Pickwick Abroad: A Companion to the Pickwick Papers — page 239: what you’re looking at

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

é A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. novels, which (and the latter especially) abound in villains of the most somber sort, that we are to have for a constant com- panion, so guileless and good-natured a per- son. As she is not a heroine, there is no need to describe her person; indeed I am afraid that her nose was rather short than otherwise, and her cheeks a great deal too round and red for a heroine; but her face blushed with rosy health, and her lips with the freshest of smiles, and she had a pair of eyes, which sparkled with the brightest and honestest good-humor, except, indeed, when they filled with tears, and that was a great deal too often; for the silly thing would cry over a dead canary-bird, or over a mouse, that the cat haply had seized upon, or over the end of a novel, were it ever so stupid ; and as for saying an unkind word to her, were any one hard-hearted enough to do so—why, so much the worse for them. Even Miss Pinkerton, that austere and god- like-woman, ceased scolding her after the first time, and though she no more compre- hended sensibility than she did Algebra, gave all masters and teachers particular. orders to treat Miss Sedley with the utmost gentleness, as harsh treatment was injuri- ous to her. | So that when the day of departure came, between her two customs of laughing and crying, Miss Sedley was greatly puzzled how to act. She was glad to go home, and yet most wofully sad at leaving school. For three days before, little Laura Martin, the orphan, followed her about like a little dog. She had to make and receive at least four- teen presents—to make fourteen solemn promises of writing every week: ‘Send my letters under cover to my grandpapa, the Earl of Dexter,” said Miss Saltire (who, by the way, was rather shabby): ‘*‘ Never mind the postage, but write every day, you dear darling,” said the impetuous and woolly- headed, but generous and affectionate Miss Swartz; and little Laura Martin, (who was just in round hand) took her friend’s hand, and said, looking up in her face wistfully, ‘¢ Amelia, when I write to you, I shall call you Mamma.” All which details, I have no doubt, Jones, who reads this book at his Club, will pronounce to be excessively fool- ish, trivial, twaddling, and ultra-sentimental. Yes; [can see Jones at this minute (rather flushed with his joint of mutton and half- pint of wine), taking out his pencil and scoring under the words “foolish, twad- dling,’’ &c., and adding to them his own re- mark of ‘quite true.” Well, he is a lofty man of genius, and admires the great and heroic in life and novels; and so had better take warning and go elsewhere. “Well, then. The flowers, and the pres- ents, and the trunks, and bonnet-boxes of Miss Sedley having been arranged by Mr. Sambo in the carriage, together with a very IL small and weather-beaten old cow’s-skin trunk, with Miss Sharp’s card neatly nailed upon it, which was delivered by Sambo with a grin, and packed by the coachman with a corresponding sneer—the hour for parting came; and the grief of that moment was considerably lessened by the admirable dis- course which Miss Pinkerton addressed to her pupil. Not that the parting speech caused Amelia to philosophize, or that it armed her in any way with a calmness, the result of argument; but it was intolerably dull, pompous, and tedious; and having the fear of her schoolmistress greatly before her eyes, Miss Sedley did not venture, in her presence, to give way to any ebullitions of private grief. A seed-cake and a bottle of wine were produced in the drawing-room, as on the solemn occasions of the visit of parents, and these refreshments being par- taken of, Miss Sedley was at liberty to de- part. ‘You'll go in and say good by to Miss Pinkerton, Becky?” said Miss Jemima to a young lady of whom nobody took any notice, and who was coming down stairs with her own bandbox. ‘‘T suppose I must,’”’ said Miss Sharp, calmly, and much to the wonder of Miss Jemima; and the latter, having knocked at the door, and receiving permission to come in, Miss Sharp advanced in a very uncon- cerned manner, and said in French, and with a perfect accent, ‘‘ Mademoiselle, je viens vous faire mes adieux.”’ ‘Miss Pinkerton did not understand French; she only directed those who did : but biting her lips, and throwing up her ven- erable and Roman-nosed head (on the top of which figured a large and solemn turban), she said, ‘‘ Miss Sharp, I wish you a good morning.’”’” As the Hammersmith Semira- mis spoke, she waved one hand both by way of adieu, and to give Miss Sharp an oppor- tunity of shaking one of the fingers of the hand which was left out for that purpose. Miss Sharp only folded her own hands with a very frigid smile and bow, and quite declined to accept the proffered honor; on which Semiramis tossed up her turban more indignantly than ever. In fact, it was a little battle between the young lady and the old one, and the latter was worsted. ‘‘ Heaven bless you, my child,” said she, embracing Amelia, and scowling the while over the girl’s shoulder at Miss Sharp. ‘ Come away, Becky,” said Miss Jemima, pulling the young woman away in great alarm, and the drawing-room door closed upon them forever. Then came the struggle and parting be- low. Words refuse to tellit. All the serv- ants were there in the hall—all the dear friends—all the young jadies—the dancing- master who had just arrived; and there was such a scuffling, and hugging; and kissing, comiechook® (CO)