im
a humbug?--the wretched wife was the Radical's protection, even as he
knew she would be; it was on her account that the writer did not kick his
good friend; as it was, he looked at him in the face and thought to
himself, 'How is it possible I should think you a humbug, when only last
night I was taking your part in a company in which everybody called you a
humbug?'

The Radical, probably observing something in the writer's eye which he
did not like, became all on a sudden abjectly submissive, and, professing
the highest admiration for the writer, begged him to visit him in his
government; this the writer promised faithfully to do, and he takes the
present opportunity of performing his promise.

This is one of the pseudo-Radical calumniators of 'Lavengro' and its
author; were the writer on his death-bed he would lay his hand on his
heart and say, that he does not believe that there is one trait of
exaggeration in the portrait which he has drawn. This is one of the
pseudo-Radical calumniators of 'Lavengro' and its author; and this is one
of the genus, who, after having railed against jobbery for perhaps a
quarter of a century, at present batten on large official salaries which
they do not earn. England is a great country, and her interests require
that she should have many a well-paid official both at home and abroad;
but will England long continue a great country if the care of her
interests both at home and abroad, is in many instances entrusted to
beings like him described above, whose only recommendation for an
official appointment was that he was deeply versed in the secrets of his
party and of the Whigs?

Before he concludes, the writer will take the liberty of saying of
'Lavengro' that it is a book written for the express purpose of
inculcating virtue, love of country, learning, manly pursuits, and
genuine religion, for example, that of the Church of England, and for
awakening a contempt for nonsense of every kind, and a hatred for
priestcraft, more especially that of Rome.

And in conclusion, with respect to many passages of his book, in which he
has expressed himself in terms neither measured nor mealy, he will beg
leave to observe, in the words of a great poet, who lived a profligate
life it is true, but who died a sincere penitent--thanks, after God, to
good Bishop Burnet--

'All this with indignation I have hurl'd
At the pretending part of this proud world,
Who, swollen with selfish van