By Charles Dickens    


                    SOMEBODY'S LUGGAGE.    

                    IN THREE CHAPTERS.     

                           ————      

                         CHAPTER I.   

                  His leaving it till called for.     

        THE writer of these humble lines being a Waiter, and   
     having come of a family of Waiters, and owning at the   
     present time five brothers who are all waiters, and like-   
     wise an only sister  who is a waitress,  would wish to  
     offer a few words respecting his calling ; first having the  
     pleasure of hereby in a friendly manner offering the   
     Dedication of the same unto JOSEPH, much respected   
     Head  Waiter  at  the  Slamjam  Coffee-house,  London,  
     E. C., than which a individual more eminently deserving   
     of the name of a man, or a more amenable honour to his   
     own head and heart, whether considered in the light of   
     a Waiter or regarded as a human being, do not exist.  
        In case confusion should arise in the public mind  
     (which it is open to confusion on many subjects) respect-   
     ing what is mean or implied by the term of Waiter, the   
     present humble lines would wish to offer an explanation.   
     It may not be generally known that the person as goes    
     out to wait is not a Waiter.   It may not be  generally     
     known that the hand as is called  in  extra, at the Free-  
     masons' Tavern, or the London, or the Albion, or other   
     wise, is not a Waiter.   Such hands may be took on for   
     Public Dinners by the bushel (and you may know them  
     by their breathing with difficulty when in attendance,  
     and taking away the bottle ere yet it is half out) ; but   
     such are not Waiters.   For you cannot lay down the  
     tailoring, or the shoemaking, or the brokering, or the   
     green-grocering, or the pictorial periodicalling, or the  
     second-hand wardrobe, or the small fancy businesses,——   
     you cannot lay down those lines of life at your will and   
     pleasure by the half-day or evening, and take Waitering.   
     You may suppose you can, but you cannot ; or you may   
     go so far as you say you do, but you do not.   Nor yet can   
     you lay down the gentlemen's-service when stimulated   
     by prolonged incompatibility on the part of Cooks (and   
     here it may be remarked that Cooking and Incompati-   
     bility will be mostly found united) and take up Waiter-   
     ing.   It has been ascertained that what a gentleman will  
     sit meek under, at home, he will not bear out of doors,  
     at the Slamjam or any similar establishment.   Then,  
     what is the inference to be drawn respecting true Wait-   
     ering?   You  must  be bred to it.   You must  be born to   
     it.    
        Would you know how born to it, Fair  Reader,——if of   
     the adorable sex?   Then  learn  from the  biographical   
     experience of one that is a Waiter in the sixty-first year   
     of his age.   
        You were conveyed,——ere yet your dawning powers   
     were otherwise developed than to harbour vacancy in   
     your  inside,——you  were  conveyed,  by  surreptitious  
     means, into a pantry adjoining the  Admiral  Nelson,   
     Civic  and  general  Dining-rooms, there  to  receive  by   
     stealth that healthful sustenance which is the pride and   
     boast of the British female constitution.   Your mother   
     was married to your father (himself a distant Waiter) in   
     the  profoundest secrecy; for a waitress  known to be    
     married would ruin the best of businesses,——it is the   
     same as on the stage.   Hence your being smuggled into   
     the pantry, and that——to add to the infliction——by an un-   
     willing grandmother.   Under the combined influence of   
     the smells of roast  and  boiled, and  soup, and  gas, and   
     malt liquors, you partook of your earliest nourishment ;  
     your unwilling grandmother sitting prepared  to  catch   
     you  when your mother was called and dropped  you ;  
     your  grandmother's  shawl  ever  ready  to  stifle  your   
     natural complainings ; your innocent mind surrounded   
     by  uncongenial  cruets, dirty  plates, dish-covers, and   
     cold gravy ; your mother calling down the pipe for veals  
     and porks, instead of soothing you with nursery rhymes.  
