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A small cousin of mine, hearing his big brothers describe their experiences at a Public School, observed with unction, "If ever I have a fag of my own, I will stick pins into him." But now we are leaving childhood behind, and attaining to the riper joys of full-blooded boyhood. "O running stream of sparkling joy To be a soaring human boy!" exclaimed Mr. Chadband in a moment of inspiration.
Its modest moral confirmations began when authority had completed its direction. The novel was good if it seemed to harmonise with the graver exercises conducted by Mr. Chadband and it was bad and outcast if Mr. Chadband said so. And it is over the bodies of discredited and disgruntled Chadbands that the novel escapes from its servitude and inferiority.
It was the evening of the school children's 'Feast'. That is to say that the children had been sent, and 'let go', and the younger ones 'fetched' through the blazing heat to the school, one day early in the holidays, and raced sometimes in couples tied together by the legs and caked, and bunned, and finally improved upon by the local Chadband, and got rid of.
"Do you mean what business have we come upon?" Mr. Smallweed asks, a little dashed by the suddenness of this turn. "Ah! You know what I mean. Let us hear what it's all about in presence of Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet. Come." Mr. Smallweed, beckoning Mr. Chadband, takes a moment's counsel with him in a whisper. Mr.
Chadband with his persecuted chin folding itself into its fat smile again as he looks round, "it is right that I should be humbled, it is right that I should be tried, it is right that I should be mortified, it is right that I should be corrected. I stumbled, on Sabbath last, when I thought with pride of my three hours' improving.
Flite, Snagsby, Chadband and the rest of them whatever they are, they must be all of it within narrow bounds, within the few scenes that can be allotted to them; and if one of them fails now and then it is not surprising, the wonder is that most of them succeed so brilliantly. In thus translating his picture into action Dickens chose the most exigent way, but it was always the right way for him.
For Chadband is rather a consuming vessel the persecutors say a gorging vessel and can wield such weapons of the flesh as a knife and fork remarkably well. Mr. Snagsby in his best coat, looking at all the preparations when they are completed and coughing his cough of deference behind his hand, says to Mrs. Snagsby, "At what time did you expect Mr. and Mrs. Chadband, my love?" "At six," says Mrs.
But this can only be received as a proof of their determination to persecute, since it must be within everybody's experience that the Chadband style of oratory is widely received and much admired. Mr. Chadband, however, having concluded for the present, sits down at Mr. Snagsby's table and lays about him prodigiously.
With the exception of a few fine freaks, such as Turveydrop and Chadband, all the figures in this book are touched more delicately, even more faintly, than is common with Dickens. But if the figures are touched more faintly, it is partly because they are figures in a fog the fog of Chancery. Dickens meant that twilight to be oppressive; for it was the symbol of oppression.
"Well, sir, it was before your time, most likely, judging from your appearance. I was left in charge of a child named Esther Summerson, who was put out in life by Messrs. Kenge and Carboy." "Miss Summerson, ma'am!" cries Mr. Guppy, excited. "I call her Esther Summerson," says Mrs. Chadband with austerity. "There was no Miss-ing of the girl in my time. It was Esther. 'Esther, do this!
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