Pickwick Abroad; or, The Tour in France — page 105: what you’re looking at

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

G2 PICKWICK ABROAD. fact, that as the worthy lady had herself compounded the rum-puneh, she must necessarily have tasted it several times to ascertain if any im- provement were wanting. Another hitle circumstance, which Mr. Tup- man deemed admirably calculated to illustrate the peculiar Vivacity of the French, was too remarkable to escape hisnotice. ‘The cold viands had been devoured with extraordinary expedition, and the wine and the rum-punch had circulated most freely, when a dish of sweets was placed upon the table. Upon this prize did the five young ladies all proceed at once, and a pleasing variety of snatching, screaming, push- ing, and vociteration, immediately ensued. Mademoiselle Anastasie laughed heartily, and the Marchione ss, in order to compose her feel- ings, drank another tumbler of the reeking punch, while ie gentlemen,- whose button-holes bore the emblem of the Legion of Honour, com- menced a desperate attack upon some Bur roundy which the black servant placed before them. At this crisis, the Marchioness Pe Nini her daughter to favour the company with a song; Anastasie accordingly commenced the follow- mg popular air. But as our readers w ill be better pleased by reading the said celebrated National Song in English, we give the following faithful translation:— LA PARISIENNE. Gallant nation! now before you Freedom, beck’ning onward, stands; Let no tyrant’s sway be o’er you— Wrest the sceptre from his hands ! Paris gave the general cry, Glory, Fame, and Literty ! Speed, warriors, speed, Tho’ theusands biced, Piere’d by the leaden ball, or crush’d by thundering steed ; Conquests wait—your foemen die! Keep your serried ranks in order ; Sons of France, your country calls! Gory hetacombs accord her— Well she merits each who falls! Happy day! the general cry Echoed nought bat liberty ! Speed, warriors, speed, Tho’ thousands bleed, Pierc’d by the leaden ball, or crush'd by thundering steed; Conquests wait—your foemen die! Vain the shot may sweep along you, Ranks of warriors now display’d! Youthful gen’ralsare among you, 4 By the creat occasion mane : ‘ Happy day! &c. &c. | Foremost who the Carlist lances | With the banner-staff has met? oe Freedom’s votary advances, i Venerable Lafavette ! ‘ Happy day! &e. &e. Eomichooks Cc (0) oe hia