Indeed, their characters, dress, and address, were
strongly contrasted: the doctor wore a suit of black, and a huge
tie-wig, neither suitable to his own age, nor the fashion of the country
where he then lived; whereas the other, though seemingly turned of
fifty, strutted in a gay summer dress of the Parisian cut, with a bag to
his own grey hair, and a red feather in his hat, which he carried under
his arm. As these figures seemed to promise something entertaining,
Pickle entered into conversation with them immediately, and soon
discovered that the old gentleman was a painter from London, who had
stolen a fortnight from his occupation, in order to visit the remarkable
paintings of France and Flanders; and that the doctor had taken the
opportunity of accompanying him in his tour. Being extremely talkative,
he not only communicated these particulars to our hero in a very few
minutes after their meeting, but also took occasion to whisper in his
ear that his fellow-traveller was a man of vast learning and, beyond
all doubt, the greatest poet of the age. As for himself, he was under no
necessity of making his own eulogium; for he soon gave such specimens of
his taste and talents as left Pickle no room to doubt of his capacity.

While they stood considering the pictures in one of the first
apartments, which are by no means the most masterly compositions,
the Swiss, who set up for a connoisseur, looking at a certain piece,
pronounced the word with a note of admiration; upon which Mr. Pallet,
who was not at all a critic in the French language, replied, with
great vivacity, "Manufac, you mean, and a very indifferent piece of
manufacture it is: pray, gentlemen, take notice; there is no keeping in
those heads upon the background, and no relief in the principal figure:
then you'll observe the shadings are harsh to the last degree; and, come
a little closer this way--don't you perceive that the foreshortening of
that arm is monstrous?--egad, sir! The is an absolute fracture in
the limb. Doctor, you understand anatomy: don't you think that muscle
evidently misplaced? Hark ye, Mr. what-d'ye-call-um (turning to the
attendant), what is the name of the dauber who painted that miserable
performance?" The Swiss, imagining that he was all this time expressing
his satisfaction, sanctioned his supposed commendation by exclaiming
sans prix. "Right," cried Pallet: "I could not recollect his name,
though his manner is quite familiar to me. We hav