He bore his good fortune with the utmost moderation.
Instead of being triumphant, he shed more tears than
he had ever been known to shed before; and, sobbing,
said:
’Oh! what a day this has been! I can’t
go back to the office this afternoon. Oh, what
a trying day this has been! Good Gracious!’
Further proceedings in Eden, and
A proceeding out of it. Martin
makes A discovery of some importance
From Mr Moddle to Eden is an easy and natural transition.
Mr Moddle, living in the atmosphere of Miss Pecksniff’s
love, dwelt (if he had but known it) in a terrestrial
Paradise. The thriving city of Eden was also
a terrestrial Paradise, upon the showing of its proprietors.
The beautiful Miss Pecksniff might have been poetically
described as a something too good for man in his fallen
and degraded state. That was exactly the character
of the thriving city of Eden, as poetically heightened
by Zephaniah Scadder, General Choke, and other worthies;
part and parcel of the talons of that great American
Eagle, which is always airing itself sky-high in purest
aether, and never, no never, never, tumbles down with
draggled wings into the mud.
When Mark Tapley, leaving Martin in the architectural
and surveying offices, had effectually strengthened
and encouraged his own spirits by the contemplation
of their joint misfortunes, he proceeded, with new
cheerfulness, in search of help; congratulating himself,
as he went along, on the enviable position to which
he had at last attained.
‘I used to think, sometimes,’ said Mr
Tapley, ’as a desolate island would suit me,
but I should only have had myself to provide for there,
and being naturally a easy man to manage, there wouldn’t
have been much credit in that. Now here
I’ve got my partner to take care on, and he’s
something like the sort of man for the purpose.
I want a man as is always a-sliding off his legs when
he ought to be on ’em. I want a man as
is so low down in the school of life that he’s
always a-making figures of one in his copy-book, and
can’t get no further. I want a man as is
his own great coat and cloak, and is always a-wrapping
himself up in himself. And I have got him too,’
said Mr Tapley, after a moment’s silence.
‘What a happiness!’
He paused to look round, uncertain to which of the
log-houses he should repair.
‘I don’t know which to take,’ he
observed; ’that’s the truth. They’re
equally prepossessing outside, and equally commodious,
no doubt, within; being fitted up with every convenience
that a Alligator, in a state of natur’, could
possibly require. Let me see! The citizen
as turned out last night, lives under water, in the
right hand dog-kennel at the corner. I don’t
want to trouble him if I can help it, poor man, for
he is a melancholy object; a reg’lar Settler
in every respect. There’s house with a
winder, but I am afraid of their being proud.
I don’t know whether a door ain’t too
aristocratic; but here goes for the first one!’
