pended to be a continued narration of one
kind or other.

"What's all this?" said we.

"These," said he, "are really 'The Loiterings of Arthur O'Leary.' Listen
to this. Here's a bit of Goldsmith for you--

"'I was born of poor but respectable parents in the county------.' What
are you laughing at? Is it because I did'nt open with--'The sun was
setting, on the 25th of June, in the year 1763, as two travellers were
seen,' &c., &c,? Eh? That's your way, not mine. A London fellow told me
that my papers were worth five hundred pounds. Come, that's what I call
something. Now I'll go over to the 'Row.'"

"Stop a bit. Here seems something strange about the King of Holland."

"You mustn't read them, though. No, no. That'll never do--no, Hal; no
plagiarism. But, after all, I have been a little hasty with you, Perhaps
I ought not to have burned that thing; you were not to know it was bad."

"Eh! how?"

"Why, I say, you might not see how absurd it was; so here's your health,
Hal: either that tankard has been drugged, or a strange change has come
over my feelings. Harry Lorrequer, I'll make your fortune, or rather
your son's, for you are a wasteful creature, and will spend the proceeds
as fast as you get them; but the everlastingly-called-for new editions
will keep him in cash all his life. I'll give you that box and its
contents; yes, I repeat it, it is yours. I see you are overpowered;
there, taste the pewter and you'll get better presently. In that you'll
find--a little irregular and carelessly-written perhaps--the sum of my
experience and knowledge of life--all my correspondence, all my private
notes, my opinions on literature, fine arts, politics, and the drama."

But we will not follow our friend into the soaring realms of his
imaginative flight, for it was quite evident that the tankard and the
tobacco were alone responsible for the lofty promises of his production.
In plain English, Mr. O'Leary was fuddled, and the only intelligible
part of his discourse was, an assurance that his papers were entirely
at our service; and that, as in some three weeks time, he hoped to be
in Africa, having promised to spend the Christmas with Abd-el-Kader, we
were left his sole literary executor, with full power to edit him in any
shape it might please us, lopping, cutting, omitting--anything, even to
adding, or interpolating.

Such were his last orders, and having given them, Mr. O'Leary refilled
his pipe, closed his eyes, stretched