I know enough of the world now, to have almost lost the capacity ofbeing much surprised by anything; but it is matter of some surprise tome, even now, that I can have been so easily thrown away at such an age.A child of excellent abilities, and with strong powers of observation,quick, eager, delicate, and soon hurt bodily or mentally, it seemswonderful to me that nobody should have made any sign in my behalf. Butnone was made; and I became, at ten years old, a little labouring hindin the service of Murdstone and Grinby.

Murdstone and Grinby's warehouse was at the waterside. It was down inBlackfriars. Modern improvements have altered the place; but it was thelast house at the bottom of a narrow street, curving down hill to theriver, with some stairs at the end, where people took boat. It was acrazy old house with a wharf of its own, abutting on the water when thetide was in, and on the mud when the tide was out, and literally overrunwith rats. Its panelled rooms, discoloured with the dirt and smoke ofa hundred years, I dare say; its decaying floors and staircase; thesqueaking and scuffling of the old grey rats down in the cellars; andthe dirt and rottenness of the place; are things, not of many years ago,in my mind, but of the present instant. They are all before me, just asthey were in the evil hour when I went among them for the first time,with my trembling hand in Mr. Quinion's.

Murdstone and Grinby's trade was among a good many kinds of people, butan important branch of it was the supply of wines and spirits to certainpacket ships. I forget now where they chiefly went, but I think therewere some among them that made voyages both to the East and West Indies.I know that a great many empty bottles were one of the consequences ofthis traffic, and that certain men and boys were employed to examinethem against the light, and reject those that were flawed, and to rinseand wash them. When the empty bottles ran short, there were labels to bepasted on full ones, or corks to be fitted to them, or seals to be putupon the corks, or finished bottles to be packed in casks. All this workwas my work, and of the boys employed upon it I was one.

There were three or four of us, counting me. My working place wasestablished in a corner of the warehouse, where Mr. Quinion could seeme, when he chose to stand up on the bottom rail of his stool in thecounting-house, and look at me through a window above the desk. Hither,on the first morning of my so auspiciously beginning life on my ownaccount, the oldest of the regular boys was summoned to show me mybusiness. His name was Mick Walker, and he wore a ragged apron and apaper cap. He informed me that his father was a bargeman, and walked, ina black velvet head-dress, in the Lord Mayor's Show. He also informed methat our principal associate would be another boy whom he introduced bythe--to me--extraordinary name of Mealy Potatoes. I discovered, however,that this youth had not been christened by that name, but that it hadbeen bestowed upon him in the warehouse, on account of his complexion,which was pale or mealy. Mealy's father was a waterman, who had theadditional distinction of being a fireman, and was engaged as such atone of the large theatres; where some young relation of Mealy's--I thinkhis little sister--did Imps in the Pantomimes.

No words can express the secret agony of my soul as I sunk into thiscompanionship; compared these henceforth everyday associates with thoseof my happier childhood--not to say with Steerforth, Traddles, and therest of those boys; and felt my hopes of growing up to be a learnedand distinguished man, crushed in my bosom. The deep remembrance of thesense I had, of being utterly without hope now; of the shame I felt inmy position; of the misery it was to my young heart to believe that dayby day what I had learned, and thought, and delighted in, and raised myfancy and my emulation up by, would pass away from me, little by little,never to be brought back any more; cannot be written. As often as MickWalker went away in the course of that forenoon, I mingled my tears withthe water in which I was washing the bottles; and sobbed as if therewere a flaw in my own breast, and it were in danger of bursting.

The counting-house clock was at half past twelve, and there wasgeneral preparation for going to dinner, when Mr. Quinion tapped at thecounting-house window, and beckoned to me to go in. I went in, andfound there a stoutish, middle-aged person, in a brown surtout and blacktights and shoes, with no more hair upon his head (which was a largeone, and very shining) than there is upon an egg, and with a veryextensive face, which he turned full upon me. His clothes were shabby,but he had an imposing shirt-collar on. He carried a jaunty sort of astick, with a large pair of rusty tassels to it; and a quizzing-glasshung outside his coat,--for ornament, I afterwards found, as he veryseldom looked through it, and couldn't see anything when he did.

