Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 232: what you’re looking at

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

Pickwiek Abroad. 8S as if they had grown to the very places where they had been thrown, who skipped about from one lady to another, who had a compliment to address to each, and who was universally received with smiles and expressions of delight. Had it been a public assambly-room, Mr. Pickwick would have at once concluded that he was the master of the ceremonies; but as it was a private party, he enquired of Mr. Scuttle the name of the -Hat little old gentleman in question. ‘“‘ What! don't you know Sir Sydney S——h?” demanded Mr. Scuttle. ‘I will take the opportunity of introducing you to him when he passes this way. But I see that my niece has seated herself at the piano, and that we are about to have one of her favourite and admired airs. There—do you hear that symphony, Mr. Pickwick? It is the prelude to the very one to which La luded just now.” Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle assumed the most graceful attitude of attention possible; and Mr. Scuttle beat time with his right foot. Sir Sydne h resumed his seat next to a young French lady to whom he had already related one or two of his most amusing anec- dotes; and Mrs. Weston, with a taste that would not have shamed many of the most admired songsters of the age, sang the following translation of one of de Berenger’s most popular and affecting songs, accompanied by some of the sweetest sounds that ever emanated from the piano-forte: THE VETERAN CORPORAL.* Forward, brave comrades, in full many a fight, Your muskets charg’d—those arms prepar’d to kill ; The tears you shed around me yester-night, I almost feel upon my forehead still. — When peace incentive urg’d me to retire From busy scenes of tumult and of war, Fool that I was to fancy that the fire Of glory still might be my leading star! low be thy soleran pace— Nor weep thy comrade’s doom ; For short is now the space Between him and the tomb! Struck by a stripling, deck’d with misus’d power, My sword alone could vindicate the blow : Such was the crime that thus advanc’d the hour, When as meet penalty my blood must flow! At Austerlitz and Arcole have I bled— "Twas mine the snows of Muscovy to brave ; And now an angry moment that has fled, With stern decree, condemns me to the grave ! Slow be thy, &c., &c., &c. Soldiers! would ye against the cross J wear Exchange a limb ?—Yet, in the bloody fray, When monarchs fied before our armies—there ! won that cross which is your mark to-day. a ® The subject of this air is the Veteran Corporal’s address to his comrades, as they. lead him forth to the place of military execution. CO stor (©) (c@