Camilla, Mrs. His wife; sister to Mr. Pocket. She professes a great deal of love for Miss Havisham, and calls on her husband to testify that her solicitude for that lady is gradually undermining her to the extent of making one of her legs shorter than the other. (Ch. xi, xxv.)

Clarriker. A young merchant or shipping-broker. (Ch. lii, lviii.) Coiler, Mrs. A toady neighbor of Mr. and Mrs. Pocket's; a widowlady of that highly sympathetic nature, that she agrees with everybody, blesses everybody, and sheds smiles or tears on everybody, according to circumstances. (Ch. xxiii.)

Compeyson. A convict, and "the worst of scoundrels." He proves to be the man who professed to be Miss Havisham's lover. Magwitch gives the following account of him to Pip:·

Compey took me on to be his man and pardner. And what was Compey's business in which we was to go pardners? Compey's business was the swindling, handwriting forging, stolen bank-note passing, and such like. All sorts of traps as Compey could set with his head, and keep his own legs out of, and get the profits from, and let another man in for, was Compey's business. He 'd no more heart than a iron file; he was as cold as death, and had the head of the Devil. ... Not to go into the things that Compey planned, and I done, — which 'ud take a week, I'll simply say to you, dear boy, . . that that man got me into such nets as made me his black slave. I was always in debt to him, always under his thumb, always a-working, always a-getting into danger. He was younger than me; but he 'd got craft; and he 'd got learning; and he overmatched me five hundred times told, and no mercy.

He is at length committed for felony, is sentenced to seven years' imprisonment; and is finally killed in a struggle with Magwitch. (Ch. iii, v, xlii, xlv, xlvii, l, liii-lvi.)

Drummle, Bentley, called THE SPIDER. A sulky, old-looking young man of a heavy order of architecture; idle, proud, niggardly, reserved, and suspicious. He is a fellow-boarder with Pip at Mr. Pocket's, and his rival for the hand of Estella, whom he marries, and treats with great cruelty. (Ch. xxiii, xxv, xxxviii, xliii, xliv, xlviii.) Estella. The adopted daughter of Miss Havisham, and the heroine of the story. She proves to be the daughter of Abel Magwitch (or Provis), Pip's benefactor. Her foster-mother tells Pip that she had wished for a little girl to rear, and to save from her own fate (see HAVISHAM, MISS); and that Mr. Jaggers had accordingly brought her such a child, - - an orphan of about three years.

"When she first came to me, I meant to save her from misery like my own. At first, I meant no more."

"But as she grew, and promised to be very beautiful, I gradually did worse;

and with my praises, and with my jewels, and with my teachings, and with this figure of myself always before her, - a warning to back and point my lessons, — I stole her heart away, and put ice in its place."

Not content with moulding the impressionable child into the form that her own wild resentment, spurned affection, and wounded pride finds vengeance in, she marries her to an ill-tempered, clumsy, contemptible booby (Bentley Drummle), who has nothing to recommend him but money and a ridiculous roll of addle-headed predecessors. After leading a most unhappy life, she separates from her husband, who subsequently dies from an accident consequent on his ill-treatment of a horse. Some two years after this event, she happens to meet Pip (who has always loved her) on the very spot where their first meeting had been when they were children.

I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and as the morning mists had risen long ago, when I first left the forge, so the evening mists were rising now; and, in all the broad expanse of tranquil light they showed to me, I saw the shadow of no parting from her.

(Ch. vii, ix, xi-xvi, xviii, xxii, xxvii, xxix, xxx, xxxii, xxxiii, xxxviii, xxxix, xliii, xliv, xlviii-li, lvi, lvii, lix.)

Flopson. A nurse in Mr. Pocket's family. (Ch. xxii, xxiii.) Gargery, Joe. A blacksmith; married to Pip's sister, who is an out-and-out termagant.

Joe was a fair man, with curls of flaxen hair on each side of his smooth face, and eyes of such a very undecided blue, that they seemed to have somehow got mixed with their own whites. He was a mild, good-natured, sweet-tempered, easy-going, foolish, dear fellow, a sort of Hercules in strength, and also in weakness.

