#Mr. Micawber

[incorrectclassicbookquotes]

Mr. Wickfield standing in front of a broken coffee machine: Who broke it? I'm not mad I just want to know.

Agnes Wickfield: I did. I broke it.

Mr. Wickfield: No, no you didn't. Uriah?

Uriah Heep: Don't look at me. Look at Mr. Copperfield.

David Copperfield: What? I didn't break it.

Uriah Heep: Huh, that's weird. How'd you even know it was broken?

David Copperfield: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken.

Uriah Heep: Suspicious.

David Copperfield: No it's not.

Mr. Micawber: If it matters, probably not, but Dora was the last one to use it.

Dora Spenlow: Liar! I don't even drink that crap!

Mr. Micawber: Oh really, then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier?

Dora Spenlow: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles! Everyone knows that, Mr. Micawber!

Agnes Wickfield: Ok, let's not fight. I broke it. Let me pay for it.

Mr. Wickfield: No! Who broke it?

David Copperfield: Mr. Wickfield, Tommy's been awfully quiet.

Tommy Traddles: Really?!

*Everyone starts fighting*

Mr. Wickfield in another room: I broke it. It burned my hand so I punched it. I predict ten minutes from now they'll be at each others throats with war paint on their faces and a pig head on a stick. Good, it was getting a little chummy around here.

[mxcottonsocks]

David Copperfield Chapter 52:

I wonder if Uriah ever did realise just how little David had to do with it...

[nerds-yearbook]

The first appearance of Crossbones, but only in the shadows, was in Captain America 359, coverdate of October, 1989. Crossbones was created by Mark Gruenwald and Kieron Dweyer. ("Wheel of Death", Captain America 359, Marvel Comic Event)

[the-busy-ghost]

I love my old Scotland rugby top, but there's no denying that this shirt was designed to be worn with a certain amount of late 1970s chest hair and maybe some sideburns, and that's just not a look I'm capable of pulling off

[irishmansdaughter]

Mr. Micawber's

[severe-intense-gaze]

My Roman Empire is the fact that David Copperfield is semi-autobiographical about Dickens’s own early life, Mr. And Mrs. Micawber are based on his parents and Herbert Pocket from GE on his eldest son. The most hilarious part is when Matthew and Belinda Pocket have the exact same housekeeping style as David and Dora Copperfield and that Herbert Pocket idolises Pip the same way as Mrs. Micawber idolises her heavily indebted husband. Lmao Charles Dickens your family sure has a impressive lineage.

Btw I wonder if Charles Dickens also randomly pulls his hair like Matthew Pocket

[aneurinallday]

The Tragedy of James Steerforth

Chapter V: The Uninvited Guest

The second appearance of James Steerforth took place on a sunny afternoon, a few hours after the wedding of David Copperfield and Agnes Wickfield. The reception was held beneath colourful marquees on a large green lawn, with tables overflowing with food and drinks, and games of battledore and shuttlecock, and kites flying in the blue sky. The Wickfields and Micawbers and Trotwoods were there, along with other friends and acquaintances, and the Peggottys had made the journey up from Yarmouth to be in attendance.

During Mr Wickfield’s speech, David soaked in the happy faces of the crowd, unable to quite believe that such joy could belong to him - that he, David Copperfield, could be the centre of such a celebration. He made eye contact with Ham Peggotty, who beamed at him. Then Ham’s gaze moved past David’s shoulder, and his smile vanished, and his face darkened. David followed the direction of his stare, and what he saw made his heart sink.

James Steerforth was standing at the front of the crowd, cutting a striking figure in three shades of blue, his silver-headed cane in hand, a ruby ring gleaming on his finger. He appeared to be engrossed by the speech, but David knew he wasn’t really listening; he’d deliberately positioned himself so that Ham would see him.

“Oh God,” David muttered.

“What is it, Davy?” Agnes whispered. “You look bothered.”

“Oh, nothing.”

David swivelled back to look at Ham, but Ham had already turned away. He put one arm around Mrs Peggotty and the other arm around Mr Peggotty, and shepherded them to the other side of the lawn.

At the conclusion of Mr Wickfield’s speech, Steerforth clapped with exaggerated enthusiasm, drawing bemused glances from those nearby. He then headed straight for the wedding cake which David and Agnes had  cut earlier, and helped himself to a big slice.

David’s instinct was to confront him, but he decided against it. He knew that Steerforth had come here as a deliberate provocation. Confronting him would only give him the attention that he craved.

Agnes, happily oblivious to the intrusion, kissed David on the cheek and hurried to speak to her father. Seeing that David was now alone, Ham left his aunt and uncle occupied with a pair of rackets and a shuttlecock, and stalked over to the groom.

“Hello, Ham,” David tried to summon a smile, “Is…is something wrong?”

