Pictures From Italy

by Charles Dickens

About This Book

ON a fine Sunday morning in the Midsummer time and weather of eighteen hundred and forty-four, it was, my good friend, when - don't be alarmed; not when two travellers might have been observed slowly making their way over the picturesque and broken ground by which the first chapter of a Middle Aged novel is usually attained - but when an English travelling-carriage of considerable proportions, fresh from the shady halls of the Pantechnicon near Belgrave Square, London, was observed (by a very small French soldier; for I saw him look at it) to issue from the gate of the Hotel Meurice in the Rue Rivoli at Paris.