Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 330: what you’re looking at

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

Pickwick Abroad, 271 wick, blandly appealing to Mr. Scuttle, and desirous of breaking. the unpleasant silence that prevailed. ‘‘ English !’’ exclaimed the hitherto inanimate girl, suddenly rais- ing her eyes trom her plate—those eyes flashed feartully—while a deep crimson blush was spread over her cheeks and neck. Even her very bosom appeared to be suffused with that chaste hue. The matron placed her finger to her lip, as if to impose silence; and the beautiful but mysterioys being instantly rele into her: former melancholy, listless mood, from which she did not again awake until the ‘strangers were about to take their departure. ““] dare say we shall be enabled to get a vehicle,” said Mr. Scuttle in reply to Mr. Pickwick’s question. ‘‘ But, God bless me! this is a very extraordinary proceeding !”’ So inde@l it was; for on the other side of the table, one of the ladies had seized hold of a bottle of Madeira, and, disdaining the use of a glass, was helping herself to the potent liquid through the more abori- inal and rural method of applying the mouth of the decanter to her own. She had managed toswallow about a third of the contents, when the Doctor happened to cast his eyes towards her; and then the bottle was snatched from her grasp in a moment. , But this was not all. At the same time that this instance of primi- tive singularity was beigg manifested, another young lady reached her fork across the table, and quietly purloined the cutlet which Mr. : Pickwick had just conveyed to his plate; she then abstracted Mrs. Weston’s bread; and was proceeding to empty the contents of Mr. Siffkin’s plate into her own, when the eyes and angry gestures of the Doctor reduced her to passive obedience. An apology on the part of the said Doctor was tendered—the young lady, who h offended, be to cry—and another, in order to avenge the imagined insult offered to. her friend, magnanimously emptied a decanter of water over the Doctor’s bald head. . The little man rose from his chair in a deluge of liquid and a violent rage: another matronly-looking lady was called in—a secret order was. given—and the three female culprits were requested to follow her to another apartment—a command they did not attempt to resist. The Doctor wiped his head and shoulders with his napkin—muttered some: inaudible excuses—and continued his supper as if nothing had taken. lace. ‘‘ This is very singular,’ whispered Mr. Pickwick to Mrs. Weston. ‘‘T am really alarmed,” said that lady, uncertain what course to adopt, or what construction to put upon all she saw. . ‘‘ It must be an illusion,” suggested Mr. Siffkin, “or may I never again be noted for the delicacy of my waist !” | _ ‘*] dare say it is,” assented Mr. Scuttle. ‘‘ There are more extra- ordinary delusions than this. Why—it was but yesterday moming, that when my niece told me to put some coals on the fire and make the tea, I emptied the tea-caddy into the grate, and filled the tea-pot from the coal-scuttle. I got my breakfast first, drank three cups, and did not discover my mistake till my niece came to pour out her tea; when she observed that it was the blackest she had ever seen.”’ _ Scarcely had Mr. Scuttle brought this anecdote to a conclusion, when one of the young ladies who remained, gave him a tolerably DGoe q) COL SS (c@