Pickwick Abroad: A Companion to the Pickwick Papers — page 185: what you’re looking at

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in) my pocket, and cannot: say I admire a | hen Pm in London, I} d crowd. In fact, generally fill my coat-pockets with loose money, so that the thieves get that, and leave my breeches and waistcoat alone. <A. friend of mine has just realized half a million sy his patent fineer-trap: it is the death- all, pick-pockets ; and I understand that gentry ar ing to petition parliament against an Innovation which /’hreatens to ruin their profession,” “You seem to have observed a great deal in your life,” said I to the young gentle- "yr an. _,“Of course I have,” was the answer, “I ‘have been in half the debtors’ prisons in - England—that is, as an amateur—-and had avery narrow escape some months since of figuring at the stepper.” . “The stepper! what is that? inquired my mother. “The mill, my dear Lady,” was the reply, —“a pleasant little gentlemanly exercise, undertaken by patriotic persons at Brixtor or Tothill Fields, for the good of their coun- try.” : ‘By this time the Opera was concluded, and the young gentleman, having in vain sought for his own carriage, and wondered how his servants could be so remiss as not’ to have brought it, handed us into a hackney- coach, and ordered the driver to conduct us to the Café Anglais close by, where he insisted upon treating us to a supper. When the vehicle stopped, the stranger had no ru et loose money; but’ he pv ed out a purse filled vith | 3. immediately liquidated th lemands. We partoz ost sumptuous re- past that th + could afford—the Cham- " nce a pine-apple pagne flow as intimate Was ordaere ecame ks possible | , . £e _“[ must Insist upon changing rings with you,” said the English gentleman, playfully: ‘this ring of mine was given to my father by Count Wrobemorl, a German nobleman ; [ know that. it cost thirty thousand francs in ready money ;”’—and with these words, he at ap his ring on my finger, and sub- stituted in its place one which originally cost me nothing, my affectionate mother having one evening fuand it on the hand of a drunken gentleman, who never. returned to claimit. =. . “You are really too good,” said I, imagin- ing that I had ensnared the finest dupe I had ever yet encountered. — ty * % see whether we cannot have t ¥ ‘ 169 Not at all,” returned he. “But what 2y mean by giving us wine like this? Waiter! No one answers! I will ‘ime sort —I, who patronise this house always and never spend less than a couple of hundred francs a day! It is really too bad to be treated in this manner !” v4 , ith these words the young gentleman rose in great indignation, and left the room, assuring us that he should return in a few minutes. zs : : “We shall pluck him finely !” said my mother to me, with a chuckle. “What a beautiful ring this is that he has given me!” I remarked: “how the sts glitter |” * dia By “ He is as innocent as a lamb.” contin my mother. Pa Ne . “ And has plenty of money, too,” added I. At this moment the landlord entered, and presented his bill, the hour being very far advanced. We waited for some time to see if our friend did not return; but no one | made his appearance—the landlord grew impatient—and at length my mother and myself were compelled to settle the ac- count as well as we could. On the following morning I rose early, and attired myself in the most simple ap- parel I possessed: The adventure of the previous evening was for the moment for- gotten—the approaching marriage of the Count de Franconville, of which I had heard a few days before, occupied all my attention. The religious portion of the cer emony was to be performed at the Cathe dral of Notre Dame, and something prornpt- ed me to witnessthe bridal. A species of vague curiosity impelled me to behold the countenance of the lady of his choice. I proceeded to the Quai des Orfevres, and did not wait long before the brilliant cortege of rank and fashion made its ap- pearance. I suffered it to pass by me, and then followed it at a little distance, resoly- ing to gratify my curiosity in the Cathe- dral, at the foot of the altar itself. Tbe procession passed on—and at length it reached the Morgue. A great many peo ple were running ia and out of that recep- tacle of death; and, urged by. God only knows what feelings at the moment, len — terea the dismal tenement of unclaimea corses In compat with other idlers, whe — stepped aside, with the coolness of an eve- ry -day occupation, from the nuptial train te view the asylum of the dead. Sate a* ‘ ty COMICoookX >