“I don’t know what you were thinking,” said Ham without preamble, “Why would you think this was a good idea? After everything he did, why would you put him and us in the same place?”

“Ham, I swear I didn’t know he was coming. Please don’t think I’m that inconsiderate.”

“You didn’t invite him?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Oh.” Ham rubbed his face. “Sorry, Davy, I didn’t mean to snap at you. Especially not today of all days. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I understand. Please try to ignore him - try to enjoy the party.”

“I’ll try. It’s just…him being here…”

He glanced over at Steerforth, who was standing

“I know. But look, he’s not causing any trouble. He’s probably hoping to goad us. If we don’t acknowledge him, he’ll get bored and go away.”

“He’d better.” Ham returned to his family’s side.

David resumed mingling with his guests, but his eyes kept darting uneasily to Steerforth, fearing what he might do. The gate-crasher was wandering around the tables of refreshments, judging what was on display, seemingly unbothered by the consternation he was causing. As David watched, Steerforth picked up half a boiled egg, sniffed the garnish, and popped it in his mouth.

“There you are!” Betsey Trotwood appeared in front of David, her pale form disappearing into the frills of her extravagant dress. “My little nephew. My little Trot. When I look back on your boyhood self, all timid and scabby-kneed, I never thought I’d see the day…”

“Neither did I, Aunt Betsey.”

“And with such a woman, too. You’re extremely lucky.”

“I am, Aunt Betsey.”

“In fact, I should go and tell her. I should make sure she knows how lucky you are. Goodbye, Trot.”

“Goodbye, Aunt Betsey.”

As she marched away, David glanced nervously at the petit fours table. Steerforth was going to town on the macaroons and mille-feuilles, as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

David’s route took him behind the central marquee, and Steerforth disappeared out of sight behind the gently flapping canvas. There, David became entangled in a chaotic game of croquet with a group of small children, from which it was impossible to extricate himself for several minutes.

When he emerged from the other side, he was alarmed to see Steerforth standing at the drinks table, downing shots of brandy. The alcohol disappeared down his throat at alarming speed, and David felt the knot of anxiety in his stomach grow bigger. The last thing he needed was for his uninvited guest to become intoxicated. Immediately, he made a beeline for Steerforth, hoping to distract him.

Catching sight of his approach, Steerforth grinned, and opened his arms wide for an embrace.

“Daisy! My darling!”

David’s skin crawled, but a couple of guests were glancing in their direction. He couldn’t refuse Steerforth’s hug without it being noticed and remarked upon. Unwillingly, he put his arms around Steerforth, who squeezed him tight. The smell of his expensive perfume made David feel slightly sick.

“My dearest Daisy,” Steerforth said in his ear. “How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you,” said David curtly. “What brings you here?”

“Visiting my old friend, of course! I was very sorry to the miss the wedding ceremony. I had some trouble finding the church - it was so small I didn’t see it.”

“Well, you never were good at paying attention.”

The hug had gone on for uncomfortably long. Finally Steerforth released him, and took a step back to size him up.

“You look lovely, Daisy. Not as lovely as your bride, obviously, but - ”

“Why are you here, James?” David interrupted, “Did you come to cause trouble?”

“Of course not! I’m here to celebrate the union of my good friend Daisy and his beloved Agatha!”

“Her name is Agnes.”

“Of course. Agnes Wickfield. I remember.” Steerforth tapped the side of his head knowingly. “I remember everything. Not a thing passes me by. By the way, those vol-au-vents were incredible. Did you bake them yourself or did you finally manage to afford a cook?”

“James, please. I don’t want any trouble. This is my wedding day.”

“I know. That’s why I came.”

David took a deep breath, and did his best to sound firm.

“Please don’t take offence, but I think you should leave. I’m grateful to see you in good health and good spirits, but you’ve out-stayed your welcome.”

“Oh, come on, Daisy. Are you really going to throw me out in front of all these people?”

“I should.”

“But you won’t. Because people would notice.” Steerforth’s face changed. He took a step closer, glaring up at David. “Do you want that, Daisy? Do you want me to make a scene? Your wife’s family and friends are all here, and she’s waited so long for this special day. You wouldn’t ruin it for her, would you?”

“No,” said David reluctantly.

“Good. It would be an inauspicious start to what I’m sure will be a very long, very happy marriage.”

“It will be happy,” David concurred. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Steerforth reached towards a bottle of wine.

“Listen,” David said quickly, “It’s hot out here. Why don’t we walk over there, where it’s shady?”

“That sounds delightful.”

Steerforth grabbed another shot of brandy and downed it before being ushered away. Together, they began to wander across the lawn. The sun was shining, and Steerforth was visibly sweating.

