Chapter 49

CHAPTER XLIX
CONTAINING THE STORY OF THE BAGMAN'S UNCLE

'My uncle, gentlemen,' said the bagman, 'was one of the
merriest, pleasantest, cleverest fellows, that ever lived. I wish
you had known him, gentlemen. On second thoughts, gentlemen,
I don't wish you had known him, for if you had, you would have
been all, by this time, in the ordinary course of nature, if not dead,
at all events so near it, as to have taken to stopping at home and
giving up company, which would have deprived me of the
inestimable pleasure of addressing you at this moment. Gentlemen,
I wish your fathers and mothers had known my uncle.
They would have been amazingly fond of him, especially your
respectable mothers; I know they would. If any two of his
numerous virtues predominated over the many that adorned his
character, I should say they were his mixed punch and his after-
supper song. Excuse my dwelling on these melancholy recollections
of departed worth; you won't see a man like my uncle
every day in the week.

'I have always considered it a great point in my uncle's
character, gentlemen, that he was the intimate friend and
companion of Tom Smart, of the great house of Bilson and Slum,
Cateaton Street, City. My uncle collected for Tiggin and Welps,
but for a long time he went pretty near the same journey as Tom;
and the very first night they met, my uncle took a fancy for Tom,
and Tom took a fancy for my uncle. They made a bet of a new
hat before they had known each other half an hour, who should
brew the best quart of punch and drink it the quickest. My uncle
was judged to have won the making, but Tom Smart beat him in
the drinking by about half a salt-spoonful. They took another
quart apiece to drink each other's health in, and were staunch
friends ever afterwards. There's a destiny in these things, gentlemen;
we can't help it.

'In personal appearance, my uncle was a trifle shorter than the
middle size; he was a thought stouter too, than the ordinary run
of people, and perhaps his face might be a shade redder. He had
the jolliest face you ever saw, gentleman: something like Punch,
with a handsome nose and chin; his eyes were always twinkling
and sparkling with good-humour; and a smile--not one of your
unmeaning wooden grins, but a real, merry, hearty, good-
tempered smile--was perpetually on his countenance. He was
pitched out of his gig once, and knocked, head first, against a
milestone. There he lay, stunned, and so cut about the face with
some gravel which had been heaped up alongside it, that, to use
my uncle's own strong expression, if his mother could have
revisited the earth, she wouldn't have known him. Indeed, when
I come to think of the matter, gentlemen, I feel pretty sure she