The Journal of a Disappointed Man

R---- said to me this morning, "Well, have you heard?" with an exuberance of curiosity that made my blood boil--he was referring to my Essay still at the bar of the opinion of the Editor of the English Review. "You beast," I snapped and walked off. R---- shouted with laughter for he realizes my anger with him is only semi-serious: it is meant and not meant: meant, for it is justified by the facts; not meant, for I can't be too serious over anything au fond. Of all the grim and ridiculous odds and ends of chance that Fortune has rolled up to my feet, my friendship with a man like B---- is the grimmest and most ridiculous. He is a bachelor of sixty, rather good-looking, of powerful physique and a faultless constitution.... His ignorance is colossal and he once asked whether Australia, for example, tho' surrounded by water, is not connected up with other land underneath the sea. Being himself a child in intelligence (tho' commercially cunning), he has a great respect for my brains. Being himself a strong man, he views my ill-health with much contempt. His private opinion is that I am in consumption. When asked once by a lady if I were not going to be "a great man" one day, he replied, "Yes--if he lives." I ought to walk six miles a day, drink a bottle of stout with my dinner, and eat plenty of onions. His belief in the curative properties of onions is strong as death....