“I’m hot. Hold this for me, will you, dear?” he held out his cane. David took it by the thin shaft, reluctant to touch the handle. “Smile. People are going to think you’re unhappy.”

David forced his mouth to smile.

“You’re insufferable,” he said through gritted teeth.

“And yet here you stand, suffering me, when we all know the sensible thing to do would be to punch my lights out.” Steerforth removed his jacket, slung it over his arm, and retrieved his cane. His white shirt was crisp and fragrant. “Thank you kindly, Daisy.”

“Please stop calling me that. Just ‘David’ or ‘Davy’ is fine.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that? You’ll always be ‘Daisy’ to me, Daisy.”

They continued walking. Steerforth looked around at the assembled guests. “I spotted the Peggottys earlier, but I don’t see Emily. Where is she?”

“Gone,” said David flatly, “Her father took her to Australia, to start a new life. She didn’t want to live in England any more.”

“Ah. What a shame. I would’ve liked to see her again.”

“Why? So you could admire your handiwork?”

“No. So I could apologise to her.”

“I’ve seen what your ‘apologies’ are like, James. Listen, I’m going to ask you one more time to leave. Before your presence starts to upset my wife.”

“Ah, look!” Steerforth suddenly exclaimed. “Speak of the devil!”

Agnes was walking towards them. She looked resplendent in a white gown with a touch of lace at her hem, her black curls fluttering in the breeze. Her expression, however, was of stone.

As they drew near, Steerforth lifted his cane in greeting.

“Augusta! How wonderful to see you!”

“Agnes,” she corrected him.

“You look absolutely radiant. Daisy, how on earth did you manage to woo this angel?”

Agnes smiled, but her voice carried a sharp edge.

“Do excuse the lack of an invitation, Mr Steerforth. We didn’t think you’d be interested in attending, so we thought it best to leave your name off the guest list. I hope you don’t think we omitted you out of…unfriendliness.”

“The thought never crossed my mind,” Steerforth said, “How could there possibly be any unfriendliness between us? Daisy adores me. Absolutely adores me.”

He smiled a mocking smile at David. Agnes cleared her throat to draw his attention back to her.

“So what brings you here today, Mr Steerforth, if not an invitation?”

“Well, a friend of a friend had told me about the wedding, you see. And I was in the area, so I thought I’d swing by. I couldn’t miss an opportunity to see my dear old Daisy.”

“I see. Were you on your way to Highgate?”

“Oh, I don’t live at Highgate any more. My mother and I…well, I’ve flown the nest.”

“Ah.”

“Anyway, I’d best go. It’s been a pleasure, but I have lots of important things to do. Would you hold my cane again, young Daisy, so I can get dressed?”

David obliged silently. Steerforth donned his jacket with a flourish.

“Good day, Daisy. Good day, Miss Wickfield - oh, forgive me, I mean Mrs Copperfield. You’ve exchanged a respectable name for…well, for no name whatsoever.”

“Go home, James,” said Agnes.

For a second, Steerforth looked annoyed. Perhaps he was unaccustomed to being called ‘James’ by anyone but his mother. Then he recovered, grinned, and bowed in farewell.

“Goodbye, my dears. Thank you for the food. I wish you a joyous day and a rapturous night!”

The newlyweds bowed their heads stiffly, and watched as Steerforth strutted away. Once he’d gone a safe distance, David breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank God. I was terrified he would cause some disruption.”

“Why on earth would he come here?”

“To be a nuisance. Why else?”

At the edge of the lawn, Steerforth paused, looked back, and waved cheerfully. They returned the gesture.

“I can’t understand that man,” said Agnes, still waving, “Has he nothing better to do with his time than crash parties and bother people?”

“I blame his mother. From the moment he was born, she spoiled him rotten.”

“True. The blame isn’t all hers, though. He’s old enough to know how to behave, regardless of how he was raised.”

“Then perhaps it’s simply in his nature to cause mischief. But please, let’s not talk about him right now. This day belongs to us. He doesn’t deserve our attention.”

“You’re right.” Agnes leaned up to kiss him.

Holding hands, they walked between the marquees - greeting their guests, basking in the sun, and sampling the refreshments. They laughed with their friends and flew kites with old Mr Micawber. Soon the warm breeze and the taste of Agnes’ kisses had washed away all thoughts of the unsavoury encounter, and he was no longer thinking of James Steerforth or of storm-lashed seas, but of how good it felt to stand close to the woman he loved, listening to her voice and breathing in the fragrance of her hair.

The chapter had closed on David Copperfield, the lonely orphan, and opened anew on David Copperfield, the happy writer; and he prayed it was a tale in which James Steerforth would play no role.

Chapter VI: Downfall

[ms-m-astrologer]

2023 Sagittarius Crescent Moon

Wednesday, October 18, 13:48 UT, 9°55’ Sagittarius

The key phrase for the Crescent lunar phase is “gather and mobilize resources” needed to support our intentions.

