Pickwick Abroad; or, The Tour in France — page 112: what you’re looking at

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

PICKWICK ABROAD. 99 short space o’ time. MRail-roads vos nothin’ to the ce-lerity vith vich he grabbed the blunt: his pockets vosn’t big enough, so he shoves the money into his boots, and every-vere else he could imagine, Figeer to your-self, Sir, this wery great fool, instead 0’ coming right straight avay home, takes 1t mto bis stupid head to go an’ see atemale acquaintance of hisn, vich lives on t’other side o’ the vater—in the Borough, you may say, Sur, ven thinkin’ o’ London. So he gets toa bridge—I forget the name, now, Sir—and there he fell among thieves, vich plunderea him, beat him hke a sack, and left him for dead. Now, Sir, to joller up the hallegory, the mght-police, like so many good Samaritans, come up and catched him as he laid on the pave- ment. ‘ He’s stiff enough,’ said von on ’em, vich vos the remark made by the jealous husband as starched his pretty vife’s neck to perwent her turnin’ her head to look at the young men. So, findin’ that he hadn’t got no life m him, they takes him to the Morgue, vich re- ceptacle for defunct carcasses you may remember, Sir, ve saw t other day.” Mr. Pickwick nodded assent, and Mr. Weller proceeded to relate the issue of the adventure. “Vell, Sir—they carries him off to the Morgue—they knocks up the porter—and they strips Mr. Wincent naked, and lays him on von o’ them ere leaden benches, over vich the vater flows to keep the bodies fresh. They then departs, and the porter vonce more locks up the gates, and retires to bed. But he hadn’t been there long fust, before a devil of a row vos heerd in the room vere the dead bodies vos lying. ‘he porter thinks he’s got another customer, and is wery joyful on that ac-count; for his salary con-sists o’ three francs for each body as is brought i, vich makes about eighteen hundred frances a-year, as | neerd say. So he jumps up to open the gate; but vot is his terror and alarm ven he sees the last new-comer a-caperin’ about the place like mad, and tryin’ to break through the partition! ‘The porter falls down vith a terrible cry ; and the patrol, vich vos passin’ at the wery nick o’ time, breaks open the gates, and dis-covers the voeful scene. ‘lhe porter vos clean dead; and the gen’leman vos as lively as you or me, Sir. Now von o’ two things must ha’ taken place: either the devil has put a sperit into the body o’ Mr. Wincent, or else he vos only in a trance, and the cold vaier brought him ¢o again. But here he is in the hot-tel, safe an’ sound, save and ac-cept a wiolent cold and the rheumatics; an’ he svears hke vinkey that he'll never go to a gambling~-’ouse as long as he lives; but that, if he does, he von’t cross no more bridges at von o’clock in the mornin’.” ‘This is an extraordinary tale, Sam,” said Mr, Pickwick, with a du- bious shake of the head. ‘So the boy said, Sir,”’ returned Mr. Weller, “‘ ven his gran’mother told him the story o’ Jack and the Bean-Stalk.” “Ah!” said Mr. Boozie, with a most terrific obliquity of vision, ‘*T once was acquainted with a man—a woman, I mean—what a con- founded falsehood [ was telling, to be sure!—who died on a Christ- mas day—and—no, it wasn’t—! beg your pardon—’twas a New-year’s day, now that I think of it—and her ghost paid my aunt—my mother, IT mean—an annual visit for fifty years after,” EOMMICLOOOL<S ((0)