{"id":4314,"date":"2025-10-04T01:19:54","date_gmt":"2025-10-04T01:19:54","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/?p=4314"},"modified":"2025-10-04T01:19:54","modified_gmt":"2025-10-04T01:19:54","slug":"the-turkish-bath-by-anthony-trollope","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/?p=4314","title":{"rendered":"The Turkish Bath by Anthony Trollope"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>The Turkish Bath by <a href=\"https:\/\/quizlit.org\/best-british-books-of-the-19th-century\">Anthony Trollope<\/a> was originally published in Saint Paul\u2019s Magazine, Oct. 1869. It was subsequently part of An Editor\u2019s Tales in 1870.<\/p>\n<p><em>This post may contain affiliate links that earn us a commission at no extra cost to you.<\/em><\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">The Turkish Bath by Anthony Trollope<\/h2>\n<div class=\"epyt-video-wrapper\">\n<div class=\"__youtube_prefs__ epyt-facade no-lazyload\"><button class=\"epyt-facade-play\"><\/button><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">The Turkish Bath by Anthony Trollope<\/h3>\n<p>IT was in the month of August. The world had gone to the moors and the Rhine, but we were still kept in town by the exigencies of our position. We had been worked hard during the preceding year, and were not quite as well as our best friends might have wished us;\u2014and we resolved upon taking a Turkish bath. This little story records the experience of one individual man; but our readers, we hope, will, without a grudge, allow us the use of the editorial we. We doubt whether the story could be told at all in any other form. We resolved upon taking a Turkish bath, and at about three o\u2019clock in the day we strutted from the outer to the inner room of the establishment in that light costume and with that air of Arab dignity which are peculiar to the place.<\/p>\n<p>As everybody has not taken a Turkish bath in Jermyn Street, we will give the shortest possible description of the position. We had entered of course in the usual way, leaving our hat and our boots and our \u201cvaluables\u201d among the numerous respectable assistants who throng the approaches; and as we had entered we had observed a stout, middle-aged gentleman on the other side of the street, clad in vestments somewhat the worse for wear, and to our eyes particularly noticeable by reason of the tattered condition of his gloves. A well-to-do man may have no gloves, or may simply carry in his hands those which appertain to him rather as a thing of custom than for any use for which he requires them. But a tattered glove, worn on the hand, is to our eyes the surest sign of a futile attempt at outer respectability. It is melancholy to us beyond expression. Our brother editors, we do not doubt, are acquainted with the tattered glove, and have known the sadness which it produces. If there be an editor whose heart has not been softened by the feminine tattered glove, that editor is not our brother. In this instance the tattered glove was worn by a man; and though the usual indication of poor circumstances was conveyed, there was nevertheless something jaunty in the gentleman\u2019s step which preserved him from the desecration of pity. We barely saw him, but still were thinking of him as we passed into the building with the oriental letters on it, and took off our boots, and pulled out our watch and purse.<\/p>\n<p>We were of course accommodated with two checked towels; and, having in vain attempted to show that we were to the manner born by fastening the larger of them satisfactorily round our own otherwise naked person, had obtained the assistance of one of those very skilful eastern boys who glide about the place and create envy by their familiarity with its mysteries. With an absence of all bashfulness which soon grows upon one, we had divested ourselves of our ordinary trappings beneath the gaze of five or six young men lying on surrounding sofas,\u2014among whom we recognised young Walker of the Treasury, and hereby testify on his behalf that he looks almost as fine a fellow without his clothes as he does with them,\u2014and had strutted through the doorway into the bath-room, trailing our second towel behind us. Having observed the matter closely in the course of perhaps half-a-dozen visits, we are prepared to recommend that mode of entry to our young friends as being at the same time easy and oriental. There are those who wear the second towel as a shawl, thereby no doubt achieving a certain decency of garb; but this is done to the utter loss of all dignity; and a feminine appearance is produced, such as is sometimes that of a lady of fifty looking after her maid-servants at seven o\u2019clock in the morning and intending to dress again before breakfast. And some there are who carry it under the arm,\u2014simply as a towel; but these are they who, from English perversity, wilfully rob the institution of that picturesque orientalism which should be its greatest charm. A few are able to wear the article as a turban, and that no doubt should be done by all who are competent to achieve the position. We have observed that men who can do so enter the bath-room with an air and are received there with a respect which no other arrangement of the towel will produce. We have tried this; but as the turban gets over our eyes, and then falls altogether off our brow, we have abandoned it. In regard to personal deportment, depending partly on the step, somewhat on the eye, but chiefly on the costume, it must be acknowledged that \u201cthe attempt and not the deed confounds us.