NICHOLAS NICKLEBY (Illustrated). Charles Dickens

is gentlemanly, very gentlemanly—in appearance.’

      ‘I hope you don’t see anything against him, uncle?’ inquired Mrs. Kenwigs.

      ‘No, my dear,’ replied the collector, ‘no. I trust he may not turn out—well—no matter—my love to you, my dear, and long life to the baby!’

      ‘Your namesake,’ said Mrs. Kenwigs, with a sweet smile.

      ‘And I hope a worthy namesake,’ observed Mr. Kenwigs, willing to propitiate the collector. ‘I hope a baby as will never disgrace his godfather, and as may be considered, in arter years, of a piece with the Lillyvicks whose name he bears. I do say—and Mrs. Kenwigs is of the same sentiment, and feels it as strong as I do—that I consider his being called Lillyvick one of the greatest blessings and Honours of my existence.’

      ‘The greatest blessing, Kenwigs,’ murmured his lady.

      ‘The greatest blessing,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, correcting himself. ‘A blessing that I hope, one of these days, I may be able to deserve.’

      This was a politic stroke of the Kenwigses, because it made Mr. Lillyvick the great head and fountain of the baby’s importance. The good gentleman felt the delicacy and dexterity of the touch, and at once proposed the health of the gentleman, name unknown, who had signalised himself, that night, by his coolness and alacrity.

      ‘Who, I don’t mind saying,’ observed Mr. Lillyvick, as a great concession, ‘is a good-looking young man enough, with manners that I hope his character may be equal to.’

      ‘He has a very nice face and style, really,’ said Mrs. Kenwigs.

      ‘He certainly has,’ added Miss Petowker. ‘There’s something in his appearance quite—dear, dear, what’s that word again?’

      ‘What word?’ inquired Mr. Lillyvick.

      ‘Why—dear me, how stupid I am,’ replied Miss Petowker, hesitating. ‘What do you call it, when Lords break off door-knockers and beat policemen, and play at coaches with other people’s money, and all that sort of thing?’

      ‘Aristocratic?’ suggested the collector.

      ‘Ah! aristocratic,’ replied Miss Petowker; ‘something very aristocratic about him, isn’t there?’

      The gentleman held their peace, and smiled at each other, as who should say, ‘Well! there’s no accounting for tastes;’ but the ladies resolved unanimously that Nicholas had an aristocratic air; and nobody caring to dispute the position, it was established triumphantly.

      The punch being, by this time, drunk out, and the little Kenwigses (who had for some time previously held their little eyes open with their little forefingers) becoming fractious, and requesting rather urgently to be put to bed, the collector made a move by pulling out his watch, and acquainting the company that it was nigh two o’clock; whereat some of the guests were surprised and others shocked, and hats and bonnets being groped for under the tables, and in course of time found, their owners went away, after a vast deal of shaking of hands, and many remarks how they had never spent such a delightful evening, and how they marvelled to find it so late, expecting to have heard that it was half-past ten at the very latest, and how they wished that Mr. and Mrs. Kenwigs had a wedding-day once a week, and how they wondered by what hidden agency Mrs. Kenwigs could possibly have managed so well; and a great deal more of the same kind. To all of which flattering expressions, Mr. and Mrs. Kenwigs replied, by thanking every lady and gentleman, seriatim, for the favour of their company, and hoping they might have enjoyed themselves only half as well as they said they had.

      As to Nicholas, quite unconscious of the impression he had produced, he had long since fallen asleep, leaving Mr. Newman Noggs and Smike to empty the spirit bottle between them; and this office they performed with such extreme good-will, that Newman was equally at a loss to determine whether he himself was quite sober, and whether he had ever seen any gentleman so heavily, drowsily, and completely intoxicated as his new acquaintance.