Guy Livingstone; - or, 'Thorough' by George A. (George Alfred) Lawrence
page 19 of 307 (06%)
page 19 of 307 (06%)
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I see him, too, with his pleasant face, round, rosy, and beardless as a child-cherub of Rubens, tempting pale men with splitting heads to throw boots at him in the bitterness of their envy as he entered their rooms on the morning after a heavy drink, his eyes so clear and guileless that you would never guess how sharp they could be at times when a dangerous horse was coming up on his quarter. A strange compound his character was of cool calculation and sentimental simplicity. The most astute of trainers never got the better of him in making a match; and I am sure, to this day, he believes in ----'s poetry, and in the immutability of feminine affection. How agreeable he was about the small hours, chirping over his grog; alternating between reminiscences of "My tutor's daughter" and recitals of choice morsels in verse and prose; misquoting, to the utter annihilation of rhythm and sense, but all with perfect gravity, good faith, and satisfaction! _Nec te, memorande, relinquam_--true Tom Lynton! not clever, not even high-bred, but loved by every one for the honestest and kindest heart that ever was the kernel of a rough rind. Do we not remember that supper where the Fathers of England were being discussed? Every one, drawn on by the current, had a stone to throw at his relieving officer, the complaint, of course, being a general tightness in the supplies. At last, Tom, who, though his own sire was an austere man, could not bear to hear the absent run down, broke in, gravely remonstrating, "Well, gentlemen," he said, "remember they're our _fellow-creatures_, at |
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