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      "body": "From the glimpses she caught of Mr Dombey at these times, sitting in the dark distance, looking out towards the infant from among the dark heavy furniture—the house had been inhabited for years by his father, and in many of its appointments was old-fashioned and grim—she began to entertain ideas of him in his solitary state, as if he were a lone prisoner in a cell, or a strange apparition that was not to be accosted or understood. Mr Dombey came to be, in the course of a few days, invested in his own person, to her simple thinking, with all the mystery and gloom of his house. As she walked up and down the glass room, or sat hushing the baby there—which she very often did for hours together, when the dusk was closing in, too—she would sometimes try to pierce the gloom beyond, and make out how he was looking and what he was doing. Sensible that she was plainly to be seen by him, however, she never dared to pry in that direction but very furtively and for a moment at a time. Consequently she made out nothing, and Mr Dombey in his den remained a very shade.\n<p>Little Paul Dombey’s foster-mother had led this life herself, and had carried little Paul through it for some weeks; and had returned upstairs one day from a melancholy saunter through the dreary rooms of state (she never went out without Mrs Chick, who called on fine mornings, usually accompanied by Miss Tox, to take her and Baby for an airing—or in other words, to march them gravely up and down the pavement, like a walking funeral); when, as she was sitting in her own room, the door was slowly and quietly opened, and a dark-eyed little girl looked in.</p>\n<p>‘It’s Miss Florence come home from her aunt’s, no doubt,’ thought Richards, who had never seen the child before. ‘Hope I see you well, Miss.’</p>\n<p>‘Is that my brother?’ asked the child, pointing to the Baby.</p>\n<p>‘Yes, my pretty,’ answered Richards. ‘Come and kiss him.’</p>\n<p>But the child, instead of advancing, looked her earnestly in the face, and said:</p>\n<p>‘What have you done with my Mama?’</p>\n<p>‘Lord bless the little creeter!’ cried Richards, ‘what a sad question! I done? Nothing, Miss.’</p>\n<p>‘What have they done with my Mama?’ inquired the child, with exactly the same look and manner.</p>\n<p>‘I never saw such a melting thing in all my life!’ said Richards, who naturally substituted for this child one of her own, inquiring for herself in like circumstances. ‘Come nearer here, my dear Miss! Don’t be afraid of me.’</p>\n<p>‘I am not afraid of you,’ said the child, drawing nearer. ‘But I want to know what they have done with my Mama.’</p>\n<p>Her heart swelled so as she stood before the woman, looking into her eyes, that she was fain to press her little hand upon her breast and hold it there. Yet there was a purpose in the child that prevented both her slender figure and her searching gaze from faltering.</p>\n<p>‘My darling,’ said Richards, ‘you wear that pretty black frock in remembrance of your Mama.’</p>\n<p>‘I can remember my Mama,’ returned the child, with tears springing to her eyes, ‘in any frock.’</p>\n<p>‘But people put on black, to remember people when they’re gone.’</p>\n<p>‘Where gone?’ asked the child.</p>\n<p>‘Come and sit down by me,’ said Richards, ‘and I’ll tell you a story.’</p>\n<p>With a quick perception that it was intended to relate to what she had asked, little Florence laid aside the bonnet she had held in her hand until now, and sat down on a stool at the Nurse’s feet, looking up into her face.</p>\n<p>‘Once upon a time,’ said Richards, ‘there was a lady—a very good lady, and her little daughter dearly loved her.’</p>\n<p>‘A very good lady and her little daughter dearly loved her,’ repeated the child.</p>\n<p>‘Who, when God thought it right that it should be so, was taken ill and died.’</p>\n<p>The child shuddered.</p>\n<p>‘Died, never to be seen again by anyone on earth, and was buried in the ground where the trees grow.’</p>\n<p>‘The cold ground?’ said the child, shuddering again.</p>\n<p>‘No! The warm ground,’ returned Polly, seizing her advantage, ‘where the ugly little seeds turn into beautiful flowers, and into grass, and corn, and I don’t know what all besides. </p>",
