Lever_Charles_OMalley.txt topic ['13', '324', '378', '393']
and held out his hand, while his eye twinkled with its ancient droller)".
" , my son, how goes it ? delighted to see you. a pity
did not meet you yesterday ! a little dinner at 's. ,
, and a few others; they all wished for you, 'pon my life they did."
, certainly, thought , as have not the honour of being known
to them.
" are at 's," resumed he ; " a very good house, but give
you bad wine, if they don't know you : they know me," added he in a
whisper : " never try any tricks upon me. 'll just drop in upon you
at six."
" is most unfortunate, major ; can't have the pleasure you speak
of; we start in half an hour."
" mind, , never mind, another time. -the-bye, now
think of it : don't you remember something of a ten-pound note you
owe me ?"
" well as remember, major, the circumstance was reversed : you
are the debtor."
" my life you are right ; how droll. matter, let me have
the ten, and 'll give you a check for the whole."
major thrust his tongue into his cheek as he spoke, gave another
leer, pocketed the note, and sauntered down the pier, muttering some-
thing to himself about and greenhorns ; but how they were
connected could not precisely overhear.
, or . , to call her by her more fitting appella-
tion, is a fine, fat, comely, good-looking, and gaudily-dressed
woman, going through life as happily as need be ; her greatest diffi-
culties, and her severest trials being her ineffectual efforts to convert
into something like a man for .
of all, . remains attached to our fortune
firmly, as at first he opened his career ; the same gay, rollicksome
: making songs, making love, and occasionally making punch,
he spends his days and his nights pretty much as he was wont to do
some thirty years ago. obtains an occasional leave of absence for
a week or so, but for what precise purpose, or with what exact object,
have never been completely able to ascertain. have heard it as
true, that a very fascinating companion and a most agreeable gentle-
man, frequents a certain oyster-house in , called
's. have also been told of a distinguished foreigner, whose
black moustache and broken were the admiration of -
ham for the last two winters. greatly fear from the high tone of the
conversation in the former, and for the taste in continental characters
in the latter resort, that could fix upon the individual whose con-
vivial and social gifts have won so much of their esteem and admira-
tion, but were to, run on thus, should recur to every character of
my story, with each and all of whom you have, doubtless, grown well
wearied : so here, for the last time, and with every kind wish, say
adieu!
. 333
'.
, is somewhat unfortunate that the record of the
happiest portion of my friend's life, should prove the saddest part of my
duty as his editor, and for this reason, that it brings me to that spot
where my acquaintance with you must close, and sounds the hour when
must say good-bye.
, who have never felt the mysterious link that binds the solitary
scribe in his lonely study, to the circle of his readers, can form no
adequate estimate of what his feelings are, when that chain is about to
be broken ; they know not how often, in the fictitious garb of his
narrative, he has clothed the inmost workings of his heart ; they
know not how frequently he has spoken aloud his secret thoughts, re-
vealing, as though to a dearest friend, the springs of his action, the
causes of his sorrow, the sources of his hope ; they cannot believe by
what a sympathy he is bound to those who bow their heads above his
pages ; they do not [think how the ideal creations of his brain are like
mutual friends between him and the world, through whom he is known
and felt, and thought of, and by whom he reaps in his own heart the rich
harvest of flattery and kindnes that are rarely refused to any effort to
please, however poor however humble. know not this, nor can
they feel the hopes, the fears, that stir within him, to earn some passing
word of praise nor think they, when won, what brightness around
his humble hearth it may be shedding. are the rewards for
nights of toil and days of thought ; these are the recompenses which
pay the haggard cheek, the sunken eye, the racked and tired head.
are the stakes for which one plays his health, his leisure, and his
life yet not regrets the game.
three years have now elapsed, since first made my bow
before you. many events have crowded into that brief space -
how many things of vast moment have occurred ? think that in
the last few months you've frightened the ! terrified . !
worried the ! and are, at this very moment, putting the
into a " most uncommon fix !" not to mention the minor occu-
334 ',
pations of ousting the , reinstating the , and making
' and yet, with all these and a thousand other
minor cares, you have not forgotten your poor friend, the -
goon this was really kitid of you, and in my heart thank you
for it.
