Pickwick Abroad; or, The Tour in France — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

100 PICKWICK ABROAD. ‘‘ Wery re-markable things there air, m this vorld, too,” observed Mr. Weller, with a particularly solemn shake of the head: and per- haps he would have displayed a few more aphorisms of the same kind, had not a waiter entered the room, and presented a couple of letters to Mr. Pickwick. “You may go, Sam,” said that gentleman; so Mr. Weller forthwith disappeared with the waiter, in obedience to the somewhat intelligible hint he had just received. ‘“‘The first,” said Mr. Pickwick, opening one of the epistles, “‘ is an invitation for us all to an evening party—or sozrée, as they call it—at the English ambassador’s, for the day after to-morrow.” “Indeed!” exclaimed Mr. Tupman, joyfully: “then, after all, it was lucky that I thought of bringing my best black coat, with the white silk linings to the skirts.” “Ts that the fashion?” enquired Mr. Boozie, who was also in- cluded in the invitation to Lord Pompus’s sozrée, at the British Lega- tion Hotel, in the Faubourg Saint-Honoré. “Certainly,” replied Mr. Tupman, with considerable emphasis. ‘‘] shan’t go to that expense,” said Mr. Boozie, after a moment’s consideration: ‘‘ but I don’t care if 1 pm a couple of neat cambric pocket-handkerchiets inside my coat-tails.”’ ‘¢ Nonsense !” exclaimed Mr. Winkle, impatiently. ‘‘ Who is the other letter from, Pickwick ?” ‘‘ From our friend Snodgrass, I declare!” ejaculated that gentle- man, as he unfolded the second missive: ‘‘ and in poetry, too—unless my eyes deceive me!” But Mr. Pickwick saw correctly; and, after a few running com- ments upon the ability of the immortal Snodgrass, and a request that Mr. Boozie would not leave the room, as the letter could not contain any thing he might not hear, the contents were communicated to his attentive audience, by Mr. Pickwick himself, who, in an impressive and solemn tone of voice, most admirably suited to the composition, read the following beautiiul etiusion :— “Think not, dear friend, that while afar in foreign lands you stray, Our hearts (though rude those hearts may be, compar’d with thine) are ay Oh! aha miss the smiling face that cheer’d our evening meal, Aud when the wine is on the board, ’tis then thy loss we feel! Alas! thou art not with us now, and pitiful our state is, While thou art roaming far away with Tupman as Achates. ‘«T have but little news to tell, for England still is quiet, Aithough our sister-isle each day be menac’d with a riot; Things seem to jog on just the same as when you went away, And Mr. Bentley still maintains of publishing the sway, While many an author starves within the Fleet or Banco Regis— But such can never hap to you with Weller as your Atgis. ‘‘ Books pour upon us from the press of this illustrious city, In giant heaps—romance and verse—historical and witty— ) Bulwers * and Bayleys t— Gore and Galt—Hope, Howard, Hook, and Hervey, Enough to turn the reader’s mind insane or topsy-turvy ! * E. L. Bulwer, and H. L. Bulwer. jg + T. Haynes Bayley, and F. W N. Bayley. | : Eomicbooks.co