Mrs. Jow. ran shrieking out of the room, Julia
fainted, the cursed black children squalled, and their d----d nurse fell
on her knees, gabbling some infernal jargon of Hindustanee. Old Jowler
at this juncture entered with a candle and a drawn sword.
"Liar! scoundrel! deceiver!" shouted I. "Turn, ruffian, and defend
yourself!" But old Jowler, when he saw me, only whistled, looked at his
lifeless daughter, and slowly left the room.
Why continue the tale? I need not now account for Jowler's gloom on
receiving his letters from Benares--for his exclamation upon the death
of the Indian chief--for his desire to marry his daughter: the woman I
was wooing was no longer Miss Julia Jowler, she was Mrs. Chowder Loll!
CHAPTER II.
ALLYGHUR AND LASWAREE.
I sat down to write gravely and sadly, for (since the appearance of some
of my adventures in a monthly magazine) unprincipled men have endeavored
to rob me of the only good I possess, to question the statements that I
make, and, themselves without a spark of honor or good feeling, to steal
from me that which is my sole wealth--my character as a teller of THE
TRUTH.
The reader will understand that it is to the illiberal strictures of
a profligate press I now allude; among the London journalists, none
(luckily for themselves) have dared to question the veracity of my
statements: they know me, and they know that I am IN LONDON.
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