All the lunar phases through November feature disharmonious aspects from Venus. During these several weeks, she’s always semi-square the Sun, and receiving a variety of challenging aspects from the Moon.

By themselves, these aren’t the most fraught aspects in astrology - they may encourage our laziness, petulance, &/or manipulative tendencies - but (1) over time, those qualities (even by themselves) can cause trouble; and (2) when combined with something more dire, can trigger bigger problems.

I wrote in my weekly forecast about “faith in ourselves and the future being the most important resource of all.” That is Sagittarius’ great strength (think Mr. Micawber from Dicken’s classic David Copperfield). Except this time, Venus/Virgo is nagging, criticizing, perpetually finding perpetual fault. The tension encourages us to give up, because things can/will never be as perfect as we want them to be.

Instead - find some kind of a small improvement project. Figure out what you can do, and commit to doing it. Your natal houses holding 10° Sagittarius (Moon) and 10° Virgo (Venus) will show you good places to look for where a little effort would go a long way.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“DICKENS FELLOWSHIP CELEBRATES ANNIVERSARY OF AUTHOR'S BIRTH,” Toronto Globe. February 10, 1933. Page 9.  ---- Characters from the immortal works of Charles Dickens came into being last night in Jarvis Street Collegiate, when the Dickens Fellowship, Toronto Branch, No. 32, celebrated the 121st anniversary of the author's birth with a special program. Some of the costumed folk are pictured above by The Globe photographer. At the left are Misses Jean and Betty Kirkness, as Two Ladies from Mrs. Jarley's Waxworks, with Mr. Micawber, ably characterized by A. J. Rostance. In the centre are L. R. Hopper, as Whistle from the Pickwick Papers, and Miss Vera Butcher, as a Shepherdess. At the right are a trio from Dombey and Son, H. M. Newton, as a Showman; little Miss Dorothy Martin, as Florence Dombey; and Mrs. Agnes Martin, as Nurse Pickard with Little Paul.

[dnickels]

where can I get a Mrs. Micawber wife. There's a woman demurely embroidering on a RIDE OR DIE antimacassar

[laughingblue12]

What in the Dickens?

Life is full of crazy characters with silly sounding names. Pumblechook and Magwitch, Miss Pross and Jerry Cruncher, Sydney Carton. Little Nell and Dick Swiveller. Uriah Heep and Mr. Murdstone. Bill Sykes. Little Dorrit, Pip, and Tiny Tim. Bob Cratchit, Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge, Peggotty, and Oliver Twist. Wilkins Micawber. Sydney Carton quote; “I would ask you to believe that he has a heart he…

[incorrectclassicbookquotes]

Uriah Heep, trying to defend himself: All right, that's it! I've taken a lot of money in my time and sure, some of it wasn't technically "mine." In fact, most of it wasn't technically "mine." I've taken a bunch of Mr. Micawber's money, every single cent I could get my hands on.

Littimer, whispering: You're not helping your case.

[mxcottonsocks]

Mr Micawber: Copperfield! The friend of my youth!

David Copperfield: (just out of school)

Mr Micawber: (middle-aged)

Tommy Traddles: what the fuck...

[sharpened--edges]

I always thought there was one thing [Orwell] missed. It was the sporting spirit of really poor people. Because when you were as poor as people were then, you haven’t much to lose, you can’t fall very far. Life might turn up trumps, even if only in a small way, so you were rather like Mr Micawber; and he made a great tragedy of their lives, much greater than they would have made themselves of it. Poor people on the whole were very devil-may-care, and if they could afford a trip to Southend, they’d go. They didn’t take a tragic view of their lives at all.

Ruth Pitter, “‘Like a Cow with a Musket’ or ‘We Cruel Girls Laughed’,” in Orwell Remembered, edited by Audrey Coppard and Bernard Crick (Ariel, 1984), p. 73.

[fuzzysparrow]

Which classic novel begins "Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life..."?

“Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show” is the opening line of Charles Dickens’s 'David Copperfield' (1850). It was Dickens' eighth novel and is said to mirror his own life. To begin with, the protagonist's name has the same initials, although in reverse. His story follows a similar theme to Dickens’ boyhood penury to becoming a celebrated man of letters.

'David Copperfield' contains an eclectic mix of characters, including the housekeeper Peggotty, the debt-plagued Mr Micawber, the eccentric aunt Betsey Trotwood, the scatterbrained Mr Dick, and the sycophant Uriah Heep.

Dickens’ novel is one of great length, containing the story of the main character from birth to adulthood. The Penguin Classics edition contains 974 pages, some of which contain illustrations by Phiz, who produced images for most of Dickens’ works.