Pickwick Abroad: A Companion to the Pickwick Papers — page 157: what you’re looking at

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Ra PICKWICK ABROAD. ‘ ladies’ rose to.receive ‘them with a series of enchanting smiles. “But the younger one suddenly started—nttered a loud scream— and precipitated herself over her mother in such a way that they both fell upon the sofas, ! “The Countess Loveminski!” ejaculate Mr. Snodgrass. “Madame de ? Amour!” cried Mr. Winkle. “Anastasie de “Volage!’ shouted Mr. ‘T'upman. “The Circassian “Emir’s daughter!” ex- claumed Mr. Mufiley. “ Qualis eo—what a go!” said Mr. Chitty, astonished at the behavior of the i: ie lans. “These ladies are already known to some of us, Mr. Muffley,” said My. Tupman: “ and their acquaintance is so yery valuable, we will not deprive you of the pleasure of its full enjoyment by an attempt to share it.” “ Bravo, Tupman!” cried Mr. Winkle. “But it would be a sin not to tell our fel- low-countryman that he is the dupe of the most arrant swindler that ever was.” “What do you mean?” asked Mr. Wegs- worth Mufiley, turning very pale. “That your ladies. are as much Circas- sians as we are,” answered Mr. Winkle, in- dignantly. “Come, my friends,” said Mr. Pickwick: “we have no longer any business here, now that the exposure has taken place.” “And I, who am answerable for their hotel bill, and who lent them a thousand francs into the bargain, because they had only notes of the Bank of Circassia,” cried Mr. Muffley, with a very long face. “My dear Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, “you } had better put up with the loss as quietly ai you can, if you do not wish to be laughed at by all the English in Paris.” | “ At any rate, I will inform the master of the hotel of the character of his guests,” ex- claimed Mr. Muffley; and while Mademoi- selle Anastasie and her mother were weep- ing in each other’s arms, the gentlemen re- tired from the apartment. « © + Sa ‘ ‘ . CHAPTER XXX. Mr. Samuel Weller encounters several friends.— A conversation at the English Chop-house in the Place des Italiens. “Sam,” said Mr, Pickwick one morning to his faishful valet, “it is my intention to de- ’ aed 143 vote the whole of this day to put my papers | and memorandum-bcok in order, My three friends and myself are then going to dine with Mr. Scuttle, in the evening, and so you may have a holiday, Sam.” | “Wery good, sir,” returned Mr. Weller; “nothin’ like rewardin’ merit, as the g n’le- man observed ven he told his son he might keep the bad four-penny piece for his trouble in havin’ changed the sufferin’.” Mr. Weller tossed his hat upon his ‘head, suffered it to remain over his left eye, where it fell, and sallied forth to amuse him: self. He walked down the Rue Royale with his hands in his waistcoat pockets, and with a prim-rose in his mouth; turned into the Rue St. Honoré, and as he strolled leisurely along it, towards the Palais Royal, with all the ease and independence of a Lazzaroni, he mingled the rich yolume of his loud whistle with the busy hum of the great city : in other words, he executed the much-esteemed air of the Dogs-meat Man, with such variations as his knowledge of those popular songs, Zhe fteturn of the Admiral, Barclay and Per- kins’s Drayman, or God Save the King, was calculated to suggest. . : Sam proceeded in this very elegant man- ner to indulge himself with a walk in the garden of the Palais Royal. The shrubs and plants were clad in their most verdant attire —the sun beamed gaily and brightly upon the ie a of the fountain—the orange-trees were already laden with their inviting fruits, and the south-west breeze, that agitated the foliage, was refreshing and cool. A number of healthy and buxom nurses were seated upon the chairs beneath the trees, and around them were playing their little charges a group from which might haply spring a future Soult, or another Madame deStael. It was as yet early, and but few ladies and gentle- men were to be seen in the gardens. Mr. Weller took two or three turns up and down the gravel-walk, and round the reser- vou, and. was just coming to the very 7 conclusion, that as it was a warm day, a drop of French beer would not be amiss, when he was overtaken by Messieurs Knack- ers and Porrett, prize-fighters and citizens o1 Great Britaiin. “How air you, gen’lemen?” said Sam, be- stowing a patronizing nod upon his select acquaintances, inn “Why, pretty tidy, thank’ee, San,” was the reply: “how are you ?” “Vy,” answered that gentleman, “ I ain’t ina gallopin’ consumption, an’ I doesn’t think CORnNIECLOOOKKS (C(O)