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- Чарльз Диккенс
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In
short
,
I
was
in
a
flutter
for
a
little
while
and
felt
as
if
an
old
chord
had
been
more
coarsely
touched
than
it
ever
had
been
since
the
days
of
the
dear
old
doll
,
long
buried
in
the
garden
.
On
the
eastern
borders
of
Chancery
Lane
,
that
is
to
say
,
more
particularly
in
Cook
’
s
Court
,
Cursitor
Street
,
Mr
.
Snagsby
,
law
-
stationer
,
pursues
his
lawful
calling
.
In
the
shade
of
Cook
’
s
Court
,
at
most
times
a
shady
place
,
Mr
.
Snagsby
has
dealt
in
all
sorts
of
blank
forms
of
legal
process
;
in
skins
and
rolls
of
parchment
;
in
paper
—
foolscap
,
brief
,
draft
,
brown
,
white
,
whitey
-
brown
,
and
blotting
;
in
stamps
;
in
office
-
quills
,
pens
,
ink
,
India
-
rubber
,
pounce
,
pins
,
pencils
,
sealing
-
wax
,
and
wafers
;
in
red
tape
and
green
ferret
;
in
pocket
-
books
,
almanacs
,
diaries
,
and
law
lists
;
in
string
boxes
,
rulers
,
inkstands
—
glass
and
leaden
—
pen
-
knives
,
scissors
,
bodkins
,
and
other
small
office
-
cutlery
;
in
short
,
in
articles
too
numerous
to
mention
,
ever
since
he
was
out
of
his
time
and
went
into
partnership
with
Peffer
.
On
that
occasion
,
Cook
’
s
Court
was
in
a
manner
revolutionized
by
the
new
inscription
in
fresh
paint
,
PEFFER
AND
SNAGSBY
,
displacing
the
time
-
honoured
and
not
easily
to
be
deciphered
legend
PEFFER
only
.
For
smoke
,
which
is
the
London
ivy
,
had
so
wreathed
itself
round
Peffer
’
s
name
and
clung
to
his
dwelling
-
place
that
the
affectionate
parasite
quite
overpowered
the
parent
tree
.
Peffer
is
never
seen
in
Cook
’
s
Court
now
.
He
is
not
expected
there
,
for
he
has
been
recumbent
this
quarter
of
a
century
in
the
churchyard
of
St
.
Andrews
,
Holborn
,
with
the
waggons
and
hackney
-
coaches
roaring
past
him
all
the
day
and
half
the
night
like
one
great
dragon
.
If
he
ever
steal
forth
when
the
dragon
is
at
rest
to
air
himself
again
in
Cook
’
s
Court
until
admonished
to
return
by
the
crowing
of
the
sanguine
cock
in
the
cellar
at
the
little
dairy
in
Cursitor
Street
,
whose
ideas
of
daylight
it
would
be
curious
to
ascertain
,
since
he
knows
from
his
personal
observation
next
to
nothing
about
it
—
if
Peffer
ever
do
revisit
the
pale
glimpses
of
Cook
’
s
Court
,
which
no
law
-
stationer
in
the
trade
can
positively
deny
,
he
comes
invisibly
,
and
no
one
is
the
worse
or
wiser
.
In
his
lifetime
,
and
likewise
in
the
period
of
Snagsby
’
s
"
time
"
of
seven
long
years
,
there
dwelt
with
Peffer
in
the
same
law
-
stationering
premises
a
niece
—
a
short
,
shrewd
niece
,
something
too
violently
compressed
about
the
waist
,
and
with
a
sharp
nose
like
a
sharp
autumn
evening
,
inclining
to
be
frosty
towards
the
end
.
The
Cook
’
s
Courtiers
had
a
rumour
flying
among
them
that
the
mother
of
this
niece
did
,
in
her
daughter
’
s
childhood
,
moved
by
too
jealous
a
solicitude
that
her
figure
should
approach
perfection
,
lace
her
up
every
morning
with
her
maternal
foot
against
the
bed
-
post
for
a
stronger
hold
and
purchase
;
and
further
,
that
she
exhibited
internally
pints
of
vinegar
and
lemon
-
juice
,
which
acids
,
they
held
,
had
mounted
to
the
nose
and
temper
of
the
patient
.
