Here we might lay down the pen, were it not for our dislike to strut
in borrowed plumes; and that inclineth us to inform the gentle reader
that no part of this simple story is of our invention, except the last
disclosure of the senior Wag's relationship to his namesake, which we
ventured to add, fearing that the _truth_ might appear _incredible_.
The other facts occurred precisely as we have stated. An elderly
gentleman, bearing a name more singular than Wag, returned home from
India with a handsome fortune somewhat more than half a century back,
and sought in vain for relatives; but one day, from the window of an
inn, at which he had arrived in his own dark-green travelling-chariot,
he espied the shop of a namesake, whose acquaintance he instantly
made. His expressed hope was to discover that they were connected by
some distant tie of consanguinity; but failing in that object, after
most minute investigation, he never withdrew his patronage. For many
years he watched over the rising fortunes of the family; and as the
young people arrived at maturity, provided for them as though they
were his own children, to the extent of many thousand pounds; and when
he died, he left among them the whole of his property. Now, though
the heart and conduct of this good man were truly benevolent, there
can be no question respecting the motive of his actions, for he often
avowed it. He was determined to _keep up_ the respectability of his
_name_; and with great pleasure we have to record that the few who now
bear it, move in a much higher circle than would have been their lot
but for him whose memory they hold in reverence, and consider as the
founder of their family. Reader! imitate him, and "keep up" the
respectability of your name.
THE WET WOOING.
A NARRATIVE OF NINETY-EIGHT.
[_MAGA._ APRIL 1832.]
It was in the autumn of 1798, when the North of Ireland had settled
down into comparative tranquillity, that I took up my quarters at
Knowehead, the grazing farm of a substantial relative, in the remote
pastoral valley of Glen---- in Antrim.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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