Pickwick Abroad; or, The Tour in France — page 329: what you’re looking at

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

316 PICKWICK ABROAT consent of his friends, to reside in Paris some time longer—perhaps a year, perhaps two—perfiaps more—and to make himself perfectly acquainted with the French and their characteristics. He could not say that he was indifferent to reputation—but he was not so foolish as those travellers who, after a six weeks’ residence in the metropolitan city of some country, return home and write a long account of the manuers and customs of the people, whom they have scarcely had time to gaze upon, in two large volumes, (Murrah, hurrah—hear, hear! and ‘Hurrah for old Pickwick,” from Mr. Hook Watker, who com- menced his third bottle of champagne at the same time.) Women were particularly addicted to this way of concocting books, for the purpose of putting money into the pockets of themselves and their pub- lishers. He had understood that a lady, well known in the literary world, he believed, as Mrs. Baggage, had compiled many volumes after this method. This lady was in the habit of visiting large cities, partaking of the hospitality of the inhabitants, and then abusing them in her writings as if they had treated her with every indignity. He himself recollected that upon one occasion he sent his servant to the tobacconist’s for some snuff, about ten days after a new work by this lady nad appeared, and the snuff was brought to him in a leaf of her identical book. He perused it, and was so disgusted with its contents that he ordered his servant to tell the tobacconist he would not deal with him any more if he sent his articles in such paper as that. And what did the company think was the tobacconist’s insolent reply? Why, the fellow sent back to say that he could not comply with his | (Mr. Pickwick’s) request, as he had bought three hundred and fifty copies of the work, at twopence a volume, for waste-paper, and should have no different sort of paper till some other great author, whom he named, wrote anew book. (Hear, hear // Mr. Pickwick paused for a moment; and having gathered breath, he wound up his luminous discourse in the followmg manner. Mr. | Pickwick wou!d not detain his friends another moment. (‘* An hour if you like,” from Mr. Hook Walker, who drank off ano- ther glass of champagne.) He did not intend to imitate such scribes as those to whom he had alluded. Nor should he publish his works under his own name. He should prepare notes, and put them into the hands of able editors who would print them in a proper manner. He once more begged to thank Mr. Kallaway for the com- pliment he had paid to him (Mr. Pickwick) and his two friends; and he would conclude by promising not to forget the events of that even- ing in his ‘‘ Memoirs.” ; The applause which succeeded this splendid oration, shook the house to its very foundation, alarming the birds on the pantiles and the cats in the cellar. Mr. Hook Walker was so overcome with the speech he had just heard, or the champagne which he had drunk, that he absolutely fell helplessly from his chair, and gave vent to his emo- tions under the table. Mr. Tupman did not look exceedingly well pleased; Mr. Winkle eyed his great leader with the utmost respect; Mr. Scuttle began clapping a young lady upon the back as if it were Mr. Pickwick’s, and did not discover his error till her brother threat- ened to knock him down; Mr. Siéfkin wiped his eyes, into which the | strength of the Madeira he was drinking had brought large tears; and comicbooks.com