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Elisha Cuthbert Photos Books: Martin Eden The Pickwick Papers The Sea Wolf |
have been seen pacing the
churchyard to and fro, while Mr. Pickwick was engaged in
combating his companions resolution. Any repetition of his
arguments would be useless; for what language could convey to
them that energy and force which their great originators manner
communicated? Whether Mr. Tupman was already tired of
retirement, or whether he was wholly unable to resist the eloquent
appeal which was made to him, matters not, he did NOT resist it
at last.
It mattered little to him, he said, where he dragged out the
miserable remainder of his days; and since his friend laid so
much stress upon his humble companionship, he was willing to
share his adventures.
Mr. Pickwick smiled; they shook hands, and walked back to
rejoin their companions.
It was at this moment that Mr. Pickwick made that immortal
discovery, which has been the pride and boast of his friends, and
the envy of every antiquarian in this or any other country. They
had passed the door of their inn, and walked a little way down
the village, before they recollected the precise spot in which it
stood. As they turned back, Mr. Pickwicks eye fell upon a small
broken stone, partially buried in the ground, in front of a cottage
door. He paused.
This is very strange, said Mr. Pickwick.
What is strange? inquired Mr. Tupman, staring eagerly at
every object near him, but the right one. God bless me, whats
the matter?
This last was an ejaculation of irrepressible astonishment,
occasioned by seeing Mr. Pickwick, in his enthusiasm for
discovery, fall on his knees before the little stone, and commence
wiping the dust off it with his pocket-handkerchief.
There is an inscription here, said Mr. Pickwick.
Is it possible? said Mr. Tupman.
I can discern,continued Mr. Pickwick, rubbing away with all
his might, and gazing intently through his spectacles--I can
discern a cross, and a 13, and then a T. This is important,
continued Mr. Pickwick, starting up. This is some very old
inscription, existing perhaps long before the ancient alms-houses
in this place. It must not be lost.
He tapped at the cottage door. A labouring man opened it.
Do you know how this stone came here, my friend? inquired
the benevolent Mr. Pickwick.
No, I doant, Sir, replied the man civilly. It was here long
afore I was born, or any on us.
Mr. Pickwick glanced triumphantly at his companion.
You--you--are not particularly attached to it, I dare say,
said Mr. Pickwick, trembling with anxiety. You wouldnt mind
selling it, now?
Ah! but whod buy it? inquired the man, with an expression
of face which he probably meant to be very cunning.
Ill give you ten shillings for it, at once, said Mr. Pickwick,
if you would take it up for me.
The astonishment of the village may be easily imagined, when
(the little stone having been raised with one wrench of a spade)
Mr. Pickwick, by dint of great personal exertion, bore it with his
own hands to the inn, and after having carefully washed it,
deposited it on the table.
The exultation and joy of the Pickwickians knew no bounds,
when their patience and assiduity, their washing and scraping,
were crowned with success. The stone was uneven and broken,
and the letters were straggling and irregular, but the following
fragment of an inscription was clearly to be deciphered:--
[cross] B I L S T
u m
P S H I
S. M.
ARK
Mr. Pickwicks eyes sparkled with delight, as he sat and
gloated over the treasure he had discovered. He had attained one
of the greatest objects of his ambition. In a county known to
abound in the remains of the early ages; in a village in which
there still existed some memorials of the olden time, he--he, the
chairman of the Pickwick Club--had discovered a strange and
curious inscription of unquestionable antiquity, which had
wholly escaped the observation of the many learned men who had
preceded him. He could hardly trust the evidence of The Pickwick Papers page 65 The Pickwick Papers page 67 |