Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 96: what you’re looking at

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

Pickwick Abroad. 63 served the walet-de.place in excellent English. ‘“ But all the best specimens of those great masters—Jean de Juni and Gillis van der Riviere, or Egidio Fiamingo, as the latter is usually called—suffered in those times when the world was 20 addicted to feonoclasm 1” * “And a wery nice vord it is,” observed Mr. Weller. “ Easily pro-nounced, and not at all difficult to spell, I should rayther think.” “A very pretty little amusement, I dare say,” said Mr. Pickwick : “ but pray is it out of repute now?” ‘¢ What, Sir ? enquired the valet-de-place. “The game you alluded to just now,” explained Mr. Pickwick, casting a glance of appeal at Mr. Tupman, who had turned away his head and pretended to examine the French inscription to the me- mory of the heroes of July. ‘* Je n’y comprends rien!” cried the valet with a shrug of his shoul- ders, and a lamentable distortion of his countenance, which appeared to be occasioned BY the pity he experienced for those who did not understand a term he had invariably made use of, every time he was happy enoug' to conduct strangers to the Pantheon, during the last ten years of his life. Garden of Plants—Notre-Dame—and the Morgue were then severally inspected in their turns by our persevering travellers; and on every occasion did the valet seek an opportunity of displaying his erudition to advantage. But we will not fatigue our readers by an ela- borate account of “ the lions” of Paris. Fs ffice it to say, that it was five o'clock in the evening when Mr. Pickwick and his companions returned to Meurice’s hotel; and as they had signified their inten- tion of dining at the table-d hote, they were only just in time to wash and dress themselves in order to appear decently at the gastronomi- cal ordeal through which they were to pass. The signal-bell rang at the usual hour—half-past five—and Mr. Pickwick, followed by Mr. Tupman, Mr. Boozie, Mr. Crashem, and Mr. Winkle, proceeded to the spacious apartment, where a table was spread for upwards of sixty people. ‘ Admirable display !” observed Mr. Pickwick, as he entered the room, rubbing his hands with delight. ‘‘ Not half so fine as my father’s at Crashem Park,” observed the heir apparent to the said territory. “Ah! Sugden, my boy *” exclaimed a young gentleman, stepping forward from amidst a group of Englishmen with whom he had been conversing : “ what the devil brought you here? Why—I thought ou were travelling for the great haberdashers in the City, still! What were their names—though? Ob! I recollect—Bodkin and Grogram—to be sure !—But what did bring you here?”—and the wranger clasped Mr. Adolphus Crashem’s hand with unfeigned de- ight. a My dear Sir—really—now—” stammered that gentleman, his countenance changing from pink to white, and white to pink alter- nately. “e What! don’t you recollect your old friend Tims?” exclaimed © Image-breaking. COL q) DGe SS (c@