Works . ortment very materially. Any luggage, sir 1 inquired the coachman. Who—I ? Brown paper parcel here, thats all,—other lug-gage gone by water,—^packing cases, nailed up—big as houses—heavy, heavy, damned heavy, replied the stranger, as he forcedinto his pocket as much as he could of the brown paper parcel,which presented most suspicious indications of containing oneshirt and a handkerchief. Heads, heads—take care of your heads ! cried the loqua-cious stranger, as they came out under the low archway, whichin those days formed the entrance to the coach-yard. Terribleplace—dangerous work—ot
Works . ortment very materially. Any luggage, sir 1 inquired the coachman. Who—I ? Brown paper parcel here, thats all,—other lug-gage gone by water,—^packing cases, nailed up—big as houses—heavy, heavy, damned heavy, replied the stranger, as he forcedinto his pocket as much as he could of the brown paper parcel,which presented most suspicious indications of containing oneshirt and a handkerchief. Heads, heads—take care of your heads ! cried the loqua-cious stranger, as they came out under the low archway, whichin those days formed the entrance to the coach-yard. Terribleplace—dangerous work—other day—five children—mother—taillady, eating sandwiches—forgot the arch—crash—knock—childrenlook round—^mothers head off—sandwich in her hand—no mouthto put it in—head of a family off—shocking, shocking! Lookingat Whitehall, sir ?—fine place—little window—somebody elseshead off there, eh, sir ?—he didnt keep a sharp look-out enougheither—eh, sir, eh ? 12. ?zaouJ^ THE LIVELY STRANGEES REMINISCENCES I am ruminating, said Mr. Pickwick, on the strangemutability of human affairs. Ah ! I see—in at the palace door one day, out at the windowthe next. Philosopher, sir ? An observer of human nature, sir, said Mr. Pickwick. Ah, so am I. Most people are when they ve little to doand less to get. Poet, sir 1 My friend Mr. Snodgrass has a strong poetic turn, saidMr. Pickwick. So have I, said the stranger. Epic poem,—ten thousandlines—revolution of July—composed it on the spot—Mars byday, Apollo by night,—bang the field-piece, twang the lyre. You were present at that glorious scene, sir ? said Present! think I was ; * fired a musket,—^fired with anidea,—rushed into wine shop—wrote it down—back again—^whiz,bang—another idea—wine shop again—pen and ink—back again—cut and slash—noble time, sir. Sportsman, sir ? abruptlyturning to Mr. Winkle. A little, sir, replied that gentleman. Fine pursuit, sir,
Size: 1447px × 1727px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauthordickensc, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookyear1881
