Sense Ation No Pull Dog Harness

section 1 of hard timesby charles dickens this is a librivox recording. all librivoxrecordings are in the public domain. for more information or to volunteer, please visitlibrivox.org recording by kirsten ferreri hard timesby charles dickens

Sense Ation No Pull Dog Harness, section 1chapter 1 through 3 book the first_sowing_ chapter ithe one thing needful ‘now, what i want is, facts. teach theseboys and girls nothing but

facts. facts alone are wanted in life. plantnothing else, and root out everything else. you can only form the mindsof reasoning animals upon facts: nothing else will ever be of any serviceto them. this is the principle on which i bring up my own children,and this is the principle on which i bring up these children. stickto facts, sir!’ the scene was a plain, bare, monotonous vaultof a school-room, and the speaker’s square forefinger emphasized hisobservations by underscoring every sentence with a line on the schoolmaster’ssleeve. the emphasis was helped by the speaker’s square wallof a forehead, which had his

eyebrows for its base, while his eyes foundcommodious cellarage in two dark caves, overshadowed by the wall. theemphasis was helped by the speaker’s mouth, which was wide, thin, andhard set. the emphasis was helped by the speaker’s voice, which wasinflexible, dry, and dictatorial. the emphasis was helped by thespeaker’s hair, which bristled on the skirts of his bald head, aplantation of firs to keep the wind from its shining surface, all coveredwith knobs, like the crust of a plum pie, as if the head had scarcely warehouse-roomfor the hard facts stored inside. the speaker’s obstinate carriage,square coat, square

legs, square shoulders,—nay, his very neckcloth,trained to take him by the throat with an unaccommodating grasp,like a stubborn fact, as it was,—all helped the emphasis. ‘in this life, we want nothing but facts,sir; nothing but facts!’ the speaker, and the schoolmaster, and thethird grown person present, all backed a little, and swept with theireyes the inclined plane of little vessels then and there arranged inorder, ready to have imperial gallons of facts poured into them until theywere full to the brim. chapter iimurdering the innocents

thomas gradgrind, sir. a man of realities.a man of facts and calculations. a man who proceeds upon theprinciple that two and two are four, and nothing over, and who is not tobe talked into allowing for anything over. thomas gradgrind, sir—peremptorilythomas—thomas gradgrind. with a rule and a pair of scales,and the multiplication table always in his pocket, sir, ready toweigh and measure any parcel of human nature, and tell you exactly what itcomes to. it is a mere question of figures, a case of simple arithmetic.you might hope to get some other nonsensical belief into the headof george gradgrind, or

augustus gradgrind, or john gradgrind, orjoseph gradgrind (all supposititious, non-existent persons), butinto the head of thomas gradgrind—no, sir! in such terms mr. gradgrind always mentallyintroduced himself, whether to his private circle of acquaintance, orto the public in general. in such terms, no doubt, substituting the words‘boys and girls,’ for ‘sir,’ thomas gradgrind now presented thomas gradgrindto the little pitchers before him, who were to be filled so fullof facts. indeed, as he eagerly sparkled at them fromthe cellarage before

mentioned, he seemed a kind of cannon loadedto the muzzle with facts, and prepared to blow them clean out of theregions of childhood at one discharge. he seemed a galvanizing apparatus,too, charged with a grim mechanical substitute for the tender youngimaginations that were to be stormed away. ‘girl number twenty,’ said mr. gradgrind,squarely pointing with his square forefinger, ‘i don’t know thatgirl. who is that girl?’ ‘sissy jupe, sir,’ explained number twenty,blushing, standing up, and curtseying.

‘sissy is not a name,’ said mr. gradgrind.‘don’t call yourself sissy. call yourself cecilia.’ ‘it’s father as calls me sissy, sir,’returned the young girl in a trembling voice, and with another curtsey. ‘then he has no business to do it,’ saidmr. gradgrind. ‘tell him he mustn’t. cecilia jupe. let me see. whatis your father?’ ‘he belongs to the horse-riding, if youplease, sir.’ mr. gradgrind frowned, and waved off the objectionablecalling with his hand.

‘we don’t want to know anything aboutthat, here. you mustn’t tell us about that, here. your father breaks horses,don’t he?’ ‘if you please, sir, when they can get anyto break, they do break horses in the ring, sir.’ ‘you mustn’t tell us about the ring, here.very well, then. describe your father as a horsebreaker. he doctorssick horses, i dare say?’ ‘oh yes, sir.’ ‘very well, then. he is a veterinary surgeon,a farrier, and horsebreaker. give me your definition of ahorse.’

(sissy jupe thrown into the greatest alarmby this demand.) ‘girl number twenty unable to define a horse!’said mr. gradgrind, for the general behoof of all the little pitchers.‘girl number twenty possessed of no facts, in reference to oneof the commonest of animals! some boy’s definition of a horse. bitzer,yours.’ the square finger, moving here and there,lighted suddenly on bitzer, perhaps because he chanced to sit in the sameray of sunlight which, darting in at one of the bare windows of theintensely white-washed room, irradiated sissy. for, the boys and girlssat on the face of the

inclined plane in two compact bodies, dividedup the centre by a narrow interval; and sissy, being at the corner ofa row on the sunny side, came in for the beginning of a sunbeam, of whichbitzer, being at the corner of a row on the other side, a few rows inadvance, caught the end. but, whereas the girl was so dark-eyed and dark-haired,that she seemed to receive a deeper and more lustrous colourfrom the sun, when it shone upon her, the boy was so light-eyed and light-hairedthat the self-same rays appeared to draw out of him what littlecolour he ever possessed. his cold eyes would hardly have been eyes,but for the short ends of

lashes which, by bringing them into immediatecontrast with something paler than themselves, expressed their form.his short-cropped hair might have been a mere continuation of thesandy freckles on his forehead and face. his skin was so unwholesomely deficientin the natural tinge, that he looked as though, if he were cut,he would bleed white. ‘bitzer,’ said thomas gradgrind. ‘yourdefinition of a horse.’ ‘quadruped. graminivorous. forty teeth,namely twenty-four grinders, four eye-teeth, and twelve incisive. shedscoat in the spring; in marshy countries, sheds hoofs, too. hoofs hard, butrequiring to be shod with

iron. age known by marks in mouth.’ thus(and much more) bitzer. ‘now girl number twenty,’ said mr. gradgrind.‘you know what a horse is.’ she curtseyed again, and would have blusheddeeper, if she could have blushed deeper than she had blushed all thistime. bitzer, after rapidly blinking at thomas gradgrind with both eyesat once, and so catching the light upon his quivering ends of lashes thatthey looked like the antenn㦠of busy insects, put his knuckles to his freckledforehead, and sat down again.

the third gentleman now stepped forth. a mightyman at cutting and drying, he was; a government officer; in hisway (and in most other people’s too), a professed pugilist; alwaysin training, always with a system to force down the general throat likea bolus, always to be heard of at the bar of his little public-office,ready to fight all england. to continue in fistic phraseology, he hada genius for coming up to the scratch, wherever and whatever it was, andproving himself an ugly customer. he would go in and damage any subjectwhatever with his right, follow up with his left, stop, exchange, counter,bore his opponent (he

always fought all england) to the ropes, andfall upon him neatly. he was certain to knock the wind out of commonsense, and render that unlucky adversary deaf to the call of time.and he had it in charge from high authority to bring about the great public-officemillennium, when commissioners should reign upon earth. ‘very well,’ said this gentleman, brisklysmiling, and folding his arms. ‘that’s a horse. now, let me ask you girlsand boys, would you paper a room with representations of horses?’ after a pause, one half of the children criedin chorus, ‘yes, sir!’

upon which the other half, seeing in the gentleman’sface that yes was wrong, cried out in chorus, ‘no, sir!’—asthe custom is, in these examinations. ‘of course, no. why wouldn’t you?’ a pause. one corpulent slow boy, with a wheezymanner of breathing, ventured the answer, because he wouldn’tpaper a room at all, but would paint it. ‘you _must_ paper it,’ said the gentleman,rather warmly. ‘you must paper it,’ said thomas gradgrind,‘whether you like it or not.

don’t tell _us_ you wouldn’t paper it.what do you mean, boy?’ ‘i’ll explain to you, then,’ said thegentleman, after another and a dismal pause, ‘why you wouldn’t papera room with representations of horses. do you ever see horses walking upand down the sides of rooms in reality—in fact? do you?’ ‘yes, sir!’ from one half. ‘no, sir!’from the other. ‘of course no,’ said the gentleman, withan indignant look at the wrong half. ‘why, then, you are not to see anywhere,what you don’t see in fact; you are not to have anywhere, what youdon’t have in fact. what is

called taste, is only another name for fact.’thomas gradgrind nodded his approbation. ‘this is a new principle, a discovery, agreat discovery,’ said the gentleman. ‘now, i’ll try you again. supposeyou were going to carpet a room. would you use a carpet having a representationof flowers upon it?’ there being a general conviction by this timethat ‘no, sir!’ was always the right answer to this gentleman, the chorusof no was very strong. only a few feeble stragglers said yes: amongthem sissy jupe.

‘girl number twenty,’ said the gentleman,smiling in the calm strength of knowledge. sissy blushed, and stood up. ‘so you would carpet your room—or yourhusband’s room, if you were a grown woman, and had a husband—with representationsof flowers, would you?’ said the gentleman. ‘why would you?’ ‘if you please, sir, i am very fond of flowers,’returned the girl. ‘and is that why you would put tables andchairs upon them, and have people walking over them with heavy boots?’

‘it wouldn’t hurt them, sir. they wouldn’tcrush and wither, if you please, sir. they would be the pictures ofwhat was very pretty and pleasant, and i would fancy—’ ‘ay, ay, ay! but you mustn’t fancy,’cried the gentleman, quite elated by coming so happily to his point. ‘that’sit! you are never to fancy.’ ‘you are not, cecilia jupe,’ thomas gradgrindsolemnly repeated, ‘to do anything of that kind.’ ‘fact, fact, fact!’ said the gentleman.and ‘fact, fact, fact!’ repeated thomas gradgrind.

