Chapter 15 - Page 2

'With great pleasure,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'Mrs. Leo Hunter has many of these breakfasts, Sir,' resumed
the new acquaintance--'"feasts of reason," sir, "and flows of
soul," as somebody who wrote a sonnet to Mrs. Leo Hunter on
her breakfasts, feelingly and originally observed.'

'Was HE celebrated for his works and talents?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'He was Sir,' replied the grave man, 'all Mrs. Leo Hunter's
acquaintances are; it is her ambition, sir, to have no other
acquaintance.'

'It is a very noble ambition,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'When I inform Mrs. Leo Hunter, that that remark fell from
your lips, sir, she will indeed be proud,' said the grave man. 'You
have a gentleman in your train, who has produced some beautiful
little poems, I think, sir.'

'My friend Mr. Snodgrass has a great taste for poetry,' replied
Mr. Pickwick.

'So has Mrs. Leo Hunter, Sir. She dotes on poetry, sir. She
adores it; I may say that her whole soul and mind are wound up,
and entwined with it. She has produced some delightful pieces,
herself, sir. You may have met with her "Ode to an Expiring
Frog," sir.'

'I don't think I have,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'You astonish me, Sir,' said Mr. Leo Hunter. 'It created an
immense sensation. It was signed with an "L" and eight stars, and
appeared originally in a lady's magazine. It commenced--

'"Can I view thee panting, lying
On thy stomach, without sighing;
Can I unmoved see thee dying
On a log
Expiring frog!"'
'Beautiful!' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Fine,' said Mr. Leo Hunter; 'so simple.'

'Very,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'The next verse is still more touching. Shall I repeat it?'

'If you please,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'It runs thus,' said the grave man, still more gravely.

'"Say, have fiends in shape of boys,
With wild halloo, and brutal noise,
Hunted thee from marshy joys,
With a dog,
Expiring frog!"'

'Finely expressed,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'All point, Sir,' said Mr. Leo Hunter; 'but you shall hear
Mrs. Leo Hunter repeat it. She can do justice to it, Sir. She will
repeat it, in character, Sir, to-morrow morning.'

'In character!'

'As Minerva. But I forgot--it's a fancy-dress DEJEUNE.'

'Dear me,' said Mr. Pickwick, glancing at his own figure--'I
can't possibly--'

'Can't, sir; can't!' exclaimed Mr. Leo Hunter. 'Solomon
Lucas, the Jew in the High Street, has thousands of fancy-
dresses. Consider, Sir, how many appropriate characters are open
for your selection. Plato, Zeno, Epicurus, Pythagoras--all
founders of clubs.'

'I know that,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but as I cannot put myself
in competition with those great men, I cannot