It has been remarked that Mr. Pecksniff was a moral man. So he was. Perhaps there never was a more moral man than Mr. Pecksniff, especially in his conversation and correspondence. It was once said of him by a homely admirer, that he had a Fortunatus’s purse of good sentiments in his inside. In this particular he was like the girl in the fairy tale, except that if they were not actual diamonds which fell from his lips, they were the very brightest paste, and shone prodigiously. He was a most exemplary man; fuller of virtuous precept than a copy book. Some people likened him to a direction-post, which is always telling the way to a place, and never goes there; but these were his enemies, the shadows cast by his brightness; that was all. His very throat was moral. You saw a good deal of it. You looked over a very low fence of white cravat (whereof no man had ever beheld the tie, for he fastened it behind), and there it lay, a valley between two jutting heights of collar, serene and whiskerless before you. It seemed to say, on the part of Mr. Pecksniff, “There is no deception, ladies and gentlemen, all is peace, a holy calm pervades me.” So did his hair, just grizzled with an iron-grey, which was all brushed off his forehead, and stood bolt upright, or slightly drooped in kindred action with his heavy eyelids. So did his person, which was sleek though free from corpulency. So did his manner, which was soft and oily. In a word, even his plain black suit, and state of widower, and dangling double eyeglass, all tended to the same purpose, and cried aloud, “Behold the moral Pecksniff!”
The brazen plate upon the door (which being Mr. Pecksniff’s could not lie) bore this inscription, “Pecksniff, Architect,” to which Mr. Pecksniff, on his cards of business, added, “and Land Surveyor.” In one sense, and only one, he may be said to have been a Land Surveyor on a pretty large scale, as an extensive prospect lay stretched out before the windows of his house. Of his architectural doings, nothing was clearly known, except that he had never designed or built anything; but it was generally understood that his knowledge of the science was almost awful in its profundity.
Mr. Pecksniff’s professional engagements, indeed, were almost, if not entirely, confined to the reception of pupils; for the collection of rents, with which pursuit he occasionally varied and relieved his graver toils, can hardly be said to be a strictly architectural employment. His genius lay in ensnaring parents and guardians, and pocketing premiums. A young gentleman’s premium being paid, and the young gentleman come to Mr. Pecksniff’s house, Mr. Pecksniff borrowed his case of mathematical instruments (if silver-mounted or otherwise valuable); entreated him, from that moment, to consider himself one of the family; complimented him highly on his parents or guardians, as the case might be; and turned him loose in a spacious room on the two-pair front; where, in the company of certain drawing-boards, parallel rulers, very stiff-legged compasses, and two, or perhaps three, other young gentlemen, he improved himself, for three or five years, according to his articles, in making elevations of Salisbury Cathedral from every possible point of sight; and in constructing in the air a vast quantity of Castles, Houses of Parliament, and other Public Buildings. Perhaps in no place in the world were so many gorgeous edifices of this class erected as under Mr. Pecksniff’s auspices; and if but one-twentieth part of the churches which were built in that front room, with one or other of the Miss Pecksniffs at the altar in the act of marrying the architect, could only be made available by the parliamentary commissioners, no more churches would be wanted for at least five centuries.
“Even the worldly goods of which we have just disposed,” said Mr. Pecksniff, glancing round the table when he had finished, “even cream, sugar, tea, toast, ham—”
“And eggs,” suggested Charity in a low voice.
“And eggs,” said Mr. Pecksniff, “even they have their moral. See how they come and go! Every pleasure is transitory. We can’t even eat, long. If we indulge in harmless fluids, we get the dropsy; if in exciting liquids, we get drunk. What a soothing reflection is that!”
“Don’t say we get drunk, pa,” urged the eldest Miss Pecksniff.
“When I say we, my dear,” returned her father, “I mean mankind in general; the human race, considered as a body, and not as individuals. There is nothing personal in morality, my love. Even such a thing as this,” said Mr. Pecksniff, laying the forefinger of his left hand upon the brown paper patch on the top of his head, “slight casual baldness though it be, reminds us that we are but”—he was going to say “worms,” but recollecting that worms were not remarkable for heads of hair, he substituted “flesh and blood.”
“Which,” cried Mr. Pecksniff after a pause, during which he seemed to have been casting about for a new moral, and not quite successfully, “which is also very soothing. Mercy, my dear, stir the fire and throw up the cinders.”
The young lady obeyed, and having done so, resumed her stool, reposed one arm upon her father’s knee, and laid her blooming cheek upon it. Miss Charity drew her chair nearer the fire, as one prepared for conversation, and looked towards her father.
“Yes,” said Mr. Pecksniff, after a short pause, during which he had been silently smiling, and shaking his head at the fire—“I have again been fortunate in the attainment of my object. A new inmate will very shortly come among us.”
“A youth, papa?” asked Charity.
“Ye‑es, a youth,” said Mr. Pecksniff. “He will avail himself of the eligible opportunity which now offers, for uniting the advantages of the best practical architectural education with the comforts of a home, and the constant association with some