With
whichsoever
of
the
many
tongues
of
Rumour
this
frothy
report
originated
,
it
either
never
reached
or
never
influenced
the
ears
of
young
Snagsby
,
who
,
having
wooed
and
won
its
fair
subject
on
his
arrival
at
man
’
s
estate
,
entered
into
two
partnerships
at
once
.
So
now
,
in
Cook
’
s
Court
,
Cursitor
Street
,
Mr
.
Snagsby
and
the
niece
are
one
;
and
the
niece
still
cherishes
her
figure
,
which
,
however
tastes
may
differ
,
is
unquestionably
so
far
precious
that
there
is
mighty
little
of
it
.
Mr
.
and
Mrs
.
Snagsby
are
not
only
one
bone
and
one
flesh
,
but
,
to
the
neighbours
’
thinking
,
one
voice
too
.
That
voice
,
appearing
to
proceed
from
Mrs
.
Snagsby
alone
,
is
heard
in
Cook
’
s
Court
very
often
.
Mr
.
Snagsby
,
otherwise
than
as
he
finds
expression
through
these
dulcet
tones
,
is
rarely
heard
.
He
is
a
mild
,
bald
,
timid
man
with
a
shining
head
and
a
scrubby
clump
of
black
hair
sticking
out
at
the
back
.
He
tends
to
meekness
and
obesity
.
As
he
stands
at
his
door
in
Cook
’
s
Court
in
his
grey
shop
-
coat
and
black
calico
sleeves
,
looking
up
at
the
clouds
,
or
stands
behind
a
desk
in
his
dark
shop
with
a
heavy
flat
ruler
,
snipping
and
slicing
at
sheepskin
in
company
with
his
two
’
prentices
,
he
is
emphatically
a
retiring
and
unassuming
man
.
From
beneath
his
feet
,
at
such
times
,
as
from
a
shrill
ghost
unquiet
in
its
grave
,
there
frequently
arise
complainings
and
lamentations
in
the
voice
already
mentioned
;
and
haply
,
on
some
occasions
when
these
reach
a
sharper
pitch
than
usual
,
Mr
.
Snagsby
mentions
to
the
’
prentices
,
"
I
think
my
little
woman
is
a
-
giving
it
to
Guster
!
"
This
proper
name
,
so
used
by
Mr
.
Snagsby
,
has
before
now
sharpened
the
wit
of
the
Cook
’
s
Courtiers
to
remark
that
it
ought
to
be
the
name
of
Mrs
.
Snagsby
,
seeing
that
she
might
with
great
force
and
expression
be
termed
a
Guster
,
in
compliment
to
her
stormy
character
.
It
is
,
however
,
the
possession
,
and
the
only
possession
except
fifty
shillings
per
annum
and
a
very
small
box
indifferently
filled
with
clothing
,
of
a
lean
young
woman
from
a
workhouse
(
by
some
supposed
to
have
been
christened
Augusta
)
who
,
although
she
was
farmed
or
contracted
for
during
her
growing
time
by
an
amiable
benefactor
of
his
species
resident
at
Tooting
,
and
cannot
fail
to
have
been
developed
under
the
most
favourable
circumstances
,
"
has
fits
,
"
which
the
parish
can
’
t
account
for
.
Guster
,
really
aged
three
or
four
and
twenty
,
but
looking
a
round
ten
years
older
,
goes
cheap
with
this
unaccountable
drawback
of
fits
,
and
is
so
apprehensive
of
being
returned
on
the
hands
of
her
patron
saint
that
except
when
she
is
found
with
her
head
in
the
pail
,
or
the
sink
,
or
the
copper
,
or
the
dinner
,
or
anything
else
that
happens
to
be
near
her
at
the
time
of
her
seizure
,
she
is
always
at
work
.
