Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 172: what you’re looking at

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

Pickwick Abroad. 129 CHAPTER XVII. MR. PICKWICK FORMS THE ACQUAINTANCE OF A PORT.—THE CHORUS OF THE FOUR WINDS.—MR. BOOZIE.—A VISIT TO A CELEBRATED FRENCHMAN, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. Mr. Pickwick slept long and placidly ; and those airy nothings which filled his extensive imagination during the night, were of a most feli- eitous and exhilarating character. ‘To descend to vulgar parlance, he had dreamt of the renown he had already acquired, and of the future fame that would attend his memory. His countenance was therefore amap of smiles when he walked into the breakfast-parlour with all the consciousness of greatness and importance; but, to his surprise and momentary annoyance—sceeing that the frosty air of the morning had sharpened his appetite—his friends had not yet emerged from their dormitories. The room was not, however, untenanted when Mr. Pickwick entered it; for, in a large easy chair near the cheerful wood- fire, sate an individual, who rose upon his two legs the moment his vision was magnetically attracted by the appearance of him who could be no other than Samuel Pickwick, Esq., himself. The stranger was a tall, thin, sallow-faced individual, with light- red hair and a very pointed nose. We do not say that his features were not commanding ; but many fastidious people entertain a strong antipathy to a countenance deeply indented by the ravages of the small-pox ; while others have violent predilections against bad teeth. There is, moreover, a prejudice (it cannot be denied) against a cock- eye, inasmuch as the possession of two straight optics has generally been deemed necessary to the distinctness of one glance. Setting aside these small defects, no more serious charge can justly be brought inst the beauty of the stranger, who, clad in deep black, and with a large roll of papers under his arm, started into life from the easy chair, as aforesaid. “I beg you a thousand pardons, Mr. Pickwick,” said the stranger, in a solemn tone of voice, and with a low bow; “but the fame of — eee oP and literary acquirements has reached me in my tumble retreat—pauper domus—you see, and—” Pray sit down, Sir,” said Mr. Pickwick, somewhat flattered by the stranger's discourse. ‘And now, may I ask with whom I have the pleasure of conversing ?” .** My name, Mr. Pickwick,” returned the stranger, relapsing into the easy chair, and untying the string that circumvented his papers, “is also well known to fame. You have doubtless heard of Septimus Chitty, the poet ?” e stranger suffered a cunning smile to curl his lip, while Pick- wick cleared his throat with a ‘‘ Hem !” and smiled also. ‘ Ah!’? pursued Mr. Chitty, ‘“‘I see [am mow no stranger to you, Mr. Pickwick. But—nunguam animus id—never mind that: let me briefly state the object of my visit. DGe q) Odin cS CO