\u201d It is not every man who can carry a blue towel as a turban, and look like an Arab in the streets of Cairo, as he walks slowly down the room in Jermyn Street with his arms crossed on his naked breast. The attempt and not the deed does confound one shockingly. We, therefore, recommend that the second towel should be trailed. The effect is good, and there is no difficulty in the trailing which may not be overcome.<\/p>\n<p>We had trailed our way into the bath-room, and had slowly walked to one of those arm-chairs in which it is our custom on such occasions to seat ourselves and to await sudation. There are marble couches; and if a man be able to lie on stone for half an hour without a movement beyond that of clapping his hands, or a sound beyond a hollow-voiced demand for water, the effect is not bad. But he loses everything if he tosses himself uneasily on his hard couch, and we acknowledge that our own elbows are always in the way of our own comfort, and that our bones become sore. We think that the marble sofas must be intended for the younger Turks. If a man can stretch himself on stone without suffering for the best part of an hour,\u2014or, more bravely perhaps, without appearing to suffer, let him remember that all is not done even then. Very much will depend on the manner in which he claps his hands, and the hollowness of the voice in which he calls for water. There should, we think, be two blows of the palms. One is very weak and proclaims its own futility. Even to dull London ears it seems at once to want the eastern tone. We have heard three given effectively, but we think that it requires much practice; and even when it is perfect, the result is that of western impatience rather than of eastern gravity. No word should be pronounced, beyond that one word,\u2014Water. The effect should be as though the whole mind were so devoted to the sudorific process as to admit of no extraneous idea. There should seem to be almost an agony in the effort,\u2014as though the man enduring it, conscious that with success he would come forth a god, was aware that being as yet but mortal he may perish in the attempt. Two claps of the hand and a call for water, and that repeated with an interval of ten minutes, are all the external signs of life that the young Turkish bather may allow to himself while he is stretched upon his marble couch.<\/p>\n<p>We had taken a chair,\u2014well aware that nothing god-like could be thus achieved, and contented to obtain the larger amount of human comfort. The chairs are placed two and two, and a custom has grown up,\u2014of which we scarcely think that the origin has been eastern,\u2014in accordance with which friends occupying these chairs will spend their time in conversation. The true devotee to the Turkish bath will, we think, never speak at all; but when the speaking is low in tone, just something between a whisper and an articulate sound, the slight murmuring hum produced is not disagreeable. We cannot quite make up our mind whether this use of the human voice be or be not oriental; but we think that it adds to the mystery, and upon the whole it gratifies. Let it be understood, however, that harsh, resonant, clearly-expressed speech is damnable. The man who talks aloud to his friend about the trivial affairs of life is selfish, ignorant, unpoetical,\u2014and English in the very worst sense of the word. Who but an ass proud of his own capacity for braying would venture to dispel the illusions of a score of bathers by observing aloud that the House sat till three o\u2019clock that morning?<\/p>\n<p>But though friends may talk in low voices, a man without a friend will hardly fall into conversation at the Turkish bath. It is said that our countrymen are unapt to speak to each other without introduction, and this inaptitude is certainly not decreased by the fact that two men meet each other with nothing on but a towel a piece. Finding yourself next to a man in such a garb you hardly know where to begin. And then there lies upon you the weight of that necessity of maintaining a certain dignity of deportment which has undoubtedly grown upon you since you succeeded in freeing yourself from your socks and trousers. For ourselves we have to admit that the difficulty is much increased by the fact that we are short-sighted, and are obligated, by the sudorific processes and by the shampooing and washing that are to come, to leave our spectacles behind us. The delicious wonder of the place is no doubt increased to us, but our incapability of discerning aught of those around us in that low gloomy light is complete. Jones from Friday Street, or even Walker from the Treasury, is the same to us as one of those Asiatic slaves who administer to our comfort, and