She
is
a
satisfaction
to
the
parents
and
guardians
of
the
’
prentices
,
who
feel
that
there
is
little
danger
of
her
inspiring
tender
emotions
in
the
breast
of
youth
;
she
is
a
satisfaction
to
Mrs
.
Snagsby
,
who
can
always
find
fault
with
her
;
she
is
a
satisfaction
to
Mr
.
Snagsby
,
who
thinks
it
a
charity
to
keep
her
.
The
law
-
stationer
’
s
establishment
is
,
in
Guster
’
s
eyes
,
a
temple
of
plenty
and
splendour
.
She
believes
the
little
drawing
-
room
upstairs
,
always
kept
,
as
one
may
say
,
with
its
hair
in
papers
and
its
pinafore
on
,
to
be
the
most
elegant
apartment
in
Christendom
.
The
view
it
commands
of
Cook
’
s
Court
at
one
end
(
not
to
mention
a
squint
into
Cursitor
Street
)
and
of
Coavinses
’
the
sheriff
’
s
officer
’
s
backyard
at
the
other
she
regards
as
a
prospect
of
unequalled
beauty
.
The
portraits
it
displays
in
oil
—
and
plenty
of
it
too
—
of
Mr
.
Snagsby
looking
at
Mrs
.
Snagsby
and
of
Mrs
.
Snagsby
looking
at
Mr
.
Snagsby
are
in
her
eyes
as
achievements
of
Raphael
or
Titian
.
Guster
has
some
recompenses
for
her
many
privations
.
Mr
.
Snagsby
refers
everything
not
in
the
practical
mysteries
of
the
business
to
Mrs
.
Snagsby
.
She
manages
the
money
,
reproaches
the
tax
-
gatherers
,
appoints
the
times
and
places
of
devotion
on
Sundays
,
licenses
Mr
.
Snagsby
’
s
entertainments
,
and
acknowledges
no
responsibility
as
to
what
she
thinks
fit
to
provide
for
dinner
,
insomuch
that
she
is
the
high
standard
of
comparison
among
the
neighbouring
wives
a
long
way
down
Chancery
Lane
on
both
sides
,
and
even
out
in
Holborn
,
who
in
any
domestic
passages
of
arms
habitually
call
upon
their
husbands
to
look
at
the
difference
between
their
(
the
wives
’
)
position
and
Mrs
.
Snagsby
’
s
,
and
their
(
the
husbands
’
)
behaviour
and
Mr
.
Snagsby
’
s
.
Rumour
,
always
flying
bat
-
like
about
Cook
’
s
Court
and
skimming
in
and
out
at
everybody
’
s
windows
,
does
say
that
Mrs
.
Snagsby
is
jealous
and
inquisitive
and
that
Mr
.
Snagsby
is
sometimes
worried
out
of
house
and
home
,
and
that
if
he
had
the
spirit
of
a
mouse
he
wouldn
’
t
stand
it
.
It
is
even
observed
that
the
wives
who
quote
him
to
their
self
-
willed
husbands
as
a
shining
example
in
reality
look
down
upon
him
and
that
nobody
does
so
with
greater
superciliousness
than
one
particular
lady
whose
lord
is
more
than
suspected
of
laying
his
umbrella
on
her
as
an
instrument
of
correction
.
But
these
vague
whisperings
may
arise
from
Mr
.
Snagsby
’
s
being
in
his
way
rather
a
meditative
and
poetical
man
,
loving
to
walk
in
Staple
Inn
in
the
summer
-
time
and
to
observe
how
countrified
the
sparrows
and
the
leaves
are
,
also
to
lounge
about
the
Rolls
Yard
of
a
Sunday
afternoon
and
to
remark
(
if
in
good
spirits
)
that
there
were
old
times
once
and
that
you
’
d
find
a
stone
coffin
or
two
now
under
that
chapel
,
he
’
ll
be
bound
,
if
you
was
to
dig
for
it
.
