"If I might request a favour of your lordship, it would be to beg that you would interest yourself a little in obtaining my promotion. A letter from your lordship to the First Lord—only a few lines—"
"Well, child, I see no objection—only—I am very old, too old to write now." And his lordship again commenced reading.
I must do Lord Privilege the justice to state that he evidently was fast verging to a state of second childhood. He was much bowed down since I had last seen him, and appeared infirm in body as well as mind.
I waited at least a quarter of an hour before his lordship looked up.
"What, not gone yet, child? I thought you had gone home."
"Your lordship was kind enough to say that you had no objection to write a few lines to the First Lord in my behalf. I trust your lordship will not refuse me."
"Well," replied he, peevishly, "so I did—but I am too old, too old to write—I cannot see—I can hardly hold a pen."
"Will your lordship allow me the honour of writing the letter for your lordship's signature?"
"Well, child—yes—I've no objection. Write as follows—no—write anything you please—and I'll sign it. I wish your uncle William were come."
This was more than I did. I had a great mind to show him O'Brien's letter, but I thought it would be cruel to raise doubts, and harass the mind of a person so close to the brink of the grave. The truth would never be ascertained during his life, I thought, and why, therefore, should I give him pain? At all events, although I had the letter in my pocket, I resolved not to make use of it except as a dernier resort.