Martin Chuzzlewit

by Charles Dickens

What lawsuits grow out of the graves of rich men, every day: sowing perjury, hatred, and lies among near kindred, where there should be nothing but love!

What better time for driving, riding, walking, moving through the air by any means, than a fresh, frosty morning, when hope runs cheerily through the veins with the brisk blood, and tingles in the frame from head to foot!

I have been under obligations to him (if one can ever be said to be under obligations to one’s own grandfather),

“A bargain,” said the son. “Here’s the rule for bargains—’Do other men, for they would do you.’ That’s the true business precept. All others are counterfeits.”

“And where?” cried Tom. “Oh where will you go?” “I don’t know,” he said.—“Yes I do. I’ll go to America!”

There are some falsehoods, Tom, on which men mount, as on bright wings, towards Heaven. There are some truths, cold, bitter, taunting truths, wherein your worldly scholars are very apt and punctual, which bind men down to earth with leaden chains.

She was delighted to hear this, and bestowed a kind glance upon Mark, which he brought his eyes down from the fog to encounter, and received with immense satisfaction. She said in his hearing, too, that he was a good soul and a merry creature, and would be faithful, she was certain; commendations which Mr. Tapley inwardly resolved to deserve, from such lips, if he died for it.

In a month, or less, we shall be there. Why, what’s a month! How many months have flown by since our last parting!” “Long to look back upon,” said Mary, echoing his cheerful tone, “but nothing in their course!”

How do you find yourself this morning, sir?” “Very miserable,” said Martin, with a peevish groan. “Ugh’ This is wretched, indeed!” “Creditable,” muttered Mark, pressing one hand upon his aching head, and looking round him with a rueful grin. “That’s the great comfort. It is creditable to keep up one’s spirits here. Virtue’s its own reward. So’s jollity.”

In short, there never was a more popular character than Mark Tapley became on board that noble and fast-sailing line of packet ship, the Screw; and he attained at last to such a pitch of universal admiration, that he began to have grave doubts within himself whether a man might reasonably claim any credit for being jolly under such exciting circumstances.

If another Juvenal or Swift could rise up among us to-morrow, he would be hunted down. If you have any knowledge of our literature, and can give me the name of any man, American born and bred, who has anatomised our follies as a people, and not as this or that party; and has escaped the foulest and most brutal slander, the most inveterate hatred and intolerant pursuit; it will be a strange name in my ears, believe me.

“Any trick is fair in love,” said Jonas. “She may have thought I liked her best, but you didn’t.” “I did!” “No, you didn’t. You never could have thought I liked her best, when you were by.” “There’s no accounting for tastes,” said Merry;

Poor Martin! for ever building castles in the air. For ever, in his very selfishness, forgetful of all but his own teeming hopes and sanguine plans. Swelling, at that instant, with the consciousness of patronising and most munificently rewarding Mark!

It was impossible not to take heart, in the company of such a man as this.

The more he saw of her, the more he admired her beauty, her intelligence, the amiable qualities that even won on the divided house of Pecksniff, and in a few days restored at all events the semblance of harmony and kindness between the angry sisters.

“Oh, a pretty family!” cried the lady. “Oh, he’s her brother! There’s no doubt about that!” “As little doubt, madam,” said Tom, “as that the young lady yonder is the child of your teaching, and not my sister’s. Ruth, my dear, get your bonnet on!”

“If you do not understand what I mean, I will tell you. If you do understand what I mean, I beg you not to repeat that mode of expressing yourself in answer to it. My meaning is, that no man can expect his children to respect what he degrades.

John seemed to think it all delightful: for coming in with Tom to tea, he took his seat beside her like a man enchanted. And when the tea-service had been removed, and Tom, sitting down at the piano, became absorbed in some of his old organ tunes, he was still beside her at the open window, looking out upon the twilight.

Their host was bent on walking the whole distance, and would not listen to Tom’s dissuasions. Happy time, happy walk, happy parting, happy dreams! But there are some sweet day-dreams, so there are, that put the visions of the night to shame.

“For you women,” said Tom, “you women, my dear, are so kind, and in your kindness have such nice perception; you know so well, how to be affectionate and full of solicitude without appearing to be; your gentleness of feeling is like your touch: so light and easy, that the one enables you to deal with wounds of the mind as tenderly as the other enables you to deal with wounds of the body. You are such—” ‘My goodness, Tom!” his sister interposed. “You ought to fall in love immediately.” Tom put this observation off good-humouredly, but somewhat gravely too;

The truth, which nothing would keep down; which blood would not smother, and earth would not hide; the truth, whose terrible inspiration seemed to change dotards into strong men; and on whose avenging wings, one whom he had supposed to be at the extremest corner of the earth came swooping down upon him.