No More Learning

Now, "Old Charley Goodfellow," although he had been in Rattleborough
not longer than six months or thereabouts, and although nobody knew
any thing about him before he came to settle in the neighborhood, had
experienced no difficulty in the world in making the acquaintance of all
the respectable people in the borough. Not a man of them but would have
taken his bare word for a thousand at any moment; and as for the women,
there is no saying what they would not have done to oblige him. And all
this came of his having been christened Charles, and of his possessing,
in consequence, that ingenuous face which is proverbially the very "best
letter of recommendation. "

I have already said that Mr. Shuttleworthy was one of the most
respectable and, undoubtedly, he was the most wealthy man in
Rattleborough, while "Old Charley Goodfellow" was upon as intimate terms
with him as if he had been his own brother. The two old gentlemen were
next-door neighbours, and, although Mr. Shuttleworthy seldom, if ever,
visited "Old Charley," and never was known to take a meal in his house,
still this did not prevent the two friends from being exceedingly
intimate, as I have just observed; for "Old Charley" never let a day
pass without stepping in three or four times to see how his neighbour
came on, and very often he would stay to breakfast or tea, and almost
always to dinner, and then the amount of wine that was made way with by
the two cronies at a sitting, it would really be a difficult thing to
ascertain. "Old Charleys" favorite beverage was Chateau-Margaux, and
it appeared to do Mr. Shuttleworthy's heart good to see the old fellow
swallow it, as he did, quart after quart; so that, one day, when the
wine was in and the wit as a natural consequence, somewhat out, he said
to his crony, as he slapped him upon the back--"I tell you what it is,
'Old Charley,' you are, by all odds, the heartiest old fellow I ever
came across in all my born days; and, since you love to guzzle the wine
at that fashion, I'll be darned if I don't have to make thee a present
of a big box of the Chateau-Margaux. Od rot me,"--(Mr. Shuttleworthy had
a sad habit of swearing, although he seldom went beyond "Od rot me," or
"By gosh," or "By the jolly golly,")--"Od rot me," says he, "if I don't
send an order to town this very afternoon for a double box of the best
that can be got, and I'll make ye a present of it, I will! --ye needn't
say a word now--I will, I tell ye, and there's an end of it; so look out
for it--it will come to hand some of these fine days, precisely when ye
are looking for it the least! " I mention this little bit of liberality
on the part of Mr. Shuttleworthy, just by way of showing you how very
intimate an understanding existed between the two friends.

Well, on the Sunday morning in question, when it came to be fairly
understood that Mr.
Shuttleworthy had met with foul play, I never saw
any one so profoundly affected as "Old Charley Goodfellow. " When he
first heard that the horse had come home without his master, and without
his master's saddle-bags, and all bloody from a pistol-shot, that had
gone clean through and through the poor animal's chest without quite
killing him; when he heard all this, he turned as pale as if the missing
man had been his own dear brother or father, and shivered and shook all
over as if he had had a fit of the ague.

At first he was too much overpowered with grief to be able to do any
thing at all, or to concert upon any plan of action; so that for a long
time he endeavored to dissuade Mr. Shuttleworthy's other friends from
making a stir about the matter, thinking it best to wait awhile--say for
a week or two, or a month, or two--to see if something wouldn't turn up,
or if Mr. Shuttleworthy wouldn't come in the natural way, and explain
his reasons for sending his horse on before. I dare say you have often
observed this disposition to temporize, or to procrastinate, in people
who are labouring under any very poignant sorrow. Their powers of mind
seem to be rendered torpid, so that they have a horror of any thing like
action, and like nothing in the world so well as to lie quietly in bed
and "nurse their grief," as the old ladies express it--that is to say,
ruminate over the trouble.

The people of Rattleborough had, indeed, so high an opinion of the
wisdom and discretion of "Old Charley," that the greater part of them
felt disposed to agree with him, and not make a stir in the business
"until something should turn up," as the honest old gentleman worded
it; and I believe that, after all this would have been the general
determination, but for the very suspicious interference of Mr.
Shuttleworthy's nephew, a young man of very dissipated habits,
and otherwise of rather bad character. This nephew, whose name was
Pennifeather, would listen to nothing like reason in the matter of
"lying quiet," but insisted upon making immediate search for the "corpse
of the murdered man. "--This was the expression he employed; and Mr.
Goodfellow acutely remarked at the time, that it was "a singular
expression, to say no more. " This remark of 'Old Charley's,' too, had
great effect upon the crowd; and one of the party was heard to ask,
very impressively, "how it happened that young Mr. Pennifeather was so
intimately cognizant of all the circumstances connected with his wealthy
uncle's disappearance, as to feel authorized to assert, distinctly
and unequivocally, that his uncle was 'a murdered man. '" Hereupon some
little squibbing and bickering occurred among various members of
the crowd, and especially between "Old Charley" and Mr.
Pennifeather--although this latter occurrence was, indeed, by no means a
novelty, for no good will had subsisted between the parties for the
last three or four months; and matters had even gone so far that Mr.