WATCH Sexy Elisha Cuthbert In Action  CLICK HERE for Instant Access Elisha Cuthbert Photos |
Elisha Cuthbert Photos Books: Martin Eden The Pickwick Papers The Sea Wolf |
count, said the lady, Pick-wick.
Ah, ah, I see, replied the count. Peek--christian name;
Weeks--surname; good, ver good. Peek Weeks. How you do, Weeks?
Quite well, I thank you, replied Mr. Pickwick, with all his
usual affability. Have you been long in England?
Long--ver long time--fortnight--more.
Do you stay here long?
One week.
You will have enough to do, said Mr. Pickwick smiling, to
gather all the materials you want in that time.
Eh, they are gathered, said the count.
Indeed! said Mr. Pickwick.
They are here, added the count, tapping his forehead
significantly. Large book at home--full of notes--music,
picture, science, potry, poltic; all tings.
The word politics, sir, said Mr. Pickwick, comprises in
itself, a difficult study of no inconsiderable magnitude.
Ah! said the count, drawing out the tablets again, ver good
--fine words to begin a chapter. Chapter forty-seven. Poltics.
The word poltic surprises by himself-- And down went Mr.
Pickwicks remark, in Count Smorltorks tablets, with such
variations and additions as the counts exuberant fancy suggested,
or his imperfect knowledge of the language occasioned.
Count, said Mrs. Leo Hunter.
Mrs. Hunt, replied the count.
This is Mr. Snodgrass, a friend of Mr. Pickwicks, and a poet.
Stop, exclaimed the count, bringing out the tablets once
more. Head, potry--chapter, literary friends--name, Snowgrass;
ver good. Introduced to Snowgrass--great poet, friend of Peek
Weeks--by Mrs. Hunt, which wrote other sweet poem--what is
that name?--Fog--Perspiring Fog--ver good--ver good
indeed. And the count put up his tablets, and with sundry bows
and acknowledgments walked away, thoroughly satisfied that he
had made the most important and valuable additions to his stock
of information.
Wonderful man, Count Smorltork, said Mrs. Leo Hunter.
Sound philosopher, said Mr. Pott.
Clear-headed, strong-minded person, added Mr. Snodgrass.
A chorus of bystanders took up the shout of Count Smorltorks
praise, shook their heads sagely, and unanimously cried, Very!
As the enthusiasm in Count Smorltorks favour ran very high,
his praises might have been sung until the end of the festivities,
if the four something-ean singers had not ranged themselves in
front of a small apple-tree, to look picturesque, and commenced
singing their national songs, which appeared by no means
difficult of execution, inasmuch as the grand secret seemed to be,
that three of the something-ean singers should grunt, while the
fourth howled. This interesting performance having concluded
amidst the loud plaudits of the whole company, a boy forthwith
proceeded to entangle himself with the rails of a chair, and to
jump over it, and crawl under it, and fall down with it, and do
everything but sit upon it, and then to make a cravat of his legs,
and tie them round his neck, and then to illustrate the ease with
which a human being can be made to look like a magnified toad
--all which feats yielded high delight and satisfaction to the
assembled spectators. After which, the voice of Mrs. Pott was
heard to chirp faintly forth, something which courtesy interpreted
into a song, which was all very classical, and strictly in
character, because Apollo was himself a composer, and
composers can very seldom sing their own music or anybody elses,
either. This was succeeded by Mrs. Leo Hunters recitation of her
far-famed Ode to an Expiring Frog, which was encored once,
and would have been encored twice, if the major part of the
guests, who thought it was high time to get something to eat, had
not said that it was perfectly shameful to take advantage of
Mrs. Hunters good nature. So although Mrs. Leo Hunter
professed her perfect willingness to recite the ode again, her kind
and considerate friends wouldnt hear of it on any account; and
the refreshment room being thrown open, all the people who had
ever been there before, scrambled in with all possible despatch--
Mrs. Leo Hunters usual course of proceedings being, to issue
cards for a hundred, and breakfast for fifty, or in other words to
feed only the very particular lions, and let the smaller animals
take care of themselves.
Where is Mr. Pott? said Mrs. Leo Hunter, as she placed the
aforesaid lions around her.
Here I am, said the editor, from the remotest end of the
room; far beyond all hope of food, unless something was done
for him by the hostess.
Wont you come up here?
Oh, pray dont mind him, said Mrs. Pott, in the most
obliging voice--you give yourself a great deal of unnecessary
trouble, Mrs. Hunter. Youll do very well there, wont you--dear?
Certainly--love, replied the unhappy Pott, with a grim smile.
Alas for the knout! The nervous arm that The Pickwick Papers page 98 The Pickwick Papers page 100 |