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It was not unpleasant to remember, on the way thither, that Mrs
MacStinger resorted to a great distance every Sunday morning, to
attend the ministry of the Reverend Melchisedech Howler, who, having
been one day discharged from the West India Docks on a false suspicion
(got up expressly against him by the general enemy) of screwing
gimlets into puncheons, and applying his lips to the orifice, had
announced the destruction of the world for that day two years, at ten
in the morning, and opened a front parlour for the reception of ladies
and gentlemen of the Ranting persuasion, upon whom, on the first
occasion of their assemblage, the admonitions of the Reverend
Melchisedech had produced so powerful an effect, that, in their
rapturous performance of a sacred jig, which closed the service, the
whole flock broke through into a kitchen below, and disabled a mangle
belonging to one of the fold.

This comes from Dombey & Son when Walter is going to call upon Captain Cuttle, and is remembering that Cuttle's foul-tempered housekeeper will already have left for church. She attends some sort of fanatical small congregation which once, in fits of ecstatic spiritual transport, collapsed the preacher's parlor floor and fell through to the kitchen.

I don't get how people think Dickens is boring…his books are full of weird scenes, absurd happenings, and sly, snide humor, peculiar characters, and memorable ones who are immediately recognisable archetypes we might encounter today.

Also, the names. How, may I ask, can you look unfavorably upon somebody who created characters with names like Martin Chuzzlewit, Melchisedech Howler, or Uriah Heep. Chuzzlewit, I ask you!

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