When Pip is a small boy, he is harshly treated by his sister (with whom he lives, both of his parents being dead); but his kind-hearted brother-in-law befriends him as much as is possible, and makes quite a companion of him. In the course of conversation, one night, when they happen to be left by themselves, Joe gives him some account of his early history, of the circumstances attending his marriage, and of the principles on which he regulates his domestic conduct.

"Did n't you ever go to school, Joe, when you were as little as me?"
"No, Pip."

"Why did n't you ever go to school, Joe, when you were as little as me?" "Well, Pip," said Joe, taking up the poker, and settling himself to his usual occupation, when he was thoughtful, of slowly raking the fire between the lower bars, "I'll tell you. My father, Pip, he were given to drink; and, when he were overtook with drink, he hammered away at my mother most onmerciful. It were a'most the only hammering he did, indeed, 'xcepting at myself; and

he hammered at me with a wigor only to be equalled by the wigor with which he did n't hammer at his anwil. You 're a-listening and understanding, Pip?" "Yes, Joe."

"Consequence: my mother and me, we ran away from my father several times; and then my mother, she'd go out to work; and she 'd say, 'Joe,' she 'd say, 'now, please God, you shall have some schooling, child;' and she'd put me to school. But my father were that good in his hart, that he could n't abear to be without us: so he 'd come with a most tremenjous crowd, and make such a row at the doors of the houses where we was, that they used to be obligated to have no more to do with us, and to give us up to him. And then he took us home, and hammered us; which you see, Pip," said Joe, pausing in his meditative raking of the fire, and looking at me, "were a drawback on my learning."

"Certainly, poor Joe!"

"Though mind you, Pip," said Joe with a judicial touch or two of the poker on the top bar, "rendering unto all their doo, and maintaining equal justice betwixt man and man, my father were that good in his hart; don't you see?" I did n't see; but I did n't say so.

"Well," Joe pursued, "somebody must keep the pot a-biling, Pip, or the pot won't bile; don't you know?"

I saw that, and said so.

"Consequence: my father did n't make objections to my going to work: so I went to work at my present calling, which were his, too, if he would have followed it; and I worked tolerable hard, I assure you, Pip. In time, I were able to keep him; and I kep him till he went off in a purple leptic fit. And it were my intentions to have had put upon his tombstone that Whatsume'er the failings on his part, Remember, reader, he were that good in his hart."

Joe recited this couplet with such manifest pride and careful perspicuity, that I asked him if he had made it himself.

"I made it," said Joe, "my own self. I made it in a moment. It was like striking out a horse-shoe complete in a single blow. I never was so much surprised in all my life, could n't credit my own ed: to tell you the truth, hardly believed it was my own ed. As I was saying, Pip, it were my intentions to have had it cut over him: but poetry costs money, cut it how you will, small or large; and it were not done. Not to mention bearers, all the money that could be spared were wanted for my mother. She were in poor elth, and quite broke. She were n't long of following, poor soul; and her share of peace come round at last."

Joe's blue eyes turned a little watery: he rubbed first one of them, and then the other, in a most uncongenial and uncomfortable manner, with the round knob on the top of the poker.

"It were but lonesome then," said Joe, "living here alone, and I got acquainted with your sister. Now, Pip," Joe looked firmly at me, as if he knew I was not going to agree with him, "your sister is a fine figure of a woman."

I could not help looking at the fire in an obvious state of doubt.

"Whatever family opinions, or whatever the world's opinions on that subject may be. Pip, your sister is "—Joe tapped the top bar with the poker after every word following-"a-fine-figure-of-a-woman!"

I could think of nothing better to say than "I am glad you think so, Joe." "So am I," returned Joe, catching me up. "I am glad I think so, Pip. A little redness, or a little matter of bone here or there, what does it signify to me?" I sagaciously observed, if it did n't signify to him, to whom did it signify? "Certainly!" assented Joe. "That's it. You 're right, old chap! When I got acquainted with your sister, it were the talk how she was bringing you up by