`Have you been to meeting, Mrs. Brick?' asked Martin's friend with something of a roguish twinkle in his eye.
`To lecture, sir.'
`I beg your pardon. I forgot. You don't go to meeting, I think?'
Here the lady on the right of Mrs. Brick gave a pious cough as much as to say `I do!' As, indeed, she did nearly every night in the week.
`A good discourse, ma'am?' asked Mr. Bevan, addressing this lady.
The lady raised her eyes in a pious manner, and answered `Yes.' She had been much comforted by some good, strang, peppery doctrine, which satisfactorily disposed of all her friends and acquaintances, and quite settled their business. Her bonnet, too, had far outshone every bonnet in the congregation: so she was tranquil on all accounts.
`What course of lectures are you attending now, ma'am?' said Martin's friend, turning again to Mrs. Brick.
`The Philosophy of the Soul, on Wednesdays.'
`On Mondays?'
`The Philosophy of Crime.'
`On Fridays?'
`The Philosophy of Vegetables.'
`You have forgotten Thursdays; the Philosophy of Government, my dear,' observed the third lady.
`No,' said Mrs. Brick. `That's Tuesdays.'
`So it is!' cried the lady. `The Philosophy of Matter on Thursdays, of course.'
`You see, Mr. Chuzzlewit, our ladies are fully employed,' said Bevan.
`Indeed you have reason to say so,' answered Martin. `Between these very grave pursuits abroad, and family duties at home, their time must be pretty well engrossed.'
Martin stopped here, for he saw that the ladies regarded him with no very great favour, though what he had done to deserve the disdainful expression which appeared in their faces he was at a loss to divine. But on their going up-stairs to their bed-rooms: which they very soon did: Mr. Bevan informed him that domestic drudgery was far beneath the exalted range of these Philosophers, and that the chances were a hundred to one that not one of the three could perform the easiest woman's work for herself, or make the ******st article of dress for any of her children.
`Though whether they might not be better employed with such blunt instruments as knitting-needles, then with these edge-tools,' he said, `is another question; but I can answer for one thing: they don't often cut themselves.
Devotions and lectures are our balls and concerts. They go to these places of resort, as an escape from monotony; look at each other's clothes; and come home again.'
`When you say "home," do you mean a house like this?'
`Very often. But I see you are tired to death, and will wish you good night. We will discuss your projects in the morning. You cannot but feel already that it is useless staying here, with any hope of advancing them.
You will have to go farther.'
`And to fare worse?' said Martin, pursuing the old adage.
`Well, I hope not. But sufficient for the day, you know. Good night'
They shook hands heartily and separated. As soon as Martin was left alane, the excitement of novelty and change which had sustained him through all the fatigues of the day, departed; and he felt so thoroughly dejected and worn out, that he even lacked the energy to crawl up-stairs to bed.
In twelve or fifteen hours, how great a change had fallen on his hopes and sanguine plans. New and strange as he was to the ground on which he stood, and to the air he breathed, he could not -- recalling all that he had crowded into that one day -- but entertain a strong misgiving that his enterprise was doomed. Rash and ill-considered as it had often looked on shipboard, but had never seemed on shore, it wore a dismal aspect, now, that frightened him. Whatever thoughts he called up to his aid, they came upon him in depressing and discouraging shapes, and gave him no relief.
Even the diamonds on his finger sparkled with the brightness of tears, and had no ray of hope in all their brilliant lustre.
He continued to sit in gloomy rumination by the stove, unmindful of the boarders who dropped in one by one from their stores and counting-houses, or the neighbouring bar-rooms, and after taking long pulls from a great white waterjug upon the sideboard, and lingering with a kind of hideous fascination near the brass spittoons, lounged heavily to bed; until at length Mark Tapley came and shook him by the arm, supposing him asleep.
`Mark!' he cried, starting.
`All right, sir,' said that cheerful follower, snuffing with his fingers the candle he bore. `It ain't a very large bed, your'n, sir; and a man as wasn't thirsty might drink, afore breakfast, all the water you've got to wash in, and afterwards eat the towel. But you'll sleep without rocking to-night, sir.'
`I feel as if the house were on the sea' said Martin, staggering when he rose; `and am utterly wretched.'