not, entreat you, construe my gratitude into any sense of future
favours, no such thing, for whatever may be my success with you
hereafter, am truly deeply grateful for the past. , into
which need not enter, have made me, for some years past, a resident
in a foreign country, and as my lot has thrown me into a land where
the reputation of writing a book is pretty much on a par with that of
picking a pocket, it may readily be conceived with what warm
thankfulness have caught at any little testimonies of your approval,
which chance may have thrown in my way.
the reduced gentlewoman who, compelled by poverty to cry
fresh eggs through the streets, added after every call " hope no-
body hears me ;" so , finding it convenient, for a not very dissimilar
reason, to write books, keep my authorship as quietly to myself as need
be, and comfort me with the assurance that nobody knows me.
word now to my critics. had any man more reason
to be satisfied with that class than myself; as if you knew and
cared for the temperament of the man you were reviewing ; as
if you were aware of the fact, that it was at any moment in your
power, by a single article of severe censure, to have extinguished
in him for ever, all effort, all ambition for success, you have
mercifully extended to him the mildest treatment, and meted out
even your disparagement, with a careful measure.
have studied your advice with attention, and read your cri-
ticisms with care, confess have trembled more than once before your
more palpable praise ; for thought you might be hoaxing me.
and then, to be sure, have been accused of impressing real
individuals, and compelling them to serve in my book ; that this reproach
was unjust, they who know me can best vouch for, while myself can
honestly aver, that never took a portrait without the consent of the
sitter.
again have fallen foul of me, for treating of things, places,
and people, with which had no of becoming personally
. 335
acquainted. one of my critics has showed that could not have
been a man ; and another has denied my military matri-
culation. , although both my and my learning are on the
peace establishment, and if examined in the movements for cavalry,
it is perfectly possible should be cautioned, yet as have both a degree
and a commission might have been spared this reproach.
" coorse," says , who leans over my shoulder
while write, " of coorse, you ought to know all about these things as
well as the of or himself. '
. 't you in the militia ?'" hope the
and the translation will satisfy every objection.
, then, have nothing but thankfulness in my heart respecting
the entire press of my o\vn country, have a small grudge with
my friends of the far west ; and, as this is a season of complaint
against the , " why shouldn't roll my tub also ?" certain
paper, called the , has thought fit for some time
past to fill its columns with a story of the war, announcing
it as " by the author of '." knows that injured
individual has sins enough of his own to answer for, without fa-
thering a whole foundling hospital of balderdash ; but this
kidnapping spirit of brother seem to be the fashion of
the day. content with capturing , who unhappily ventured
within his frontier, he must come over to and lay hands on
. , difficulties are thickening every day.
they dispose of the colonel then comes the boundary question : after
that there is 's affair then me. may liberate *
they may abandon the state of ; but what recompense can be
made to me for this foul attack on my literary character ? has been
suggested to me from the that the editor might be
hanged. confess should like this ; but after all, it would be poor
satisfaction for the injury done me. , as has tlicpas
of me, 'll wait patiently, and think the matter over.
was my intention, before taking leave of you, to have apologized
separately for many blunders in my book ; bnt the errors of the press
* have just read that and have been liberated.
indulge a hope that my cane will engage the sympathies of the world during
the holydays. . .
336 ', .
are too palpable to be attributed to me. have written letters
without end, begged, prayed, and entreated that more care might be
bestowed ; but somehow, after all, they have crept in in spite of me.
, latterly, began to 'think found out the secret of it. pub-
lisher, excellent man, has a kind of pride about printing in , and
he thinks the blunders, like the green cover to the volume, give the
thing a national look. think it was a countryman of mine of whom the
story is told, that apologized for his spelling by the badness of his pen.
excuse, a little extended, may explain away anacronisms, and
if it won't, am sorry for it, for have no other.
, then, conclude : must say adieu ! can not do so be-
fore again assure you that if perchance may have lightened an hour
of your solitude, you, my kind friends, have made happy whole weeks
and days of mine ; and if happily have called up a passing smile upon
your lip, your favour has spoken joy and gladness to many a heart
around my board. it, then, strange that should be grateful for
the past be sorrowful for the present ?
one and all, then, a happy ; and if, before the new year,
you have not forgotten me, shall be delighted to have your company at
.
, believe me most respectfully and faithfully yours,
.
, , 1841.