Todgers'

"Todgers'" is a lesser-known work by Charles Dickens that explores the bustling life of 19th-century London, centering around a fictional tavern and the diverse characters who frequent it. Through vivid storytelling and keen social commentary, Dickens delves into themes of poverty, class, and the human condition, showcasing his signature blend of humor and pathos. The narrative captures the lively atmosphere of the era while highlighting the struggles and triumphs of everyday people, making it a rich reflection of Victorian society.

• Children

								
THIS is the story of a visit made by Mr. Pecksniff, a very pompous man,
and his two daughters Miss Mercy and Miss Charity, to the boarding-house
kept by Mrs. Todgers, in London; and a call while there on Miss Pinch, a
governess or young lady teaching in a rich family.

Mr. Pecksniff with his two beautiful young daughters looked about him
for a moment, and then knocked at the door of a very dingy building,
even among the choice collection of dingy houses around, on the front of
which was a little oval board, like a tea-tray, with this
inscription--"Commercial Boarding-house: M. Todgers."

It seemed that M. Todgers was not up yet, for Mr. Pecksniff knocked
twice and rang three times without making any impression on anything but
a dog over the way. At last a chain and some bolts were withdrawn with a
rusty noise, and a small boy with a large red head, and no nose to speak
of, and a very dirty boot on his left arm, appeared; who (being
surprised) rubbed the nose just mentioned with the back of a
shoe-brush, and said nothing.

"Still abed, my man?" asked Mr. Pecksniff.

"Still abed!" replied the boy. "I wish they was still abed. They're very
noisy abed; all calling for their boots at once. I thought you was the
paper, and wondered why you didn't shove yourself through the grating as
usual. What do you want?"

Considering his years, which were tender, the youth may be said to have
asked this question sternly, and in something of a defiant manner. But
Mr. Pecksniff, without taking offense at his bearing, put a card in his
hand, and bade him take that up-stairs, and show them in the meanwhile
into a room where there was a fire.

Surely there never was, in any other borough, city, or hamlet, in the
world, such a singular sort of a place as Todgers'. And surely London,
to judge from that part of it which hemmed Todgers' round, and hustled
it, and crushed it, and stuck its brick-and-mortar elbows into it, and
kept the air from it, and stood perpetually between it and the light,
was worthy of Todgers'.

There were more trucks near Todgers' than you would suppose a whole city
could ever need; not trucks at work but a vagabond race, forever
lounging in the narrow lanes before their masters' doors and stopping up
the pass; so that when a stray hackney-coach or lumbering wagon came
that way, they were the cause of such an uproar as enlivened the whole
neighborhood, and made the very bells in the next church-tower ring
again. In the narrow dark streets near Todgers', wine-merchants and
wholesale dealers in grocery-ware had perfect little towns of their own;
and, deep among the very foundations of these buildings, the ground was
undermined and burrowed out into stables, where cart-horses, troubled by
rats, might be heard on a quiet Sunday, rattling their halters, as
disturbed spirits in tales of haunted houses are said to clank their
chains.

To tell of half the queer old taverns that had a drowsy and secret
existence near Todgers' would fill a goodly book; while a second volume
no less in size might be given to an account of the quaint old guests
who frequented their dimly-lighted parlors.

The top of the house was worthy of notice. There was a sort of terrace
on the roof, with posts and fragments of rotten lines, once intended to
dry clothes upon; and there were two or three tea-chests out there, full
of earth, with forgotten plants in them, like old walking-sticks.
Whoever climbed to this observatory was stunned at first from having
knocked his head against the little door in coming out; and, after that,
was for the moment choked from having looked, perforce, straight down
the kitchen chimney; but these two stages over, there were things to
gaze at from the top of Todgers', well worth your seeing, too. For,
first and foremost, if the day were bright, you observed upon the
house-tops, stretching far away, a long dark path--the shadow of the
tall Monument which stands in memory of the great fire in London many
years before: and turning round, the Monument itself was close beside
you, with every hair erect upon his golden head, as if the doings of the
city frightened him. Then there were steeples, towers, belfries, shining
vanes and masts of ships, a very forest. Gables, house-tops,
garret-windows, wilderness upon wilderness. Smoke and noise enough for
all the world at once.

After the first glance, there were slight features in the midst of this
crowd of objects, which sprung out from the mass without any reason, as
it were, and took hold of the attention whether the spectator would or
no. Thus, the revolving chimney-pots on one great stack of buildings
seemed to be turning gravely to each other every now and then, and
whispering the result of their separate observation of what was going on
below. Others, of a crooked-back shape, appeared to be maliciously
holding themselves askew, that they might shut the prospect out and
baffle Todgers'. The man who was mending a pen at an upper window over
the way became of vast importance in the scene, and made a blank in it,
ridiculously large in its size, when he went away. The fluttering of a
piece of cloth upon the dyer's pole had far more interest for the moment
than all the changing motion of the crowd. Yet even while the looker-on
felt angry with himself for this, and wondered how it was the tumult
swelled into a roar; the hosts of objects seemed to thicken and expand a
hundredfold; and after gazing round him, quite scared, he turned into
Todgers' again, much more rapidly than he came out; and ten to one he
told M. Todgers afterwards that if he hadn't done so, he would certainly
have come into the street by the shortest cut: that is to say,
head-foremost.

So said the two Miss Pecksniffs, when they came down with Mrs. Todgers
from the roof of the house; leaving the youthful porter to close the
door and follow them down-stairs: who being of a playful temperament,
and contemplating with a delight peculiar to his sex and time of life
any chance of dashing himself into small fragments, lingered behind to
walk upon the wall around the roof.

It was the second day of their stay in London, and by this time the
Misses Pecksniff and Mrs. Todgers were becoming very friendly, insomuch
that the last-named lady had already told the story of three early
disappointments in love; and had furthermore given her young friends a
general account of the life, conduct, and character of Mr. Todgers: who,
it seemed, had cut his life as a husband rather short, by unlawfully
running away from his happiness, and staying for a time in foreign
countries as a bachelor.

"Your pa was once a little particular in his attentions, my dears," said
Mrs. Todgers, "but to be your ma was too much happiness denied me. You'd
hardly know who this was done for, perhaps?"

She called their attention to an oval miniature, like a little blister,
which was tacked up over the kettle-holder, and in which there was a
dreamy shadowing forth of her own visage.

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