Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 318: what you’re looking at

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

Pickwick Abroad. 261 incredoolity is my besettin’ sin: I can’t believe nothin’ I don’t see :— it's my propensity, as the cricket said ven he chirru in the grate.” “‘ Comment / you not doubt de Frenchman’s vord?’’ exclaimed the driver, darting a terrible glance at the imperturbable Sam. “ Me tell you dem osses only vant de vhip to go Bo go ay ay tor ever !’’ “* Vell, that is rayther too good, as the nob ’s lady said to the butler, ven he put too much brandy in her grog: particlar as you ain’t never ceased from volloping them hunfortunate dumb hanimals from the fust moment ve left the house. Three-miles-an-hour-‘uns, I calls em,” added Mr. Weller, as he gracefully suspended his left leg over the side of the dickey. _ “* In France de law not allow us to run over de people as is valking m de streets,’ remonstrated the driver, showering dark looks upon his companion, and blows upon the horses. ‘* Vot are you up to now vith that ’ere gammon?” cried Mr. Wel- ler, with a contemptuous shake of the head. ‘Vy, ain’t this the country like, and vere’s the crowds af foot-passengera you so wery considerately von’t run over ——— laugh, “B “. well!’ return e coac ecting a ‘But, Monsieur Vellair, you know ve must not cut up de roads, morbleu ?’° ‘‘The roads is paved,” said Sam; ‘‘and so there ain’t no chance o’ spilin’ them. Stones is stones—and veels on stones don’t make quvite so much himpression as a seal on hot vax. So it again, old chap, as the nobleman said to the executioner ven he didn’t cut off his head at the fust blow.” ‘* Ah! vell, me see you vary ignorant, Monsieur Vellair,” said the coachman, with a long whistle; ‘“‘ but you ought to know vary vell, dat me not dare break chaise.”’ “¢ That’s vot it is, eh?’ said Mr. Weller, complacently.—“ Vy, von "ud take you for a lo-gician, vith all your excuses and rigmarole ewa- sions. But ve are all apt to aspire, now-a-days, as the pickpocket ob- served to the gallows ;—so that’s vot you're a aimin’ at, eh, old dot- and-go-von ?’’ ‘‘ Me only repeat, Monsieur Vellair, dat me not dare go too vite, *canse me break dis damn eld chaise; and den de proprietor put me in de prison for de damages.” . ‘* Wery prudent you air too,” said Mr. Weller, with a patronizing ‘‘ Have you dem prisons in your country for gentelmen vot cannot pay dere debts?’ enquired the driver by way of changing the conver- sation ‘‘T should rayther think ve had,” answered Sam; “‘an’ a blessed thing it is, too, else vot ud become o’ the lawyers?’ . e Frenchman was apparently confounded by the wide field of speculation opened to him by this remark ; for he did not reply to the query 5 and Mr. Weller himself did not think it necessary to continue conversation: . In a short space of time from the sudden cessation of the above hi edifying discourse, the britzka entered the village of Suréne wie y deposited its inmates at the door of the princi tavern or ge, where to their great delight they encountered Mr. Scuttle and his amiable niece, Mrs. Weston. The latter was escorted by 4 CO Stoo (©) SS (c@