Alfred de Rosann by G.W.M. Reynolds — page 181: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

152 Alfred de Rosanu. I expected to meet, wasn’t yet arrived, I says to myself, says I, ‘ Let us go and take a bason of soup,’ says I, ‘ at Birch’s; cos vy, I always patronises the Cock, and this time we'll give t’other a chance. Live and let live,’ says I. So with this here intention I oes to Birch’s, and orders a bason of hox-tail, which is my favourite beverage, with a little drop of hiced punch to wash it down. Now, my Lord Mayor, there ain’t a more quieter and tranquiller person in existence than your humble servant as is speaking: I seldom opens my mouth; and when I does, my language 1s as con- cise as possible.” ‘< So I perceive,” said the magistrate drily. ‘¢ Then that’s positive proof, your lordship, since your lordship acknowledges it yourself,” cried Mr. pnggine with a species of triumph depicted on his countenance. ‘ Well, as I was saying, I went into Hirch's, and sate down at a table jist as gravely as your lordship at the bench there, or an owl in an ivy bush. I had not been long engaged in discussing my hox-tail and sipping my punch, when I hears a gallows row at the door, and I sees that insinivating Frenchman, with his castor a one side, and his hair sticking out like a mop, enter the inner room with a hawful swagger. ‘ Oh! oh!’ says I to myself, says I, ‘ here’s summat flash from Frogland :’ but I says nothing aloud, your lordship, although I takes notice of every thing wot passes. So that there Mounseer bounces in, set- ting us all agog ; and he orders his soup, which was turtle; and while the waiter was a-fetching it, he stares at me in the most himperant manner in the world, just as if my face was a bit more comical than your lordship’s, or any other poor ignorant creature in the world. I twigs my fine gentleman’s mincing looks and flagrant manners ; for I fave heard speak of those confounded dancing- masters on tother side of the water; but I still preserves m vity. Presently Mounseer’s soup arrives, and he forgets that it is steaming-hot; so he claps a spoonful to his ugly mouth, and burns himself, as you might naturally suppose. Down drops the spoon— out he spits the soup—rap goes his hand on the table—and P ump falls his foot on my corns. Now I don’t know whether your ordship be blessed with corns—but I has ’em in abundance; and not being before-hand in an over good humour with our friend there, I was in a devil of a rage, particularly when he burst out into a horse-laugh, as if it were a devilish good joke. This irri- tated me confoundedly—and I doesn’t deny having lifted up my fist and knocked the Frenchman down as clean as a whistle. Thats the plain unwarnished truth, your lordship—or may I be dam called a liar.” When this plain and concise tale was brought to a conclusion, the Lord Mayor questioned Belle-Rose; but finding that they could not understand each other, an interpreter was sent for, and through his agency, the following dialogue took place. ‘¢ What is your name?” ‘¢ Pierre Count d’Elsigny,” was the reply. ‘* Are you a refugee, on account of olitical matters, Or are you a resident in England for your own pleasure?” COnicbooolks (GO)