‘you are to be in all things regulated andgoverned,’ said the gentleman, ‘by fact. we hope to have, before long,a board of fact, composed of commissioners of fact, who will force thepeople to be a people of fact, and of nothing but fact. you must discardthe word fancy altogether. you have nothing to do with it. you are notto have, in any object of use or ornament, what would be a contradictionin fact. you don’t walk upon flowers in fact; you cannot be allowedto walk upon flowers in carpets. you don’t find that foreign birdsand butterflies come and perch upon your crockery; you cannot be permittedto paint foreign birds

and butterflies upon your crockery. you nevermeet with quadrupeds going up and down walls; you must not have quadrupedsrepresented upon walls. you must use,’ said the gentleman, ‘forall these purposes, combinations and modifications (in primary colours) ofmathematical figures which are susceptible of proof and demonstration. thisis the new discovery. this is fact. this is taste.’ the girl curtseyed, and sat down. she wasvery young, and she looked as if she were frightened by the matter-of-factprospect the world afforded. ‘now, if mr. m’choakumchild,’ said thegentleman, ‘will proceed to give

his first lesson here, mr. gradgrind, i shallbe happy, at your request, to observe his mode of procedure.’ mr. gradgrind was much obliged. ‘mr. m’choakumchild,we only wait for you.’ so, mr. m’choakumchild began in his bestmanner. he and some one hundred and forty other schoolmasters, had been latelyturned at the same time, in the same factory, on the same principles,like so many pianoforte legs. he had been put through an immense varietyof paces, and had answered volumes of head-breaking questions.orthography, etymology,

syntax, and prosody, biography, astronomy,geography, and general cosmography, the sciences of compound proportion,algebra, land-surveying and levelling, vocal music, and drawing frommodels, were all at the ends of his ten chilled fingers. he had workedhis stony way into her majesty’s most honourable privy council’sschedule b, and had taken the bloom off the higher branches of mathematicsand physical science, french, german, latin, and greek. he knewall about all the water sheds of all the world (whatever they are), andall the histories of all the peoples, and all the names of all the riversand mountains, and all the

productions, manners, and customs of all thecountries, and all their boundaries and bearings on the two and thirtypoints of the compass. ah, rather overdone, m’choakumchild. if he hadonly learnt a little less, how infinitely better he might have taughtmuch more! he went to work in this preparatory lesson,not unlike morgiana in the forty thieves: looking into all the vesselsranged before him, one after another, to see what they contained. say,good m’choakumchild. when from thy boiling store, thou shalt fill eachjar brim full by-and-by, dost thou think that thou wilt always killoutright the robber fancy

lurking within—or sometimes only maim himand distort him! chapter iiia loophole mr. gradgrind walked homeward from the school,in a state of considerable satisfaction. it was his school, and he intendedit to be a model. he intended every child in it to be a model—justas the young gradgrinds were all models. there were five young gradgrinds, and theywere models every one. they had been lectured at, from their tenderestyears; coursed, like little hares. almost as soon as they could run alone,they had been made to run

to the lecture-room. the first object withwhich they had an association, or of which they had a remembrance,was a large black board with a dry ogre chalking ghastly white figureson it. not that they knew, by name or nature, anythingabout an ogre fact forbid! i only use the word to express a monsterin a lecturing castle, with heaven knows how many heads manipulatedinto one, taking childhood captive, and dragging it into gloomy statisticaldens by the hair. no little gradgrind had ever seen a face inthe moon; it was up in the moon before it could speak distinctly. nolittle gradgrind had ever

learnt the silly jingle, twinkle, twinkle,little star; how i wonder what you are! no little gradgrind had ever knownwonder on the subject, each little gradgrind having at five years olddissected the great bear like a professor owen, and driven charles’s wainlike a locomotive engine-driver. no little gradgrind had everassociated a cow in a field with that famous cow with the crumpled hornwho tossed the dog who worried the cat who killed the rat who atethe malt, or with that yet more famous cow who swallowed tom thumb: ithad never heard of those celebrities, and had only been introducedto a cow as a graminivorous

ruminating quadruped with several stomachs. to his matter-of-fact home, which was calledstone lodge, mr. gradgrind directed his steps. he had virtually retiredfrom the wholesale hardware trade before he built stone lodge, and wasnow looking about for a suitable opportunity of making an arithmeticalfigure in parliament. stone lodge was situated on a moor withina mile or two of a great town—called coketown in the present faithfulguide-book. a very regular feature on the face of thecountry, stone lodge was. not the least disguise toned down or shaded offthat uncompromising fact in

the landscape. a great square house, witha heavy portico darkening the principal windows, as its master’s heavybrows overshadowed his eyes. a calculated, cast up, balanced, and provedhouse. six windows on this side of the door, six on that side; a totalof twelve in this wing, a total of twelve in the other wing; four-and-twentycarried over to the back wings. a lawn and garden and an infantavenue, all ruled straight like a botanical account-book. gas and ventilation,drainage and water-service, all of the primest quality.iron clamps and girders, fire-proof from top to bottom; mechanicallifts for the housemaids, with

all their brushes and brooms; everything thatheart could desire. everything? well, i suppose so. the littlegradgrinds had cabinets in various departments of science too. they hada little conchological cabinet, and a little metallurgical cabinet,and a little mineralogical cabinet; and the specimens were all arrangedand labelled, and the bits of stone and ore looked as though they mighthave been broken from the parent substances by those tremendously hardinstruments their own names; and, to paraphrase the idle legend of peterpiper, who had never found his way into their nursery, if the greedylittle gradgrinds grasped at

more than this, what was it for good graciousgoodness’ sake, that the greedy little gradgrinds grasped it! their father walked on in a hopeful and satisfiedframe of mind. he was an affectionate father, after his manner;but he would probably have described himself (if he had been put, likesissy jupe, upon a definition) as ‘an eminently practical’father. he had a particular pride in the phrase eminently practical, whichwas considered to have a special application to him. whatsoever thepublic meeting held in coketown, and whatsoever the subject of suchmeeting, some coketowner was

sure to seize the occasion of alluding tohis eminently practical friend gradgrind. this always pleased the eminentlypractical friend. he knew it to be his due, but his due was acceptable. he had reached the neutral ground upon theoutskirts of the town, which was neither town nor country, and yet waseither spoiled, when his ears were invaded by the sound of music. the clashingand banging band attached to the horse-riding establishment,which had there set up its rest in a wooden pavilion, was in full bray.a flag, floating from the summit of the temple, proclaimed to mankindthat it was ‘sleary’s

horse-riding’ which claimed their suffrages.sleary himself, a stout modern statue with a money-box at its elbow,in an ecclesiastical niche of early gothic architecture, took the money.miss josephine sleary, as some very long and very narrow strips of printedbill announced, was then inaugurating the entertainments with her gracefulequestrian tyrolean flower-act. among the other pleasing but alwaysstrictly moral wonders which must be seen to be believed, signorjupe was that afternoon to ‘elucidate the diverting accomplishmentsof his highly trained performing dog merrylegs.’ he was also to exhibit ‘hisastounding feat of throwing

seventy-five hundred-weight in rapid successionbackhanded over his head, thus forming a fountain of solid iron in mid-air,a feat never before attempted in this or any other country, andwhich having elicited such rapturous plaudits from enthusiastic throngsit cannot be withdrawn.’ the same signor jupe was to ‘enliven thevaried performances at frequent intervals with his chaste shaksperean quipsand retorts.’ lastly, he was to wind them up by appearing in his favouritecharacter of mr. william button, of tooley street, in ‘the highlynovel and laughable hippo-comedietta of the tailor’s journeyto brentford.’

thomas gradgrind took no heed of these trivialitiesof course, but passed on as a practical man ought to pass on, eitherbrushing the noisy insects from his thoughts, or consigning them to thehouse of correction. but, the turning of the road took him by the backof the booth, and at the back of the booth a number of children werecongregated in a number of stealthy attitudes, striving to peep in atthe hidden glories of the place. this brought him to a stop. ‘now, to thinkof these vagabonds,’ said he, ‘attracting the young rabble from a modelschool.’

a space of stunted grass and dry rubbish beingbetween him and the young rabble, he took his eyeglass out of his waistcoatto look for any child he knew by name, and might order off. phenomenonalmost incredible though distinctly seen, what did he then beholdbut his own metallurgical louisa, peeping with all her might througha hole in a deal board, and his own mathematical thomas abasing himselfon the ground to catch but a hoof of the graceful equestrian tyrolean flower-act! dumb with amazement, mr. gradgrind crossedto the spot where his family was thus disgraced, laid his hand upon eacherring child, and said:

‘louisa!! thomas!!’ both rose, red and disconcerted. but, louisalooked at her father with more boldness than thomas did. indeed, thomasdid not look at him, but gave himself up to be taken home like a machine. ‘in the name of wonder, idleness, and folly!’said mr. gradgrind, leading each away by a hand; ‘what do you do here?’ ‘wanted to see what it was like,’ returnedlouisa, shortly. ‘what it was like?’ ‘yes, father.’

there was an air of jaded sullenness in themboth, and particularly in the girl: yet, struggling through the dissatisfactionof her face, there was a light with nothing to rest upon, a firewith nothing to burn, a starved imagination keeping life in itselfsomehow, which brightened its expression. not with the brightness naturalto cheerful youth, but with uncertain, eager, doubtful flashes, whichhad something painful in them, analogous to the changes on a blind face gropingits way. she was a child now, of fifteen or sixteen;but at no distant day would seem to become a woman all at once. her fatherthought so as he looked

at her. she was pretty. would have been self-willed(he thought in his eminently practical way) but for her bringing-up. ‘thomas, though i have the fact before me,i find it difficult to believe that you, with your education and resources,should have brought your sister to a scene like this.’ ‘i brought _him_, father,’ said louisa,quickly. ‘i asked him to come.’ ‘i am sorry to hear it. i am very sorryindeed to hear it. it makes thomas no better, and it makes you worse,louisa.’ she looked at her father again, but no tearfell down her cheek.

‘you! thomas and you, to whom the circleof the sciences is open; thomas and you, who may be said to be replete withfacts; thomas and you, who have been trained to mathematical exactness;thomas and you, here!’ cried mr. gradgrind. ‘in this degraded position!i am amazed.’ ‘i was tired, father. i have been tireda long time,’ said louisa. ‘tired? of what?’ asked the astonishedfather. ‘i don’t know of what—of everything,i think.’ ‘say not another word,’ returned mr. gradgrind.‘you are childish. i will hear no more.’ he did not speak againuntil they had walked some

half-a-mile in silence, when he gravely brokeout with: ‘what would your best friends say, louisa? do you attach novalue to their good opinion? what would mr. bounderby say?’ at the mentionof this name, his daughter stole a look at him, remarkable for its intenseand searching character. he saw nothing of it, for before he lookedat her, she had again cast down her eyes! ‘what,’ he repeated presently, ‘wouldmr. bounderby say?’ all the way to stone lodge, as with grave indignation heled the two delinquents home, he repeated at intervals ‘what would mr.bounderby say?’—as if mr.

bounderby had been mrs. grundy. end of section 1 section 2 of hard timesby charles dickens recording by stewart wills section 2book 1, chapters 4 and 5chapter iv mr. bounderby not being mrs. grundy, who _was_ mr. bounderby? why, mr. bounderby was as near being mr. gradgrind’sbosom friend, as a

man perfectly devoid of sentiment can approachthat spiritual relationship towards another man perfectlydevoid of sentiment. so near was mr. bounderby—or, if the reader shouldprefer it, so far off. he was a rich man: banker, merchant, manufacturer,and what not. a big, loud man, with a stare, and a metallic laugh.a man made out of a coarse material, which seemed to have been stretchedto make so much of him. a man with a great puffed head and forehead,swelled veins in his temples, and such a strained skin to his face thatit seemed to hold his eyes open, and lift his eyebrows up. a man witha pervading appearance on him

of being inflated like a balloon, and readyto start. a man who could never sufficiently vaunt himself a self-mademan. a man who was always proclaiming, through that brassy speaking-trumpetof a voice of his, his old ignorance and his old poverty. a man whowas the bully of humility. a year or two younger than his eminently practicalfriend, mr. bounderby looked older; his seven or eight and fortymight have had the seven or eight added to it again, without surprisinganybody. he had not much hair. one might have fancied he had talkedit off; and that what was left, all standing up in disorder, was inthat condition from being

constantly blown about by his windy boastfulness. in the formal drawing-room of stone lodge,standing on the hearthrug, warming himself before the fire, mr. bounderbydelivered some observations to mrs. gradgrind on the circumstanceof its being his birthday. he stood before the fire, partlybecause it was a cool spring afternoon, though the sun shone; partly becausethe shade of stone lodge was always haunted by the ghost of damp mortar;partly because he thus took up a commanding position, from whichto subdue mrs. gradgrind. ‘i hadn’t a shoe to my foot. as to a stocking,i didn’t know such a

thing by name. i passed the day in a ditch,and the night in a pigsty. that’s the way i spent my tenth birthday.not that a ditch was new to me, for i was born in a ditch.’ mrs. gradgrind, a little, thin, white, pink-eyedbundle of shawls, of surpassing feebleness, mental and bodily;who was always taking physic without any effect, and who, whenever sheshowed a symptom of coming to life, was invariably stunned by some weightypiece of fact tumbling on her; mrs. gradgrind hoped it was a dry ditch? ‘no! as wet as a sop. a foot of water init,’ said mr. bounderby.