flit about the place with admirable decorum and self-respect. On this occasion we had barely seated ourselves, when another bather, with slow, majestic step, came to the other chair; and, with a manner admirably adapted to the place, stretching out his naked legs, and throwing back his naked shoulders, seated himself beside us. We are much given to speculations on the characters and probable circumstances of those with whom we are brought in contact. Our editorial duties require that it should be so. How should we cater for the public did we not observe the public in all its moods? We thought that we could see at once that this was no ordinary man, and we may as well aver here, at the beginning of our story, that subsequent circumstances proved our first conceptions to be correct. The absolute features of the gentleman we did not, indeed, see plainly. The gloom of the place and our own deficiency of sight forbade it. But we could discern the thorough man of the world, the traveller who had seen many climes, the cosmopolitan to whom East and West were alike, in every motion that he made. We confess that we were anxious for conversation, and that we struggled within ourselves for an apt subject, thinking how we might begin. But the apt subject did not occur to us, and we should have passed that half-hour of repose in silence had not our companion been more ready than ourselves. \u201cSir,\u201d said he, turning round in his seat with a peculiar and captivating grace, \u201cI shall not, I hope, offend or transgress any rule of politeness by speaking to a stranger.\u201d There was ease and dignity in his manner, and at the same time some slight touch of humour which was very charming. I thought that I detected just a hint of an Irish accent in his tone; but if so the dear brogue of his country, which is always delightful to me, had been so nearly banished by intercourse with other tongues as to leave the matter still a suspicion,\u2014a suspicion, or rather a hope.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBy no means,\u201d we answered, turning round on our left shoulder, but missing the grace with which he had made his movement.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThere is nothing,\u201d said he, \u201cto my mind so absurd as that two men should be seated together for an hour without venturing to open their mouths because they do not know each other. And what matter does it make whether a man has his breeches on or is without them?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>My hope had now become an assurance. As he named the article of clothing which peculiarly denotes a man he gave a picturesque emphasis to the word which was certainly Hibernian. Who does not know the dear sound? And, as a chance companion for a few idle minutes, is there any one so likely to prove himself agreeable as a well-informed, travelled Irishman?<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd yet,\u201d said we, \u201cmen do depend much on their outward paraphernalia.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIndeed and they do,\u201d said our friend. \u201cAnd why? Because they can trust their tailors when they can\u2019t trust themselves. Give me the man who can make a speech without any of the accessories of the pulpit, who can preach what sermon there is in him without a pulpit.\u201d His words were energetic, but his voice was just suited to the place. Had he spoken aloud, so that others might have heard him, we should have left our chair, and have retreated to one of the inner and hotter rooms at the moment. His words were perfectly audible, but he spoke in a fitting whisper. \u201cIt is a part of my creed,\u201d he continued, \u201cthat we should never lose even a quarter of an hour. What a strange mass of human beings one finds in this city of London!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cA mighty maze, but not without a plan,\u201d we replied.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBedad,\u2014and it\u2019s hard enough to find the plan,\u201d said he. It struck me that after that he rose into a somewhat higher flight of speech, as though he had remembered and was desirous of dropping his country. It is the customary and perhaps the only fault of an Irishman. \u201cWhether it be there or not, we can expatiate free, as the poet says. How unintelligible is London! New York or Constantinople one can understand,\u2014or even Paris. One knows what the world is doing in these cities, and what men desire.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat men desire is nearly the same in all cities,\u201d we remarked,\u2014and not without truth as we think.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIs it money you mane?\u201d he said, again relapsing. \u201cYes; money, no doubt, is the grand desideratum,\u2014the \u2018to prepon,\u2019 the \u2018to kalon\u2019 the \u2018to pan!