Elisha Cuthbert gallery |
Elisha Cuthbert Gallery Books: Martin Eden The Pickwick Papers The Sea Wolf |
beating of
drums, the blowing of horns and trumpets, the shouting of men,
and tramping of horses, echoed and re--echoed through the streets
from the earliest dawn of day; and an occasional fight between
the light skirmishers of either party at once enlivened the
preparations, and agreeably diversified their character.
Well, Sam, said Mr. Pickwick, as his valet appeared at his
bedroom door, just as he was concluding his toilet; all alive
to-day, I suppose?
Reglar game, sir, replied Mr. Weller; our peoples a-collecting
down at the Town Arms, and theyre a-hollering themselves
hoarse already.
Ah, said Mr. Pickwick, do they seem devoted to their party, Sam?
Never see such dewotion in my life, Sir.
Energetic, eh? said Mr. Pickwick.
Uncommon, replied Sam; I never see men eat and drink so
much afore. I wonder they aint afeerd o bustin.
Thats the mistaken kindness of the gentry here, said Mr. Pickwick.
Wery likely, replied Sam briefly.
Fine, fresh, hearty fellows they seem, said Mr. Pickwick,
glancing from the window.
Wery fresh, replied Sam; me and the two waiters at the
Peacock has been a-pumpin over the independent woters as
supped there last night.
Pumping over independent voters! exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
Yes, said his attendant, every man slept vere he fell down;
we dragged em out, one by one, this mornin, and put em under
the pump, and theyre in reglar fine order now. Shillin a head
the committee paid for that ere job.
Can such things be! exclaimed the astonished Mr. Pickwick.
Lord bless your heart, sir, said Sam, why where was you half
baptised?--thats nothin, that aint.
Nothing?said Mr. Pickwick.
Nothin at all, Sir, replied his attendant. The night afore the
last day o the last election here, the opposite party bribed the
barmaid at the Town Arms, to hocus the brandy-and-water of
fourteen unpolled electors as was a-stoppin in the house.
What do you mean by "hocussing" brandy-and-water?
inquired Mr. Pickwick.
Puttin laudnum in it, replied Sam. Blessed if she didnt
send em all to sleep till twelve hours arter the election was over.
They took one man up to the booth, in a truck, fast asleep, by
way of experiment, but it was no go--they wouldnt poll him; so
they brought him back, and put him to bed again.
Strange practices, these, said Mr. Pickwick; half speaking to
himself and half addressing Sam.
Not half so strange as a miraculous circumstance as happened
to my own father, at an election time, in this wery place, Sir,
replied Sam.
What was that? inquired Mr. Pickwick.
Why, he drove a coach down here once, said Sam; lection
time came on, and he was engaged by vun party to bring down
woters from London. Night afore he was going to drive up,
committee on t other side sends for him quietly, and away he
goes vith the messenger, who shows him in;--large room--lots of
genlmn--heaps of papers, pens and ink, and all that ere. "Ah,
Mr. Weller," says the genlmn in the chair, "glad to see you, sir;
how are you?"--"Wery well, thank ee, Sir," says my father; "I
hope youre pretty middlin," says he.--"Pretty well, thankee, Sir,"
says the genlmn; "sit down, Mr. Weller--pray sit down, sir."
So my father sits down, and he and the genlmn looks wery
hard at each other. "You dont remember me?" said the
genlmn.--"Cant say I do," says my father.--"Oh, I know
you," says the genlmn: "knowd you when you was a boy,"
says he.--"Well, I dont remember you," says my father.--
"Thats wery odd," says the genlmn."--"Wery," says my
father.--"You must have a bad memry, Mr. Weller," says the
genlmn.--"Well, it is a wery bad un," says my father.--"I
thought so," says the genlmn. So then they pours him out a
glass of wine, and gammons him about his driving, and gets him
into a reglar good humour, and at last shoves a twenty-pound
note into his hand. "Its a wery bad road between this and
London," says the genlmn.--"Here and there it is a heavy
road," says my father.--" Specially near the canal, I think,"
says the genlmn.--"Nasty bit that ere," says my father.--
"Well, Mr. Weller," says the genlmn, "youre a wery good
whip, and can do what you like with your horses, we know.
Were all wery fond o you, Mr. Weller, so in case you should have
an accident when youre bringing these here woters down, and
should tip em over into the canal vithout hurtin of em, this is
for yourself," says he.--"Genlmn, youre wery kind," says my
father, "and Ill drink your health in another glass of wine," The Pickwick Papers page 80 The Pickwick Papers page 82 |