‘enough to give a baby cold,’ mrs. gradgrindconsidered. ‘cold? i was born with inflammation of thelungs, and of everything else, i believe, that was capable of inflammation,’returned mr. bounderby. ‘for years, ma’am, i was oneof the most miserable little wretches ever seen. i was so sickly, thati was always moaning and groaning. i was so ragged and dirty, thatyou wouldn’t have touched me with a pair of tongs.’ mrs. gradgrind faintly looked at the tongs,as the most appropriate thing her imbecility could think of doing.

‘how i fought through it, _i_ don’t know,’said bounderby. ‘i was determined, i suppose. i have been a determinedcharacter in later life, and i suppose i was then. here i am, mrs.gradgrind, anyhow, and nobody to thank for my being here, but myself.’ mrs. gradgrind meekly and weakly hoped thathis mother— ‘_my_ mother? bolted, ma’am!’ said bounderby. mrs. gradgrind, stunned as usual, collapsedand gave it up. ‘my mother left me to my grandmother,’said bounderby; ‘and, according to the best of my remembrance, my grandmotherwas the wickedest and the

worst old woman that ever lived. if i gota little pair of shoes by any chance, she would take ’em off and sell’em for drink. why, i have known that grandmother of mine lie in her bed anddrink her four-teen glasses of liquor before breakfast!’ mrs. gradgrind, weakly smiling, and givingno other sign of vitality, looked (as she always did) like an indifferentlyexecuted transparency of a small female figure, without enough lightbehind it. ‘she kept a chandler’s shop,’ pursuedbounderby, ‘and kept me in an egg-box. that was the cot of _my_ infancy;an old egg-box. as soon as i

was big enough to run away, of course i ranaway. then i became a young vagabond; and instead of one old woman knockingme about and starving me, everybody of all ages knocked me about andstarved me. they were right; they had no business to do anything else.i was a nuisance, an incumbrance, and a pest. i know that verywell.’ his pride in having at any time of his lifeachieved such a great social distinction as to be a nuisance, an incumbrance,and a pest, was only to be satisfied by three sonorous repetitionsof the boast. ‘i was to pull through it, i suppose, mrs.gradgrind. whether i was to

do it or not, ma’am, i did it. i pulledthrough it, though nobody threw me out a rope. vagabond, errand-boy, vagabond,labourer, porter, clerk, chief manager, small partner, josiah bounderbyof coketown. those are the antecedents, and the culmination. josiahbounderby of coketown learnt his letters from the outsides of theshops, mrs. gradgrind, and was first able to tell the time upon a dial-plate,from studying the steeple clock of st. giles’s church, london,under the direction of a drunken cripple, who was a convicted thief,and an incorrigible vagrant. tell josiah bounderby of coketown, of yourdistrict schools and your

model schools, and your training schools,and your whole kettle-of-fish of schools; and josiah bounderby of coketown,tells you plainly, all right, all correct—he hadn’t such advantages—butlet us have hard-headed, solid-fisted people—the education that madehim won’t do for everybody, he knows well—such and such his educationwas, however, and you may force him to swallow boiling fat, but you shallnever force him to suppress the facts of his life.’ being heated when he arrived at this climax,josiah bounderby of coketown stopped. he stopped just as his eminentlypractical friend, still

accompanied by the two young culprits, enteredthe room. his eminently practical friend, on seeing him, stopped also,and gave louisa a reproachful look that plainly said, ‘beholdyour bounderby!’ ‘well!’ blustered mr. bounderby, ‘what’sthe matter? what is young thomas in the dumps about?’ he spoke of young thomas, but he looked atlouisa. ‘we were peeping at the circus,’ mutteredlouisa, haughtily, without lifting up her eyes, ‘and father caughtus.’ ‘and, mrs. gradgrind,’ said her husbandin a lofty manner, ‘i should as

soon have expected to find my children readingpoetry.’ ‘dear me,’ whimpered mrs. gradgrind. ‘howcan you, louisa and thomas! i wonder at you. i declare you’re enough tomake one regret ever having had a family at all. i have a great mind tosay i wish i hadn’t. _then_ what would you have done, i should like toknow?’ mr. gradgrind did not seem favourably impressedby these cogent remarks. he frowned impatiently. ‘as if, with my head in its present throbbingstate, you couldn’t go and look at the shells and minerals and thingsprovided for you, instead of

circuses!’ said mrs. gradgrind. ‘you know,as well as i do, no young people have circus masters, or keep circusesin cabinets, or attend lectures about circuses. what can you possiblywant to know of circuses then? i am sure you have enough to do, ifthat’s what you want. with my head in its present state, i couldn’t rememberthe mere names of half the facts you have got to attend to.’ ‘that’s the reason!’ pouted louisa. ‘don’t tell me that’s the reason, becauseit can’t be nothing of the sort,’ said mrs. gradgrind. ‘go and besomethingological directly.’

mrs. gradgrind was not a scientific character,and usually dismissed her children to their studies with this generalinjunction to choose their pursuit. in truth, mrs. gradgrind’s stock of factsin general was woefully defective; but mr. gradgrind in raising herto her high matrimonial position, had been influenced by two reasons.firstly, she was most satisfactory as a question of figures; and,secondly, she had ‘no nonsense’ about her. by nonsense he meantfancy; and truly it is probable she was as free from any alloy ofthat nature, as any human

being not arrived at the perfection of anabsolute idiot, ever was. the simple circumstance of being left alonewith her husband and mr. bounderby, was sufficient to stun this admirablelady again without collision between herself and any other fact.so, she once more died away, and nobody minded her. ‘bounderby,’ said mr. gradgrind, drawinga chair to the fireside, ‘you are always so interested in my young people—particularlyin louisa—that i make no apology for saying to you, i am verymuch vexed by this discovery. i have systematically devoted myself(as you know) to the

education of the reason of my family. thereason is (as you know) the only faculty to which education should beaddressed. ‘and yet, bounderby, it would appear from this unexpectedcircumstance of to-day, though in itself a trifling one, as if somethinghad crept into thomas’s and louisa’s minds which is—or rather,which is not—i don’t know that i can express myself better than by saying—whichhas never been intended to be developed, and in which their reason hasno part.’ ‘there certainly is no reason in lookingwith interest at a parcel of vagabonds,’ returned bounderby. ‘wheni was a vagabond myself, nobody

looked with any interest at _me_; i know that.’ ‘then comes the question; said the eminentlypractical father, with his eyes on the fire, ‘in what has this vulgarcuriosity its rise?’ ‘i’ll tell you in what. in idle imagination.’ ‘i hope not,’ said the eminently practical;‘i confess, however, that the misgiving _has_ crossed me on my way home.’ ‘in idle imagination, gradgrind,’ repeatedbounderby. ‘a very bad thing for anybody, but a cursed bad thing for agirl like louisa. i should ask mrs. gradgrind’s pardon for strong expressions,but that she knows very

well i am not a refined character. whoeverexpects refinement in _me_ will be disappointed. i hadn’t a refinedbringing up.’ ‘whether,’ said gradgrind, pondering withhis hands in his pockets, and his cavernous eyes on the fire, ‘whetherany instructor or servant can have suggested anything? whether louisa orthomas can have been reading anything? whether, in spite of all precautions,any idle story-book can have got into the house? because, in mindsthat have been practically formed by rule and line, from the cradle upwards,this is so curious, so incomprehensible.’

‘stop a bit!’ cried bounderby, who allthis time had been standing, as before, on the hearth, bursting at the veryfurniture of the room with explosive humility. ‘you have one of thosestrollers’ children in the school.’ ‘cecilia jupe, by name,’ said mr. gradgrind,with something of a stricken look at his friend. ‘now, stop a bit!’ cried bounderby again.‘how did she come there?’ ‘why, the fact is, i saw the girl myself,for the first time, only just now. she specially applied here at the houseto be admitted, as not

regularly belonging to our town, and—yes,you are right, bounderby, you are right.’ ‘now, stop a bit!’ cried bounderby, oncemore. ‘louisa saw her when she came?’ ‘louisa certainly did see her, for she mentionedthe application to me. but louisa saw her, i have no doubt, in mrs.gradgrind’s presence.’ ‘pray, mrs. gradgrind,’ said bounderby,‘what passed?’ ‘oh, my poor health!’ returned mrs. gradgrind.‘the girl wanted to come to the school, and mr. gradgrind wanted girlsto come to the school, and

louisa and thomas both said that the girlwanted to come, and that mr. gradgrind wanted girls to come, and how wasit possible to contradict them when such was the fact!’ ‘now i tell you what, gradgrind!’ saidmr. bounderby. ‘turn this girl to the right about, and there’s an end of it.’ ‘i am much of your opinion.’ ‘do it at once,’ said bounderby, ‘hasalways been my motto from a child. when i thought i would run away from my egg-boxand my grandmother, i did it at once. do you the same. do this at once!’

‘are you walking?’ asked his friend. ‘ihave the father’s address. perhaps you would not mind walking to townwith me?’ ‘not the least in the world,’ said mr.bounderby, ‘as long as you do it at once!’ so, mr. bounderby threw on his hat—he alwaysthrew it on, as expressing a man who had been far too busily employed inmaking himself, to acquire any fashion of wearing his hat—and withhis hands in his pockets, sauntered out into the hall. ‘i never weargloves,’ it was his custom to say. ‘i didn’t climb up the ladder in_them_.—shouldn’t be so high up,

if i had.’ being left to saunter in the hall a minuteor two while mr. gradgrind went up-stairs for the address, he openedthe door of the children’s study and looked into that serene floor-clothedapartment, which, notwithstanding its book-cases and its cabinetsand its variety of learned and philosophical appliances, hadmuch of the genial aspect of a room devoted to hair-cutting. louisa languidlyleaned upon the window looking out, without looking at anything,while young thomas stood sniffing revengefully at the fire. adam smithand malthus, two younger

gradgrinds, were out at lecture in custody;and little jane, after manufacturing a good deal of moist pipe-clayon her face with slate-pencil and tears, had fallen asleepover vulgar fractions. ‘it’s all right now, louisa: it’s allright, young thomas,’ said mr. bounderby; ‘you won’t do so any more.i’ll answer for it’s being all over with father. well, louisa, that’s wortha kiss, isn’t it?’ ‘you can take one, mr. bounderby,’ returnedlouisa, when she had coldly paused, and slowly walked across the room,and ungraciously raised her cheek towards him, with her face turned away.