'This,' said Mr. Quinion, in allusion to myself, 'is he.'

'This,' said the stranger, with a certain condescending roll in hisvoice, and a certain indescribable air of doing something genteel, whichimpressed me very much, 'is Master Copperfield. I hope I see you well,sir?'

I said I was very well, and hoped he was. I was sufficiently ill atease, Heaven knows; but it was not in my nature to complain much at thattime of my life, so I said I was very well, and hoped he was.

'I am,' said the stranger, 'thank Heaven, quite well. I have received aletter from Mr. Murdstone, in which he mentions that he would desireme to receive into an apartment in the rear of my house, which is atpresent unoccupied--and is, in short, to be let as a--in short,'said the stranger, with a smile and in a burst of confidence, 'as abedroom--the young beginner whom I have now the pleasure to--' and thestranger waved his hand, and settled his chin in his shirt-collar.

'This is Mr. Micawber,' said Mr. Quinion to me.

'Ahem!' said the stranger, 'that is my name.'

'Mr. Micawber,' said Mr. Quinion, 'is known to Mr. Murdstone. He takesorders for us on commission, when he can get any. He has been written toby Mr. Murdstone, on the subject of your lodgings, and he will receiveyou as a lodger.'

'My address,' said Mr. Micawber, 'is Windsor Terrace, City Road. I--inshort,' said Mr. Micawber, with the same genteel air, and in anotherburst of confidence--'I live there.'

I made him a bow.

'Under the impression,' said Mr. Micawber, 'that your peregrinations inthis metropolis have not as yet been extensive, and that you might havesome difficulty in penetrating the arcana of the Modern Babylon in thedirection of the City Road,--in short,' said Mr. Micawber, in anotherburst of confidence, 'that you might lose yourself--I shall be happy tocall this evening, and install you in the knowledge of the nearest way.'

I thanked him with all my heart, for it was friendly in him to offer totake that trouble.

'At what hour,' said Mr. Micawber, 'shall I--'

'At about eight,' said Mr. Quinion.

'At about eight,' said Mr. Micawber. 'I beg to wish you good day, Mr.Quinion. I will intrude no longer.'

So he put on his hat, and went out with his cane under his arm: veryupright, and humming a tune when he was clear of the counting-house.

Mr. Quinion then formally engaged me to be as useful as I could inthe warehouse of Murdstone and Grinby, at a salary, I think, of sixshillings a week. I am not clear whether it was six or seven. I aminclined to believe, from my uncertainty on this head, that it was sixat first and seven afterwards. He paid me a week down (from his ownpocket, I believe), and I gave Mealy sixpence out of it to get mytrunk carried to Windsor Terrace that night: it being too heavy for mystrength, small as it was. I paid sixpence more for my dinner, which wasa meat pie and a turn at a neighbouring pump; and passed the hour whichwas allowed for that meal, in walking about the streets.

At the appointed time in the evening, Mr. Micawber reappeared. I washedmy hands and face, to do the greater honour to his gentility, and wewalked to our house, as I suppose I must now call it, together; Mr.Micawber impressing the name of streets, and the shapes of corner housesupon me, as we went along, that I might find my way back, easily, in themorning.

Arrived at this house in Windsor Terrace (which I noticed was shabbylike himself, but also, like himself, made all the show it could), hepresented me to Mrs. Micawber, a thin and faded lady, not at allyoung, who was sitting in the parlour (the first floor was altogetherunfurnished, and the blinds were kept down to delude the neighbours),with a baby at her breast. This baby was one of twins; and I may remarkhere that I hardly ever, in all my experience of the family, saw boththe twins detached from Mrs. Micawber at the same time. One of them wasalways taking refreshment.

