Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 180: what you’re looking at

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

Pickwick Abroad. 137 CHAPTER XVIII. THE VISIT TO ST. CLOUD.—THE GERMAN COURIER.——-MR. PICKWICK, THOUGH HIMSELF A TORY, ENTERS UPON AN EXCELLENT UNDER= STANDING WITH A WIG.—THE CONSEQUENCES OF SO DANGEROUS A PARTNERSHIP. THE pavement, over which the hackney-coach rolled leisurely along, was unhappily ignorant of the greatness of the individuals shut up in the body of the vehicle; or it would otherwise have smoothed its own surface for the benefit of the travellers. As it was, the coach jolted from side to side, and compelled Mr. Pickwick and his companions to perform certain pleasing and exhilarating bounds upon their re- spective seats, which species of exercise materially benefitted their healths and increased the sharpness of their appetites. Mr. Tupman’s countenance was speedily knocked into its proper shape and exten- sion, at the same time that the crown of his hat was as easily and readily propelled to a level with the summit of that skull beneath which reposed the brain of Pickwick’s friend ! The road to St. Cloud runs for a considerable distance along those wide and handsome quays which restrain the occasionally turbulent waters of the Seine within its prescribed limits. In summer-time this is one of the prettiest drives in the vicinity of Paris. The Champ de Mars and the ancient Military School greet the eyes of the traveller on the opposite banks; and on his right hand the heights of Passy afford an agreeable contrast to the adjacent scenery. Should he cast a look behind, he would see Paris in all its splendour and glory, the beams of the unclouded sun playing upon the golden summit of the Hospital of Invalids, gilding the pinnacles of the Pantheon, the Sor- bonne, and the University, enlivening even the dark gigantic towers of Notre-Dame, and smiling, as if in mockery, on the sepulchres of Pere Lachaise in the distance. It is in the gay season of the year that the magnificence of *‘ the sovereign city of a thousand towers’ — to use the language of Victor Hugo—may be duly perceived and ap- preciated ; when the eye can embrace that vast assemblage of human habitations and of mighty monuments, stretching from east to west, and from north to south, across the plain, like the Babylon of ancient days ; when, distance precluding the possibility of the ear’s catching the busy hum of life, occupation, and bustle, the imagination is set to work to picture to itself the pursuits of the million ephemerons of that vast ant-hill; and when the sky over-head is as pure and serene as the heavens of Italy or the Mediterranean Isles. Then may Paris be seen to advantage from the locality where we left our heroes for | the purpose of entering upon this digression. But the reader will remember that the day which Mr. Pickwick had so prudently selected for his country excursion, was tempestuous and gloomy; and that even if that extraordinary man had for one moment thought of mounting upon the top of the vehicle, and thence enjoying a quiet and comfortable view of the great city, his labour would have been ineffectual and ill-requited. We shall therefore jog ECORANICLOO© cS (C(O)