If I can
use the pen, I can also wield a more manly and terrible weapon, and
would answer their contradictions with my sword! No gold or gems
adorn the hilt of that war-worn scimitar; but there is blood upon the
blade--the blood of the enemies of my country, and the maligners of my
honest fame. There are others, however--the disgrace of a disgraceful
trade--who, borrowing from distance a despicable courage, have ventured
to assail me. The infamous editors of the Kelso Champion, the Bungay
Beacon, the Tipperary Argus, and the Stoke Pogis Sentinel, and other
dastardly organs of the provincial press, have, although differing in
politics, agreed upon this one point, and with a scoundrelly unanimity,
vented a flood of abuse upon the revelations made by me.
They say that I have assailed private characters, and wilfully perverted
history to blacken the reputation of public men. I ask, was any one of
these men in Bengal in the year 1803? Was any single conductor of any
one of these paltry prints ever in Bundelcund or the Rohilla country?
Does this EXQUISITE Tipperary scribe know the difference between
Hurrygurrybang and Burrumtollah? Not he! and because, forsooth, in those
strange and distant lands strange circumstances have taken place, it
is insinuated that the relater is a liar: nay, that the very places
themselves have no existence but in my imagination.
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