arsenic; or, to the printer’s ink, which may have contained some
equally deleterious ingredient. Of this, I cannot be sure. I am
only sure that I was not affected, either by the smoke, or the rumand-
water. I was assisted out of the vehicle, in a state of mind
which I have only experienced in two other places – I allude to the
Pier at Dover, and to the corresponding portion of the town of
Calais – and sat upon a door-step until I recovered. The
procession had then disappeared. I have since looked anxiously for
the King in several other cars, but I have not yet had the
happiness of seeing His Majesty.
‘BIRTHS. MRS. MEEK, OF A SON
MY name is Meek. I am, in fact, Mr. Meek. That son is mine and
Mrs. Meek’s. When I saw the announcement in the Times, I dropped
the paper. I had put it in, myself, and paid for it, but it looked
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Dickens, Charles – Reprinted Pieces
so noble that it overpowered me.
As soon as I could compose my feelings, I took the paper up to Mrs.
Meek’s bedside. ‘Maria Jane,’ said I (I allude to Mrs. Meek), ‘you
are now a public character.’ We read the review of our child,
several times, with feelings of the strongest emotion; and I sent
the boy who cleans the boots and shoes, to the office for fifteen
copies. No reduction was made on taking that quantity.
It is scarcely necessary for me to say, that our child had been
expected. In fact, it had been expected, with comparative
confidence, for some months. Mrs. Meek’s mother, who resides with
us – of the name of Bigby – had made every preparation for its
admission to our circle.
I hope and believe I am a quiet man. I will go farther. I KNOW I
am a quiet man. My constitution is tremulous, my voice was never
loud, and, in point of stature, I have been from infancy, small. I
have the greatest respect for Maria Jane’s Mama. She is a most
remarkable woman. I honour Maria Jane’s Mama. In my opinion she
would storm a town, single-handed, with a hearth-broom, and carry
it. I have never known her to yield any point whatever, to mortal
man. She is calculated to terrify the stoutest heart.
Still – but I will not anticipate.
The first intimation I had, of any preparations being in progress,
on the part of Maria Jane’s Mama, was one afternoon, several months
ago. I came home earlier than usual from the office, and,
proceeding into the dining-room, found an obstruction behind the
door, which prevented it from opening freely. It was an
obstruction of a soft nature. On looking in, I found it to be a
female.
The female in question stood in the corner behind the door,
consuming Sherry Wine. From the nutty smell of that beverage
pervading the apartment, I have no doubt she was consuming a second
glassful. She wore a black bonnet of large dimensions, and was
copious in figure. The expression of her countenance was severe
and discontented. The words to which she gave utterance on seeing
me, were these, ‘Oh, git along with you, Sir, if YOU please; me and
Mrs. Bigby don’t want no male parties here!’
That female was Mrs. Prodgit.
I immediately withdrew, of course. I was rather hurt, but I made
no remark. Whether it was that I showed a lowness of spirits after
dinner, in consequence of feeling that I seemed to intrude, I
cannot say. But, Maria Jane’s Mama said to me on her retiring for
the night: in a low distinct voice, and with a look of reproach
that completely subdued me: ‘George Meek, Mrs. Prodgit is your
wife’s nurse!’
I bear no ill-will towards Mrs. Prodgit. Is it likely that I,
writing this with tears in my eyes, should be capable of deliberate
animosity towards a female, so essential to the welfare of Maria
Jane? I am willing to admit that Fate may have been to blame, and
not Mrs. Prodgit; but, it is undeniably true, that the latter
female brought desolation and devastation into my lowly dwelling.