“endeavoured to dissipate his melancholy by strolling among its ancient precincts. He had loitered about for some time, when he found himself in a retired spot—a kind of courtyard of venerable appearance—which he discovered had no other outlet than the turning by which he had entered. He was about retracing his steps, when he was suddenly transfixed to the spot by a sudden appearance; and the mode and manner of this appearance we now proceed to relate.
“Mr. Samuel Weller had been staring up at the old brick houses now and then, in his deep abstraction, bestowing a wink upon some healthy-looking servant girl as she drew up a blind, or threw open a bedroom window, when the green gate at the bottom of the yard opened, and a man having emerged therefrom, closed the green gate very carefully after him, and walked briskly towards the very spot where Mr. Weller was standing.”
This personage proved to be none other than Mr. Job Trotter, whose black hair and mulberry suit were at once recognised by Sam, though their owner did his best to evade detection:—
“As the green gate was closed behind him, and there was no other outlet but the one in front, however, he was not long in perceiving that he must pass Mr. Samuel Weller to get away. He therefore resumed his brisk pace, and advanced, staring straight before him. The most extraordinary thing about the man was, that he was contorting his face into the most fearful and astonishing grimaces that ever were beheld. Nature’s handiwork never was disguised with such extraordinary artificial carving, as the man had overlaid his countenance with in one moment.”
The Green Gate thus alluded to may yet be seen in a passage or court at the bottom of Angel Lane (leading to Back Street). It is the last garden gate in the churchyard, a short distance from Church Street. The same courtyard and gate will be remembered as the official entrance to the Residence of George Nupkins, Esq., the Worshipful Mayor of Ipswich, before whom the Pickwickian party were arraigned, in charge of the redoubtable chief constable of the town. We read in chapter 25 as follows:—
“Mr. Weller’s anger quickly gave way to curiosity when the procession turned down the identical courtyard in which he had met with the runaway Job Trotter; and curiosity was exchanged for a feeling of the most gleeful astonishment, when the all-important Mr. Grummer, commanding the sedan-bearers to halt, advanced with dignified and portentous steps to the very green gate from which Job Trotter had emerged, and gave a mighty pull at the bell-handle which hung at the side thereof. The ring was answered by a very smart and pretty-faced servant-girl, who, after holding up her hands in astonishment at the rebellious appearance of the prisoners, and the impassioned language of Mr. Pickwick, summoned Mr. Muzzle. Mr. Muzzle opened one-half of the carriage gate to admit the sedan, the captured ones, and the specials, and immediately slammed it in the faces of the mob. . . .
“At the foot of a flight of steps, leading to the house door, which was guarded on either side by an American aloe in a green tub, the sedan-chair stopped. Mr. Pickwick and his friends were conducted into the hall, whence, having been previously announced by Muzzle, and ordered in by Mr. Nupkins, they were ushered into the worshipful presence of that public-spirited officer.”
And we all recollect the resulting exposé of the designs of Mr. Alfred Jingle (alias Captain Fitzmarshall), and the return by Mr. Weller of “Job Trotter’s shuttlecock as heavily as it came.”
It should also be not forgotten that it was at this house Mr. Weller met with his lady-elect, Mary, the Pretty Housemaid (afterwards maid to Mrs. Winkle), and that here the first passage of first love occurred between them. For the pleasant narration of the episode, reference should be made to the conclusion of the foregoing chapter:—
“Now, there was nobody in the kitchen but the pretty housemaid; and as Sam’s hat was mislaid, he had to look for it, and the pretty housemaid lighted him. They had to look all over the place for the hat. The pretty housemaid, in her anxiety to find it, went down on her knees, and turned over all the things that were heaped together in a little corner by the door. It was an awkward corner. You couldn’t get at it without shutting the door first.
“‘Here it is,’ said the pretty housemaid. ‘This is it, ain’t it?’
“‘Let me look,’ said Sam.
“The pretty housemaid had stood the candle on the floor; as it gave a very dim light, Sam was obliged to go down on his knees before he could see whether it really was his own hat or not. It was a remarkably small corner, and so—it was nobody’s fault but the man’s who built the house—Sam and the pretty housemaid were necessarily very close together.
“‘Yes, this is it,’ said Sam. ‘Good-bye!’
“‘Good-bye!’ said the pretty housemaid.
“‘Good-bye!’ said Sam; and as he said it, he dropped the hat that had cost so much trouble in looking for.
“‘How awkward you are,’ said the pretty housemaid. ‘You’ll lose it again, if you don’t take care.’
“So, just to prevent his losing it again, she put it on for him.
“Whether it was that the pretty housemaid’s face looked prettier still, when it was raised towards Sam’s, or whether it was the accidental consequence of their being so near to each other, is matter of uncertainty to this day; but Sam kissed her.
“‘You don’t mean to say that you did that on purpose,’ said the pretty housemaid, blushing.
“‘No, I didn’t then,’ said Sam; ‘but I will now.’
“So he kissed her again.
“‘Sam!’ said Mr. Pickwick, calling over the banisters.
“‘Coming, sir,’ replied Sam, running upstairs.
“‘How long you have been!’ said Mr. Pickwick.
“‘There was something behind the door, sir, which perwented our getting it open, for ever so long, sir,’ replied Sam.”
Resuming the journey onwards by rail from Ipswich, the route is continued viâ Saxmundham Junction, Halesworth, and Beccles, to the South Town Station at Great Yarmouth, a well-known and favourite seaside resort, of much interest to the Dickensian Rambler, as being intimately associated with the personal history and experience of David Copperfield. Visitors are recommended, for reasons hereafter to be seen, to select as their place of sojourn either the “Star Hotel” on the Hall Quay, or the “Angel,” near the market-place. Any thoroughfare leading eastward from either of these will conduct to the Marine Parade, in full view of the German Ocean.
Towards the southern end of this sea frontage of the town, there may be localised the spot where once stood the Home of Little Emily, “a black barge or some other kind of superannuated boat, high and dry on the ground, with an iron funnel sticking out of it for a chimney. There was a delightful door cut in the side; it was roofed in, and there were little windows in it.”