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Updated: September 27, 2025
It is recorded of him in another part of these pages, that he embraced Mrs Todgers on the smallest provocation; and it was a way he had; it was a part of the gentle placidity of his disposition. Before any thought of matrimony was in his mind, he had bestowed on Mary many little tokens of his spiritual admiration. They had been indignantly received, but that was nothing.
But for Mrs Gamp, it would have been a curiously silent party. Miss Pecksniff only spoke to her Augustus, and to him in whispers. Augustus spoke to nobody, but sighed for every one, and occasionally gave himself such a sounding slap upon the forehead as would make Mrs Todgers, who was rather nervous, start in her chair with an involuntary exclamation.
The flute of the youngest gentleman was wild and fitful. It came and went in gusts, like the wind. For a long time together he seemed to have left off, and when it was quite settled by Mrs Todgers and the young ladies that, overcome by his feelings, he had retired in tears, he unexpectedly turned up again at the very top of the tune, gasping for breath. He was a tremendous performer.
Mrs Todgers conducted him into the little back chamber commanding the prospect of the cistern; and there, sadly different from when it had first been her lodging, sat poor Merry, in mourning weeds. The room looked very dark and sorrowful; and so did she; but she had one friend beside her, faithful to the last. Old Chuffey.
'The profit of dissimulation! To worship the golden calf of Baal, for eighteen shillings a week! 'Don't in your own goodness be too hard upon me, Mr Pecksniff, cried Mrs Todgers, taking out her handkerchief. 'Oh Calf, Calf! cried Mr Pecksniff mournfully. 'Oh, Baal, Baal! oh my friend, Mrs Todgers!
There was likewise present that eldest pupil of Miss Pinch, whom Mrs Todgers, on a previous occasion, had called a syrup, and who was now weeping and sobbing spitefully. 'My brother, sir, said Ruth Pinch, timidly presenting Tom. 'Oh! cried the gentleman, surveying Tom attentively. 'You really are Miss Pinch's brother, I presume? You will excuse my asking. I don't observe any resemblance.
'I should think no more of admitting daylight into the fellow, said the youngest gentleman, in a desperate voice, 'than if he was a bulldog. Mrs Todgers did not stop to inquire whether, as a matter of principle, there was any particular reason for admitting daylight even into a bulldog, otherwise than by the natural channel of his eyes, but she seemed to wring her hands, and she moaned.
'Bless my life, Miss Pecksniffs! cried Mrs Todgers, aloud, 'your dear pa's took very poorly! Mr Pecksniff straightened himself by a surprising effort, as every one turned hastily towards him; and standing on his feet, regarded the assembly with a look of ineffable wisdom. Gradually it gave place to a smile; a feeble, helpless, melancholy smile; bland, almost to sickliness.
'I am rather glad of it, upon the whole. You are like her, Mrs Todgers. 'Don't squeeze me so tight, pray, Mr Pecksniff. If any of the gentlemen should notice us. 'For her sake, said Mr Pecksniff. 'Permit me in honour of her memory. For the sake of a voice from the tomb. You are VERY like her Mrs Todgers! What a world this is! 'Ah! Indeed you may say that! cried Mrs Todgers.
The plot holds us in a vise; to recall Madame Vautrin's boarding house is to shudder at the sights and smells! Compare it with Dickens' Mrs. Todgers, and once and for all you have the difference between the Anglo-Saxon and Celtic genius.
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