Pickwick Abroad; or, The Tour in France — page 374: what you’re looking at

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

PICKWICK ABROAD. 361 © Adieu, Eugene—and do not despair !”’ The lovers separated with tears, with sighs, and with sorrow, and with repeated oaths of constancy. When Archambault reached his lodgings in the Marais, he did not foolishly give way, as might have been expected from his former expressions of passion, to all the frivolities of distress; but he sate down with renewed ardour to complete a laborious work in the compi- lation of which he was engaged by that prince of French publishers, Charles Gosselin. Several thousands of francs had already been paid to him as he progressively advanced towards the termination of his task; and now about twelve hundred more remained to be paid him. He therefore continued his toils with unprecedented ardour, and at length laid down his pen with unfeigned delight. He hurried to his employer, delivered the manuscript, received the sum due to him, and ‘solicited more work. This request was accorded; and with a thou- sand expressions of the most heartfelt gratitude to the encouraging bookseller, who was himself extremely satisfied with the youth, he hurried homewards to commence his new undertaking. A crowd opposite a shop in one of the streets which he had occasion to pass through, for amoment caught his eye and rivetted his attention. He hurried to the spot, mingled from motives of curiosity with the mob, and succeeded in gaining a full view of a prospectus stuck against the wmdow of the shop, and which had thus attracted the notice of the passengers. It gave alongand flaming account of a mag- nificent castle and estate in Germany, which the owner had resolved to dispose of by way of a lottery. The produce of the property amounted ‘to a hundred and eighty thousand francs a year; and the principal bankers, librarians, «and:general agents in Europe, were em- ployed to dispose of the tickets, which were sold for twenty francs ae piece. Archambault for the first time felt an inclination to gamble. The allurement was so great—his sanguine disposition:at the moment caused him to forget the numberless:chances against the success of any one individual—all flatterme Hope whispered pleasing tales in his ears —and he entered the shop topurchasea ticket. The ailair was speedily concluded—he paid his twenty franes without the slightest reluctance —and joyfully regained his own dwelling. On his table lay a letter: he seized it, and hastily ‘recognised the handwritmg of Rose’s father. With a trembling hand he tore open the epistle—and in the all-absorbing contents he mstantly forgot his fairy dreams—his golden anticipation—his future prospects. The contents ran thus :— *¢ It is with sorrow that I am compelled to repeat my former deter- mination; and in making you acquainted with the approaching mar- riage of my daughter, I trust to your honour as a man—and asa ‘gentleman—not to persist in visiting Rose under present circumstances, even at the long mtervals you have so strictly conserved. You know that her peace of mind must depend upon your discretion in this matter, and that as her father [should be justified in compelling that which I merely solicit. “When my late and deeply-lamented wife was upon her death-bed, while Rose was butan infant, I pledged myself that one—to whom Rose 46 EORMICLYOOKS. EC) =)