The Fitz-Boodle Papers | Page 4

that I took up the work at
six, meaning to amuse myself till seven, when Lord Trumpington's
dinner was to come off, and egad! in two minutes I fell asleep, and
never woke till midnight. Nobody ever thought of looking for me in the
library, where nobody ever goes; and so ravenously hungry was I, that I
was obliged to walk off to Crockford's for supper.
What is it that makes you literary persons so stupid? I have met various
individuals in society who I was told were writers of books, and that
sort of thing, and expecting rather to be amused by their conversation,
have invariably found them dull to a degree, and as for information,
without a particle of it. Sir, I actually asked one of these fellows, "What
was the nick to seven?" and he stared in my face and said he didn't
know. He was hugely over- dressed in satin, rings, chains and so forth;
and at the beginning of dinner was disposed to be rather talkative and

pert; but my little sally silenced HIM, I promise you, and got up a good
laugh at his expense too. "Leave George alone," said little Lord
Cinqbars, "I warrant he'll be a match for any of you literary fellows."
Cinqbars is no great wiseacre; but, indeed, it requires no great wiseacre
to know THAT.
What is the simple deduction to be drawn from this truth? Why,
this--that a man to be amusing and well-informed, has no need of books
at all, and had much better go to the world and to men for his
knowledge. There was Ulysses, now, the Greek fellow engaged in the
Trojan war, as I dare say you know; well, he was the cleverest man
possible, and how? From having seen men and cities, their manners
noted and their realms surveyed, to be sure. So have I. I have been in
every capital, and can order a dinner in every language in Europe.
My notion, then, is this. I have a great deal of spare time on my hands,
and as I am told you pay a handsome sum to persons writing for you, I
will furnish you occasionally with some of my views upon men and
things; occasional histories of my acquaintance, which I think may
amuse you; personal narratives of my own; essays, and what not. I am
told that I do not spell correctly. This of course I don't know; but you
will remember that Richelieu and Marlborough could not spell, and
egad! I am an honest man, and desire to be no better than they. I know
that it is the matter, and not the manner, which is of importance. Have
the goodness, then, to let one of your understrappers correct the
spelling and the grammar of my papers; and you can give him a few
shillings in my name for his trouble.
Begging you to accept the assurance of my high consideration, I am,
sir,
Your obedient servant,
GEORGE SAVAGE FITZ-BOODLE.
P.S.--By the way, I have said in my letter that I found ALL literary
persons vulgar and dull. Permit me to contradict this with regard to
yourself. I met you once at Blackwall, I think it was, and really did not
remark anything offensive in your accent or appearance.
Before commencing the series of moral disquisitions, &c. which I
intend, the reader may as well know who I am, and what my past
course of life has been. To say that I am a Fitz-Boodle is to say at once
that I am a gentleman. Our family has held the estate of Boodle ever

since the reign of Henry II.; and it is out of no ill will to my elder
brother, or unnatural desire for his death, but only because the estate is
a very good one, that I wish heartily it was mine: I would say as much
of Chatsworth or Eaton Hall.
I am not, in the first place, what is called a ladies' man, having
contracted an irrepressible habit of smoking after dinner, which has
obliged me to give up a great deal of the dear creatures' society; nor can
I go much to country-houses for the same reason. Say what they will,
ladies do not like you to smoke in their bedrooms: their silly little noses
scent out the odor upon the chintz, weeks after you have left them. Sir
John has been caught coming to bed particularly merry and redolent of
cigar-smoke; young George, from Eton, was absolutely found in the
little green-house puffing an Havana; and when discovered they both
lay the blame upon Fitz-Boodle. "It was Mr. Fitz-Boodle, mamma,"
says George, "who offered me the cigar, and I did not like to refuse
him." "That rascal Fitz seduced us, my dear," says