There were two other children; Master Micawber, aged about four, andMiss Micawber, aged about three. These, and a dark-complexioned youngwoman, with a habit of snorting, who was servant to the family, andinformed me, before half an hour had expired, that she was 'a Orfling',and came from St. Luke's workhouse, in the neighbourhood, completed theestablishment. My room was at the top of the house, at the back: a closechamber; stencilled all over with an ornament which my young imaginationrepresented as a blue muffin; and very scantily furnished.

'I never thought,' said Mrs. Micawber, when she came up, twin and all,to show me the apartment, and sat down to take breath, 'before I wasmarried, when I lived with papa and mama, that I should ever find itnecessary to take a lodger. But Mr. Micawber being in difficulties, allconsiderations of private feeling must give way.'

I said: 'Yes, ma'am.'

'Mr. Micawber's difficulties are almost overwhelming just at present,'said Mrs. Micawber; 'and whether it is possible to bring him throughthem, I don't know. When I lived at home with papa and mama, I reallyshould have hardly understood what the word meant, in the sense in whichI now employ it, but experientia does it,--as papa used to say.'

I cannot satisfy myself whether she told me that Mr. Micawber had beenan officer in the Marines, or whether I have imagined it. I only knowthat I believe to this hour that he WAS in the Marines once upon a time,without knowing why. He was a sort of town traveller for a numberof miscellaneous houses, now; but made little or nothing of it, I amafraid.

'If Mr. Micawber's creditors will not give him time,' said Mrs.Micawber, 'they must take the consequences; and the sooner they bring itto an issue the better. Blood cannot be obtained from a stone, neithercan anything on account be obtained at present (not to mention lawexpenses) from Mr. Micawber.'

I never can quite understand whether my precocious self-dependenceconfused Mrs. Micawber in reference to my age, or whether she was sofull of the subject that she would have talked about it to the verytwins if there had been nobody else to communicate with, but this wasthe strain in which she began, and she went on accordingly all the timeI knew her.

Poor Mrs. Micawber! She said she had tried to exert herself, and so,I have no doubt, she had. The centre of the street door was perfectlycovered with a great brass-plate, on which was engraved 'Mrs. Micawber'sBoarding Establishment for Young Ladies': but I never found that anyyoung lady had ever been to school there; or that any young lady evercame, or proposed to come; or that the least preparation was ever madeto receive any young lady. The only visitors I ever saw, or heard of,were creditors. THEY used to come at all hours, and some of them werequite ferocious. One dirty-faced man, I think he was a boot-maker,used to edge himself into the passage as early as seven o'clock in themorning, and call up the stairs to Mr. Micawber--'Come! You ain't outyet, you know. Pay us, will you? Don't hide, you know; that's mean. Iwouldn't be mean if I was you. Pay us, will you? You just pay us, d'yehear? Come!' Receiving no answer to these taunts, he would mount inhis wrath to the words 'swindlers' and 'robbers'; and these beingineffectual too, would sometimes go to the extremity of crossing thestreet, and roaring up at the windows of the second floor, where he knewMr. Micawber was. At these times, Mr. Micawber would be transported withgrief and mortification, even to the length (as I was once made aware bya scream from his wife) of making motions at himself with a razor;but within half-an-hour afterwards, he would polish up his shoes withextraordinary pains, and go out, humming a tune with a greater air ofgentility than ever. Mrs. Micawber was quite as elastic. I have knownher to be thrown into fainting fits by the king's taxes at threeo'clock, and to eat lamb chops, breaded, and drink warm ale (paid forwith two tea-spoons that had gone to the pawnbroker's) at four. On oneoccasion, when an execution had just been put in, coming home throughsome chance as early as six o'clock, I saw her lying (of course with atwin) under the grate in a swoon, with her hair all torn about her face;but I never knew her more cheerful than she was, that very same night,over a veal cutlet before the kitchen fire, telling me stories about herpapa and mama, and the company they used to keep.

