[By Charles James Lever (1806-1872)]



Though the title page has no author's name inscribed, this work is generally attributed to Charles James Lever. Harry Lorrequer was a young officer in a British regiment stationed in Ireland in the early 1800's. My 1839 1st Edition had pages too stained and friable for scanning--so a colleague, Mary Munarin, helped me prepare this eBook for Project Gutenberg in the old fashioned way--she typed it! This story will be a delight to any readers with a few drops of Irish blood (or a wee drop of the Old Bushmills) in their veins.

The Inn at Munich


   A crowd is a mob, if composed even of bishops

   And some did pray--who never prayed before

   Annoyance of her vulgar loquacity

   Enjoy the name without the gain

   Enough is as good as a feast

   Fighting like devils for conciliation

   Has but one fault, but that fault is a grand one

   Hating each other for the love of God

   He was very much disguised in drink

   How ingenious is self-deception

   My English proves me Irish

   Mistaking zeal for inclination

   Mistaking your abstraction for attention

   Rather a dabbler in the "ologies"

   The tone of assumed compassion

   That "to stand was to fall,"

   That land of punch, priests, and potatoes

   What will not habit accomplish

     "We talked of pipe-clay regulation caps--

        Long twenty-fours--short culverins and mortars--

      Condemn'd the 'Horse Guards' for a set of raps,

        And cursed our fate at being in such quarters.

      Some smoked, some sighed, and some were heard to snore;

        Some wished themselves five fathoms 'neat the Solway;

      And some did pray--who never prayed before--

        That they might get the 'route' for Cork or Galway."

ch11.jpg (88K)


A c'est egal, mam'selle, they don't mind these things in France

A rather unlady-like fondness for snuff

A crowd is a mob, if composed even of bishops

Accept of benefits with a tone of dissatisfaction

Accustomed to the slowness and the uncertainty of the law

Air of one who seeks to consume than enjoy his time

Always a pleasure felt in the misfortunes of even our best friend

Amount of children which is algebraically expressed by an X

And some did pray--who never prayed before

Annoyance of her vulgar loquacity

Brought a punishment far exceeding the merits of the case

Chateaux en Espagne

Chew over the cud of his misfortune

Daily association sustains the interest of the veriest trifles

Dear, dirty Dublin--Io te salute

Delectable modes of getting over the ground through life

Devilish hot work, this, said the colonel

Disputing "one brandy too much" in his bill

Empty, valueless, heartless flirtation

Ending--I never yet met the man who could tell when it ended

Enjoy the name without the gain

Enough is as good as a feast

Escaped shot and shell to fall less gloriously beneath champagne

Every misfortune has an end at last

Exclaimed with Othello himself, "Chaos was come again;"

Fearful of a self-deception where so much was at stake

Fighting like devils for conciliation

Finish in sorrow what you have begun in folly

Gardez vous des femmes, and more especially if they be Irish

Green silk, "a little off the grass, and on the bottle"

Had a most remarkable talent for selecting a son-in-law

Had to hear the "proud man's contumely"

Half pleased and whole frightened with the labour before him

Has but one fault, but that fault is a grand one

Hating each other for the love of God

He first butthers them up, and then slithers them down

He was very much disguised in drink

How ingenious is self-deception

If such be a sin, "then heaven help the wicked"

Indifferent to the many rebuffs she momentarily encountered

Involuntary satisfaction at some apparent obstacle to my path

Jaunting-cars, with three on a side and "one in the well"

Least important functionaries took the greatest airs upon them

Levelling character of a taste for play

Listen to reason, as they would call it in Ireland

Memory of them when hallowed by time or distance

Might almost excite compassion even in an enemy

Misfortune will find you out, if ye were hid in a tay chest

Mistaking zeal for inclination

Mistaking your abstraction for attention

My English proves me Irish

My French always shows me to be English

Never able to restrain myself from a propensity to make love

Nine-inside  leathern "conveniency," bumping ten miles an hour

No equanimity like his who acts as your second in a duel

Nothing seemed extravagant to hopes so well founded

Nothing ever makes a man so agreeable as the belief that he is

Now, young ladies, come along, and learn something, if you can

Oh, the distance is nothing, but it is the pace that kills

Opportunely been so overpowered as to fall senseless

Other bottle of claret that lies beyond the frontier of prudence

Packed jury of her relatives, who rarely recommend you to mercy

Pleased are we ever to paint the past according to our own fancy

Profoundly and learnedly engaged in discussing medicine

Profuse in his legends of his own doings in love and war

Rather better than people with better coats on them

Rather a dabbler in the "ologies"

Recovered as much of their senses as the wine had left them

Respectable heir-loom of infirmity

Seems ever to accompany dullness a sustaining power of vanity

Sixteenthly, like a Presbyterian minister's sermon

Stoicism which preludes sending your friend out of the world

Strong opinions against tobacco within doors

Suppose I have laughed at better men than ever he was

Sure if he did, doesn't he take it out o' me in the corns?

That vanity which wine inspires

That "to stand was to fall,"

That land of punch, priests, and potatoes

The divil a bit better she was nor a pronoun

The tone of assumed compassion

The "fat, fair, and forty" category

There are unhappily impracticable people in the world

There is no infatuation like the taste for flirtation

They were so perfectly contented with their self-deception

Time, that 'pregnant old gentleman,' will disclose all

Unwashed hands, and a heavy gold ring upon his thumb

Vagabond if Providence had not made me a justice of the peace

We pass a considerable portion of our lives in a mimic warfare

What will not habit accomplish

What we wish, we readily believe

When you pretended to be pleased, unluckily, I believed you

Whenever he was sober his poverty disgusted him

Whiskey, the appropriate liquor in all treaties of this nature

Whose paraphrase of the book of Job was refused

Wretched, gloomy-looking picture of woe-begone poverty

If you wish to read the entire context of any of these quotations, select a short segment and copy it into your clipboard memory--then open the appropriate eBook and paste the phrase into your computer's find or search operation.

These quotations were collected from the "Confessions of Harry Lorrequer" by David Widger while preparing etexts for Project Gutenberg. Comments and suggestions will be most welcome.

--And many thanks for your persistence in reading all the way to the end of this page.        D.W.