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      "body": "<body class=\"calibre\">\n<h3 class=\"calibre13\">Chapter 3.<br/>\r\n  In which Mr Dombey, as a Man and a Father, is seen at the Head of the Home-Department</h3>\n<div style=\"text-align: center; font-size: .82em;margin-bottom:2em;\">\n<br/>\n</div>\n<p>The funeral of the deceased lady having been ‘performed’ to the entire satisfaction of the undertaker, as well as of the neighbourhood at large, which is generally disposed to be captious on such a point, and is prone to take offence at any omissions or short-comings in the ceremonies, the various members of Mr Dombey’s household subsided into their several places in the domestic system. That small world, like the great one out of doors, had the capacity of easily forgetting its dead; and when the cook had said she was a quiet-tempered lady, and the house-keeper had said it was the common lot, and the butler had said who’d have thought it, and the housemaid had said she couldn’t hardly believe it, and the footman had said it seemed exactly like a dream, they had quite worn the subject out, and began to think their mourning was wearing rusty too.</p>\n<p>On Richards, who was established upstairs in a state of honourable captivity, the dawn of her new life seemed to break cold and grey. Mr Dombey’s house was a large one, on the shady side of a tall, dark, dreadfully genteel street in the region between Portland Place and Bryanstone Square. It was a corner house, with great wide areas containing cellars frowned upon by barred windows, and leered at by crooked-eyed doors leading to dustbins. It was a house of dismal state, with a circular back to it, containing a whole suite of drawing-rooms looking upon a gravelled yard, where two gaunt trees, with blackened trunks and branches, rattled rather than rustled, their leaves were so smoked-dried. The summer sun was never on the street, but in the morning about breakfast-time, when it came with the water-carts and the old clothes men, and the people with geraniums, and the umbrella-mender, and the man who trilled the little bell of the Dutch clock as he went along. It was soon gone again to return no more that day; and the bands of music and the straggling Punch’s shows going after it, left it a prey to the most dismal of organs, and white mice; with now and then a porcupine, to vary the entertainments; until the butlers whose families were dining out, began to stand at the house-doors in the twilight, and the lamp-lighter made his nightly failure in attempting to brighten up the street with gas.</p>\n<p>It was as blank a house inside as outside. When the funeral was over, Mr Dombey ordered the furniture to be covered up—perhaps to preserve it for the son with whom his plans were all associated—and the rooms to be ungarnished, saving such as he retained for himself on the ground floor. Accordingly, mysterious shapes were made of tables and chairs, heaped together in the middle of rooms, and covered over with great winding-sheets. Bell-handles, window-blinds, and looking-glasses, being papered up in journals, daily and weekly, obtruded fragmentary accounts of deaths and dreadful murders. Every chandelier or lustre, muffled in holland, looked like a monstrous tear depending from the ceiling’s eye. Odours, as from vaults and damp places, came out of the chimneys. The dead and buried lady was awful in a picture-frame of ghastly bandages. Every gust of wind that rose, brought eddying round the corner from the neighbouring mews, some fragments of the straw that had been strewn before the house when she was ill, mildewed remains of which were still cleaving to the neighbourhood: and these, being always drawn by some invisible attraction to the threshold of the dirty house to let immediately opposite, addressed a dismal eloquence to Mr Dombey’s windows.</p>\n<p>The apartments which Mr Dombey reserved for his own inhabiting, were attainable from the hall, and consisted of a sitting-room; a library, which was in fact a dressing-room, so that the smell of hot-pressed paper, vellum, morocco, and Russia leather, contended in it with the smell of divers pairs of boots; and a kind of conservatory or little glass breakfast-room beyond, commanding a prospect of the trees before mentioned, and, generally speaking, of a few prowling cats. These three rooms opened upon one another. In the morning, when Mr Dombey was at his breakfast in one or other of the two first-mentioned of them, as well as in the afternoon when he came home to dinner, a bell was rung for Richards to repair to this glass chamber, and there walk to and fro with her young charge. </p></body>",
