y life, to pass slightly over those passages, the burden of which was
unhappy, and whose memory is painful. I must now, therefore, claim the
"benefit of this act," and beg of the reader to let me pass from this sad
portion of my history, and for the full expression of my mingled rage,
contempt, disappointment, and sorrow, let me beg of him to receive
instead, what a learned pope once gave as his apology for not reading a
rather polysyllabic word in a Latin letter--"As for this," said he,
looking at the phrase in question, "soit qui'l dit," so say I. And now
--en route.

THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY LORREQUER, Volume 2

[By Charles James Lever (1806-1872)]

Dublin

MDCCCXXXIX.

Volume 2. (Chapters XI. to XVII.)

Contents:

CHAPTER XI
Cheltenham--Matrimonial Adventure--Showing how to make love for a friend

CHAPTER XII
Dublin--Tom O'Flaherty--A Reminiscence of the Peninsula

CHAPTER XIII
Dublin--The Boarding-house--Select Society

CHAPTER XIV
The Chase

CHAPTER XV
Mems Of the North Cork

CHAPTER XVI
Theatricals

CHAPTER XVI* (This chapter number is repeated in the print copy.)
The Wager

CHAPTER XVII
The Elopement

CHAPTER XI.

CHELTENHAM--MATRIMONIAL ADVENTURE--SHOWING HOW TO MAKE LOVE FOR A FRIEND.

It was a cold raw evening in February as I sat in the coffee-room of the
Old Plough in Cheltenham, "Lucullus c. Lucullo"--no companion save my
half-finished decanter of port. I had drawn my chair to the corner of
the ample fire-place, and in a half dreamy state was reviewing the
incidents of my early life, and like most men who, however young, have
still to lament talents misapplied, opportunities neglected, profitless
labour, and disastrous idleness. The dreary aspect of the large and
ill-lighted room--the close-curtained boxes--the unsocial look of every
thing and body about suited the habit of my soul, and I was on the verge
of becoming excessively sentimental--the unbroken silence, where several
people were present, had also its effect upon me, and I felt oppressed
and dejected. So sat I for an hour; the clock over the mantel ticked
sharply on--the old man in the brown surtout had turned in his chair,
and now snored louder--the gentleman who read the Times had got the
Chronicle, and I thought I saw him nodding over the advertisements.
The father who, with a raw son of about nineteen, had dined at six,
sat still and motionless opposite his offspring, and only breaking