‘always my pet; ain’t you, louisa?’said mr. bounderby. ‘good-bye, louisa!’ he went his way, but she stood on the samespot, rubbing the cheek he had kissed, with her handkerchief, until it wasburning red. she was still doing this, five minutes afterwards. ‘what are you about, loo?’ her brothersulkily remonstrated. ‘you’ll rub a hole in your face.’ ‘you may cut the piece out with your penknifeif you like, tom. i wouldn’t cry!’

chapter vthe keynote coketown, to which messrs. bounderby and gradgrindnow walked, was a triumph of fact; it had no greater taint offancy in it than mrs. gradgrind herself. let us strike the key-note,coketown, before pursuing our tune. it was a town of red brick, or of brick thatwould have been red if the smoke and ashes had allowed it; but as mattersstood, it was a town of unnatural red and black like the painted faceof a savage. it was a town of machinery and tall chimneys, out of whichinterminable serpents of

smoke trailed themselves for ever and ever,and never got uncoiled. it had a black canal in it, and a river thatran purple with ill-smelling dye, and vast piles of building full of windowswhere there was a rattling and a trembling all day long, andwhere the piston of the steam-engine worked monotonously up and down,like the head of an elephant in a state of melancholy madness.it contained several large streets all very like one another, and manysmall streets still more like one another, inhabited by people equally likeone another, who all went in and out at the same hours, with the samesound upon the same

pavements, to do the same work, and to whomevery day was the same as yesterday and to-morrow, and every year thecounterpart of the last and the next. these attributes of coketown were in the maininseparable from the work by which it was sustained; against them wereto be set off, comforts of life which found their way all over the world,and elegancies of life which made, we will not ask how much of thefine lady, who could scarcely bear to hear the place mentioned. the restof its features were voluntary, and they were these.

you saw nothing in coketown but what was severelyworkful. if the members of a religious persuasion built achapel there—as the members of eighteen religious persuasions had done—theymade it a pious warehouse of red brick, with sometimes (but this is onlyin highly ornamental examples) a bell in a birdcage on the topof it. the solitary exception was the new church; a stuccoed edifice witha square steeple over the door, terminating in four short pinnacleslike florid wooden legs. all the public inscriptions in the town were paintedalike, in severe characters of black and white. the jail mighthave been the infirmary,

the infirmary might have been the jail, thetown-hall might have been either, or both, or anything else, for anythingthat appeared to the contrary in the graces of their construction.fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the material aspect of the town;fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the immaterial. the m’choakumchildschool was all fact, and the school of design was all fact, andthe relations between master and man were all fact, and everything wasfact between the lying-in hospital and the cemetery, and what you couldn’tstate in figures, or show to be purchaseable in the cheapest marketand saleable in the

dearest, was not, and never should be, worldwithout end, amen. a town so sacred to fact, and so triumphantin its assertion, of course got on well? why no, not quite well. no? dearme! no. coketown did not come out of its own furnaces,in all respects like gold that had stood the fire. first, the perplexingmystery of the place was, who belonged to the eighteen denominations?because, whoever did, the labouring people did not. it was verystrange to walk through the streets on a sunday morning, and note howfew of _them_ the barbarous jangling of bells that was driving the sickand nervous mad, called away

from their own quarter, from their own closerooms, from the corners of their own streets, where they lounged listlessly,gazing at all the church and chapel going, as at a thing withwhich they had no manner of concern. nor was it merely the stranger whonoticed this, because there was a native organization in coketown itself,whose members were to be heard of in the house of commons every session,indignantly petitioning for acts of parliament that should make thesepeople religious by main force. then came the teetotal society, whocomplained that these same people _would_ get drunk, and showed in tabularstatements that they did

get drunk, and proved at tea parties thatno inducement, human or divine (except a medal), would induce them to foregotheir custom of getting drunk. then came the chemist and druggist,with other tabular statements, showing that when they didn’tget drunk, they took opium. then came the experienced chaplain of thejail, with more tabular statements, outdoing all the previous tabularstatements, and showing that the same people _would_ resort to lowhaunts, hidden from the public eye, where they heard low singing and sawlow dancing, and mayhap joined in it; and where a. b., aged twenty-four nextbirthday, and committed for

eighteen months’ solitary, had himself said(not that he had ever shown himself particularly worthy of belief) hisruin began, as he was perfectly sure and confident that otherwisehe would have been a tip-top moral specimen. then came mr. gradgrind andmr. bounderby, the two gentlemen at this present moment walking throughcoketown, and both eminently practical, who could, on occasion,furnish more tabular statements derived from their own personalexperience, and illustrated by cases they had known and seen, from whichit clearly appeared—in short, it was the only clear thing in the case—thatthese same people were a bad

lot altogether, gentlemen; that do what youwould for them they were never thankful for it, gentlemen; that theywere restless, gentlemen; that they never knew what they wanted; thatthey lived upon the best, and bought fresh butter; and insisted on mochacoffee, and rejected all but prime parts of meat, and yet were eternallydissatisfied and unmanageable. in short, it was the moral ofthe old nursery fable: there was an old woman, and what do you think?she lived upon nothing but victuals and drink; victuals and drink were the whole of her diet,and yet this old woman would never be quiet. is it possible, i wonder, that there was anyanalogy between the case of

the coketown population and the case of thelittle gradgrinds? surely, none of us in our sober senses and acquaintedwith figures, are to be told at this time of day, that one of theforemost elements in the existence of the coketown working-people hadbeen for scores of years, deliberately set at nought? that there wasany fancy in them demanding to be brought into healthy existence insteadof struggling on in convulsions? that exactly in the ratio asthey worked long and monotonously, the craving grew within themfor some physical relief—some relaxation, encouraging good humour and goodspirits, and giving them a

vent—some recognized holiday, though itwere but for an honest dance to a stirring band of music—some occasional lightpie in which even m’choakumchild had no finger—which cravingmust and would be satisfied aright, or must and would inevitably go wrong,until the laws of the creation were repealed? ‘this man lives at pod’s end, and i don’tquite know pod’s end,’ said mr. gradgrind. ‘which is it, bounderby?’ mr. bounderby knew it was somewhere down town,but knew no more respecting it. so they stopped for a moment,looking about.

almost as they did so, there came runninground the corner of the street at a quick pace and with a frightened look,a girl whom mr. gradgrind recognized. ‘halloa!’ said he. ‘stop!where are you going! stop!’ girl number twenty stopped then, palpitating,and made him a curtsey. ‘why are you tearing about the streets,’said mr. gradgrind, ‘in this improper manner?’ ‘i was—i was run after, sir,’ the girlpanted, ‘and i wanted to get away.’ ‘run after?’ repeated mr. gradgrind. ‘whowould run after _you_?’

the question was unexpectedly and suddenlyanswered for her, by the colourless boy, bitzer, who came round thecorner with such blind speed and so little anticipating a stoppage on thepavement, that he brought himself up against mr. gradgrind’s waistcoatand rebounded into the road. ‘what do you mean, boy?’ said mr. gradgrind.‘what are you doing? how dare you dash against—everybody—in thismanner?’ bitzer picked up his cap, which the concussion had knocked off;and backing, and knuckling his forehead, pleaded that it was an accident. ‘was this boy running after you, jupe?’asked mr. gradgrind.

‘yes, sir,’ said the girl reluctantly. ‘no, i wasn’t, sir!’ cried bitzer. ‘nottill she run away from me. but the horse-riders never mind what they say,sir; they’re famous for it. you know the horse-riders are famous for neverminding what they say,’ addressing sissy. ‘it’s as well knownin the town as—please, sir, as the multiplication table isn’t known to thehorse-riders.’ bitzer tried mr. bounderby with this. ‘he frightened me so,’ said the girl,‘with his cruel faces!’ ‘oh!’ cried bitzer. ‘oh! an’t youone of the rest! an’t you a

horse-rider! i never looked at her, sir. iasked her if she would know how to define a horse to-morrow, and offeredto tell her again, and she ran away, and i ran after her, sir, that shemight know how to answer when she was asked. you wouldn’t have thoughtof saying such mischief if you hadn’t been a horse-rider?’ ‘her calling seems to be pretty well knownamong ’em,’ observed mr. bounderby. ‘you’d have had the whole schoolpeeping in a row, in a week.’ ‘truly, i think so,’ returned his friend.‘bitzer, turn you about and

take yourself home. jupe, stay here a moment.let me hear of your running in this manner any more, boy, andyou will hear of me through the master of the school. you understand whati mean. go along.’ the boy stopped in his rapid blinking, knuckledhis forehead again, glanced at sissy, turned about, and retreated. ‘now, girl,’ said mr. gradgrind, ‘takethis gentleman and me to your father’s; we are going there. what haveyou got in that bottle you are carrying?’ ‘gin,’ said mr. bounderby.

‘dear, no, sir! it’s the nine oils.’ ‘the what?’ cried mr. bounderby. ‘the nine oils, sir, to rub father with.’ ‘then,’ said mr. bounderby, with a loudshort laugh, ‘what the devil do you rub your father with nine oils for?’ ‘it’s what our people aways use, sir,when they get any hurts in the ring,’ replied the girl, looking over hershoulder, to assure herself that her pursuer was gone. ‘they bruisethemselves very bad sometimes.’ ‘serve ’em right,’ said mr. bounderby,‘for being idle.’ she glanced up

at his face, with mingled astonishment anddread. ‘by george!’ said mr. bounderby, ‘wheni was four or five years younger than you, i had worse bruises upon me thanten oils, twenty oils, forty oils, would have rubbed off. i didn’t get’em by posture-making, but by being banged about. there was no rope-dancingfor me; i danced on the bare ground and was larruped with the rope.’ mr. gradgrind, though hard enough, was byno means so rough a man as mr. bounderby. his character was not unkind, allthings considered; it might have been a very kind one indeed, if he hadonly made some round mistake

in the arithmetic that balanced it, yearsago. he said, in what he meant for a reassuring tone, as they turned downa narrow road, ‘and this is pod’s end; is it, jupe?’ ‘this is it, sir, and—if you wouldn’tmind, sir—this is the house.’ she stopped, at twilight, at the door of amean little public-house, with dim red lights in it. as haggard and as shabby,as if, for want of custom, it had itself taken to drinking, andhad gone the way all drunkards go, and was very near the end ofit. ‘it’s only crossing the bar, sir, andup the stairs, if you wouldn’t

mind, and waiting there for a moment tilli get a candle. if you should hear a dog, sir, it’s only merrylegs, andhe only barks.’ ‘merrylegs and nine oils, eh!’ said mr.bounderby, entering last with his metallic laugh. ‘pretty well this, for aself-made man!’ end of section 2 section 3 of hard timesthis is a librivox recording. all librivox recordings are in the public domain. for moreinformation or to volunteer, please visit librivox.orgrecording by rosalind wills section 3, chapter 6

chapter visleary’s horsemanship the name of the public-house was the pegasus’sarms. the pegasus’s legs might have been more to the purpose; but,underneath the winged horse upon the sign-board, the pegasus’s armswas inscribed in roman letters. beneath that inscription again, in a flowingscroll, the painter had touched off the lines: good malt makes good beer,walk in, and they’ll draw it here; good wine makes good brandy,give us a call, and you’ll find it handy. framed and glazed upon the wall behind thedingy little bar, was another

pegasus—a theatrical one—with real gauzelet in for his wings, golden stars stuck on all over him, and his etherealharness made of red silk. as it had grown too dusky without, to seethe sign, and as it had not grown light enough within to see the picture,mr. gradgrind and mr. bounderby received no offence from these idealities.they followed the girl up some steep corner-stairs without meetingany one, and stopped in the dark while she went on for a candle. theyexpected every moment to hear merrylegs give tongue, but the highlytrained performing dog had not barked when the girl and the candle appearedtogether.

