Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 234: what you’re looking at

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

Pickwick Abroad. . ‘185 endeavoured to soothe the rage and hush the cries of the awakened poodle, while Mr. Winkle retreated to a distant corner of the room, having read a case of hydrophobia, even in winter-time, that very morning. ‘¢God bless me!’’ exclaimed Mr. Scuttle, now for the first time perceiving the error of which he had been guilty, while Mrs. Weston, with an amiable and praiseworthy solicitude, hastened to rescue her favourite from the somewhat awkward and unpleasant gripe in which Mr. Pickwick retained it :—‘‘I beg you a thousand pardons—but I am really so absent! However, here is Mr. Chitty himself.” <“ Poor dear little thing!’’ cried Mrs. Weston, fondly caressing her dog. The amiable lady had senta female servant out of her house to the nearest hospital, only a few days before, because the unfortunate girl had happened to fall down stairs and dislocate her ankle; but the slightest inconvenience to which the poodle might be put, was very naturally calculated to awaken her tenderest sympathies. ‘¢ Ah! my dear Sir,” exclaimed Mr. Septimus Chitty, grasping Mr. Pickwick’s out-stretched hand; ‘‘and how are you? I intended to have done myself the pleasure to voco—call—upon you to-morrow, and read the first act of my Drama; but I was afraid lest you might think me an aper—a bore.” ‘¢T should have much pleasure,” said Mr. Pickwick, endeavouring to ratify his assertion by the expression of his countenance. “You are very kind,” observed Mr. Septimus Chitty, putting his hand to the pocket where he usually kept his manuscripts, and then suddenly recollecting that he had left them at home. ‘“ Well, that is a pity—misericordia—l declare! I have forgotten to put Zhe Creation in my pocket.” ‘““It zs a pity,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking very much as if he thought so. “It is,” repeated Mr. Chitty: “ I might have taken you into a snug comer, and read you a parvam pacem—little piece—with such ease! But, perhaps you will do me the favour of calling upon me. Here is my card.” Mr. Septimus Chitty handed a parallelogram of paste-board to Mr. Pickwick, who acknowledged his gratitude with a bow, and hastened to peruse—for a perusal it indeed was—the superscription, which ran as follows :— ftlr. Septimus Chitty, Author of several scientific works, Professor of Latin and /es Belles Lettres, Member of various institutions, Correspondent to many of the London Journals, Poet to the British Embassy, &c., &e., &e., &c., &c 14, Boulevard Mont Parnasse. _“ We shall see each other again, presently,’ said Mr. Chitty, when Mr. Pickwick had consigned the card to his pocket; and with a ECORNICLOOKS (C(O)