"Long live flattery!" say I, come from what quarter it will,--the only wealth of the poor man, the only reward of the unknown one; the arm that supports us in failure; the hand that crowns us in success; the comforter in our affliction; the gay companion in our hours of pleasure; the lullaby of the infant; the staff of old age; the secret treasure we lock up in our own hearts, and which ever grows greater as we count it over.

Let me not be told that the coin is fictitious, and the gold not genuine; its clink is as musical to the ear as though it bore the last impression of the mint, and I'm not the man to cast an aspersion upon its value.
This little digression, however seemingly out of place, may serve to illustrate what it might be difficult to convey in other words,--namely, that if Charles O'Malley became, in his own estimation, a very considerable personage that day at dinner, the fault lay not entirely with himself, but with his friends, who told him he was such.

In fact, my good reader, I was the lion of the party, the man who saved Laborde, who charged through a brigade of guns, who performed feats which newspapers quoted, though he never heard of them himself.

At no time is a man so successful in society as when his reputation heralds him; and it needs but little conversational eloquence to talk well, if you have but a willing and ready auditory.

Of mine, I could certainly not complain; and as, drinking deeply, I poured forth a whole tide of campaigning recital, I saw the old colonels of recruiting districts exchanging looks of wonder and admiration with officers of the ordnance; while Sir George himself, evidently pleased at my _debut_, went back to an early period of our acquaintance, and related the rescue of his daughter in Galway.
In an instant the whole current of my thoughts was changed.