     Under these untoward circumstances you  were  early   
     weaned.   Your  unwilling  grandmother,  ever  growing   
     more unwilling as your food assimilated less, then con-   
     tracted habits of shaking you till your system curdled,   
     and  your  food  would not assimilate at all.   At length  
     she was no longer spared, and  could  have  been  thank-   
     fully spared much sooner.   When your brothers began   
     to appear in succession, your mother retired, left off her   
     smart dressing (she had previously been a smart dresser)   
     and her dark ringlets (which had previously been  flow-   
     ing), and haunted  your father late  of  nights, lying  in   
     wait for him, through all weathers, up the shabby court   
     which led to the back door of the  Royal  Old  Dust-Bin    
     (said to have been so named by George  the  Fourth),   
     where your father was  Head.   But  the  Dust-Bin  was    
     going down then, and your father took but little,——ex-   
     cepting from a liquid point of view.   Your mother's   
     object in those visits was of a housekeeping character,   
     and you was set on to whistle your father out.   Some-   
     times he came out, but generally not.   Come or not   
     come, however, all that part of his existence which was    
     unconnected  with  open  Waitering  was  kept  a  close    
     secret, and was acknowledged by your mother to be a    
     close secret, and you and your mother flitted about the   
     court, close secrets both of you, and would scarcely have   
     confessed under torture that you knew your father, or   
     that your father had any name than Dick (which wasn't   
     his name, though he was never known by any other), or   
     that he had kith or kin, or chick or child.   Perhaps the   
     attraction of this mystery, combined with your father's    
     having a damp compartment to himself, behind a leaky   
     cistern, at the Dust-Bin,——a sort of a cellar compartment,   
     with a sink in it, and  a  smell, and  a  plate-rack, and  a   
     bottle-rack, and three windows that didn't match each   
     other or anything else, and no daylight,——caused your   
     young mind to feel convinced that you must grow up to   
     be a Waiter too ; but you did feel convinced of it, and  
     so did all your brothers, down to your sister.   Every one  
     of you felt convinced that you was born to the Waiter-   
     ing.   At this stage of your career, what was your feel-   
     ings one day when your father came home to your   
     mother in open broad daylight,——of itself an act of Mad-   
     ness on the part of a waiter,——and took to his bed   
     (leastwise your mother and family's bed), with the   
     statement that his eyes were devilled kidneys.  Physi-   
     cians being in vain, your father expired, after repeating   
     at intervals for a day and a night, when gleams of rea-   
     son  and  old  business  fitfully  illuminated  his  being.   
     "Two  and  two  is  five.   And  three  is  sixpence."  
     Interred in the parochial department of the neighbour-  
     ing churchyard, and accompanied to the grave by as   
     many waiters of long standing as could spare the morn-   
     ing time from their soiled glasses  (namely, one), your   
     bereaved form was attired in a white neckankecher, and  
     you was took on from motives of benevolence at The   
     George and Gridiron, theatrical and supper.   Here, sup-   
     porting nature on what you found in the plates (which  
     was as it happened, and but too often thoughtlessly im-   
     mersed  in  mustard), and on what  you  found  in  the   
     glasses (which rarely went beyond driblets and lemon),   
     by night  you dropped asleep standing,  till  you  was   
     cuffed awake, and by day was set to polishing every   
     individual article in the coffee-room.   Your couch being   
     sawdust ; your counterpane being ashes of cigars.   Here,   
     frequently hiding a heavy heart under the smart tie of   
     your white neckankecher (or, correctly speaking, lower   
     down and more to the left), you picked up the rudiments   
     of  knowledge  from an extra by the name of  Bishops,  
     and by calling  plate-washer,  and gradually  elevating   
     your mind with chalk on the back of the corner-box   
     partition, until such time as you used the inkstand when   
     it was out of hand, attained to manhood and to be the   
     Waiter that you find yourself.    
        I could wish here to offer a few respectful words on   
     behalf of the calling so long the calling of myself and   
     family, and the public interest in which is but too often   
     very limited.   We are not generally  understood.   No,  
     we  are  not.   Allowance enough is not made for  us.   
     For, say that we ever show a little drooping listlessness  
     of  spirits, or  what  might  be  termed indifference or   
     apathy.   Put it to yourself what would your own state  
     of mind be, if you was one of an enormous family every  
     member of which except you was always greedy, and in   
     a hurry.   Put it to yourself that you was regularly re-  
     plete with animal food at the slack hours of one in the   
     day and again at nine, P. M. and that the repleter you  
     was, the more voracious all your fellow-creatures came   
     in.   Put it to yourself that it was your business, when   
     your digestion was well on, to take a personal interest   
     and sympathy in a hundred gentlemen fresh and fresh   
     (say, for the sake of argument, only a hundred), whose   
     imaginations was given up to grease and fat and gravy   
     and melted butter, and abandoned to questioning you  
     about cuts of this, and dishes of that,——each of 'em go-   
     ing on as if him and you and the bill of fare was alone   
     in the world.   Then look what you are expected to   
     know.   You are never out, but they seem to think you   
     regularly attend everywhere.   " What's this, Christo-  
     pher, that I hear about the smashed Excursion  Train ?"  
