Pickwick Abroad; or, The Tour in France — page 393: what you’re looking at

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

280 PICKWICK ABROAD. ‘So much the better, Sam,” cried Mr. Jopling, who didnot perceive _ the satire which Mr. Pickwick’s faithful servant intended to convey — by his observation. , And when the joints alluded to made their appearance, Messieurs Lipman and Jopling, who resembled a recruiting company in a small country town, commenced an awful attack upon them. The breakfast lasted till about twelve o’clock; and at that houra series of hackney-coaches was brought up to the door, and the whole party proceeded to the lodgings occupied by Mr. Scuttle and Mrs. Weston. Mr. Weller was seated upon the dickey of that vehicle in’ which the four great travellers were ensconced ; and as the cavalcade passed up the Boulevards, the facetious domestic waved his hat joyously over his head, and performed several other antics to the great delight of all who beheld him. At length the party arrived at Mr. Scuttle’s abode, and found that_ gentleman in his best clothes and an excellent humour. It 1s true that when he was attiring himself in the morning, he had slipped his legs into the sleeves of his coat, and his arms into his drawers; and that he did not detect his error till he looked at himself in the glass to see if his toilet were complete; but this little recurrence of his old malady had not ruffled his temper: and he received his intended nephew and the large party of gentlemen who followed in the rear, with the utmost urbanity and kindness. ‘““T’ve got some news to tell you, Scuttle,” said Mr. Kk allaway, when - they were all seated. ‘‘ Ah! what’s that 2” enquired the absent gentleman. ‘“The black cat had kittens last night,” replied Mr. Kallaway. “Indeed!” said Mr. Scuttle. ‘‘ But that’s not all,” continued Mr. Kallaway. ‘‘ When I returned home,—it was very late,—my big dog mistook me fora thief, and bit his name in the calf of my leg.” ‘““God bless me!” ejaculated Mr. Pickwick: ‘‘ but are you not afraid of hydrophobia?” ‘Oh! no—not in the least,” replied the ex-farmer and grazier: ‘the dog drank up all the milk this morning, and therefore I have but little fear of becoming mad.” ‘Devilish good argument, that—is it not, Jopling?” cried Mr. Lipman. ) ‘“‘ Capital,” assented the individual thus appealed to. ‘“‘T like that dog of your's, Kallaway, very much,” observed Mr. Winkle. ‘‘ A dog is the most poetical of all animals,” said Mr. Snodgrass. ‘*No rural or domestic poem is worth a fig unless you describe the barking of a dog heard at a distance.” ‘‘ Nor is an elegy worth speaking of, if you don’t put an owl up in the ivy bushes,” remarked Mr. Chitty. “‘ Owls and dogs are as necessary in poetry as rivals and thwarted lovers are in novels. In each department of literature they are all the go—ommis e0.” ‘It's avery bad system,”’ said Mr. Hook Walker. ‘“T wonder whether Mrs. Weston means to keep us waiting much longer,” whispered Mr. Tupman to Mr. Kallaway. | It appears that Mr. Pickwick wondered the very same thing; for he comicbooks.com