BLEAK HOUSE

SIXTY-ONE ILLUSTRATIONS BY FRED BARNARD

"Who copied that!"—Chap. ii.

I am introduced to Conversation Kenge—Chap. iii.

In an atmosphere of Borrioboola—Gha—Chap. iv.

The Lord Chancellor relates the death of Tom Jarndyce—Chap. v.

"We are not so prejudiced as to suppose that in private life you are otherwise than a very estimable man, with a great deal of poetry in your nature, of which you may not be conscious"—Chap. vi.

The Growlery—Chap. viii.

"Alfred, my youngest (five), has voluntarily enrolled himself in the infant bonds of joy, and is pledged never, through life, to use tobacco in any form"—Chap. viii.

"If I were in your place I would seize every Master in Chancery by the throat to-morrow morning, and shake him until his money rolled out of his pockets, and his bones rattled in his skin"—Chap. ix.

Nemo—Chap. x.

"He wos wery good to me, he wos!"—Chap. xi.

"Why, do you know how pretty you are, child!" she says, touching her shoulder with her two fore-fingers—Chap. xii.

Deportment—Chap. xiv.

"Honoured, indeed," said she, "by another visit from the wards in Jarndyce!"—Chap. xiv.

"'I'm fly," says Jo. "But fen larks, you know. Stow hooking it"—Chap. xvi.

To my great surprise, on going in, I found my guardian still there, and sitting looking at the ashes—Chap. xvii.

"I have frightened you!" she said—Chap. xviii.

"Jo"—Chap. xvi.

"Who ud go and let a nice innocent lodging to such a reg'lar one as me!"—Chap. xix.

"I am grown up, now, Guppy. I have arrived at maturity"—Chap. xx.

Grandfather Smallweed astonishes Mr. George—Chap. xxi.

"There she is!" cries Jo—Chap. xxii.

"O, you ridiculous child!" observed Mrs. Jellyby, with an abstracted air, as she looked over the despatch last opened; "what a goose you are!"—Chap. xxiii.

"Of all my old associations, of all my old pursuits and hopes, of all the living and the dead world, this one poor soul alone comes natural to me, and I am fit for"—Chap. xxiv

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"What's gone of your father and your mother, eh!"—Chap. xxv.

"I believe you!" says Mrs. Bagnet. "He's a Briton. That's what Woolwich is. A Briton!"—Chap. xxvii.

The Ironmaster—Chap. xxviii.

Mr. Guppy's catechism—Chap. xxix.

"O my child, O my child!"—Chap. xxix.

"Never have a mission, my dear child"—Chap. xxx.

And he shivered in the window-seat with Charley standing by him, like some wounded animal that had been found in a ditch—Chap. xxx.

"My love, you know these two gentlemen!" . . . "Yes!" says Mrs. Snagsby, and in a rigid manner acknowledges their presence—Chap. xxxiii.

"I have come down," repeats Grandfather Smallweed, hooking the air towards him with all his ten fingers at once, "to look after the property"—Chap. xxxiii.

Puts his hand on his bald head again, under this new verbal shower-bath—Chap. xxxiv.

My mother—Chap. xxxvi.

"For I am constantly being taken in these nets," said Mr. Skimpole, looking beamingly at us over a glass of wine-and-water, "and am constantly being bailed out—like a boat"—Chap. xxxvii.

We danced for an hour with great gravity—Chap. xxxviii.

She made no sound of laughter: but she rolled her head, and shook it, and put her handkerchief to her mouth, and appealed to Caddy with her elbow—Chap. xxxviii.

"You are to be congratulated, Mr. Guppy, you are a fortunate young man, sir"—Chap. xxxix.

Under the Lincoln's Inn Trees—Chap. xxxix

A bird of ill omen—Chap. xli.

"Turns the key upon her, mistress," illustrating with the cellar key—Chap. xlii.

Richard—Chap. xlv.

Here, against a hoarding of decaying timber, he is brought to bay—Chap. xlvi.

The cart is shaken all to pieces, and the rugged road is very near its end—Chap. xlvii.

Mr. Bucket urging a sensible view of the case with his fat forefinger—Chap. xlix.

Peepy was sufficiently decorated to walk hand-in-hand with the professor of deportment—Chap. l.

"Esther, dear," she said very quietly, "I am not going home again"—Chap. li.

"Has'nt a doubt—zample—far better hang wrong f'ler than no f'ler"—Chap. liii.

"Can you make a haughty gentleman of him . . . the poor infant!"—Chap. liv.

He puts his hands together . . . and raising them towards her breast, bows down his head, and cries—Chap. lv.

Mr. Bucket in Lady Dedlock's boudoir—Chap. lvi.

In the brickmaker's cottage—Chap. lvii.

The old housekeeper weeping silently; Volumnia in the greatest agitation, with the freshest bloom on her cheeks; the trooper with his arms folded and his head a little bent, respectfully attentive—Chap. lviii.

She lay there, with one arm creeping round a bar of the iron gate, and seeming to embrace it—Chap. lix.

"Miss Summerson," said Mr. Vholes, very slowly rubbing his gloved hands, . . . . "this was an ill-advised marriage of Mr. C's"—Chap. lx.

"To which! say that again," cried Mr. Smallweed, in a shrill, sharp voice—Chap. lxii.

"Get out with you. If we ain't good enough for you, go and procure somebody that is good enough. Go along and find 'em"—Chap. lxiv.

"But I never own to it before the old girl. Discipline must be maintained"—Chap. lxvi.

Volumnia's devotion to Sir Leicester—Chap. lxvi.