Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 322: what you’re looking at

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

968 PICKWICK aBROAD. his memory retained aot the fact of Mrs. Weston’s being a widow: he had a good dinner, and a couple of bottles of strong Burgundy only upon his conscience. ‘Do you intend to remain long in Paris, Mr. Pickwick ?” enquired the Jady after another pause. “Only as long as it is agreeable to you,” murmured this most extraordinary man, the motives of whose actions mvartably turned upon so important a pivot. ‘¢ Lor, Mr. Pickwick!” said the widow, returning in her confusion the pressure of that gentleman's hand. “ Mrs. Weston—adorable woman,” cried the impassioned hero of thesememoirs, falling, as he spoke, upon one knee and a thistle at the same time: “‘my feelings overpower me,—and I must now seek an explanation. That heart—that enviable heart of yours—” ‘* My heart, Mr. Pickwick?” sighed the lady, gently. ‘Your heart,’’ reiterated the great man, with a sentimental hiccup which not a little added to the interest of this most affecting scene: tell me—dear Madam—it is not—oh! no, it cannot be—it is not Siffkin’s ?”” | Mrs. Weston blushed a negative. ‘* And it may be Pickwick’s ?” continued the ardent lover, The widow Icoked an affirmative. “You, then, may suffer me to hope ?”” demanded the venerable tra veller. Mr. Scuttle’s niece whispered an assent. ‘‘T must make a note of your permission,” said Mr. Pickwick, with that prudence and presence of mind which never deserted him. ‘‘ It can be scarcely necessary,’ objected the widow, with a deep blush; “ and vulgar eyes may peruse your memoranda.” “* Right—very right,” said Mr. Pickwick, pressing his lips to the fair hand which he held imprisoned within his own, and rising lightly from his suppliant posture and the thistle. ‘“‘I shall reveal my views and wishes to Scuttle in the course of to-morrow, and have no doust—” At this interesting crisis, a profane voice dared to break upou tne s:lence of the evening; and the following song suddenly birs:t .».th to burden the air with its measures .— EVENING. How gorgeously the sun is sinking [In his enamour’d I‘hetis’ lap: He seems the ocean to be drinking, Before he takes his evening nap. Upon the clouds the Moon is riding. As if a charger she bestrode: Through endless paths her courser guiding She trots along the usual road. The stars above our heads are twimx)..@ As if they pined at human woe; Or e’en as if they had an inkling Of all that’s passing here below. CONIC OOO cS Co