‘father is not in our room, sir,’ shesaid, with a face of great surprise. ‘if you wouldn’t mind walkingin, i’ll find him directly.’ they walked in; and sissy, having set twochairs for them, sped away with a quick light step. it was a mean, shabbilyfurnished room, with a bed in it. the white night-cap, embellished withtwo peacock’s feathers and a pigtail bolt upright, in which signor jupehad that very afternoon enlivened the varied performances with hischaste shaksperean quips and retorts, hung upon a nail; but no other portionof his wardrobe, or other token of himself or his pursuits, was to beseen anywhere. as to

merrylegs, that respectable ancestor of thehighly trained animal who went aboard the ark, might have been accidentallyshut out of it, for any sign of a dog that was manifest to eye orear in the pegasus’s arms. they heard the doors of rooms above, openingand shutting as sissy went from one to another in quest of her father;and presently they heard voices expressing surprise. she came boundingdown again in a great hurry, opened a battered and mangy old hairtrunk, found it empty, and looked round with her hands clasped and herface full of terror. ‘father must have gone down to the booth,sir. i don’t know why he

should go there, but he must be there; i’llbring him in a minute!’ she was gone directly, without her bonnet; withher long, dark, childish hair streaming behind her. ‘what does she mean!’ said mr. gradgrind.‘back in a minute? it’s more than a mile off.’ before mr. bounderby could reply, a youngman appeared at the door, and introducing himself with the words, ‘byyour leaves, gentlemen!’ walked in with his hands in his pockets. his face,close-shaven, thin, and sallow, was shaded by a great quantity ofdark hair, brushed into a roll

all round his head, and parted up the centre.his legs were very robust, but shorter than legs of good proportionsshould have been. his chest and back were as much too broad, as his legswere too short. he was dressed in a newmarket coat and tight-fittingtrousers; wore a shawl round his neck; smelt of lamp-oil, straw,orange-peel, horses’ provender, and sawdust; and looked a most remarkablesort of centaur, compounded of the stable and the play-house. where the onebegan, and the other ended, nobody could have told with any precision.this gentleman was mentioned in the bills of the day as mr. e. w. b. childers,so justly celebrated

for his daring vaulting act as the wild huntsmanof the north american prairies; in which popular performance, adiminutive boy with an old face, who now accompanied him, assisted ashis infant son: being carried upside down over his father’s shoulder,by one foot, and held by the crown of his head, heels upwards, in the palmof his father’s hand, according to the violent paternal manner inwhich wild huntsmen may be observed to fondle their offspring. made upwith curls, wreaths, wings, white bismuth, and carmine, this hopeful youngperson soared into so pleasing a cupid as to constitute the chiefdelight of the maternal part

of the spectators; but in private, where hischaracteristics were a precocious cutaway coat and an extremely gruffvoice, he became of the turf, turfy. ‘by your leaves, gentlemen,’ said mr.e. w. b. childers, glancing round the room. ‘it was you, i believe, that werewishing to see jupe!’ ‘it was,’ said mr. gradgrind. ‘his daughterhas gone to fetch him, but i can’t wait; therefore, if you please, iwill leave a message for him with ‘you see, my friend,’ mr. bounderby putin, ‘we are the kind of people who know the value of time, and you are thekind of people who don’t know

the value of time.’ ‘i have not,’ retorted mr. childers, aftersurveying him from head to foot, ‘the honour of knowing _you_,—butif you mean that you can make more money of your time than i can of mine,i should judge from your appearance, that you are about right.’ ‘and when you have made it, you can keepit too, i should think,’ said cupid. ‘kidderminster, stow that!’ said mr. childers.(master kidderminster was cupid’s mortal name.)

‘what does he come here cheeking us for,then?’ cried master kidderminster, showing a very irascible temperament.‘if you want to cheek us, pay your ochre at the doors andtake it out.’ ‘kidderminster,’ said mr. childers, raisinghis voice, ‘stow that!—sir,’ to mr. gradgrind, ‘i was addressing myselfto you. you may or you may not be aware (for perhaps you have not beenmuch in the audience), that jupe has missed his tip very often, lately.’ ‘has—what has he missed?’ asked mr.gradgrind, glancing at the potent bounderby for assistance.

‘missed his tip.’ ‘offered at the garters four times lastnight, and never done ’em once,’ said master kidderminster. ‘missed his tipat the banners, too, and was loose in his ponging.’ ‘didn’t do what he ought to do. was shortin his leaps and bad in his tumbling,’ mr. childers interpreted. ‘oh!’ said mr. gradgrind, ‘that is tip,is it?’ ‘in a general way that’s missing his tip,’mr. e. w. b. childers answered.

‘nine oils, merrylegs, missing tips, garters,banners, and ponging, eh!’ ejaculated bounderby, with his laugh of laughs.‘queer sort of company, too, for a man who has raised himself!’ ‘lower yourself, then,’ retorted cupid.‘oh lord! if you’ve raised yourself so high as all that comes to, letyourself down a bit.’ ‘this is a very obtrusive lad!’ said mr.gradgrind, turning, and knitting his brows on him. ‘we’d have had a young gentleman to meetyou, if we had known you were coming,’ retorted master kidderminster,nothing abashed. ‘it’s a pity

you don’t have a bespeak, being so particular.you’re on the tight-jeff, ain’t you?’ ‘what does this unmannerly boy mean,’asked mr. gradgrind, eyeing him in a sort of desperation, ‘by tight-jeff?’ ‘there! get out, get out!’ said mr. childers,thrusting his young friend from the room, rather in the prairie manner.‘tight-jeff or slack-jeff, it don’t much signify: it’s only tight-ropeand slack-rope. you were going to give me a message for jupe?’ ‘yes, i was.’

‘then,’ continued mr. childers, quickly,‘my opinion is, he will never receive it. do you know much of him?’ ‘i never saw the man in my life.’ ‘i doubt if you ever _will_ see him now.it’s pretty plain to me, he’s off.’ ‘do you mean that he has deserted his daughter?’ ‘ay! i mean,’ said mr. childers, witha nod, ‘that he has cut. he was goosed last night, he was goosed the nightbefore last, he was goosed to-day. he has lately got in the way of beingalways goosed, and he

can’t stand it.’ ‘why has he been—so very much—goosed?’asked mr. gradgrind, forcing the word out of himself, with great solemnityand reluctance. ‘his joints are turning stiff, and he isgetting used up,’ said childers. ‘he has his points as a cackler still, buthe can’t get a living out of _them_.’ ‘a cackler!’ bounderby repeated. ‘herewe go again!’ ‘a speaker, if the gentleman likes it better,’said mr. e. w. b. childers, superciliously throwing the interpretationover his shoulder,

and accompanying it with a shake of his longhair—which all shook at once. ‘now, it’s a remarkable fact, sir,that it cut that man deeper, to know that his daughter knew of his being goosed,than to go through with it.’ ‘good!’ interrupted mr. bounderby. ‘thisis good, gradgrind! a man so fond of his daughter, that he runs away fromher! this is devilish good! ha! ha! now, i’ll tell you what, young man.i haven’t always occupied my present station of life. i know what thesethings are. you may be astonished to hear it, but my mother—ranaway from _me_.’

e. w. b. childers replied pointedly, thathe was not at all astonished to hear it. ‘very well,’ said bounderby. ‘i wasborn in a ditch, and my mother ran away from me. do i excuse her for it? no.have i ever excused her for it? not i. what do i call her for it? i callher probably the very worst woman that ever lived in the world,except my drunken grandmother. there’s no family pride about me, there’sno imaginative sentimental humbug about me. i call a spade a spade; andi call the mother of josiah bounderby of coketown, without any fear orany favour, what i should call

her if she had been the mother of dick jonesof wapping. so, with this man. he is a runaway rogue and a vagabond,that’s what he is, in english.’ ‘it’s all the same to me what he is orwhat he is not, whether in english or whether in french,’ retorted mr. e. w.b. childers, facing about. ‘i am telling your friend what’s the fact;if you don’t like to hear it, you can avail yourself of the open air. you giveit mouth enough, you do; but give it mouth in your own building atleast,’ remonstrated e. w. b. with stern irony. ‘don’t give it mouthin this building, till you’re

called upon. you have got some building ofyour own i dare say, now?’ ‘perhaps so,’ replied mr. bounderby, rattlinghis money and laughing. ‘then give it mouth in your own building,will you, if you please?’ said childers. ‘because this isn’t a strongbuilding, and too much of you might bring it down!’ eyeing mr. bounderby from head to foot again,he turned from him, as from a man finally disposed of, to mr. gradgrind. ‘jupe sent his daughter out on an errandnot an hour ago, and then was seen to slip out himself, with his hat overhis eyes, and a bundle tied

up in a handkerchief under his arm. she willnever believe it of him, but he has cut away and left her.’ ‘pray,’ said mr. gradgrind, ‘why willshe never believe it of him?’ ‘because those two were one. because theywere never asunder. because, up to this time, he seemed to dote upon her,’said childers, taking a step or two to look into the empty trunk.both mr. childers and master kidderminster walked in a curious manner;with their legs wider apart than the general run of men, and with a veryknowing assumption of being stiff in the knees. this walk was common toall the male members of

sleary’s company, and was understood toexpress, that they were always on horseback. ‘poor sissy! he had better have apprenticedher,’ said childers, giving his hair another shake, as he looked up fromthe empty box. ‘now, he leaves her without anything to take to.’ ‘it is creditable to you, who have neverbeen apprenticed, to express that opinion,’ returned mr. gradgrind, approvingly. ‘_i_ never apprenticed? i was apprenticedwhen i was seven year old.’ ‘oh! indeed?’ said mr. gradgrind, ratherresentfully, as having been

defrauded of his good opinion. ‘i was notaware of its being the custom to apprentice young persons to—’ ‘idleness,’ mr. bounderby put in witha loud laugh. ‘no, by the lord harry! nor i!’ ‘her father always had it in his head,’resumed childers, feigning unconsciousness of mr. bounderby’s existence,‘that she was to be taught the deuce-and-all of education. how it gotinto his head, i can’t say; i can only say that it never got out. he hasbeen picking up a bit of reading for her, here—and a bit of writingfor her, there—and a bit of

ciphering for her, somewhere else—theseseven years.’ mr. e. w. b. childers took one of his handsout of his pockets, stroked his face and chin, and looked, with a gooddeal of doubt and a little hope, at mr. gradgrind. from the first hehad sought to conciliate that gentleman, for the sake of the deserted girl. ‘when sissy got into the school here,’he pursued, ‘her father was as pleased as punch. i couldn’t altogethermake out why, myself, as we were not stationary here, being but comers andgoers anywhere. i suppose, however, he had this move in his mind—hewas always half-cracked—and then

considered her provided for. if you shouldhappen to have looked in to-night, for the purpose of telling him thatyou were going to do her any little service,’ said mr. childers,stroking his face again, and repeating his look, ‘it would be very fortunateand well-timed; very fortunate and well-timed.’ ‘on the contrary,’ returned mr. gradgrind.‘i came to tell him that her connections made her not an object for theschool, and that she must not attend any more. still, if her father reallyhas left her, without any connivance on her part—bounderby, let mehave a word with you.’

