Chapter XLIX

Containing The Story Of The Bagman's Uncle

'My uncle, gentlemen,' said the bagman, 'was one of the merriest,

pleasantest, cleverest fellows, that ever lived. I wish you had known

him, gentlemen. On second thoughts, gentlemen, I don't wish you had

known him, for if you had, you would have been all, by this time, in

the ordinary course of nature, if not dead, at all events so near it, as

to have taken to stopping at home and giving up company, which

would have deprived me of the inestimable pleasure of addressing you

at this moment. Gentlemen, I wish your fathers and mothers had

known my uncle. They would have been amazingly fond of him,

especially your respectable mothers; I know they would. If any two of

his numerous virtues predominated over the many that adorned his

character, I should say they were his mixed punch and his after-

supper song. Excuse my dwelling on these melancholy recollections of

departed worth; you won't see a man like my uncle every day in the

week. 'I have always considered it a great point in my uncle's

character, gentlemen, that he was the intimate friend and companion

of Tom Smart, of the great house of Bilson and Slum, Cateaton Street,

City. My uncle collected for Tiggin and Welps, but for a long time he

went pretty near the same journey as Tom; and the very first night

they met, my uncle took a fancy for Tom, and Tom took a fancy for my

uncle. They made a bet of a new hat before they had known each

other half an hour, who should brew the best quart of punch and

drink it the quickest. My uncle was judged to have won the making,

but Tom Smart beat him in the drinking by about half a salt-spoonful.

They took another quart apiece to drink each other's health in, and

were staunch friends ever afterwards. There's a destiny in these

things, gentlemen; we can't help it.

In personal appearance, my uncle was a trifle shorter than the middle

size; he was a thought stouter too, than the ordinary run of people,

and perhaps his face might be a shade redder. He had the jolliest face

you ever saw, gentleman: something like Punch, with a handsome

nose and chin; his eyes were always twinkling and sparkling with

good-humour; and a smile - not one of your unmeaning wooden grins,

but a real, merry, hearty, good- tempered smile - was perpetually on

his countenance. He was pitched out of his gig once, and knocked,

head first, against a milestone. There he lay, stunned, and so cut

about the face with some gravel which had been heaped up alongside

it, that, to use my uncle's own strong expression, if his mother could

have revisited the earth, she wouldn't have known him. Indeed, when

I come to think of the matter, gentlemen, I feel pretty sure she

wouldn't. for she died when my uncle was two years and seven

months old, and I think it's very likely that, even without the gravel,

his top-boots would have puzzled the good lady not a little; to say

The Pickwick Papers