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It belongs to the same class as the first chapter of Martin Chuzzlewit, with its preposterous pedigree of the Chuzzlewit family, or even the first chapter of Pickwick, with its immortal imbecilities about the Theory of Tittlebats and Mr. Blotton of Aldgate.
Mr. Pickwick, from his treatment of Blotton, must have been a Tory of the old Eldon school. Here was his blemish. He had no toleration for others, and had an undue idea of his own position. We can trace the whole thing perfectly. He was a successful man of business an export merchant apparently being connected with an agent at Liverpool whom he had "obliged."
Blotton, however, who seems to have been an independent sort of fellow, could not submit to this, was of the Opposition, and, no doubt, a thorn in Mr. Pickwick's side. And here is yet another point of the likeness to the Johnsonian coterie.
On Smiggers' right is a "doddering" old fellow of between seventy and eighty clearly a "nullity" on his left, another member nearly as old, but with a glimmer of intelligence. Down the side of the table, facing the orator, are some odd faces one clearly a Jew; one for whom the present Mr. Edward Terry might have sat. Blotton is at the bottom, half turned away in disgust.
There were, were there not, upsets of coaches "in all directions," horses bolting boats overturning, and boilers bursting? Now, Blotton after all the humbug that had gone before, and particularly after a provocative reference to himself could not stand this, and, amid the obsequious cries and "cheers," said, boldly, "No!" The fury of the orator on "the Windsor chair," was quite Gladstonian.
Blotton, with a mean desire to tarnish the lustre of the immortal name of Pickwick, actually undertook a journey to Cobham in person, and on his return, sarcastically observed in an oration at the club, that he had seen the man from whom the stone was purchased; that the man presumed the stone to be ancient, but solemnly denied the antiquity of the inscription inasmuch as he represented it to have been rudely carved by himself in an idle mood, and to display letters intended to bear neither more or less than the simple construction of 'BILL STUMPS, HIS MARK'; and that Mr.
Then the Cobham stone business, at which the whole town was laughing, and which their worthy friend Blotton had exposed. Blotton was the only long- headed, creditable man they had. He ought to have been their president. But he had been turned out by the "lick-spittles" of the society. I. The Bell at Berkeley Heath
His neighbour looks at him with wonder, as who should say, "How can you be so insensible?" Odd to say and significant, too Blotton has brought into the club his dog, a ferocious looking "bull," which sits at his feet under the table. We should say, on the whole, that Blotton could only count on and that, with but a limited sympathy the Terry-faced and Jew-faced men if he could count on them.
He had alluded to the honourable gentleman. 'Mr. BLOTTON would only say then, that he repelled the hon. gent.'s false and scurrilous accusation, with profound contempt. 'Mr. A. SNODGRASS rose to order. He threw himself upon the chair. 'The CHAIRMAN was quite sure the hon. Pickwickian would withdraw the expression he had just made use of. 'Mr.
But this base attempt to injure Mr. Pickwick recoiled upon the head of its calumnious author. The seventeen learned societies unanimously voted the presumptuous Blotton an ignorant meddler, and forthwith set to work upon more treatises than ever. And to this day the stone remains, an illegible monument of Mr. Pickwick's greatness, and a lasting trophy to the littleness of his enemies. Mr.
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