David Copperfield Charles Dickens (100 best novels of all time .TXT) 📖

to say I should like a nice Irish stew, she replied that she would tell the servant to make it; and then clapped her little hands together across my arm, and laughed in such a charming manner that she was more delightful than ever.

Consequently, the principal use to which the cookery-book was devoted, was being put down in the corner for Jip to stand upon. But Dora was so pleased, when she had trained him to stand upon it without offering to come off, and at the same time to hold the pencil-case in his mouth, that I was very glad I had bought it.

And we fell back on the guitar-case, and the flower-painting, and the songs about never leaving off dancing, Ta ra la! and were as happy as the week was long. I occasionally wished I could venture to hint to Miss Lavinia, that she treated the darling of my heart a little too much like a plaything; and I sometimes awoke, as it were, wondering to find that I had fallen into the general fault, and treated her like a plaything too⁠—but not often.

XLII Mischief

I feel as if it were not for me to record, even though this manuscript is intended for no eyes but mine, how hard I worked at that tremendous shorthand, and all improvement appertaining to it, in my sense of responsibility to Dora and her aunts. I will only add, to what I have already written of my perseverance at this time of my life, and of a patient and continuous energy which then began to be matured within me, and which I know to be the strong part of my character, if it have any strength at all, that there, on looking back, I find the source of my success. I have been very fortunate in worldly matters; many men have worked much harder, and not succeeded half so well; but I never could have done what I have done, without the habits of punctuality, order, and diligence, without the determination to concentrate myself on one object at a time, no matter how quickly its successor should come upon its heels, which I then formed. Heaven knows I write this, in no spirit of self-laudation. The man who reviews his own life, as I do mine, in going on here, from page to page, had need to have been a good man indeed, if he would be spared the sharp consciousness of many talents neglected, many opportunities wasted, many erratic and perverted feelings constantly at war within his breast, and defeating him. I do not hold one natural gift, I dare say, that I have not abused. My meaning simply is, that whatever I have tried to do in life, I have tried with all my heart to do well; that whatever I have devoted myself to, I have devoted myself to completely; that in great aims and in small, I have always been thoroughly in earnest. I have never believed it possible that any natural or improved ability can claim immunity from the companionship of the steady, plain, hardworking qualities, and hope to gain its end. There is no such thing as such fulfilment on this earth. Some happy talent, and some fortunate opportunity, may form the two sides of the ladder on which some men mount, but the rounds of that ladder must be made of stuff to stand wear and tear; and there is no substitute for thoroughgoing, ardent, and sincere earnestness. Never to put one hand to anything, on which I could throw my whole self; and never to affect depreciation of my work, whatever it was; I find, now, to have been my golden rules.

How much of the practice I have just reduced to precept, I owe to Agnes, I will not repeat here. My narrative proceeds to Agnes, with a thankful love.

She came on a visit of a fortnight to the Doctor’s. Mr. Wickfield was the Doctor’s old friend, and the Doctor wished to talk with him, and do him good. It had been matter of conversation with Agnes when she was last in town, and this visit was the result. She and her father came together. I was not much surprised to hear from her that she had engaged to find a lodging in the neighbourhood for Mrs. Heep, whose rheumatic complaint required change of air, and who would be charmed to have it in such company. Neither was I surprised when, on the very next day, Uriah, like a dutiful son, brought his worthy mother to take possession.

“You see, Master Copperfield,” said he, as he forced himself upon my company for a turn in the Doctor’s garden, “where a person loves, a person is a little jealous⁠—leastways, anxious to keep an eye on the beloved one.”

“Of whom are you jealous, now?” said I.

“Thanks to you, Master Copperfield,” he returned, “of no one in particular just at present⁠—no male person, at least.”

“Do you mean that you are jealous of a female person?”

He gave me a sidelong glance out of his sinister red eyes, and laughed.

“Really, Master Copperfield,” he said, “⁠—I should say Mister, but I know you’ll excuse the ’abit I’ve got into⁠—you’re so insinuating, that you draw me like a corkscrew! Well, I don’t mind telling you,” putting his fish-like hand on mine, “I’m not a lady’s man in general, sir, and I never was, with Mrs. Strong.”

His eyes looked green now, as they watched mine with a rascally cunning.

“What do you mean?” said I.

“Why, though I am a lawyer, Master Copperfield,” he replied, with a dry grin, “I mean, just at present, what I say.”

“And what do you mean by your look?” I retorted, quietly.

“By my look? Dear me, Copperfield, that’s sharp practice! What do I mean by my look?”

“Yes,” said I. “By your look.”

He seemed very much amused, and laughed as heartily as it was in his nature to laugh. After some scraping of his chin with his hand,