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Elisha Cuthbert Gallery Books: Martin Eden The Pickwick Papers The Sea Wolf |
like to have seen that dog, said Mr. Winkle.
Mr. Tupman said nothing; but he thought of Donna Christina,
the stomach pump, and the fountain; and his eyes filled with tears.
A private sitting-room having been engaged, bedrooms
inspected, and dinner ordered, the party walked out to view the
city and adjoining neighbourhood.
We do not find, from a careful perusal of Mr. Pickwicks notes
of the four towns, Stroud, Rochester, Chatham, and Brompton,
that his impressions of their appearance differ in any material
point from those of other travellers who have gone over the same
ground. His general description is easily abridged.
The principal productions of these towns, says Mr. Pickwick,
appear to be soldiers, sailors, Jews, chalk, shrimps, officers, and
dockyard men. The commodities chiefly exposed for sale in the
public streets are marine stores, hard-bake, apples, flat-fish, and
oysters. The streets present a lively and animated appearance,
occasioned chiefly by the conviviality of the military. It is truly
delightful to a philanthropic mind to see these gallant men
staggering along under the influence of an overflow both of
animal and ardent spirits; more especially when we remember
that the following them about, and jesting with them, affords a
cheap and innocent amusement for the boy population. Nothing,
adds Mr. Pickwick, can exceed their good-humour. It was
but the day before my arrival that one of them had been most
grossly insulted in the house of a publican. The barmaid
had positively refused to draw him any more liquor; in return
for which he had (merely in playfulness) drawn his bayonet,
and wounded the girl in the shoulder. And yet this fine fellow
was the very first to go down to the house next morning and
express his readiness to overlook the matter, and forget what
had occurred!
The consumption of tobacco in these towns, continues Mr.
Pickwick, must be very great, and the smell which pervades the
streets must be exceedingly delicious to those who are extremely
fond of smoking. A superficial traveller might object to the dirt,
which is their leading characteristic; but to those who view it as
an indication of traffic and commercial prosperity, it is
truly gratifying.
Punctual to five oclock came the stranger, and shortly afterwards
the dinner. He had divested himself of his brown paper
parcel, but had made no alteration in his attire, and was, if
possible, more loquacious than ever.
Whats that? he inquired, as the waiter removed one of the covers.
Soles, Sir.
Soles--ah!--capital fish--all come from London-stage-
coach proprietors get up political dinners--carriage of soles--
dozens of baskets--cunning fellows. Glass of wine, Sir.
With pleasure, said Mr. Pickwick; and the stranger took
wine, first with him, and then with Mr. Snodgrass, and then with
Mr. Tupman, and then with Mr. Winkle, and then with the
whole party together, almost as rapidly as he talked.
Devil of a mess on the staircase, waiter, said the stranger.
Forms going up--carpenters coming down--lamps, glasses,
harps. Whats going forward?
Ball, Sir, said the waiter.
Assembly, eh?
No, Sir, not assembly, Sir. Ball for the benefit of a charity, Sir.
Many fine women in this town, do you know, Sir? inquired
Mr. Tupman, with great interest.
Splendid--capital. Kent, sir--everybody knows Kent--
apples, cherries, hops, and women. Glass of wine, Sir!
With great pleasure, replied Mr. Tupman. The stranger filled,
and emptied.
I should very much like to go, said Mr. Tupman, resuming
the subject of the ball, very much.
Tickets at the bar, Sir, interposed the waiter; half-a-guinea
each, Sir.
Mr. Tupman again expressed an earnest wish to be present at
the festivity; but meeting with no response in the darkened eye of
Mr. Snodgrass, or the abstracted gaze of Mr. Pickwick, he
applied himself with great interest to the port wine and dessert,
which had just been placed on the table. The waiter withdrew,
and the party were left to enjoy the cosy couple of hours
succeeding dinner.
Beg your pardon, sir, said the stranger, bottle stands--pass
it round--way of the sun--through the button-hole--no heeltaps,
and he emptied his glass, which he had filled about two
minutes before, and poured out another, with the air of a man
who was used to it.
The wine was passed, and a fresh supply ordered. The visitor
talked, the Pickwickians listened. Mr. Tupman felt every moment
more disposed for the ball. Mr. Pickwicks countenance glowed
with an expression of universal philanthropy, and Mr. Winkle
and Mr. Snodgrass fell fast asleep.
Theyre beginning upstairs, said the stranger--hear the
company--fiddles tuning--now the harp--there they go. The
various sounds which found their The Pickwick Papers page 6 The Pickwick Papers page 8 |