except that part of it which would
be shut in); with its troubles and disturbances only known to them by
hearsay, as they would be described by the pilgrims tarrying with them
on their way to the Insolvent Shrine; with the Arbour above, and the
Lodge below; they would glide down the stream of time, in pastoral
domestic happiness. Young John drew tears from his eyes by finishing the
picture with a tombstone in the adjoining churchyard, close against the
prison wall, bearing the following touching inscription: 'Sacred to
the Memory Of JOHN CHIVERY, Sixty years Turnkey, and fifty years
Head Turnkey, Of the neighbouring Marshalsea, Who departed this life,
universally respected, on the thirty-first of December, One thousand
eight hundred and eighty-six, Aged eighty-three years. Also of his truly
beloved and truly loving wife, AMY, whose maiden name was DORRIT, Who
survived his loss not quite forty-eight hours, And who breathed her last
in the Marshalsea aforesaid. There she was born, There she lived, There
she died.'

The Chivery parents were not ignorant of their son's attachment--indeed
it had, on some exceptional occasions, thrown him into a state of mind
that had impelled him to conduct himself with irascibility towards the
customers, and damage the business--but they, in their turns, had worked
it out to desirable conclusions. Mrs Chivery, a prudent woman, had
desired her husband to take notice that their john's prospects of the
Lock would certainly be strengthened by an alliance with Miss Dorrit,
who had herself a kind of claim upon the College and was much respected
there. Mrs Chivery had desired her husband to take notice that if, on
the one hand, their John had means and a post of trust, on the other
hand, Miss Dorrit had family; and that her (Mrs Chivery's) sentiment
was, that two halves made a whole. Mrs Chivery, speaking as a mother and
not as a diplomatist, had then, from a different point of view, desired
her husband to recollect that their John had never been strong, and
that his love had fretted and worrited him enough as it was, without
his being driven to do himself a mischief, as nobody couldn't say
he wouldn't be if he was crossed. These arguments had so powerfully
influenced the mind of Mr Chivery, who was a man of few words, that he
had on sundry Sunday mornings, given his boy what he termed 'a lucky
touch,' signifying that he considered such commendation of him to Good
Fortune, preparatory to his that