He
solaces
his
imagination
,
too
,
by
thinking
of
the
many
Chancellors
and
Vices
,
and
Masters
of
the
Rolls
who
are
deceased
;
and
he
gets
such
a
flavour
of
the
country
out
of
telling
the
two
’
prentices
how
he
HAS
heard
say
that
a
brook
"
as
clear
as
crystal
"
once
ran
right
down
the
middle
of
Holborn
,
when
Turnstile
really
was
a
turnstile
,
leading
slap
away
into
the
meadows
—
gets
such
a
flavour
of
the
country
out
of
this
that
he
never
wants
to
go
there
.
The
day
is
closing
in
and
the
gas
is
lighted
,
but
is
not
yet
fully
effective
,
for
it
is
not
quite
dark
.
Mr
.
Snagsby
standing
at
his
shop
-
door
looking
up
at
the
clouds
sees
a
crow
who
is
out
late
skim
westward
over
the
slice
of
sky
belonging
to
Cook
’
s
Court
.
The
crow
flies
straight
across
Chancery
Lane
and
Lincoln
’
s
Inn
Garden
into
Lincoln
’
s
Inn
Fields
.
Here
,
in
a
large
house
,
formerly
a
house
of
state
,
lives
Mr
.
Tulkinghorn
.
It
is
let
off
in
sets
of
chambers
now
,
and
in
those
shrunken
fragments
of
its
greatness
,
lawyers
lie
like
maggots
in
nuts
.
But
its
roomy
staircases
,
passages
,
and
antechambers
still
remain
;
and
even
its
painted
ceilings
,
where
Allegory
,
in
Roman
helmet
and
celestial
linen
,
sprawls
among
balustrades
and
pillars
,
flowers
,
clouds
,
and
big
-
legged
boys
,
and
makes
the
head
ache
—
as
would
seem
to
be
Allegory
’
s
object
always
,
more
or
less
.
Here
,
among
his
many
boxes
labelled
with
transcendent
names
,
lives
Mr
.
Tulkinghorn
,
when
not
speechlessly
at
home
in
country
-
houses
where
the
great
ones
of
the
earth
are
bored
to
death
.
Here
he
is
to
-
day
,
quiet
at
his
table
.
An
oyster
of
the
old
school
whom
nobody
can
open
.
Like
as
he
is
to
look
at
,
so
is
his
apartment
in
the
dusk
of
the
present
afternoon
.
Rusty
,
out
of
date
,
withdrawing
from
attention
,
able
to
afford
it
.
Heavy
,
broad
-
backed
,
old
-
fashioned
,
mahogany
-
and
-
horsehair
chairs
,
not
easily
lifted
;
obsolete
tables
with
spindle
-
legs
and
dusty
baize
covers
;
presentation
prints
of
the
holders
of
great
titles
in
the
last
generation
or
the
last
but
one
,
environ
him
.
A
thick
and
dingy
Turkey
-
carpet
muffles
the
floor
where
he
sits
,
attended
by
two
candles
in
old
-
fashioned
silver
candlesticks
that
give
a
very
insufficient
light
to
his
large
room
.
The
titles
on
the
backs
of
his
books
have
retired
into
the
binding
;
everything
that
can
have
a
lock
has
got
one
;
no
key
is
visible
.
Very
few
loose
papers
are
about
.
He
has
some
manuscript
near
him
,
but
is
not
referring
to
it
.
With
the
round
top
of
an
inkstand
and
two
broken
bits
of
sealing
-
wax
he
is
silently
and
slowly
working
out
whatever
train
of
indecision
is
in
his
mind
.
Now
the
inkstand
top
is
in
the
middle
,
now
the
red
bit
of
sealing
-
wax
,
now
the
black
bit
.
That
’
s
not
it
.
Mr
.
Tulkinghorn
must
gather
them
all
up
and
begin
again
.
Here
,
beneath
the
painted
ceiling
,
with
foreshortened
Allegory
staring
down
at
his
intrusion
as
if
it
meant
to
swoop
upon
him
,
and
he
cutting
it
dead
,
Mr
.
Tulkinghorn
has
at
once
his
house
and
office
.
