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 Pickwick's remark, in

Count Smorltork's tablets, with such variations and additions as the

count's 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 Pickwick's, 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 Smorltork's praise,

shook their heads sagely, and unanimously cried, 'Very!'

The Pickwick Papers