Mr. Pott’s domestic circle was limited to himself and his wife. All men whom mighty genius has raised to a proud eminence in the world, have usually some little weakness which appears the more conspicuous from the contrast it presents to their general character. If Mr. Pott had a weakness, it was, perhaps, that he was rather too submissive to the somewhat contemptuous control and sway of his wife. We do not feel justified in laying any particular stress upon the fact, because on the present occasion all Mrs. Pott’s most winning ways were brought into requisition to receive the two gentlemen. ‘My dear,’ said Mr. Pott, ‘Mr. Pickwick--Mr. Pickwick of London.’ Mrs. Pott received Mr. Pickwick’s paternal grasp of the hand with enchanting sweetness; and Mr. Winkle, who had not been announced at all, sidled and bowed, unnoticed, in an obscure corner. ‘P. my dear’--said Mrs. Pott. ‘My life,’ said Mr. Pott. ‘Pray introduce the other gentleman.’ ‘I beg a thousand pardons,’ said Mr. Pott. ‘Permit me, Mrs. Pott, Mr.--’ ‘Winkle,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Winkle,’ echoed Mr. Pott; and the ceremony of introduction was complete. ‘We owe you many apologies, ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘for disturbing your domestic arrangements at so short a notice.’ ‘I beg you won’t mention it, sir,’ replied the feminine Pott, with vivacity. ‘It is a high treat to me, I assure you, to see any new faces; living as I do, from day to day, and week to week, in this dull place, and seeing nobody.’ ‘Nobody, my dear!’ exclaimed Mr. Pott archly. ‘Nobody but you,’ retorted Mrs. Pott, with asperity. ‘You see, Mr. Pickwick,’ said the host in explanation of his wife’s lament, ‘that we are in some measure cut off from many enjoyments and pleasures of which we might otherwise partake. My public station, as editor of the Eatanswill _Gazette_, the position which that paper holds in the country, my constant immersion in the vortex of politics--’ ‘P. my dear--’ interposed Mrs. Pott. ‘My life--’ said the editor. ‘I wish, my dear, you would endeavour to find some topic of conversation in which these gentlemen might take some rational interest.’ ‘But, my love,’ said Mr. Pott, with great humility, ‘Mr. Pickwick does take an interest in it.’ ‘It’s well for him if he can,’ said Mrs. Pott emphatically; ‘I am wearied out of my life with your politics, and quarrels with the _Independent_, and nonsense. I am quite astonished, P., at your making such an exhibition of your absurdity.’ ‘But, my dear--’ said Mr. Pott. ‘Oh, nonsense, don’t talk to me,’ said Mrs. Pott. ‘Do you play ecarte, Sir?’ ‘I shall be very happy to learn under your tuition,’ replied Mr. Winkle. ‘Well, then, draw that little table into this window, and let me get out of hearing of those prosy politics.’