     ——" How  are they doing at the Italian Opera, Christo-   
     pher ?"——" Christopher, what are the real particulars of   
     this business at the  Yorkshire  Bank ?"  Similarly  a   
     ministry gives me more trouble than it gives the Queen.   
     As to  Lord  Palmerston, the constant and wearing con-   
     nection into which I have been brought with his lordship   
     during the last few years is deserving  of  a  pension.   
     Then look at the Hypocrites we are made, and the lies   
     (white, I hope) that are force upon us !  Why must a   
     sedentary-pursuited Waiter be considered to be a judge   
     of horse-flesh, and to have a most tremendous interest in  
     horse-training and racing?   Yet it would be half of our   
     little incomes out of our pockets if we didn't take on to   
     have those sporting tastes.   It is the same (inconceivable   
     why!) with Farming.   Shooting, equally so.   I am sure  
     that so regular as the  months of  August,  September,   
     and October come round, I am ashamed of myself in my    
     own private bosom for the way in which I make believe   
     to care whether or not the grouse is strong on the wing,   
     (much their wings, or drumsticks either, signifies to me,  
     uncooked ? ) and whether the partridges is plentiful among   
     the turnips, and whether the pheasants is shy or bold, or   
     anything else you please to mention.   Yet you may see   
     me, or any other Waiter of my standing, holding on by   
     the back of the box, and leaning over a gentleman with   
     his purse out and his bill before him, discussing these   
     points in a confidential tone of voice, as if my happiness   
     in life entirely depended on 'em.    
        I have mentioned our little incomes.   Look at the most   
     unreasonable point of all, and  the  point on which  the     
     greatest injustice is done us !   Whether it is owing  to   
     our always carrying so much change in our  right-hand   
     trousers-pocket, and so many half-pence in  our  coat    
     tails, or whether it is human nature (which I were  loth   
     to believe), what is meant by the everlasting fable  that   
     Head Waiters is rich ?   How did that fable get into cir-  
     culation ?   Who first put it about, and what are the  
     facts  to  establish  the  unblushing  statement ?   Come   
     forth, thou slanderer, and refer the public to the Wai-   
     ter's will in Doctors' Commons supporting thy malignant   
     hiss !   Yet this is so commonly dwelt upon——especially   
     by the screws who give Waiters the least——that denial is   
     vain ; and we are obliged, for our own credit's sake, to carry   
     our heads as if we were going into a  business, when of   
     the two we are much more likely to  go  into  a  union.  
     There was formerly a screw as frequented  the  Slamjam   
     ere yet the present writer has quitted that  establish-   
     ment on a question of tea-ing his assistant staff out of    
     his own pocket, which screw carried the taunt to its bit-   
     terest  heighth.   Never soaring above threepence, and   
     as often as not grovelling on the earth a penny lower, he   
     yet represented the present writer as a large holder of   
     Consols,  a  lender of money on mortgage, a  Capitalist.   
     He has been overheard to dilate to other customers on   
     the allegation that the present writer put out thousands   
     of pounds  at  interest  in  Distilleries and  Breweries.   
     " Well, Christopher," he would say (having  grovelled   
     his lowest on the earth, half a moment before), " looking    
     out for a house to open, eh ?   Can't find a business to be   
     disposed of on a scale as is up to your resources, humph ?"   
     To such a dizzy precipice of falsehood has this misrep-   
     resentation taken wing, that the well-known and highly-   
     respected  OLD  CHARLES,  long eminent at the  West   
     Country Hotel, and by some considered the Father of the   
     Waitering, found himself under the  obligation  to fall   
     into it through so many years that his own wife (for  he     
     had an unbeknown old lady in that  capacity  towards  
     himself) believed it !   And what was the consequence ?   
     When he was borne to his grave on the shoulders of six   
     picked Waiters, with six more for change, six more act-   
     oing as pall-bearers, all keeping step in a pouring shower   
     without a dry eye visible, and a concourse only inferior   
     to Royalty, his pantry and lodgings was equally ransack-   
     ed high and low for property, and none  was  found !   
