, and twisting all good into evil. I have had her before me all this time, finding no pleasure in any thing but No other. And in Tattycoram's arms was an iron box some two feet square. Such a box had Affery Flintwinch seen in the first of her dreams, going out of the old house in the dead of the night, under Double's arm. This, Tat-in keeping me as miserable, suspicious, and tortycoram put on the ground at her old master's feet; this, Tattycoram fell on her knees by, and beat her hands upon, crying, half in exultation and half in despair, half in laughter and half in tears, "Pardon, dear Master; take me back, dear Mistress; here it is!" "Tatty!" exclaimed Mr. Meagles. "What you wanted!" said Tattycoram. "Here it is! I was put in the next room not to see you. I heard you ask her about it; I heard her say she hadn't got it; I was there when he left it; and I took it at bedtime and brought it away. Here it is!" "Why, my girl,” cried Mr. Meagles, more breathless than before, "how did you come over?" "I came in the boat with you. I was sitting wrapped up at the other end. When you took a coach at the wharf I took another coach, and followed you here. She never would have given it up, after what you had said to her about its being wanted; she would sooner have sunk it in the sea, or burned it. But here it is!" The glow and rapture that the girl was in, with her "Here it is!" "She never wanted it to be left, I must say that for her; but he left it, and I know well that after what you said, and after her denying it, she never would have given it up. But here it is! Dear Master, dear Mistress, take me VOL. XV.-No. 86.-R menting as herself. Not that she had much to do, to do that," cried Tattycoram, in a closing great burst of distress, "for I was as bad as bad could be. I only mean to say that, after what I have gone through, I hope I shall never be quite so bad again, and that I shall get better by very slow degrees. I'll try very hard. I won't stop at five-and-twenty, Sir. I'll count five-and-twenty hundred, five-and-twenty thousand!" Another opening of the door, and Tattycoram subsided, and Little Dorrit came in, and Mr. Meagles, with pride and joy, produced the box, and her gentle face was lighted up with grateful happiness and joy. The secret was safe now! She could keep her own part of it from him; he should never know of her loss; in time to come, he should know all that was of import to himself; but he should never know what concerned her only. That was all past, all forgiven, all forgotten. "Now, my dear Miss Dorrit," said Mr. Meagles, "I am a man of business-or at least was and I am going to take my measures, promptly, in that character. Had I better see Arthur to-night?" "I think not to-night. I will go to his room and ascertain how he is. But I think it will be better not to see him to-night." "I am much of your opinion, my dear,” said |