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      "body": "Whether a man so situated would be able to pluck away the result of so many years of usage, confidence, and belief, from the impostor, and endow a stranger with it?\n<p>But it was idle speculating thus. It couldn’t happen. In a moment afterwards he determined that it could, but that such women were constantly observed, and had no opportunity given them for the accomplishment of such a design, even when they were so wicked as to entertain it. In another moment, he was remembering how few such cases seemed to have ever happened. In another moment he was wondering whether they ever happened and were not found out.</p>\n<p>As his unusual emotion subsided, these misgivings gradually melted away, though so much of their shadow remained behind, that he was constant in his resolution to look closely after Richards himself, without appearing to do so. Being now in an easier frame of mind, he regarded the woman’s station as rather an advantageous circumstance than otherwise, by placing, in itself, a broad distance between her and the child, and rendering their separation easy and natural. Thence he passed to the contemplation of the future glories of Dombey and Son, and dismissed the memory of his wife, for the time being, with a tributary sigh or two.</p>\n<p>Meanwhile terms were ratified and agreed upon between Mrs Chick and Richards, with the assistance of Miss Tox; and Richards being with much ceremony invested with the Dombey baby, as if it were an Order, resigned her own, with many tears and kisses, to Jemima. Glasses of wine were then produced, to sustain the drooping spirits of the family; and Miss Tox, busying herself in dispensing ‘tastes’ to the younger branches, bred them up to their father’s business with such surprising expedition, that she made chokers of four of them in a quarter of a minute.</p>\n<p>‘You’ll take a glass yourself, Sir, won’t you?’ said Miss Tox, as Toodle appeared.</p>\n<p>‘Thankee, Mum,’ said Toodle, ‘since you are suppressing.’</p>\n<p>‘And you’re very glad to leave your dear good wife in such a comfortable home, ain’t you, Sir?’ said Miss Tox, nodding and winking at him stealthily.</p>\n<p>‘No, Mum,’ said Toodle. ‘Here’s wishing of her back agin.’</p>\n<p>Polly cried more than ever at this. So Mrs Chick, who had her matronly apprehensions that this indulgence in grief might be prejudicial to the little Dombey (‘acid, indeed,’ she whispered Miss Tox), hastened to the rescue.</p>\n<p>‘Your little child will thrive charmingly with your sister Jemima, Richards,’ said Mrs Chick; ‘and you have only to make an effort—this is a world of effort, you know, Richards—to be very happy indeed. You have been already measured for your mourning, haven’t you, Richards?’</p>\n<p>‘Ye—es, Ma’am,’ sobbed Polly.</p>\n<p>‘And it’ll fit beautifully. I know,’ said Mrs Chick, ‘for the same young person has made me many dresses. The very best materials, too!’</p>\n<p>‘Lor, you’ll be so smart,’ said Miss Tox, ‘that your husband won’t know you; will you, Sir?’</p>\n<p>‘I should know her,’ said Toodle, gruffly, ‘anyhows and anywheres.’</p>\n<p>Toodle was evidently not to be bought over.</p>\n<p>‘As to living, Richards, you know,’ pursued Mrs Chick, ‘why, the very best of everything will be at your disposal. 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      "body": "One of my little boys is a going to learn me, when he’s old enough, and been to school himself.’\n<p>‘Well,’ said Mr Dombey, after looking at him attentively, and with no great favour, as he stood gazing round the room (principally round the ceiling) and still drawing his hand across and across his mouth. ‘You heard what I said to your wife just now?’</p>\n<p>‘Polly heerd it,’ said Toodle, jerking his hat over his shoulder in the direction of the door, with an air of perfect confidence in his better half. ‘It’s all right.’