The Works of William Makepeace Thackeray (Volume 2; V. 8); Newcomes (Paperback)

Book may have numerous typos, missing text, images, or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1905. Excerpt: ... CHAPTER XXII CONTAINS TWO OR THREE ACTS OF A LITTLE COMEDY ALL this story is told by one, who, if he was not actually present at the circumstances here narrated, yet had information concerning them, and could supply such a narrative of facts and conversations as is, indeed, not less authentic than the details we have of other histories. How can I tell the feelings in a young lady's mind; the thoughts in a young gentleman's bosom?--As Professor Owen or Professor Agassiz takes a fragment of a bone, and builds an enormous forgotten monster out of it, wallowing in primaeval quagmires, tearing down leaves and branches of plants that flourished thousands of years ago, and perhaps may be coal by this time -- so the novelist puts this and that together: from the footprint finds the foot; from the foot, the brute who trode on it; from the brute, the plant he browsed on, the marsh in which he swam -- and thus, in his humble way a physiologist too, depicts the habits, size, appearance of the beings whereof he has to treat; -- traces this slimy reptile through the mud, and describes his habits filthy and rapacious; prods down this butterfly with a pin, and depicts his beautiful coat and embroidered waistcoat; points out the singular structure of yonder more important animal, the megatherium of his history. Suppose then, in the quaint old garden of the "H6tel de Florac," two young people are walking up and down in an avenue of lime-trees, which are still permitted to grow in that ancient place. In the centre of that avenue is a fountain, surmounted by a Triton so grey and mosseaten, that though he holds his conch to his swelling lips, curling his tail in the arid basin, his instrument has had a sinecure for at least fifty years; and did not think fit even to play when the Bourbons, in whose time...