xcited

group of talkers. It was a raw evening, and the misty river, blurred

to the eye with blazing lights and to the ear with harsh noises,

showed where the barges were stationed in which the smiths

worked, making guns for the Army of the Republic. Woe to the

man who played tricks with that Army, or got undeserved

promotion in it! Better for him that his beard had never grown, for

the National Razor shaved him close.

Having purchased a few small articles of grocery, and a

measure of oil for the lamp, Miss Pross bethought herself of the

wine they wanted. After peeping into several wine-shops, she

stopped at the sign of The Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity,

not far from the National Palace, once (and twice) the Tuileries,

where the aspect of things rather took her fancy. It had a quieter

look than any other place of the same description they had passed,

and though red with patriotic caps, was not so red as the rest.

Sounding Mr. Cruncher, and finding him of her opinion, Miss

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

Pross resorted to The Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity,

attended by her cavalier.

Slightly observant of the smoky lights; of the people pipe in