The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club

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Harper, 1873 - 332 pages
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Page 123 - Who is Slumkey ?" whispered Mr. Tupman. " I don't know," replied Mr. Pickwick in the same tone. " Hush. Don't ask any questions. It's always best on these occasions to do what the mob do.
Page 63 - Whole ages have fled and their works decayed, And nations have scattered been ; But the stout old Ivy shall never fade, From its hale and hearty green. The brave old plant, in its lonely days, Shall fatten upon the past: For the stateliest building man can raise Is the Ivy's food at last. Creeping on, where time has been, A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
Page 118 - Mrs Bardell could only reply by a look. She had long worshipped Mr Pickwick at a distance, but here she was, all at once, raised to a pinnacle to which her wildest and most extravagant hopes had never dared to aspire. Mr Pickwick was going to propose - a deliberate plan, too - sent her little boy to the Borough, to get him out of the way — how thoughtful - how considerate! 'Well,' said Mr Pickwick, 'what do you think?" ' Oh, Mr Pickwick,' said Mrs Bardell, trembling with agitation, 'you're very...
Page 62 - THE IVY GREEN. Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy green. That creepeth o'er ruins old ! Of right choice food are his meals, I ween, In his cell so lone and cold. The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed, To pleasure his dainty whim : And the mouldering dust that years have made, Is a merry meal for him. Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
Page 19 - ... and mended shoes, as if to conceal the dirty white stockings, which were nevertheless distinctly visible. His long black hair escaped in negligent waves from beneath each side of his old pinched-up hat ; and glimpses of his bare wrist might be observed, between the tops of his gloves, and the cuffs of his coat sleeves.
Page 117 - Bardell were exclusively confined to the neighboring pavements and gutters. Cleanliness and quiet reigned throughout the house ; and in it Mr. Pickwick's will was law. To any one acquainted with these points of the domestic economy of the establishment, and conversant with the admirable regulation of Mr. Pickwick's mind, his appearance and...
Page 16 - THAT punctual servant of all work, the sun, had just risen, and begun to strike a light on the morning of the thirteenth of May, one thousand eight hundred and twenty-seven, when Mr. Samuel Pickwick burst like another sun from his slumbers, threw open his chamber window, and looked out upon the world beneath.
Page 95 - Borough especially, there still remain some half dozen old inns, which have preserved their external features unchanged, and which have escaped alike the rage for public improvement, and the encroachments of private speculation. Great, rambling, queer, old places they are, with galleries, and passages, and staircases, wide enough, and antiquated enough, to furnish materials for a hundred ghost stories...
Page 52 - On the left of the spectator lay the ruined wall, broken in many places, and in some, overhanging the narrow beach below in rude and heavy masses. Huge knots of sea-weed hung upon the jagged and pointed stones, trembling in every breath of wind ; and the green ivy clung mournfully round the dark, and ruined battlements.
Page 52 - On either side, the banks of the Medway, covered with corn-fields and pastures, with here and there a windmill, or a distant church, stretched away as far as the eye could see, presenting a rich and varied landscape, rendered more beautiful by the changing shadows which passed swiftly across it, as the thin and halfformed clouds skimmed away in the light of the morning sun.

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