In this house, and with this family, I passed my leisure time. My ownexclusive breakfast of a penny loaf and a pennyworth of milk, I providedmyself. I kept another small loaf, and a modicum of cheese, on aparticular shelf of a particular cupboard, to make my supper on when Icame back at night. This made a hole in the six or seven shillings, Iknow well; and I was out at the warehouse all day, and had to supportmyself on that money all the week. From Monday morning until Saturdaynight, I had no advice, no counsel, no encouragement, no consolation,no assistance, no support, of any kind, from anyone, that I can call tomind, as I hope to go to heaven!

I was so young and childish, and so little qualified--how could I beotherwise?--to undertake the whole charge of my own existence, thatoften, in going to Murdstone and Grinby's, of a morning, I couldnot resist the stale pastry put out for sale at half-price at thepastrycooks' doors, and spent in that the money I should have kept formy dinner. Then, I went without my dinner, or bought a roll or a sliceof pudding. I remember two pudding shops, between which I was divided,according to my finances. One was in a court close to St. Martin'sChurch--at the back of the church,--which is now removed altogether.The pudding at that shop was made of currants, and was rather a specialpudding, but was dear, twopennyworth not being larger than a pennyworthof more ordinary pudding. A good shop for the latter was in theStrand--somewhere in that part which has been rebuilt since. It was astout pale pudding, heavy and flabby, and with great flat raisins in it,stuck in whole at wide distances apart. It came up hot at about my timeevery day, and many a day did I dine off it. When I dined regularly andhandsomely, I had a saveloy and a penny loaf, or a fourpenny plate ofred beef from a cook's shop; or a plate of bread and cheese and aglass of beer, from a miserable old public-house opposite our place ofbusiness, called the Lion, or the Lion and something else that I haveforgotten. Once, I remember carrying my own bread (which I had broughtfrom home in the morning) under my arm, wrapped in a piece of paper,like a book, and going to a famous alamode beef-house near Drury Lane,and ordering a 'small plate' of that delicacy to eat with it. What thewaiter thought of such a strange little apparition coming in all alone,I don't know; but I can see him now, staring at me as I ate my dinner,and bringing up the other waiter to look. I gave him a halfpenny forhimself, and I wish he hadn't taken it.

We had half-an-hour, I think, for tea. When I had money enough, I usedto get half-a-pint of ready-made coffee and a slice of bread and butter.When I had none, I used to look at a venison shop in Fleet Street; orI have strolled, at such a time, as far as Covent Garden Market, andstared at the pineapples. I was fond of wandering about the Adelphi,because it was a mysterious place, with those dark arches. I see myselfemerging one evening from some of these arches, on a little public-houseclose to the river, with an open space before it, where somecoal-heavers were dancing; to look at whom I sat down upon a bench. Iwonder what they thought of me!

I was such a child, and so little, that frequently when I went into thebar of a strange public-house for a glass of ale or porter, to moistenwhat I had had for dinner, they were afraid to give it me. I rememberone hot evening I went into the bar of a public-house, and said to thelandlord: 'What is your best--your very best--ale a glass?' For it was aspecial occasion. I don't know what. It may have been my birthday.

'Twopence-halfpenny,' says the landlord, 'is the price of the GenuineStunning ale.'

'Then,' says I, producing the money, 'just draw me a glass of theGenuine Stunning, if you please, with a good head to it.'

The landlord looked at me in return over the bar, from head to foot,with a strange smile on his face; and instead of drawing the beer,looked round the screen and said something to his wife. She came outfrom behind it, with her work in her hand, and joined him in surveyingme. Here we stand, all three, before me now. The landlord in hisshirt-sleeves, leaning against the bar window-frame; his wife lookingover the little half-door; and I, in some confusion, looking up at themfrom outside the partition. They asked me a good many questions; as,what my name was, how old I was, where I lived, how I was employed,and how I came there. To all of which, that I might commit nobody, Iinvented, I am afraid, appropriate answers. They served me with the ale,though I suspect it was not the Genuine Stunning; and the landlord'swife, opening the little half-door of the bar, and bending down, gaveme my money back, and gave me a kiss that was half admiring and halfcompassionate, but all womanly and good, I am sure.

