Confessions of Con Cregan: An Irish Gil Blas
Nonfiction, Religion & Spirituality, New Age, History, Fiction & Literature
| Author: | Charles James Lever | ISBN: | 9781465561565 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria | Publication: | July 29, 2009 |
| Imprint: | Library of Alexandria | Language: | English |
| Author: | Charles James Lever |
| ISBN: | 9781465561565 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria |
| Publication: | July 29, 2009 |
| Imprint: | Library of Alexandria |
| Language: | English |
An eminent apothecary of my acquaintance once told me that at each increase to his family, he added ten per cent to the price of his drugs, and as his quiver was full of daughters, Blackdraught, when I knew him, was a more costly cordial than Curaçoa. To apply this to my own case, I may mention that I had a daughter born to me about the time this story dates from, and not having at my command the same resource as my friend the chemist, I adopted the alternative of writing another story, to be published contemporaneously with that now appearing,—"The Daltons;" and not to incur the reproach so natural in criticism—of over-writing myself—I took care that the work should come out without a name. I am not sure that I made any attempt to disguise my style; I was conscious of scores of blemishes—I decline to call them mannerisms—that would betray me: but I believe I trusted most of all to the fact that I was making my monthly appearance to the world in another story, and with another publisher, and I had my hope that my small duplicity would thus escape undetected. I was aware that there was a certain amount of peril in running an opposition coach on the line I had made in some degree my own; not to say that it might be questionable policy to glut the public with a kind of writing more remarkable for peculiarity than perfection
An eminent apothecary of my acquaintance once told me that at each increase to his family, he added ten per cent to the price of his drugs, and as his quiver was full of daughters, Blackdraught, when I knew him, was a more costly cordial than Curaçoa. To apply this to my own case, I may mention that I had a daughter born to me about the time this story dates from, and not having at my command the same resource as my friend the chemist, I adopted the alternative of writing another story, to be published contemporaneously with that now appearing,—"The Daltons;" and not to incur the reproach so natural in criticism—of over-writing myself—I took care that the work should come out without a name. I am not sure that I made any attempt to disguise my style; I was conscious of scores of blemishes—I decline to call them mannerisms—that would betray me: but I believe I trusted most of all to the fact that I was making my monthly appearance to the world in another story, and with another publisher, and I had my hope that my small duplicity would thus escape undetected. I was aware that there was a certain amount of peril in running an opposition coach on the line I had made in some degree my own; not to say that it might be questionable policy to glut the public with a kind of writing more remarkable for peculiarity than perfection