</p>\n<p>‘But I ask you if you heard it. You did, I suppose, and understood it?’ pursued Mr Dombey.</p>\n<p>‘I heerd it,’ said Toodle, ‘but I don’t know as I understood it rightly Sir, ‘account of being no scholar, and the words being—ask your pardon—rayther high. But Polly heerd it. It’s all right.’</p>\n<p>‘As you appear to leave everything to her,’ said Mr Dombey, frustrated in his intention of impressing his views still more distinctly on the husband, as the stronger character, ‘I suppose it is of no use my saying anything to you.’</p>\n<p>‘Not a bit,’ said Toodle. ‘Polly heerd it. She’s awake, Sir.’</p>\n<p>‘I won’t detain you any longer then,’ returned Mr Dombey, disappointed. ‘Where have you worked all your life?’</p>\n<p>‘Mostly underground, Sir, ‘till I got married. I come to the level then. I’m a going on one of these here railroads when they comes into full play.’</p>\n<p>As he added in one of his hoarse whispers, ‘We means to bring up little Biler to that line,’ Mr Dombey inquired haughtily who little Biler was.</p>\n<p>‘The eldest on ‘em, Sir,’ said Toodle, with a smile. ‘It ain’t a common name. Sermuchser that when he was took to church the gen’lm’n said, it wam’t a chris’en one, and he couldn’t give it. But we always calls him Biler just the same. For we don’t mean no harm. Not we.’</p>\n<p>‘Do you mean to say, Man,’ inquired Mr Dombey; looking at him with marked displeasure, ‘that you have called a child after a boiler?’</p>\n<p>‘No, no, Sir,’ returned Toodle, with a tender consideration for his mistake. ‘I should hope not! No, Sir. Arter a BILER Sir. The Steamingine was a’most as good as a godfather to him, and so we called him Biler, don’t you see!’</p>\n<p>As the last straw breaks the laden camel’s back, this piece of information crushed the sinking spirits of Mr Dombey. He motioned his child’s foster-father to the door, who departed by no means unwillingly: and then turning the key, paced up and down the room in solitary wretchedness.</p>\n<p>It would be harsh, and perhaps not altogether true, to say of him that he felt these rubs and gratings against his pride more keenly than he had felt his wife’s death: but certainly they impressed that event upon him with new force, and communicated to it added weight and bitterness. It was a rude shock to his sense of property in his child, that these people—the mere dust of the earth, as he thought them—should be necessary to him; and it was natural that in proportion as he felt disturbed by it, he should deplore the occurrence which had made them so. For all his starched, impenetrable dignity and composure, he wiped blinding tears from his eyes as he paced up and down his room; and often said, with an emotion of which he would not, for the world, have had a witness, ‘Poor little fellow!’</p>\n<p>It may have been characteristic of Mr Dombey’s pride, that he pitied himself through the child. Not poor me. Not poor widower, confiding by constraint in the wife of an ignorant Hind who has been working ‘mostly underground’ all his life, and yet at whose door Death had never knocked, and at whose poor table four sons daily sit—but poor little fellow!</p>\n<p>Those words being on his lips, it occurred to him—and it is an instance of the strong attraction with which his hopes and fears and all his thoughts were tending to one centre—that a great temptation was being placed in this woman’s way. Her infant was a boy too. Now, would it be possible for her to change them?</p>\n<p>Though he was soon satisfied that he had dismissed the idea as romantic and unlikely—though possible, there was no denying—he could not help pursuing it so far as to entertain within himself a picture of what his condition would be, if he should discover such an imposture when he was grown old. </p>",