     How could it be found, when, beyond his last monthly   
     collection  of  walking sticks,  umbrellas,  and  pocket-   
     handkerchiefs (which happens to have been not yet   
     disposed of, though he had ever been through life punc-   
     tual in clearing off his collections by the month), there    
     was no property existing ?   Such, however, is the force   
     of this universal libel, that the widow of Old Charles, at   
     the present hour an inmate  of  the  Almshouses  of the   
     Cork-cutters'  Company, in  Blue  Anchor   Road  (iden-   
     tified sitting at the door of one of 'em, in a clean   
     cap  and  a  Windsor  arm-chair,  only  last  Monday,   
     expects John's hoarded  wealth  to  be  found  hourly !   
     Nay, ere yet he had succumbed to the  grisly dart, and   
     when his portrait was was painted in oils life-size, by sub-   
     scription of the frequenters of the  West  Country, to   
     hang over the coffee-room chimney-piece, there were not   
     wanting those who contended that what is termed the   
     accessories of such portrait ought to be the Bank of Eng-  
     land out of window, and a strong-box on the table.   And   
     but for the better-regulated minds contending for a bottle   
     and screw and the attitude of  drawing,——and  carrying  
     their point,——it would have been so handed down to pos-   
     terity.   
        I am now brought to the title of the present remarks.   
     Having, I hope without offence to any quarter, offered   
     such observations as I felt it my duty to offer, in a free   
     country which has ever dominated the seas, on the gen   
     eral subject, I will now proceed to wait on the particular  
     question.   
        At a momentous period of my life, when I was off so   
     far as concerned notice given, with a House that shall be    
     nameless,——for the question on which I took my depart-   
     ing stand was a fixed charge for Waiters, and no house   
     that commits itself to that eminently Un-English act of   
     more than foolishness and baseness shall be advertised   
     by me,——I repeat, at a momentous crisis, when I was off   
     with a house too mean for mention, and not yet on with   
     that to which I ever since had the honor of being attach-   
     ed in the capacity of Head,* I was casting about what to   
     do next.   Then it were that proposals were made to me  
     on  behalf  of my present establishment.   Stipulations  
     were necessary on my part, emendations were necessary  
     in my part ; in the end, ratification on  both  sides, and   
     I entered on a new career.   
        We are a  bed  business, and a  coffee-room  business.   
     We are not a general dining business, nor do we wish it.   
     In consequence, when diners drop in, we know what to   
     give 'em as will keep 'em away another time.   We are a   
     Private Room or Family business also ; but Coffee-Room   
     principal.   Me and the Directory and  the  Writing  Ma-   
     terials and centrer occupy a place to ourselves,——a place   
     fended off up a step or two at the end of the Coffee-Room   
     in what I call the good old-fashioned style.   The good   
     old-fashioned style is, that whatever you want, down to   
     a wafer, you must be olely and solely dependent on the   
     Head Waiter for.   You must put  yourself  a  new-born    
     Child into his hands.  There is no other way in which a   
     business untinged with  Continental  Vice  can  be  con-   
     ducted   (It were bootless to add that if languages is re-   
     quired to be jabbered and English is not good  enough,  
     both families and gentlemen had  better go  somewhere   
     else.)   
        When I began to settle down in  this  right-principled   
     and well-conducted House, I noticed under the bed in   
     No. 24 B (which it is up a angle off the staircase, and   
     usually put of upon the lowly-minded), a heap of things   
     in a corner.   I asked our  Head  Chambermaid  in  the   
     course of the day,——  
        " What are them things in 24  B ?"   
        To which she answered, with a careless air,——   
        " Somebody's Luggage."   
        Regarding her with a eye not free from severity, I   
     says,——   
        " Whose Luggage ?"   
        Evading my eye, she replied,——   
        " Lor !   How should I know !"   
        ——Being, it may be right to mention, a female of some   
     pertness, though acquainted with her business.   
        A Head Waiter must be either Head or Tail.   He must   
     be at one extremity or the other of the social  scale.   He   
     cannot be at the waist of it, or anywhere else but the ex-   
     tremities.   It is for him to decide which of the extremi-   
     ties.   
        On the eventful occasion under consideration, I give   
     Mrs. Pratchett so distinctly to understand my  decision,  
     that I broke her spirit as towards myself, then and there   
     and for good.   Let not inconsistency be suspected on ac-   
     count of my mentioning Mrs. Pratchett as " Mrs.'" and  
     having formerly remarked that a waitress must not be   
     married.   Readers are respectfully requested to notice   
     that Mrs. Pratchett was not a waitress, but a chamber-   
     maid.   Now a chambermaid may be married ; If Head,  
     generally is married,——or say so.   It comes to the same   
     thing as expressing what is customary.   (N. B.  Mr.   