upon this, mr. childers politely betook himself,with his equestrian walk, to the landing outside the door, andthere stood stroking his face, and softly whistling. while thus engaged,he overheard such phrases in mr. bounderby’s voice as ‘no. _i_ sayno. i advise you not. i say by no means.’ while, from mr. gradgrind, heheard in his much lower tone the words, ‘but even as an example to louisa,of what this pursuit which has been the subject of a vulgar curiosity,leads to and ends in. think of it, bounderby, in that point of view.’ meanwhile, the various members of sleary’scompany gradually gathered

together from the upper regions, where theywere quartered, and, from standing about, talking in low voices to oneanother and to mr. childers, gradually insinuated themselves and him intothe room. there were two or three handsome young women among them, withtheir two or three husbands, and their two or three mothers, and theireight or nine little children, who did the fairy business when required.the father of one of the families was in the habit of balancing thefather of another of the families on the top of a great pole; the fatherof a third family often made a pyramid of both those fathers, withmaster kidderminster for the

apex, and himself for the base; all the fatherscould dance upon rolling casks, stand upon bottles, catch knives andballs, twirl hand-basins, ride upon anything, jump over everything,and stick at nothing. all the mothers could (and did) dance, upon the slackwire and the tight-rope, and perform rapid acts on bare-backed steeds;none of them were at all particular in respect of showing their legs;and one of them, alone in a greek chariot, drove six in hand into everytown they came to. they all assumed to be mighty rakish and knowing, theywere not very tidy in their private dresses, they were not at all orderlyin their domestic

arrangements, and the combined literatureof the whole company would have produced but a poor letter on any subject.yet there was a remarkable gentleness and childishness about these people,a special inaptitude for any kind of sharp practice, and an untiringreadiness to help and pity one another, deserving often of as much respect,and always of as much generous construction, as the every-day virtuesof any class of people in the world. last of all appeared mr. sleary: a stout manas already mentioned, with one fixed eye, and one loose eye, a voice(if it can be called so) like

the efforts of a broken old pair of bellows,a flabby surface, and a muddled head which was never sober and neverdrunk. ‘thquire!’ said mr. sleary, who was troubledwith asthma, and whose breath came far too thick and heavy for theletter s, ‘your thervant! thith ith a bad piethe of bithnith, thithith. you’ve heard of my clown and hith dog being thuppothed to have morrithed?’ he addressed mr. gradgrind, who answered ‘yes.’ ‘well, thquire,’ he returned, taking offhis hat, and rubbing the lining with his pocket-handkerchief, which he keptinside for the purpose. ‘ith

it your intenthion to do anything for thepoor girl, thquire?’ ‘i shall have something to propose to herwhen she comes back,’ said mr. gradgrind. ‘glad to hear it, thquire. not that i wantto get rid of the child, any more than i want to thtand in her way. i’mwilling to take her prentith, though at her age ith late. my voithe itha little huthky, thquire, and not eathy heard by them ath don’t know me;but if you’d been chilled and heated, heated and chilled, chilled and heatedin the ring when you wath young, ath often ath i have been, _your_ voithewouldn’t have lathted

out, thquire, no more than mine.’ ‘i dare say not,’ said mr. gradgrind. ‘what thall it be, thquire, while you wait?thall it be therry? give it a name, thquire!’ said mr. sleary, withhospitable ease. ‘nothing for me, i thank you,’ said mr.gradgrind. ‘don’t thay nothing, thquire. what dothyour friend thay? if you haven’t took your feed yet, have a glathof bitterth.’ here his daughter josephine—a pretty fair-hairedgirl of eighteen, who had been tied on a horse at two years old,and had made a will at twelve,

which she always carried about with her, expressiveof her dying desire to be drawn to the grave by the two piebaldponies—cried, ‘father, hush! she has come back!’ then came sissy jupe,running into the room as she had run out of it. and when she saw them allassembled, and saw their looks, and saw no father there, she brokeinto a most deplorable cry, and took refuge on the bosom of the most accomplishedtight-rope lady (herself in the family-way), who knelt downon the floor to nurse her, and to weep over her. ‘ith an internal thame, upon my thoul itith,’ said sleary.

‘o my dear father, my good kind father,where are you gone? you are gone to try to do me some good, i know! you aregone away for my sake, i am sure! and how miserable and helpless you willbe without me, poor, poor father, until you come back!’ it was sopathetic to hear her saying many things of this kind, with her face turnedupward, and her arms stretched out as if she were trying to stop his departingshadow and embrace it, that no one spoke a word until mr. bounderby(growing impatient) took the case in hand. ‘now, good people all,’ said he, ‘thisis wanton waste of time. let the

girl understand the fact. let her take itfrom me, if you like, who have been run away from, myself. here, what’syour name! your father has absconded—deserted you—and you mustn’texpect to see him again as long as you live.’ they cared so little for plain fact, thesepeople, and were in that advanced state of degeneracy on the subject,that instead of being impressed by the speaker’s strong commonsense, they took it in extraordinary dudgeon. the men muttered ‘shame!’and the women ‘brute!’ and sleary, in some haste, communicated thefollowing hint, apart to mr.

bounderby. ‘i tell you what, thquire. to thpeak plainto you, my opinion ith that you had better cut it thort, and drop it.they’re a very good natur’d people, my people, but they’re accuthtomedto be quick in their movementh; and if you don’t act upon myadvithe, i’m damned if i don’t believe they’ll pith you out o’ winder.’ mr. bounderby being restrained by this mildsuggestion, mr. gradgrind found an opening for his eminently practicalexposition of the subject. ‘it is of no moment,’ said he, ‘whetherthis person is to be expected

back at any time, or the contrary. he is goneaway, and there is no present expectation of his return. that, ibelieve, is agreed on all hands.’ ‘thath agreed, thquire. thick to that!’from sleary. ‘well then. i, who came here to inform thefather of the poor girl, jupe, that she could not be received at theschool any more, in consequence of there being practical objections,into which i need not enter, to the reception there of the childrenof persons so employed, am prepared in these altered circumstances tomake a proposal. i am willing

to take charge of you, jupe, and to educateyou, and provide for you. the only condition (over and above your goodbehaviour) i make is, that you decide now, at once, whether to accompanyme or remain here. also, that if you accompany me now, it is understoodthat you communicate no more with any of your friends who are herepresent. these observations comprise the whole of the case.’ ‘at the thame time,’ said sleary, ‘imutht put in my word, thquire, tho that both thides of the banner may be equallytheen. if you like, thethilia, to be prentitht, you know the naturof the work and you know

your companionth. emma gordon, in whothe lapyou’re a lying at prethent, would be a mother to you, and joth’phinewould be a thithter to you. i don’t pretend to be of the angel breed myself,and i don’t thay but what, when you mith’d your tip, you’d find mecut up rough, and thwear an oath or two at you. but what i thay, thquire, ith,that good tempered or bad tempered, i never did a horthe a injury yet,no more than thwearing at him went, and that i don’t expect i thallbegin otherwithe at my time of life, with a rider. i never wath much of acackler, thquire, and i have thed my thay.’

the latter part of this speech was addressedto mr. gradgrind, who received it with a grave inclination of hishead, and then remarked: ‘the only observation i will make to you,jupe, in the way of influencing your decision, is, that it is highly desirableto have a sound practical education, and that even your father himself(from what i understand) appears, on your behalf, to have known andfelt that much.’ the last words had a visible effect upon her.she stopped in her wild crying, a little detached herself from emmagordon, and turned her face full upon her patron. the whole company perceivedthe force of the

change, and drew a long breath together, thatplainly said, ‘she will go!’ ‘be sure you know your own mind, jupe,’mr. gradgrind cautioned her; ‘i say no more. be sure you know your own mind!’ ‘when father comes back,’ cried the girl,bursting into tears again after a minute’s silence, ‘how will he everfind me if i go away!’ ‘you may be quite at ease,’ said mr. gradgrind,calmly; he worked out the whole matter like a sum: ‘you may be quiteat ease, jupe, on that score. in such a case, your father, i apprehend,must find out mr.—’

‘thleary. thath my name, thquire. not athamedof it. known all over england, and alwayth paythe ith way.’ ‘must find out mr. sleary, who would thenlet him know where you went. i should have no power of keeping you againsthis wish, and he would have no difficulty, at any time, in finding mr.thomas gradgrind of coketown. i am well known.’ ‘well known,’ assented mr. sleary, rollinghis loose eye. ‘you’re one of the thort, thquire, that keepth a prethiouththight of money out of the houthe. but never mind that at prethent.’

there was another silence; and then she exclaimed,sobbing with her hands before her face, ‘oh, give me my clothes,give me my clothes, and let me go away before i break my heart!’ the women sadly bestirred themselves to getthe clothes together—it was soon done, for they were not many—and topack them in a basket which had often travelled with them. sissy sat all thetime upon the ground, still sobbing, and covering her eyes. mr. gradgrindand his friend bounderby stood near the door, ready to take her away.mr. sleary stood in the middle of the room, with the male membersof the company about him,

exactly as he would have stood in the centreof the ring during his daughter josephine’s performance. he wantednothing but his whip. the basket packed in silence, they broughther bonnet to her, and smoothed her disordered hair, and put it on.then they pressed about her, and bent over her in very natural attitudes,kissing and embracing her: and brought the children to take leaveof her; and were a tender-hearted, simple, foolish set of womenaltogether. ‘now, jupe,’ said mr. gradgrind. ‘ifyou are quite determined, come!’ but she had to take her farewell of the malepart of the company yet, and

every one of them had to unfold his arms (forthey all assumed the professional attitude when they found themselvesnear sleary), and give her a parting kiss—master kidderminsterexcepted, in whose young nature there was an original flavour of the misanthrope,who was also known to have harboured matrimonial views, and whomoodily withdrew. mr. sleary was reserved until the last. opening his armswide he took her by both her hands, and would have sprung her up anddown, after the riding-master manner of congratulating young ladies on theirdismounting from a rapid act; but there was no rebound in sissy, andshe only stood before him

crying. ‘good-bye, my dear!’ said sleary. ‘you’llmake your fortun, i hope, and none of our poor folkth will ever troubleyou, i’ll pound it. i with your father hadn’t taken hith dog with him;ith a ill-conwenienth to have the dog out of the billth. but on thecondthoughth, he wouldn’t have performed without hith mathter, tho ith athbroad ath ith long!’ with that he regarded her attentively withhis fixed eye, surveyed his company with his loose one, kissed her, shookhis head, and handed her to mr. gradgrind as to a horse.

