midnight
There is a light in each . His nephew lies asleep , calm and untroubled . John Jasper stands looking down upon him , his unlighted pipe in his hand , for some time , with a fixed and deep attention . Then , hushing his footsteps , he passes to his own room , lights his pipe , and delivers himself to the Spectres it invokes at midnight . The Reverend Septimus Crisparkle -LRB- Septimus , because six little brother Crisparkles before him went out , one by one , as they were born , like six weak little rushlights , as they were lighted -RRB- , having broken the thin morning ice near Cloisterham Weir with his amiable head , much to the invigoration of his frame , was now assisting his circulation by boxing at a looking-glass with great science and prowess . A fresh and healthy portrait the looking-glass presented of the Reverend Septimus , feinting and dodging with the utmost artfulness , and hitting out from the shoulder with the utmost straightness , while his radiant features teemed with innocence , and soft-hearted benevolence beamed from his boxing-gloves . It was scarcely breakfast-time yet , for Mrs. Crisparkle -- mother , not wife of the Reverend Septimus -- was only just down , and waiting for the urn .