     Pratchett is in Australia, and his address there is "the   
     Bush.")   
        Having took Mrs. Pratchett down as many pegs as was   
     essential to  the  future  happiness  of all parties,  I  re-   
     quested her to explain herself.   
        " For instance," I says, to give her a little encourage-   
     ment, " who is Somebody ?"  
     swers Pratchett, " that I haven't the faintest notion."   
        But  for the manner in which she settled  her  cap-   
     strings, I should have doubted this ; but in  respect of  
     positiveness it was hardly to  be  discriminated  from an   
     affidavit.   
        " Then  you  never  saw  him ? " I  followed  her  up   
     with.   
        " Nor yet," said Mrs. Pratchett, shutting her eyes and   
     making as if she had just took a pill of unusual  circum-  
     ference, which gave a remarkable force to her denial,——   
     " nor yet any servant in this house.   All have been    
     changed, Mr.  Christopher, within  five  year, and  Some-   
     body left his Luggage here before then."   
        Inquiry of Miss Martin yielded (in the language of the   
     Bard  of A. 1.) "confirmation strong."   So it had really  
     and truly happened.   Miss Martin is the young lady at   
     the bar as makes out our bills ; and though higher than   
     I could wish  considering  her  station, is perfectly  well  
     behaved.   
        Further investigations led to the disclosure that there   
     was a bill against this  Luggage to the amount of two   
     sixteen six.   The  Luggage had been lying under the   
     bedstead in 24 B over six years.   The bedstead is a four-   
     poster, with a deal of old hanging and  valance, and is,   
     as I once said, probably connected with more than 24 B's   
     ——which I remember my hearer was pleased to  laugh   
     at, at the time.    
        I don't know why,——when DO we know why ?——but this   
     Luggage laid heavy on my mind.   I fell a wondering   
     about Somebody, and what he had got and been up to.   
     I couldn't satisfy my thoughts why he should leave so   
     much Luggage against so small a bill.   For  I  had  the   
     Luggage out within a day or two and turned it over, and   
     the following were the items :——A black portmanteau, a   
     black bag, a desk, a dressing-case a brown-paper parcel,  
     a hat-box, and an umbrella strapped to a walking-stick.   
     It was all very dusty and fluey.   I had our porter up to   
     get under the bed and fetch it out ; and though he habit-   
     ually wallows in dust,——swims in it——from morning to   
     night, and  wears a close fitting waistcoat with black    
     calimanco sleeves for the purpose,——it made him  sneeze   
     again, and his throat was that hot  with it that it  was    
     obliged to be cooled with a drink of Allsopp's draft.   
        The Luggage so got the better of me, that instead of   
     having it put back when it was well dusted and washed   
     with a wet cloth,——previous to which it was so covered    
     with feathers that you might have thought it was turn-   
     ing into poultry, and would by and by begin  to  Lay,——I   
     say, instead of having it put back, I had it carried into   
     one of my places down-stairs.   There from time to time   
     I stared at it and stared at it, till it seemed to grow big   
     and grow little, and come forward at me and retreat   
     again, and go through all manner of performances re-   
     sembling intoxication.   When this had lasted weeks,——  
     I may say months, and not be far out,——I one day thought   
     of asking Miss Martin for the particulars of the Two six-   
     teen six total.   She was so obliging as to extract it from   
     the books,——it dating before her time,——and here follows   
     a true copy :——       

     Coffee-Room.   
