On the writer quietly observing
that the book contained an exposition of his principles, the
pseudo-Radical replied, that he cared nothing for his principles--
which was probably true, it not being likely that he would care for
another person's principles after having shown so thorough a
disregard for his own. The writer said that the book, of course,
would give offence to humbugs; the Radical then demanded whether he
thought him 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 deathbed 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.
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