I know I do not exaggerate, unconsciously and unintentionally, thescantiness of my resources or the difficulties of my life. I know thatif a shilling were given me by Mr. Quinion at any time, I spent it ina dinner or a tea. I know that I worked, from morning until night, withcommon men and boys, a shabby child. I know that I lounged about thestreets, insufficiently and unsatisfactorily fed. I know that, but forthe mercy of God, I might easily have been, for any care that was takenof me, a little robber or a little vagabond.

Yet I held some station at Murdstone and Grinby's too. Besides that Mr.Quinion did what a careless man so occupied, and dealing with a thing soanomalous, could, to treat me as one upon a different footing from therest, I never said, to man or boy, how it was that I came to be there,or gave the least indication of being sorry that I was there. That Isuffered in secret, and that I suffered exquisitely, no one ever knewbut I. How much I suffered, it is, as I have said already, utterlybeyond my power to tell. But I kept my own counsel, and I did my work.I knew from the first, that, if I could not do my work as well as anyof the rest, I could not hold myself above slight and contempt. I soonbecame at least as expeditious and as skilful as either of the otherboys. Though perfectly familiar with them, my conduct and manner weredifferent enough from theirs to place a space between us. They andthe men generally spoke of me as 'the little gent', or 'the youngSuffolker.' A certain man named Gregory, who was foreman of the packers,and another named Tipp, who was the carman, and wore a red jacket, usedto address me sometimes as 'David': but I think it was mostly when wewere very confidential, and when I had made some efforts to entertainthem, over our work, with some results of the old readings; which werefast perishing out of my remembrance. Mealy Potatoes uprose once, andrebelled against my being so distinguished; but Mick Walker settled himin no time.

My rescue from this kind of existence I considered quite hopeless, andabandoned, as such, altogether. I am solemnly convinced that I never forone hour was reconciled to it, or was otherwise than miserably unhappy;but I bore it; and even to Peggotty, partly for the love of her andpartly for shame, never in any letter (though many passed between us)revealed the truth.

Mr. Micawber's difficulties were an addition to the distressed state ofmy mind. In my forlorn state I became quite attached to the family, andused to walk about, busy with Mrs. Micawber's calculations of ways andmeans, and heavy with the weight of Mr. Micawber's debts. On a Saturdaynight, which was my grand treat,--partly because it was a great thingto walk home with six or seven shillings in my pocket, looking into theshops and thinking what such a sum would buy, and partly because I wenthome early,--Mrs. Micawber would make the most heart-rending confidencesto me; also on a Sunday morning, when I mixed the portion of tea orcoffee I had bought over-night, in a little shaving-pot, and sat lateat my breakfast. It was nothing at all unusual for Mr. Micawber to sobviolently at the beginning of one of these Saturday night conversations,and sing about jack's delight being his lovely Nan, towards the end ofit. I have known him come home to supper with a flood of tears, and adeclaration that nothing was now left but a jail; and go to bed making acalculation of the expense of putting bow-windows to the house, 'incase anything turned up', which was his favourite expression. And Mrs.Micawber was just the same.

A curious equality of friendship, originating, I suppose, in ourrespective circumstances, sprung up between me and these people,notwithstanding the ludicrous disparity in our years. But I neverallowed myself to be prevailed upon to accept any invitation to eat anddrink with them out of their stock (knowing that they got on badly withthe butcher and baker, and had often not too much for themselves),until Mrs. Micawber took me into her entire confidence. This she did oneevening as follows:

'Master Copperfield,' said Mrs. Micawber, 'I make no stranger of you,and therefore do not hesitate to say that Mr. Micawber's difficultiesare coming to a crisis.'

It made me very miserable to hear it, and I looked at Mrs. Micawber'sred eyes with the utmost sympathy.

'With the exception of the heel of a Dutch cheese--which is not adaptedto the wants of a young family'--said Mrs. Micawber, 'there is reallynot a scrap of anything in the larder. I was accustomed to speak ofthe larder when I lived with papa and mama, and I use the word almostunconsciously. What I mean to express is, that there is nothing to eatin the house.'

