David Copperfield
parted, and I looked after him going so gallantly and airily
homeward, I thought of his saying, ‘Ride on over all obsta-
cles, and win the race!’ and wished, for the first time, that he
had some worthy race to run.
I was undressing in my own room, when Mr. Micawber’s
letter tumbled on the floor. Thus reminded of it, I broke the
seal and read as follows. It was dated an hour and a half be-
fore dinner. I am not sure whether I have mentioned that,
when Mr. Micawber was at any particularly desperate cri-
sis, he used a sort of legal phraseology, which he seemed to
think equivalent to winding up his affairs.
‘SIR - for I dare not say my dear Copperfield,
‘It is expedient that I should inform you that the under-
signed is Crushed. Some flickering efforts to spare you the
premature knowledge of his calamitous position, you may
observe in him this day; but hope has sunk beneath the ho-
rizon, and the undersigned is Crushed.
‘The present communication is penned within the per-
sonal range (I cannot call it the society) of an individual,
in a state closely bordering on intoxication, employed by a
broker. That individual is in legal possession of the prem-
ises, under a distress for rent. His inventory includes, not
only the chattels and effects of every description belonging
to the undersigned, as yearly tenant of this habitation, but
also those appertaining to Mr. Thomas Traddles, lodger, a
member of the Honourable Society of the Inner Temple.
‘If any drop of gloom were wanting in the overflowing
cup, which is now ‘commended’ (in the language of an im-
mortal Writer) to the lips of the undersigned, it would be