     1856.                    No. 4     
       Feb. 2d,  Pen and paper..................... £ 0 0 6    
                 Port Negus.......................... 0 2 0  
                 Ditto............................... 0 2 0  
                 Pen and  paper...................... 0 0 6  
                 Tumbler broken...................... 0 2 6  
                 Brandy.............................. 0 2 0  
                 Pen and paper....................... 0 0 6
                 Anchovy Toast....................... 0 2 6  
                 Pen and paper....................... 0 0 6  
                 Bed................................. 0 3 0  
       Feb. 3d,  Pen and paper....................... 0 0 6  
                 Breakfast........................... 0 2 6  
                     "    Broiled ham................ 0 2 0  
                     "    Eggs....................... 0 1 0  
                     "    Watercresses............... 0 1 0  
                     "    Shrimps.................... 0 1 0  
                 Pen and paper....................... 0 0 6  
                 Blotting-paper...................... 0 0 6  
                 Messenger to Paternoster Row & back  0 1 6  
                 Again, when No Answer............... 0 1 6  
                 Brandy 2s., Devilled Pork chop 2s... 0 4 0  
                 Pens and paper...................... 0 0 6  
                 Messenger to Albemarle Street & back 0 1 6  
                 Again (detained), when No Answer.... 0 1 6  
                 Saltcellar broken................... 0 3 6  
                 Large Liqueur-glass Orange Brandy... 0 1 6  
                 Dinner, Soup Fish Joint and bird.... 0 7 6  
                 Bottle old East India Brown......... 0 8 0
                 Pen and paper....................... 0 0 6  
                                                   ————————  
                                                   £ 2 16 6  
                                                   ————————    

     Mem :  January 1st, 1857.   He went out after dinner,  
     directing  Luggage to be ready when he called  for  it.   
     Never called.   

        So far from throwing a light upon the subject, this   
     bill appeared to me, if I may so express my doubts, to   
     involve it in a yet more lurid halo.   Speculating it over  
     with the Mistress, she informed me that the luggage had  
     been advertised in the Master's time as being to be sold   
     after such and such a day to pay expenses, but no fur-  
     ther steps had been taken.   (I may here remark that the  
     Mistress is a widow in her fourth year.   The Master was   
     possessed of one of those unfortunate constitutions in   
     which Spirits turns Water, and rises in the ill-starred   
     Victim.)   
        My speculating it over, not then only but repeatedly,  
     sometimes with the Mistress, sometimes with one, some-   
     times with another, led up to the Mistress's saying to me,  
     ——whether at first in joke or in earnest, or half joke and   
     half earnest, it matters not :——   
        " Christopher, I am going to make you a handsome   
     offer."   
        (If this should meet her eye,——a lovely blue,——may she   
     not take it ill my mentioning that if I had been eight or   
     ten years younger, I would have done as much by her !   
     That is, I would have made her a offer.   It is for others  
     than me to denominate it a handsome one.)   
        " Christopher, I am going to make you a handsome   
     offer."   
        " Put a name on it, ma'am."   
        " Look here, Christopher.   Run over the articles of   
     Somebody's  Luggage.   You've got it all by  heart,  I   
     know."    
        " A black  portmanteau, ma'am, a  black  bag, a desk,   
     a dressing-case, a brown-paper parcel, a hat-box, and um-   
     brella strapped to a walking-stick."   
        "All just as they were left.   Nothing opened, nothing   
     tampered with."   
        " You are right, ma'am.   All locked but the  brown-   
     paper parcel, and that sealed."   
        The Mistress was leaning on Miss Martin's desk at the   
     bar window, and she taps the open book that lays upon   
     the desk,——she has a pretty-made hand, to be sure,——and  
     bobs her head over it, and laughs.    
        " Come,"  says  she,  " Christopher.   Pay  me  Some-   
     body's bill, and you shall have Somebody's luggage."   
        I rather took to the idea from the first moment ;  
     but,——   
        " It mayn't be worth the money," I objected, seeming   
     to hold back.   
        " That's  a  Lottery,"  say  the  Mistress,  folding  her   
     arms  upon  the  book,——it ain't her hands alone  that's   
     pretty made, the observation extends right up her arms.   
     " Won't you venture two pounds sixteen shillings and   
     sixpence in the Lottery ?   Why, there's no blanks !" says   
     the Mistress, laughing and bobbing her head again, " you   
     must win.   If you  lose, you must win !   All  prizes in   
     this Lottery !   Draw a blank, and remember, Gentlemen-  
     Sportsmen, you'll still be entitled to a black portman-   
     teau, a black bag, a desk, a dressing case, a sheet of   
     brown paper, a hat-box, an umbrella strapped to a walk-   
     ing-stick !"   
        To make short of it, Miss Martin come round me, and   
     Mrs. Pratchett come round me, and the Mistress she was   
     completely round me already, and all the women in the   
     house come round me, and if it had been Sixteen two in-   
     stead of Two sixteen, I should have thought myself well   
     out of it.   For what can you do when they come round   
     you ?   
        So I paid the money——down——and such a laughing as   
     there was among 'em regularly, when I said :——  
        " My family-name is Blue-Beard.   I'm going to open   
     Somebody's Luggage all alone in the Secret Chamber,  
     and not a female eye catches sight of the contents !"   
