' I see
'ow he was. I've 'ad 'em on myself, and I knowed as 'ow he wasn't up
there for nothing."
The Ramper is undoubtedly a liar.
The Wanderer often asked me to call, for he knows that I have a stiff
flask in my pocket every night. I have pieced out the rest of his story,
and I shall put it into my book when I am less glum. At present I swear
every day that I shall turn temperance lecturer, and spend my money on
the Cause; but, somehow, habit, and my roving blood, are too much for
me. Like all men of my sort, from Burns downward, I can see evils
clearly, and state their nature plainly enough; but when it comes to
keeping clear of them, I resemble my tribe in being rather unhandy at
judicious strategy. _Vogue la galere!_
Three months more have gone and my journals have never been written up,
save in chance scraps. The Wanderer is quite as interesting as ever! I
took the odds to L2 with him over a race run at Newmarket, and he paid
promptly. He puts out little signs of improvement--sprouts of
gentility--at times: but one heavy spell of gin and Shakespeare takes
him back to the old level again.
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