'Dear me!' I said, in great concern.

I had two or three shillings of my week's money in my pocket--from whichI presume that it must have been on a Wednesday night when we held thisconversation--and I hastily produced them, and with heartfelt emotionbegged Mrs. Micawber to accept of them as a loan. But that lady, kissingme, and making me put them back in my pocket, replied that she couldn'tthink of it.

'No, my dear Master Copperfield,' said she, 'far be it from my thoughts!But you have a discretion beyond your years, and can render me anotherkind of service, if you will; and a service I will thankfully acceptof.'

I begged Mrs. Micawber to name it.

'I have parted with the plate myself,' said Mrs. Micawber. 'Six tea, twosalt, and a pair of sugars, I have at different times borrowed money on,in secret, with my own hands. But the twins are a great tie; and to me,with my recollections, of papa and mama, these transactions are verypainful. There are still a few trifles that we could part with. Mr.Micawber's feelings would never allow him to dispose of them; andClickett'--this was the girl from the workhouse--'being of a vulgarmind, would take painful liberties if so much confidence was reposed inher. Master Copperfield, if I might ask you--'

I understood Mrs. Micawber now, and begged her to make use of me to anyextent. I began to dispose of the more portable articles of propertythat very evening; and went out on a similar expedition almost everymorning, before I went to Murdstone and Grinby's.

Mr. Micawber had a few books on a little chiffonier, which he called thelibrary; and those went first. I carried them, one after another, toa bookstall in the City Road--one part of which, near our house, wasalmost all bookstalls and bird shops then--and sold them for whateverthey would bring. The keeper of this bookstall, who lived in a littlehouse behind it, used to get tipsy every night, and to be violentlyscolded by his wife every morning. More than once, when I went thereearly, I had audience of him in a turn-up bedstead, with a cut in hisforehead or a black eye, bearing witness to his excesses over-night (Iam afraid he was quarrelsome in his drink), and he, with a shakinghand, endeavouring to find the needful shillings in one or other of thepockets of his clothes, which lay upon the floor, while his wife, with ababy in her arms and her shoes down at heel, never left off rating him.Sometimes he had lost his money, and then he would ask me to call again;but his wife had always got some--had taken his, I dare say, while hewas drunk--and secretly completed the bargain on the stairs, as we wentdown together. At the pawnbroker's shop, too, I began to be very wellknown. The principal gentleman who officiated behind the counter, tooka good deal of notice of me; and often got me, I recollect, to decline aLatin noun or adjective, or to conjugate a Latin verb, in his ear, whilehe transacted my business. After all these occasions Mrs. Micawber madea little treat, which was generally a supper; and there was a peculiarrelish in these meals which I well remember.

At last Mr. Micawber's difficulties came to a crisis, and he wasarrested early one morning, and carried over to the King's Bench Prisonin the Borough. He told me, as he went out of the house, that the Godof day had now gone down upon him--and I really thought his heart wasbroken and mine too. But I heard, afterwards, that he was seen to play alively game at skittles, before noon.

On the first Sunday after he was taken there, I was to go and see him,and have dinner with him. I was to ask my way to such a place, and justshort of that place I should see such another place, and just short ofthat I should see a yard, which I was to cross, and keep straight onuntil I saw a turnkey. All this I did; and when at last I did see aturnkey (poor little fellow that I was!), and thought how, when RoderickRandom was in a debtors' prison, there was a man there with nothingon him but an old rug, the turnkey swam before my dimmed eyes and mybeating heart.

Mr. Micawber was waiting for me within the gate, and we went up to hisroom (top story but one), and cried very much. He solemnly conjured me,I remember, to take warning by his fate; and to observe that if a manhad twenty pounds a-year for his income, and spent nineteen poundsnineteen shillings and sixpence, he would be happy, but that if hespent twenty pounds one he would be miserable. After which he borrowed ashilling of me for porter, gave me a written order on Mrs. Micawber forthe amount, and put away his pocket-handkerchief, and cheered up.

