Pickwick Abroad; or, The Tour in France — page 391: what you’re looking at

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378 PICKWICK ABROAD. “ What, indeed ?” murmured Mr. Hook Walker, as he helped him- self to a large specimen of this last-mentioned article of food; ‘* or without muffins ?” added the systematic gentleman, when Mr. Weller placed.a quantity of them upon the table. ‘““Poetry,” said Mr. Snodgrass to Mr. Chitty, “poetry, my dear Sir, is as necessary to existence as olives are to port-wime, or currant- telly to venison.”’ “Excellent idea,’ exclaimed Mr. Chitty. ‘Will there be any venison to-day at dinner—apud prandium 2” “T think so,” replied Mr. Snodgrass. ‘‘ But what kind of verse do you prefer ?”” ‘¢ Any kind, my dear Sir,” elucidated Mr. Septimus Chitty. ‘“ The fact is that those for wnom I write generally point out the measure. Rowland, Warren, Doudney, and those fellows, like the long running measure of twelve or fourteen syllables, because they get a good deal of matter into a short advertisement. Now, you see, Milton had none of these shackles ; liber futt—he was free to act as he chose. Butas i am remunerated according to the number of lines, I lose by this fashion — of verse. So that | am always poor; and as I live upon credit, when I do settle, I am always obliged to pay per nasum.” ‘“* How 2” exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass. “ Per nasum—through the nose,” explained Mr. Septimus Chitty, speaking in a most mysterious whisper. “Qh! fT understand,” cried Mr. Snodgrass, ‘“‘You haven’t any loose money about you?” enquired Mr. Chitty ; ‘* for the fact is, I have a bill to pay to-morrow, and I am devilish hard run—durus cursus,” “Oh!” said Mr. Snodgrass; ‘‘ if a thousand francs, or so, would do ou any good—” “ Ullum bonum ?” exclaimed Mr. Chitty: “‘ certainly they will.” So Mr.Snodgrass handed over a thousand francs to Mr. Chitty, which Mr. Chitty conveyed to his pocket; and Mr. Snodgrass felt very much pleased at having aided a voet who had actually published so many effusions, “Now do you know how they cure pork in the English style ?” demanded Mr. Kallaway of Mr. Pickwick. ‘Had you much game on your farm?” enquired Mr. Winkle of Mr. Kallaway. ‘““ You haven’t got another muffin, have you?” demanded Mr. Walker of Mr. Samuel Weller. ‘Poetry is the balm of existence—the very essence of love,’ ob- served Mr. Snodgrass to Mr. Chitty. ‘“‘ A breakfast ain’t a bad thing, though,” returned that gentleman ; and he was about to add that he had not eaten of one for the previous three mornings, but the entrance of Mr. Weller and a cold ham stopped his mouth till he opened it to admit some of the latter article. ‘Who cured this ham?” demanded Mr. Kallaway. ‘¢Tt ain’t been ill, that I know of,” replied Mr. Weller; “ but if you vant wery partickler to know, Ill jist step round to our grocer and ask vot medical man he paytronizes.” “Now then to breakfast’ eried Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Walker having cComicbooks.com 5 = - , a