“A last Farewell—­O my few foes! 
      I fear’d you not, by mouth or pen,
    But to the battle bravely rose,
      A man to fight his fight with men: 
    And though the gauntlet I have run
      You shall not say he fail’d or fell,
    Truly recording when I’m gone,
      He fought and won his victories well.

    “My last Farewell—­O brothers both! 
      No foes at all, but friends all round;
    Albeit now homeward, little loth,
      To dear old England I am bound—­
    Accept this short and simple prayer
      (A cheerful verse, no parting knell),
    To every one and everywhere
      My thankful blessing, and Farewell!”

CHAPTER XXXIV.

ENGLISH AND SCOTCH READINGS.

I have another vast volume before me, recounting my English and Scotch Reading Tours, with full details of innumerable home kindnesses and hospitalities, from Ventnor in the South to Peterhead in the North, which I need not particularise.  I gave twenty-one “Readings from my own Works” southward, in a dozen towns with a regular entrepreneur, who was my avant courier everywhere, making all arrangements, placarding, advertising, hiring halls, engaging reporters, and the like; when all was ready, I used to come forward, as the General does at a review,—­and then succeeded the sham-fight and division of the spoils of war—­if any; for, to say truth, our partnership did not prove lucrative, so we parted with mutual esteem, and I resolved to accomplish all the rest of my projected tour alone; a great effort and a successful one, for I “orated” all through Scotland, from Ayr to Peterhead (far north of Aberdeen), often to very large audiences (as at Glasgow, where the number was said to be three thousand) and always to fair ones, the Scotch being much more given to literature than the West of England.  I could give innumerable anecdotes of the splendid as well as kindly welcome I received from great and small,—­for as I now had no attending agent I was all the more eagerly treated as a solitary guest,—­and I found myself handed on from one rich host to another all through the land, with numerous book friends everywhere ready and willing to make all arrangements freely at each town and city.  So the tour paid better every way, albeit the toil and excitement of being always to the front, either on platforms or at dinner-parties, was excessive though not exhausting.  It is astonishing what one can do if one tries, and if the sympathy of friends and a really good success are at hand to cheer one.  I wish there was space here to say more about all this; but the great book before me would print up into several volumes.  I will only, add, as below, an interesting extract from this diary, just before I had parted with my worthy agent aforesaid:—­“He has told me some curious anecdotes about eminent artistes whom he has chaperoned, e.g. Thackeray came