Armstrong to him, 'never
mind--don't cry, she could not mean it'.'
"Lewis was a good man--a clever man, but a bore--a damned bore, one
may say. My only revenge or consolation used to be setting him by the
ears with some vivacious person who hated bores especially--Me. de
Stael or Hobhouse, for example. But I liked Lewis; he was a Jewel of a
Man had he been better set, I don't mean _personally_, but less
_tiresome_, for he was tedious, as well as contradictory to everything
and everybody. Being short-sighted, when we used to ride out together
near the Brenta in the twilight in summer, he made me go _before_ to
pilot him. I am absent at times, especially towards evening, and the
consequence of this pilotage was some narrow escapes to the Monk on
horseback. Once I led him into a ditch, over which I had passed as
usual, forgetting to warn my convoy; once I led him nearly into the
river instead of on the 'moveable' bridge which _in_commodes
passengers; and twice did we both run against the diligence, which,
being heavy and slow, did communicate less damage than it received in
its leaders, who were 'terrassed' by the charge. Thrice did I lose him
in the gray of the gloaming and was obliged to bring to, to his
distant signals of distance and distress. All the time he went on
talking without intermission, for he was a man of many words. Poor
fellow, he died a martyr to his new riches--of a second visit to
Jamaica.
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