We sat before a little fire, with two bricks put within the rustedgrate, one on each side, to prevent its burning too many coals; untilanother debtor, who shared the room with Mr. Micawber, came in from thebakehouse with the loin of mutton which was our joint-stock repast.Then I was sent up to 'Captain Hopkins' in the room overhead, with Mr.Micawber's compliments, and I was his young friend, and would CaptainHopkins lend me a knife and fork.

Captain Hopkins lent me the knife and fork, with his compliments to Mr.Micawber. There was a very dirty lady in his little room, and two wangirls, his daughters, with shock heads of hair. I thought it was betterto borrow Captain Hopkins's knife and fork, than Captain Hopkins's comb.The Captain himself was in the last extremity of shabbiness, with largewhiskers, and an old, old brown great-coat with no other coat below it.I saw his bed rolled up in a corner; and what plates and dishes and potshe had, on a shelf; and I divined (God knows how) that though the twogirls with the shock heads of hair were Captain Hopkins's children, thedirty lady was not married to Captain Hopkins. My timid station on histhreshold was not occupied more than a couple of minutes at most; butI came down again with all this in my knowledge, as surely as the knifeand fork were in my hand.

There was something gipsy-like and agreeable in the dinner, after all.I took back Captain Hopkins's knife and fork early in the afternoon,and went home to comfort Mrs. Micawber with an account of my visit.She fainted when she saw me return, and made a little jug of egg-hotafterwards to console us while we talked it over.

I don't know how the household furniture came to be sold for the familybenefit, or who sold it, except that I did not. Sold it was, however,and carried away in a van; except the bed, a few chairs, and the kitchentable. With these possessions we encamped, as it were, in the twoparlours of the emptied house in Windsor Terrace; Mrs. Micawber, thechildren, the Orfling, and myself; and lived in those rooms night andday. I have no idea for how long, though it seems to me for a longtime. At last Mrs. Micawber resolved to move into the prison, where Mr.Micawber had now secured a room to himself. So I took the key of thehouse to the landlord, who was very glad to get it; and the beds weresent over to the King's Bench, except mine, for which a little room washired outside the walls in the neighbourhood of that Institution, verymuch to my satisfaction, since the Micawbers and I had become too usedto one another, in our troubles, to part. The Orfling was likewiseaccommodated with an inexpensive lodging in the same neighbourhood.Mine was a quiet back-garret with a sloping roof, commanding a pleasantprospect of a timberyard; and when I took possession of it, with thereflection that Mr. Micawber's troubles had come to a crisis at last, Ithought it quite a paradise.

All this time I was working at Murdstone and Grinby's in the same commonway, and with the same common companions, and with the same sense ofunmerited degradation as at first. But I never, happily for me no doubt,made a single acquaintance, or spoke to any of the many boys whom Isaw daily in going to the warehouse, in coming from it, and in prowlingabout the streets at meal-times. I led the same secretly unhappy life;but I led it in the same lonely, self-reliant manner. The only changesI am conscious of are, firstly, that I had grown more shabby, andsecondly, that I was now relieved of much of the weight of Mr. and Mrs.Micawber's cares; for some relatives or friends had engaged to help themat their present pass, and they lived more comfortably in the prisonthan they had lived for a long while out of it. I used to breakfast withthem now, in virtue of some arrangement, of which I have forgottenthe details. I forget, too, at what hour the gates were opened in themorning, admitting of my going in; but I know that I was often up at sixo'clock, and that my favourite lounging-place in the interval was oldLondon Bridge, where I was wont to sit in one of the stone recesses,watching the people going by, or to look over the balustrades at the sunshining in the water, and lighting up the golden flame on the top of theMonument. The Orfling met me here sometimes, to be told some astonishingfictions respecting the wharves and the Tower; of which I can say nomore than that I hope I believed them myself. In the evening I usedto go back to the prison, and walk up and down the parade with Mr.Micawber; or play casino with Mrs. Micawber, and hear reminiscences ofher papa and mama. Whether Mr. Murdstone knew where I was, I am unableto say. I never told them at Murdstone and Grinby's.