\u2019\u201d Plato and Pope were evidently at his fingers\u2019 ends. We did not conclude from this slight evidence that he was thoroughly imbued with the works either of the poet or the philosopher; but we hold that for the ordinary purposes of conversation a superficial knowledge of many things goes further than an intimacy with one or two. \u201cMoney,\u201d continued he, \u201cis everything, no doubt;\u2014rem\u2014rem; rem, si possis recte, si non,\u2014\u2014; you know the rest. I don\u2019t complain of that. I like money myself. I know its value. I\u2019ve had it, and,\u2014I\u2019m not ashamed to say it, Sir,\u2014I\u2019ve been without it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOur sympathies are completely with you in reference to the latter position,\u201d we said,\u2014remembering, with a humility that we hope is natural to us, that we were not always editors.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat I complain of is,\u201d said our new friend still whispering, as he passed his hand over his arms and legs, to learn whether the temperature of the room was producing its proper effect, \u201cthat if a man here in London have a diamond, or a pair of boots, or any special skill at his command, he cannot take his article to the proper mart, and obtain for it the proper price.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCan he do that in Constantinople?\u201d we enquired.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMuch better and more accurately than he can in London. And so he can in Paris!\u201d We did not believe this; but as we were thinking after what fashion we would express our doubts, he branched off so quickly to a matter of supply and demand with which we were specially interested, that we lost the opportunity of arguing the general question. \u201cA man of letters,\u201d he said, \u201ca capable and an instructed man of letters, can always get a market for his wares in Paris.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cA capable and instructed man of letters will do so in London,\u201d we said, \u201cas soon as he has proved his claims. He must prove them in Paris before they can be allowed.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes;\u2014he must prove them. By-the-bye, will you have a cheroot?\u201d So saying, he stretched out his hand, and took from the marble slab beside him two cheroots which he had placed there. He then proceeded to explain that he did not bring in his case because of the heat, but that he was always \u201cmuni,\u201d\u2014that was his phrase,\u2014with a couple, in the hope that he might meet an acquaintance with whom to share them. I accepted his offer, and when we had walked round the chamber to a light provided for the purpose, we reseated ourselves. His manner of moving about the place was so good that I felt it to be a pity that he should ever have a rag on more than he wore at present. His tobacco, I must own, did not appear to me to be of the first class; but then I am not in the habit of smoking cheroots, and am no judge of the merits of the weed as grown in the East. \u201cYes;\u2014a man in Paris must prove his capability; but then how easily he can do it, if the fact to be proved be there! And how certain is the mart, if he have the thing to sell!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>We immediately denied that in this respect there was any difference between the two capitals, pointing out what we believe to be a fact,\u2014that in one capital as in the other, there exists, and must ever exist, extreme difficulty in proving the possession of an art so difficult to define as capability of writing for the press. \u201cNothing but success can prove it,\u201d we said, as we slapped our thigh with an energy altogether unbecoming our position as a Turkish bather.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cA man may have a talent then, and he cannot use it till he have used it! He may possess a diamond, and cannot sell it till he have sold it! What is a man to do who wishes to engage himself in any of the multifarious duties of the English press? How is he to begin? In New York I can tell such a one where to go at once. Let him show in conversation that he is an educated man, and they will give him a trial on the staff of any news paper;\u2014they will let him run his venture for the pages of any magazine. He may write his fingers off here, and not an editor of them all will read a word that he writes.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Here he touched us, and we were indignant. When he spoke of the magazines we knew that he was wrong. \u201cWith newspapers,\u201d we said, \u201cwe imagine it to be impossible that contributions from the outside world should be looked at; but papers sent to the magazines,\u2014at any rate to some of them,\u2014are read.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI believe,\u201d said he, \u201cthat a little farce is kept up. They keep a boy to look at a line or two and then return the manuscript. The pages are filled by the old stock-writers, who are sure of the market let them send what they will,\u2014padding-mongers who work eight hours a day, and hardly know what they write about.