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      "body": "Meanwhile, of course, the child is—’\n<p>‘Going to the Devil,’ said Mr Chick, thoughtfully, ‘to be sure.’</p>\n<p>Admonished, however, that he had committed himself, by the indignation expressed in Mrs Chick’s countenance at the idea of a Dombey going there; and thinking to atone for his misconduct by a bright suggestion, he added:</p>\n<p>‘Couldn’t something temporary be done with a teapot?’</p>\n<p>If he had meant to bring the subject prematurely to a close, he could not have done it more effectually. After looking at him for some moments in silent resignation, Mrs Chick said she trusted he hadn’t said it in aggravation, because that would do very little honour to his heart. She trusted he hadn’t said it seriously, because that would do very little honour to his head. As in any case, he couldn’t, however sanguine his disposition, hope to offer a remark that would be a greater outrage on human nature in general, we would beg to leave the discussion at that point.</p>\n<p>Mrs Chick then walked majestically to the window and peeped through the blind, attracted by the sound of wheels. Mr Chick, finding that his destiny was, for the time, against him, said no more, and walked off. But it was not always thus with Mr Chick. He was often in the ascendant himself, and at those times punished Louisa roundly. In their matrimonial bickerings they were, upon the whole, a well-matched, fairly-balanced, give-and-take couple. It would have been, generally speaking, very difficult to have betted on the winner. Often when Mr Chick seemed beaten, he would suddenly make a start, turn the tables, clatter them about the ears of Mrs Chick, and carry all before him. Being liable himself to similar unlooked for checks from Mrs Chick, their little contests usually possessed a character of uncertainty that was very animating.</p>\n<p>Miss Tox had arrived on the wheels just now alluded to, and came running into the room in a breathless condition.</p>\n<p>‘My dear Louisa,’ said Miss Tox, ‘is the vacancy still unsupplied?’</p>\n<p>‘You good soul, yes,’ said Mrs Chick.</p>\n<p>‘Then, my dear Louisa,’ returned Miss Tox, ‘I hope and believe—but in one moment, my dear, I’ll introduce the party.’</p>\n<p>Running downstairs again as fast as she had run up, Miss Tox got the party out of the hackney-coach, and soon returned with it under convoy.</p>\n<p>It then appeared that she had used the word, not in its legal or business acceptation, when it merely expresses an individual, but as a noun of multitude, or signifying many: for Miss Tox escorted a plump rosy-cheeked wholesome apple-faced young woman, with an infant in her arms; a younger woman not so plump, but apple-faced also, who led a plump and apple-faced child in each hand; another plump and also apple-faced boy who walked by himself; and finally, a plump and apple-faced man, who carried in his arms another plump and apple-faced boy, whom he stood down on the floor, and admonished, in a husky whisper, to ‘kitch hold of his brother Johnny.’</p>\n<div class=\"calibre_figure\" style=\"text-align:center\"></div>\n<p>‘My dear Louisa,’ said Miss Tox, ‘knowing your great anxiety, and wishing to relieve it, I posted off myself to the Queen Charlotte’s Royal Married Females,’ which you had forgot, and put the question, Was there anybody there that they thought would suit? No, they said there was not. When they gave me that answer, I do assure you, my dear, I was almost driven to despair on your account. But it did so happen, that one of the Royal Married Females, hearing the inquiry, reminded the matron of another who had gone to her own home, and who, she said, would in all likelihood be most satisfactory. The moment I heard this, and had it corroborated by the matron—excellent references and unimpeachable character—I got the address, my dear, and posted off again.’</p>\n<p>‘Like the dear good Tox, you are!’ said Louisa.</p>\n<p>‘Not at all,’ returned Miss Tox. ‘Don’t say so. Arriving at the house (the cleanest place, my dear! You might eat your dinner off the floor), I found the whole family sitting at table; and feeling that no account of them could be half so comfortable to you and Mr Dombey as the sight of them all together, I brought them all away. This gentleman,’ said Miss Tox, pointing out the apple-faced man, ‘is the father. Will you have the goodness to come a little forward, Sir?’</p>\n<p>The apple-faced man having sheepishly complied with this request, stood chuckling and grinning in a front row.</p>\n<p>‘This is his wife, of course,’ said Miss Tox, singling out the young woman with the baby. </p>",
      "title": "[Literature] Charles Dickens:  DOMBEY & SON #9/471",
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