‘there the ith, thquire,’ he said, sweepingher with a professional glance as if she were being adjusted in herseat, ‘and the’ll do you juthtithe. good-bye, thethilia!’ ‘good-bye, cecilia!’ ‘good-bye, sissy!’‘god bless you, dear!’ in a variety of voices from all the room. but the riding-master eye had observed thebottle of the nine oils in her bosom, and he now interposed with ‘leavethe bottle, my dear; ith large to carry; it will be of no uthe to you now.give it to me!’ ‘no, no!’ she said, in another burst oftears. ‘oh, no! pray let me

keep it for father till he comes back! hewill want it when he comes back. he had never thought of going away,when he sent me for it. i must keep it for him, if you please!’ ‘tho be it, my dear. (you thee how it ith,thquire!) farewell, thethilia! my latht wordth to you ith thith,thtick to the termth of your engagement, be obedient to the thquire,and forget uth. but if, when you’re grown up and married and welloff, you come upon any horthe-riding ever, don’t be hard upon it,don’t be croth with it, give it a bethpeak if you can, and think you mightdo wurth. people mutht be

amuthed, thquire, thomehow,’ continued sleary,rendered more pursy than ever, by so much talking; ‘they can’tbe alwayth a working, nor yet they can’t be alwayth a learning. make the bethtof uth; not the wurtht. i’ve got my living out of the horthe-ridingall my life, i know; but i conthider that i lay down the philothophyof the thubject when i thay to you, thquire, make the betht of uth: not thewurtht!’ the sleary philosophy was propounded as theywent downstairs and the fixed eye of philosophy—and its rollingeye, too—soon lost the three figures and the basket in the darkness ofthe street.

end of section 3recording by rosalind wills section 4 of hard timesby charles dickens recording by joseph ugoretz section 4chapter vii and viii chapter viimrs. sparsit mr. bounderby being a bachelor, an elderlylady presided over his establishment, in consideration of a certainannual stipend. mrs. sparsit was this lady’s name; and she wasa prominent figure in attendance on mr. bounderby’s car, as itrolled along in triumph with the

bully of humility inside. for, mrs. sparsit had not only seen differentdays, but was highly connected. she had a great aunt living inthese very times called lady scadgers. mr. sparsit, deceased, of whom shewas the relict, had been by the mother’s side what mrs. sparsit stillcalled ‘a powler.’ strangers of limited information and dull apprehensionwere sometimes observed not to know what a powler was, and even to appearuncertain whether it might be a business, or a political party, or aprofession of faith. the better class of minds, however, did not needto be informed that the

powlers were an ancient stock, who could tracethemselves so exceedingly far back that it was not surprising if theysometimes lost themselves—which they had rather frequentlydone, as respected horse-flesh, blind-hookey, hebrew monetarytransactions, and the insolvent debtors’ court. the late mr. sparsit, being by the mother’sside a powler, married this lady, being by the father’s side a scadgers.lady scadgers (an immensely fat old woman, with an inordinate appetitefor butcher’s meat, and a mysterious leg which had now refused to getout of bed for fourteen

years) contrived the marriage, at a periodwhen sparsit was just of age, and chiefly noticeable for a slender body,weakly supported on two long slim props, and surmounted by no head worthmentioning. he inherited a fair fortune from his uncle, but owed it allbefore he came into it, and spent it twice over immediately afterwards.thus, when he died, at twenty-four (the scene of his decease, calais,and the cause, brandy), he did not leave his widow, from whom he hadbeen separated soon after the honeymoon, in affluent circumstances. thatbereaved lady, fifteen years older than he, fell presently at deadly feudwith her only relative, lady

scadgers; and, partly to spite her ladyship,and partly to maintain herself, went out at a salary. and here shewas now, in her elderly days, with the coriolanian style of nose andthe dense black eyebrows which had captivated sparsit, making mr. bounderby’stea as he took his breakfast. if bounderby had been a conqueror, and mrs.sparsit a captive princess whom he took about as a feature in his state-processions,he could not have made a greater flourish with her thanhe habitually did. just as it belonged to his boastfulness to depreciatehis own extraction, so it

belonged to it to exalt mrs. sparsit’s.in the measure that he would not allow his own youth to have been attendedby a single favourable circumstance, he brightened mrs. sparsit’sjuvenile career with every possible advantage, and showered waggon-loadsof early roses all over that lady’s path. ‘and yet, sir,’ hewould say, ‘how does it turn out after all? why here she is at a hundred ayear (i give her a hundred, which she is pleased to term handsome), keepingthe house of josiah bounderby of coketown!’ nay, he made this foil of his so very widelyknown, that third parties

took it up, and handled it on some occasionswith considerable briskness. it was one of the most exasperating attributesof bounderby, that he not only sang his own praises but stimulated othermen to sing them. there was a moral infection of clap-trap in him.strangers, modest enough elsewhere, started up at dinners in coketown,and boasted, in quite a rampant way, of bounderby. they made him outto be the royal arms, the union-jack, magna charta, john bull, habeascorpus, the bill of rights, an englishman’s house is his castle, churchand state, and god save the queen, all put together. and as often (andit was very often) as an

orator of this kind brought into his peroration, ‘princes and lords may flourish or may fade,a breath can make them, as a breath has made,’ —it was, for certain, more or less understoodamong the company that he had heard of mrs. sparsit. ‘mr. bounderby,’ said mrs. sparsit, ‘youare unusually slow, sir, with your breakfast this morning.’ ‘why, ma’am,’ he returned, ‘i am thinkingabout tom gradgrind’s whim;’ tom gradgrind, for a bluff independent mannerof speaking—as if somebody were always endeavouring to bribe him withimmense sums to say thomas,

and he wouldn’t; ‘tom gradgrind’s whim,ma’am, of bringing up the tumbling-girl.’ ‘the girl is now waiting to know,’ saidmrs. sparsit, ‘whether she is to go straight to the school, or up to the lodge.’ ‘she must wait, ma’am,’ answered bounderby,‘till i know myself. we shall have tom gradgrind down here presently,i suppose. if he should wish her to remain here a day or two longer,of course she can, ma’am.’ ‘of course she can if you wish it, mr. bounderby.’ ‘i told him i would give her a shake-downhere, last night, in order that

he might sleep on it before he decided tolet her have any association with louisa.’ ‘indeed, mr. bounderby? very thoughtfulof you!’ mrs. sparsit’s coriolanian nose underwent a slight expansionof the nostrils, and her black eyebrows contracted as she took a sipof tea. ‘it’s tolerably clear to _me_,’ saidbounderby, ‘that the little puss can get small good out of such companionship.’ ‘are you speaking of young miss gradgrind,mr. bounderby?’ ‘yes, ma’am, i’m speaking of louisa.’

‘your observation being limited to “littlepuss,”’ said mrs. sparsit, ‘and there being two little girls in question,i did not know which might be indicated by that expression.’ ‘louisa,’ repeated mr. bounderby. ‘louisa,louisa.’ ‘you are quite another father to louisa,sir.’ mrs. sparsit took a little more tea; and, as she bent her againcontracted eyebrows over her steaming cup, rather looked as if her classicalcountenance were invoking the infernal gods. ‘if you had said i was another father totom—young tom, i mean, not my

friend tom gradgrind—you might have beennearer the mark. i am going to take young tom into my office. going to havehim under my wing, ma’am.’ ‘indeed? rather young for that, is he not,sir?’ mrs. spirit’s ‘sir,’ in addressing mr. bounderby, was a word ofceremony, rather exacting consideration for herself in the use, thanhonouring him. ‘i’m not going to take him at once; heis to finish his educational cramming before then,’ said bounderby. ‘bythe lord harry, he’ll have enough of it, first and last! he’d openhis eyes, that boy would, if he knew how empty of learning _my_ young mawwas, at his time of life.’

which, by the by, he probably did know, forhe had heard of it often enough. ‘but it’s extraordinary the difficultyi have on scores of such subjects, in speaking to any one on equalterms. here, for example, i have been speaking to you this morning abouttumblers. why, what do _you_ know about tumblers? at the time when,to have been a tumbler in the mud of the streets, would have been agodsend to me, a prize in the lottery to me, you were at the italian opera.you were coming out of the italian opera, ma’am, in white satin andjewels, a blaze of splendour, when i hadn’t a penny to buy a link to lightyou.’

‘i certainly, sir,’ returned mrs. sparsit,with a dignity serenely mournful, ‘was familiar with the italianopera at a very early age.’ ‘egad, ma’am, so was i,’ said bounderby,‘—with the wrong side of it. a hard bed the pavement of its arcade used tomake, i assure you. people like you, ma’am, accustomed from infancyto lie on down feathers, have no idea _how_ hard a paving-stone is, withouttrying it. no, no, it’s of no use my talking to _you_ about tumblers. ishould speak of foreign dancers, and the west end of london, and mayfair, and lords and ladies and honourables.’

‘i trust, sir,’ rejoined mrs. sparsit,with decent resignation, ‘it is not necessary that you should do anythingof that kind. i hope i have learnt how to accommodate myself to the changesof life. if i have acquired an interest in hearing of your instructiveexperiences, and can scarcely hear enough of them, i claim no meritfor that, since i believe it is a general sentiment.’ ‘well, ma’am,’ said her patron, ‘perhapssome people may be pleased to say that they do like to hear, in his ownunpolished way, what josiah bounderby, of coketown, has gone through.but you must confess that you

were born in the lap of luxury, yourself.come, ma’am, you know you were born in the lap of luxury.’ ‘i do not, sir,’ returned mrs. sparsitwith a shake of her head, ‘deny mr. bounderby was obliged to get up from table,and stand with his back to the fire, looking at her; she was suchan enhancement of his position. ‘and you were in crack society. devilishhigh society,’ he said, warming his legs. ‘it is true, sir,’ returned mrs. sparsit,with an affectation of humility the very opposite of his, and therefore inno danger of jostling it.

‘you were in the tiptop fashion, and allthe rest of it,’ said mr. ‘yes, sir,’ returned mrs. sparsit, witha kind of social widowhood upon her. ‘it is unquestionably true.’ mr. bounderby, bending himself at the knees,literally embraced his legs in his great satisfaction and laughed aloud.mr. and miss gradgrind being then announced, he received the formerwith a shake of the hand, and the latter with a kiss. ‘can jupe be sent here, bounderby?’ askedmr. gradgrind. certainly. so jupe was sent there. on comingin, she curtseyed to mr.

bounderby, and to his friend tom gradgrind,and also to louisa; but in her confusion unluckily omitted mrs. sparsit.observing this, the blustrous bounderby had the following remarksto make: ‘now, i tell you what, my girl. the nameof that lady by the teapot, is mrs. sparsit. that lady acts as mistress ofthis house, and she is a highly connected lady. consequently, if everyou come again into any room in this house, you will make a shortstay in it if you don’t behave towards that lady in your most respectfulmanner. now, i don’t care a button what you do to _me_, because i don’taffect to be anybody. so far

from having high connections i have no connectionsat all, and i come of the scum of the earth. but towards that lady,i do care what you do; and you shall do what is deferential and respectful,or you shall not come here.’ ‘i hope, bounderby,’ said mr. gradgrind,in a conciliatory voice, ‘that this was merely an oversight.’ ‘my friend tom gradgrind suggests, mrs.sparsit,’ said bounderby, ‘that this was merely an oversight. very likely.however, as you are aware, ma’am, i don’t allow of even oversightstowards you.’

‘you are very good indeed, sir,’ returnedmrs. sparsit, shaking her head with her state humility. ‘it is not worthspeaking of.’ sissy, who all this time had been faintlyexcusing herself with tears in her eyes, was now waved over by the masterof the house to mr. gradgrind. she stood looking intently at him, and louisastood coldly by, with her eyes upon the ground, while he proceeded thus: ‘jupe, i have made up my mind to take youinto my house; and, when you are not in attendance at the school, to employyou about mrs. gradgrind, who is rather an invalid. i have explainedto miss louisa—this is miss

louisa—the miserable but natural end ofyour late career; and you are to expressly understand that the whole of thatsubject is past, and is not to be referred to any more. from this timeyou begin your history. you are, at present, ignorant, i know.’ ‘yes, sir, very,’ she answered, curtseying. ‘i shall have the satisfaction of causingyou to be strictly educated; and you will be a living proof to all whocome into communication with you, of the advantages of the training youwill receive. you will be reclaimed and formed. you have been in thehabit now of reading to your

father, and those people i found you among,i dare say?’ said mr. gradgrind, beckoning her nearer to him beforehe said so, and dropping his voice. ‘only to father and merrylegs, sir. at leasti mean to father, when merrylegs was always there.’ ‘never mind merrylegs, jupe,’ said mr.gradgrind, with a passing frown. ‘i don’t ask about him. i understand youto have been in the habit of reading to your father?’ ‘o, yes, sir, thousands of times. they werethe happiest—o, of all the

happy times we had together, sir!’ it was only now when her sorrow broke out,that louisa looked at her. ‘and what,’ asked mr. gradgrind, in astill lower voice, ‘did you read to your father, jupe?’ ‘about the fairies, sir, and the dwarf,and the hunchback, and the genies,’ she sobbed out; ‘and about—’ ‘hush!’ said mr. gradgrind, ‘that isenough. never breathe a word of such destructive nonsense any more. bounderby,this is a case for rigid training, and i shall observe it with interest.’