He
keeps
no
staff
,
only
one
middle
-
aged
man
,
usually
a
little
out
at
elbows
,
who
sits
in
a
high
pew
in
the
hall
and
is
rarely
overburdened
with
business
.
Mr
.
Tulkinghorn
is
not
in
a
common
way
.
He
wants
no
clerks
.
He
is
a
great
reservoir
of
confidences
,
not
to
be
so
tapped
.
His
clients
want
HIM
;
he
is
all
in
all
.
Drafts
that
he
requires
to
be
drawn
are
drawn
by
special
-
pleaders
in
the
temple
on
mysterious
instructions
;
fair
copies
that
he
requires
to
be
made
are
made
at
the
stationers
’
,
expense
being
no
consideration
.
The
middle
-
aged
man
in
the
pew
knows
scarcely
more
of
the
affairs
of
the
peerage
than
any
crossing
-
sweeper
in
Holborn
.
The
red
bit
,
the
black
bit
,
the
inkstand
top
,
the
other
inkstand
top
,
the
little
sand
-
box
.
So
!
You
to
the
middle
,
you
to
the
right
,
you
to
the
left
.
This
train
of
indecision
must
surely
be
worked
out
now
or
never
.
Now
!
Mr
.
Tulkinghorn
gets
up
,
adjusts
his
spectacles
,
puts
on
his
hat
,
puts
the
manuscript
in
his
pocket
,
goes
out
,
tells
the
middle
-
aged
man
out
at
elbows
,
"
I
shall
be
back
presently
.
"
Very
rarely
tells
him
anything
more
explicit
.
Mr
.
Tulkinghorn
goes
,
as
the
crow
came
—
not
quite
so
straight
,
but
nearly
—
to
Cook
’
s
Court
,
Cursitor
Street
.
To
Snagsby
’
s
,
Law
-
Stationer
’
s
,
Deeds
engrossed
and
copied
,
Law
-
Writing
executed
in
all
its
branches
,
&
c
.
,
&
c
.
,
&
c
.
It
is
somewhere
about
five
or
six
o
’
clock
in
the
afternoon
,
and
a
balmy
fragrance
of
warm
tea
hovers
in
Cook
’
s
Court
.
It
hovers
about
Snagsby
’
s
door
.
The
hours
are
early
there
:
dinner
at
half
-
past
one
and
supper
at
half
-
past
nine
.
Mr
.
Snagsby
was
about
to
descend
into
the
subterranean
regions
to
take
tea
when
he
looked
out
of
his
door
just
now
and
saw
the
crow
who
was
out
late
.
"
Master
at
home
?
"
Guster
is
minding
the
shop
,
for
the
’
prentices
take
tea
in
the
kitchen
with
Mr
.
and
Mrs
.
Snagsby
;
consequently
,
the
robe
-
maker
’
s
two
daughters
,
combing
their
curls
at
the
two
glasses
in
the
two
second
-
floor
windows
of
the
opposite
house
,
are
not
driving
the
two
’
prentices
to
distraction
as
they
fondly
suppose
,
but
are
merely
awakening
the
unprofitable
admiration
of
Guster
,
whose
hair
won
’
t
grow
,
and
never
would
,
and
it
is
confidently
thought
,
never
will
.
"
Master
at
home
?
"
says
Mr
.
Tulkinghorn
.
Master
is
at
home
,
and
Guster
will
fetch
him
.
Guster
disappears
,
glad
to
get
out
of
the
shop
,
which
she
regards
with
mingled
dread
and
veneration
as
a
storehouse
of
awful
implements
of
the
great
torture
of
the
law
—
a
place
not
to
be
entered
after
the
gas
is
turned
off
.
Mr
.
Snagsby
appears
,
greasy
,
warm
,
herbaceous
,
and
chewing
.
Bolts
a
bit
of
bread
and
butter
.
Says
,
"
Bless
my
soul
,
sir
!
Mr
.
Tulkinghorn
!
"
"
I
want
half
a
word
with
you
,
Snagsby
.
