pense. To have been deceived, implies a trusting nature. Mine is a trusting nature. I am thankful for it. I would rather have a trusting nature, do you know, Sir, than a doubting one!"
Here Mr. Pecksniff, with a sad smile, bowed, and wiped his eyes.
"There is hardly any person present, Mr. Chuzzlewit," said Pecksniff, "by whom I have not been deceived. I have forgiven those persons on the spot. That was my duty; and, of course, I have done it. Whether it was worthy of you to partake of my hospitality, and to act the part you did act in my house; that, Sir, is a question which I leave to your own conscience. And your conscience does not acquit you. No, Sir, no!"
Pronouncing these last words in a loud and solemn voice, Mr. Pecksniff was not so absolutely lost in his own fervour as to be unmindful of the expediency of getting a little nearer to the door.
"I have been struck this day," said Mr. Pecksniff, "with a walking-stick, which I have every reason to believe has knobs upon it: on that delicate and exquisite portion of the human anatomy, the brain. Several blows have been inflicted, Sir, without a walking-stick, upon that tenderer portion of my frame: my heart. You have mentioned, Sir, my being bankrupt in my purse. Yes, Sir, I am. By an unfortunate speculation, combined with treachery, I find myself reduced to poverty; at a time, Sir, when the child of my bosom is widowed, and affliction and disgrace are in my family."
Here Mr. Pecksniff wiped his eyes again, and gave himself two or three little knocks upon the breast, as if he were answering two or three other little knocks from within, given by the tinkling hammer of his conscience, to express "Cheer up, my boy!"
"I know the human mind, although I trust it. That is my weakness. Do I not know, Sir;" here he became exceedingly plaintive, and was observed to glance towards Tom Pinch; "that my misfortunes bring this treatment on me? Do I not know, Sir, that but for them I never should have heard what I have heard to-day? Do I not know, that in the silence and the solitude of night, a little voice will whisper in your ear, Mr. Chuzzlewit, 'This was not well. This was not well, Sir!' Think of this, Sir (if you will have the goodness), remote from the impulses of passion, and apart from the specialities, if I may use that strong remark, of prejudice. And if you ever contemplate the silent tomb, Sir, which you will excuse me for entertaining some doubt of your doing, after the conduct into which you have allowed yourself to be betrayed this day; if you ever contemplate the silent tomb, Sir, think of me. If you find yourself approaching to the silent tomb, Sir, think of me. If you should wish to have anything inscribed upon your silent tomb, Sir, let it be, that I—ah, my remorseful Sir! that I—the humble individual who has now the honour of reproaching you: forgave you. That I forgave you when my injuries were fresh, and when my bosom was newly wrung. It may be bitterness to you to hear it now, Sir, but you will live to seek a consolation in it. May you find a consolation in it when you want it, Sir! Good morning!"
With this sublime address Mr. Pecksniff departed. But the effect of his departure was much impaired by his being immediately afterwards run against, and nearly knocked down by, a monstrously-excited little