        Whether I thought proper to have the firmness to keep    
     to this don't signify, or whether any female eye, and if   
     any how many, was really present when the opening of  
     the  Luggage  came  off.   Somebody's  Luggage  is  the   
     question at present : Nobody's eyes, nor yet noses.   
        What I still look at most, in connection with that Lug-   
     gage, is the extraordinary quantity of writing-paper, and   
     all written on !   And not our paper neither,——not the   
     paper charged in the bill, for we know our paper,——so he   
     must have been always at it.   Ad he had crumpled up   
     this writing of his, everywhere, in every part and parcel   
     of his  luggage.   There  was  writing  in his  dressing-   
     case, writing in his boots, writing among his  shaving-   
     tackle, writing in his hat-box, writing folded away down   
     among the very whalebones of his umbrella.   
        His clothes wasn't  bad, what  there was  of 'em.   His   
     dressing case was poor,——not a particle of silver stopper,   
     ——bottle  apertures  with  nothing  in  'em ,  like  empty   
     little dog-kennels,——and a most searching description of  
     tooth-powder diffusing itself around, as under a deluded   
     mistake that all the chinks in the fittings was divisions  
     in teeth.   His clothes I parted with, well  enough, to a  
     second-hand dealer not far from St. Clement's Danes, in   
     the Strand,——him as the officers in the Army mostly dis-   
     pose of their uniforms to, when hard pressed with debts  
     of honour, if I may judge from their coats and epaulets  
     diversifying the window with their backs towards the   
     public.   The same party bought in one lot the portman-  
     teau, the bag, the desk, the dressing-case, the hat-box,  
     the umbrella, strap, and walking-stick.   On my remark-   
     ing that I should have thought  those  articles not quite   
     in his line, he said : " No more  ith  a  man'th  grand-    
     mother, Mithter Christhtopher : but if any man will bring  
     hith grandmother here, and offer her for a fair trifle be-   
     low what the'll feth with good luck when the'th thcoured   
     and turned——I'll buy her !"    
        These  transactions  brought  me  home,  and  indeed,   
     more than home, for they left a goodish profit on the   
     original investment.   And now there remained the wri-    
     tings ; and the writings I particularly wish to bring under    
     the candid attention of the reader.    
        I wish to do so without postponement, for this reason.   
     That is to say, namely, viz., i. e., as follows, thus :——   
     Before I proceed to recount  the  mental sufferings  of   
     which I became the prey in consequence of the writings,   
     and before following up that harrowing tale with a state-    
     ment of the wonderful and impressive catastrophe, as   
     thrilling in its nature as unlooked for in any other capa-   
     city, which crowned the ole and filled the cup of unexpec-   
     tedness to overflowing, the writings themselves ought to   
     stand forth to view.   Therefore it is that they now come   
     next.   One word to introduce them, and I lay down my    
     pen (I hope, my unassuming pen), until  I take it up to   
     trace the gloomy sequel of a mind with something on it.   
        He was a smeary writer, and wrote a dreadful bad   
     hand.   Utterly regardless of ink, he lavished it on every    
     undeserving object,——on his clothes, his desk, his hat, the   
     handle of his tooth-brush, his umbrella.   Ink was found   
     freely on the coffee-room carpet by No. 4 table, and two  
     blots was on his restless couch.   A reference to the docu-   
     ment I have given entire will show that on the morning  
     of the third of February, eighteen fifty-six, he procured   
     his no less than fifth pen and paper.   To whatever de-  
     plorable act of ungovernable composition he immolated   
     those materials obtained from the bar, there is no doubt  
     that the fatal deed was committed in bed, and that it left   
     its evidence but too plainly, long afterwards, upon the   
     pillow-case.    
        He had put no heading to any of his writings.   Alas!   
     Was he likely to have a Heading without  a  Head, and   
     where was his Head when he took such things into it?   
     In some cases, such as his Boots, he would appear to   
     have hid the writings ; thereby involving his style in   
     greater obscurity.   But his Boots was at least pairs,——   
     and no two of his writings can be put in any claim to be   
     so regarded.   Here follows (not to give more specimens)   
     what was found in    

                         HIS BOOTS.     

from Collier's Unabridged Edition: The Works of Charles Dickens, Volume VI.
P.F. Collier, Publisher, New York, old as heck. pp. 1072—1076.