‘well,’ returned mr. bounderby, ‘i havegiven you my opinion already, and i shouldn’t do as you do. but, very well,very well. since you are bent upon it, _very_ well!’ so, mr. gradgrind and his daughter took ceciliajupe off with them to stone lodge, and on the way louisa never spokeone word, good or bad. and mr. bounderby went about his daily pursuits.and mrs. sparsit got behind her eyebrows and meditated in the gloomof that retreat, all the evening. chapter viiinever wonder

let us strike the key-note again, before pursuingthe tune. when she was half a dozen years younger, louisahad been overheard to begin a conversation with her brother oneday, by saying ‘tom, i wonder’—upon which mr. gradgrind, whowas the person overhearing, stepped forth into the light and said, ‘louisa,never wonder!’ herein lay the spring of the mechanical artand mystery of educating the reason without stooping to the cultivationof the sentiments and affections. never wonder. by means of addition,subtraction, multiplication, and division, settle everythingsomehow, and never

wonder. bring to me, says m’choakumchild,yonder baby just able to walk, and i will engage that it shall never wonder. now, besides very many babies just able towalk, there happened to be in coketown a considerable population of babieswho had been walking against time towards the infinite world, twenty, thirty,forty, fifty years and more. these portentous infants being alarmingcreatures to stalk about in any human society, the eighteen denominationsincessantly scratched one another’s faces and pulled one another’shair by way of agreeing on the steps to be taken for their improvement—whichthey never did; a

surprising circumstance, when the happy adaptationof the means to the end is considered. still, although they differedin every other particular, conceivable and inconceivable(especially inconceivable), they were pretty well united on the pointthat these unlucky infants were never to wonder. body number one, said theymust take everything on trust. body number two, said they must takeeverything on political economy. body number three, wrote leaden littlebooks for them, showing how the good grown-up baby invariably gotto the savings-bank, and the bad grown-up baby invariably got transported.body number four, under

dreary pretences of being droll (when it wasvery melancholy indeed), made the shallowest pretences of concealingpitfalls of knowledge, into which it was the duty of these babies to besmuggled and inveigled. but, all the bodies agreed that they were neverto wonder. there was a library in coketown, to whichgeneral access was easy. mr. gradgrind greatly tormented his mind aboutwhat the people read in this library: a point whereon little rivers oftabular statements periodically flowed into the howling ocean of tabular statements,which no diver ever got to any depth in and came up sane. it wasa disheartening

circumstance, but a melancholy fact, thateven these readers persisted in wondering. they wondered about human nature,human passions, human hopes and fears, the struggles, triumphs and defeats,the cares and joys and sorrows, the lives and deaths of common menand women! they sometimes, after fifteen hours’ work, sat down to readmere fables about men and women, more or less like themselves, and aboutchildren, more or less like their own. they took de foe to theirbosoms, instead of euclid, and seemed to be on the whole more comforted bygoldsmith than by cocker. mr. gradgrind was for ever working, in printand out of print, at this

eccentric sum, and he never could make outhow it yielded this unaccountable product. ‘i am sick of my life, loo. i, hate it altogether,and i hate everybody except you,’ said the unnatural young thomasgradgrind in the hair-cutting chamber at twilight. ‘you don’t hate sissy, tom?’ ‘i hate to be obliged to call her jupe.and she hates me,’ said tom, moodily. ‘no, she does not, tom, i am sure!’

‘she must,’ said tom. ‘she must justhate and detest the whole set-out of us. they’ll bother her head off, i think,before they have done with her. already she’s getting as pale as wax,and as heavy as—i am.’ young thomas expressed these sentiments sittingastride of a chair before the fire, with his arms on the back, and hissulky face on his arms. his sister sat in the darker corner by the fireside,now looking at him, now looking at the bright sparks as they droppedupon the hearth. ‘as to me,’ said tom, tumbling his hairall manner of ways with his sulky hands, ‘i am a donkey, that’s what _i_am. i am as obstinate as one, i

am more stupid than one, i get as much pleasureas one, and i should like to kick like one.’ ‘not me, i hope, tom?’ ‘no, loo; i wouldn’t hurt _you_. i madean exception of you at first. i don’t know what this—jolly old—jaundicedjail,’ tom had paused to find a sufficiently complimentary and expressivename for the parental roof, and seemed to relieve his mind for a moment bythe strong alliteration of this one, ‘would be without you.’ ‘indeed, tom? do you really and truly sayso?’

‘why, of course i do. what’s the use oftalking about it!’ returned tom, chafing his face on his coat-sleeve, as ifto mortify his flesh, and have it in unison with his spirit. ‘because, tom,’ said his sister, aftersilently watching the sparks awhile, ‘as i get older, and nearer growingup, i often sit wondering here, and think how unfortunate it is forme that i can’t reconcile you to home better than i am able to do. i don’tknow what other girls know. i can’t play to you, or sing to you. i can’ttalk to you so as to lighten your mind, for i never see any amusingsights or read any amusing

books that it would be a pleasure or a reliefto you to talk about, when you are tired.’ ‘well, no more do i. i am as bad as youin that respect; and i am a mule too, which you’re not. if father was determinedto make me either a prig or a mule, and i am not a prig, why, it standsto reason, i must be a mule. and so i am,’ said tom, desperately. ‘it’s a great pity,’ said louisa, afteranother pause, and speaking thoughtfully out of her dark corner: ‘it’sa great pity, tom. it’s very unfortunate for both of us.’

‘oh! you,’ said tom; ‘you are a girl,loo, and a girl comes out of it better than a boy does. i don’t miss anythingin you. you are the only pleasure i have—you can brighten even thisplace—and you can always lead me as you like.’ ‘you are a dear brother, tom; and whileyou think i can do such things, i don’t so much mind knowing better. thoughi do know better, tom, and am very sorry for it.’ she came and kissedhim, and went back into her corner again. ‘i wish i could collect all the facts wehear so much about,’ said tom,

spitefully setting his teeth, ‘and all thefigures, and all the people who found them out: and i wish i could puta thousand barrels of gunpowder under them, and blow them all uptogether! however, when i go to live with old bounderby, i’ll have myrevenge.’ ‘your revenge, tom?’ ‘i mean, i’ll enjoy myself a little, andgo about and see something, and hear something. i’ll recompense myself forthe way in which i have been brought up.’ ‘but don’t disappoint yourself beforehand,tom. mr. bounderby thinks as

father thinks, and is a great deal rougher,and not half so kind.’ ‘oh!’ said tom, laughing; ‘i don’tmind that. i shall very well know how to manage and smooth old bounderby!’ their shadows were defined upon the wall,but those of the high presses in the room were all blended together on thewall and on the ceiling, as if the brother and sister were overhung bya dark cavern. or, a fanciful imagination—if such treason could have beenthere—might have made it out to be the shadow of their subject, and ofits lowering association with their future.

‘what is your great mode of smoothing andmanaging, tom? is it a secret?’ ‘oh!’ said tom, ‘if it is a secret,it’s not far off. it’s you. you are his little pet, you are his favourite; he’lldo anything for you. when he says to me what i don’t like, i shallsay to him, “my sister loo will be hurt and disappointed, mr. bounderby. shealways used to tell me she was sure you would be easier with me thanthis.” that’ll bring him about, or nothing will.’ after waiting for some answering remark, andgetting none, tom wearily

relapsed into the present time, and twinedhimself yawning round and about the rails of his chair, and rumpledhis head more and more, until he suddenly looked up, and asked: ‘have you gone to sleep, loo?’ ‘no, tom. i am looking at the fire.’ ‘you seem to find more to look at in itthan ever i could find,’ said tom. ‘another of the advantages, i suppose,of being a girl.’ ‘tom,’ enquired his sister, slowly, andin a curious tone, as if she were reading what she asked in the fire, and itwas not quite plainly written

there, ‘do you look forward with any satisfactionto this change to mr. bounderby’s?’ ‘why, there’s one thing to be said ofit,’ returned tom, pushing his chair from him, and standing up; ‘it willbe getting away from home.’ ‘there is one thing to be said of it,’louisa repeated in her former curious tone; ‘it will be getting away fromhome. yes.’ ‘not but what i shall be very unwilling,both to leave you, loo, and to leave you here. but i must go, you know, whetheri like it or not; and i had better go where i can take with me someadvantage of your influence,

than where i should lose it altogether. don’tyou see?’ ‘yes, tom.’ the answer was so long in coming, though therewas no indecision in it, that tom went and leaned on the back of herchair, to contemplate the fire which so engrossed her, from her pointof view, and see what he could make of it. ‘except that it is a fire,’ said tom,‘it looks to me as stupid and blank as everything else looks. what do you seein it? not a circus?’ ‘i don’t see anything in it, tom, particularly.but since i have been

looking at it, i have been wondering aboutyou and me, grown up.’ ‘wondering again!’ said tom. ‘i have such unmanageable thoughts,’ returnedhis sister, ‘that they _will_ wonder.’ ‘then i beg of you, louisa,’ said mrs.gradgrind, who had opened the door without being heard, ‘to do nothing of thatdescription, for goodness’ sake, you inconsiderate girl, or i shall neverhear the last of it from your father. and, thomas, it is really shameful,with my poor head continually wearing me out, that a boy broughtup as you have been, and

whose education has cost what yours has, shouldbe found encouraging his sister to wonder, when he knows his fatherhas expressly said that she is not to do it.’ louisa denied tom’s participation in theoffence; but her mother stopped her with the conclusive answer, ‘louisa,don’t tell me, in my state of health; for unless you had been encouraged,it is morally and physically impossible that you could have done it.’ ‘i was encouraged by nothing, mother, butby looking at the red sparks dropping out of the fire, and whitening anddying. it made me think,

after all, how short my life would be, andhow little i could hope to do in it.’ ‘nonsense!’ said mrs. gradgrind, renderedalmost energetic. ‘nonsense! don’t stand there and tell me such stuff,louisa, to my face, when you know very well that if it was ever to reachyour father’s ears i should never hear the last of it. after all the troublethat has been taken with you! after the lectures you have attended,and the experiments you have seen! after i have heard you myself,when the whole of my right side has been benumbed, going on with yourmaster about combustion, and

calcination, and calorification, and i maysay every kind of ation that could drive a poor invalid distracted, tohear you talking in this absurd way about sparks and ashes! i wish,’ whimperedmrs. gradgrind, taking a chair, and discharging her strongest pointbefore succumbing under these mere shadows of facts, ‘yes, i really _do_wish that i had never had a family, and then you would have known whatit was to do without me!’ end of chapter viiiend of section 4