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- 8588
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- 2026-01-30T03:55:03.883Z
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- 8537
- text
- bed. And well hadst thou deserved it, Jimmy, at that fair creature’s
hands; well merited to have thy old eyes closed by woman’s fairy
fingers, who through life, in riches and in poverty, was still woman’s
sworn champion and devotee.
I hardly know that I should mention here one little incident connected
with this young lady’s ministrations, and poor Jimmy’s reception of
them. But it is harm to neither; I will tell it.
Chancing to be in town, and hearing of Jimmy’s illness, I went to see
him. And there in his lone attic I found the lovely ministrant.
Withdrawing upon seeing another visitor, she left me alone with him. She
had brought some little delicacies, and also several books, of such a
sort as are sent by serious-minded well-wishers to invalids in a serious
crisis. Now whether it was repugnance at being considered next door to
death, or whether it was but the natural peevishness brought on by the
general misery of his state; however it was, as the gentle girl
withdrew, Jimmy, with what small remains of strength were his, pitched
the books into the furthest corner, murmuring, ‘Why will she bring me
this sad old stuff? Does she take me for a pauper? Thinks she to salve a
gentleman’s heart with Poor Man’s Plaster?’
Poor, poor Jimmy--God guard us all--poor Jimmy Rose!
Well, well, I am an old man, and I suppose these tears I drop are
driblets from my dotage. But Heaven be praised, Jimmy needs no man’s
pity now.
Jimmy Rose is dead!
Meantime, as I sit within the parlour of the peacocks--that chamber from
which his husky voice had come ere threatening me with the pistol--I
still must meditate upon his strange example, whereof the marvel is, how
after that gay, dashing, nobleman’s career, he could be content to crawl
through life, and peep about among the marbles and mahoganies for
contumelious tea and toast, where once like a very Warwick he had
feasted the huzzaing world with Burgundy and venison.
And every time I look at the wilted resplendence of those proud peacocks
on the wall, I bethink me of the withering change in Jimmy’s once
resplendent pride of state. But still again, every time I gaze upon
those festoons of perpetual roses, ’mid which the faded peacocks hang, I
bethink me of those undying roses which bloomed in ruined Jimmy’s cheek.
Transplanted to another soil, all the unkind past forgot, God grant that
Jimmy’s roses may immortally survive!
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