Mr. Micawber's affairs, although past their crisis, were very muchinvolved by reason of a certain 'Deed', of which I used to hear a greatdeal, and which I suppose, now, to have been some former compositionwith his creditors, though I was so far from being clear about itthen, that I am conscious of having confounded it with those demoniacalparchments which are held to have, once upon a time, obtained to a greatextent in Germany. At last this document appeared to be got out of theway, somehow; at all events it ceased to be the rock-ahead it had been;and Mrs. Micawber informed me that 'her family' had decided that Mr.Micawber should apply for his release under the Insolvent Debtors Act,which would set him free, she expected, in about six weeks.

'And then,' said Mr. Micawber, who was present, 'I have no doubt Ishall, please Heaven, begin to be beforehand with the world, and to livein a perfectly new manner, if--in short, if anything turns up.'

By way of going in for anything that might be on the cards, I call tomind that Mr. Micawber, about this time, composed a petition to theHouse of Commons, praying for an alteration in the law of imprisonmentfor debt. I set down this remembrance here, because it is an instance tomyself of the manner in which I fitted my old books to my altered life,and made stories for myself, out of the streets, and out of men andwomen; and how some main points in the character I shall unconsciouslydevelop, I suppose, in writing my life, were gradually forming all thiswhile.

There was a club in the prison, in which Mr. Micawber, as a gentleman,was a great authority. Mr. Micawber had stated his idea of this petitionto the club, and the club had strongly approved of the same. WhereforeMr. Micawber (who was a thoroughly good-natured man, and as active acreature about everything but his own affairs as ever existed, and neverso happy as when he was busy about something that could never be of anyprofit to him) set to work at the petition, invented it, engrossed iton an immense sheet of paper, spread it out on a table, and appointed atime for all the club, and all within the walls if they chose, to comeup to his room and sign it.

When I heard of this approaching ceremony, I was so anxious to see themall come in, one after another, though I knew the greater part ofthem already, and they me, that I got an hour's leave of absence fromMurdstone and Grinby's, and established myself in a corner for thatpurpose. As many of the principal members of the club as could be gotinto the small room without filling it, supported Mr. Micawber in frontof the petition, while my old friend Captain Hopkins (who had washedhimself, to do honour to so solemn an occasion) stationed himself closeto it, to read it to all who were unacquainted with its contents. Thedoor was then thrown open, and the general population began to come in,in a long file: several waiting outside, while one entered, affixed hissignature, and went out. To everybody in succession, Captain Hopkinssaid: 'Have you read it?'--'No.'---'Would you like to hear it read?' Ifhe weakly showed the least disposition to hear it, Captain Hopkins, ina loud sonorous voice, gave him every word of it. The Captain wouldhave read it twenty thousand times, if twenty thousand people would haveheard him, one by one. I remember a certain luscious roll he gave tosuch phrases as 'The people's representatives in Parliament assembled,''Your petitioners therefore humbly approach your honourable house,' 'Hisgracious Majesty's unfortunate subjects,' as if the words were somethingreal in his mouth, and delicious to taste; Mr. Micawber, meanwhile,listening with a little of an author's vanity, and contemplating (notseverely) the spikes on the opposite wall.

As I walked to and fro daily between Southwark and Blackfriars, andlounged about at meal-times in obscure streets, the stones of whichmay, for anything I know, be worn at this moment by my childish feet, Iwonder how many of these people were wanting in the crowd that used tocome filing before me in review again, to the echo of Captain Hopkins'svoice! When my thoughts go back, now, to that slow agony of my youth, Iwonder how much of the histories I invented for such people hangs like amist of fancy over well-remembered facts! When I tread the old ground,I do not wonder that I seem to see and pity, going on before me, aninnocent romantic boy, making his imaginative world out of such strangeexperiences and sordid things!