\u201d We again loudly expressed our opinion that he was wrong, and that there did exist magazines, the managers of which were sedulously anxious to obtain the assistance of what he called literary capacity, wherever they could find it. Sitting there at the Turkish bath with nothing but a towel round us, we could not declare ourselves to a perfect stranger, and we think that as a rule editors should be impalpable;\u2014but we did express our opinion very strongly.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd you believe,\u201d said he, with something of scorn in his voice, \u201cthat if a man who had been writing English for the press in other countries,\u2014in New York say, or in Doblin,\u2014a man of undoubted capacity, mind you, were to make the attempt here, in London, he would get a hearing.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCertainly he would,\u201d said we.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd would any editor see him unless he came with an introduction from some special friend?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>We paused a moment before we answered this, because the question was to us one having a very special meaning. Let an editor do his duty with ever so pure a conscience, let him spend all his days and half his nights reading manuscripts and holding the balance fairly between the public and those who wish to feed the public, let his industry be never so unwearied and his impartiality never so unflinching, still he will, if possible, avoid the pain of personally repelling those to whom he is obliged to give an unfavourable answer. But we at the Turkish bath were quite unknown to the outer world, and might hazard an opinion, as any stranger might have done. And we have seen very many such visitors as those to whom our friend alluded; and may, perhaps, see many more.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes,\u201d said we. \u201cAn editor might or might not see such a gentleman: but, if pressed, no doubt he would. An English editor would be quite as likely to do so as a French editor.\u201d This we declared with energy, having felt ourselves to be ruffled by the assertion that these things are managed better in Paris or in New York than in London.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThen, Mr. \u2014\u2014, would you give me an interview, if I call with a little manuscript which I have to-morrow morning?\u201d said my Irish friend, addressing us with a beseeching tone, and calling us by the very name by which we are known among our neighbours and tradesmen. We felt that everything was changed between us, and that the man had plunged a dagger into us.<\/p>\n<p>Yes; he had plunged a dagger into us. Had we had our clothes on, had we felt ourselves to possess at the moment our usual form of life, we think that we could have rebuked him. As it was we could only rise from our chair, throw away the fag end of the filthy cheroot which he had given us, and clap our hands half-a-dozen times for the Asiatic to come and shampoo us. But the Irishman was at our elbow. \u201cYou will let me see you to-morrow?\u201d he said. \u201cMy name is Molloy,\u2014Michael Molloy. I have not a card about me, because my things are outside there.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cA card would do no good at all,\u201d we said, again clapping our hands for the shampooer.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI may call, then?\u201d said Mr. Michael Molloy.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCertainly;\u2014yes, you can call if you please.\u201d Then, having thus ungraciously acceded to the request made to us, we sat down on the marble bench and submitted ourselves to the black attendant. During the whole of the following operation, while the man was pummelling our breast and poking our ribs, and pinching our toes,\u2014while he was washing us down afterwards, and reducing us gradually from the warm water to the cold,\u2014we were thinking of Mr. Michael Molloy, and the manner in which he had entrapped us into a confidential conversation. The scoundrel must have plotted it from the very first, must have followed us into the bath, and taken his seat beside us with a deliberately premeditated scheme. He was, too, just the man whom we should not have chosen to see with a worthless magazine article in his hand. We think that we can be efficacious by letter, but we often feel ourselves to be weak when brought face to face with our enemies. At that moment our anger was hot against Mr. Molloy. And yet we were conscious of a something of pride which mingled with our feelings. It was clear to us that Mr. Molloy was no ordinary person; and it did in some degree gratify our feelings that such a one should have taken so much trouble to encounter us. We had found him to be a well-informed, pleasant gentleman; and the fact that he was called Molloy and desired to write for the magazine over which we presided, could not really be taken as detracting from his merits. There had doubtless been a fraud committed on us,\u2014a palpable fraud. The man had extracted assurances from us by a false pretence that he did not know us. But then the idea, on his part, that anything could be gained by his doing so, was in itself a compliment to us. That such a man should take so much trouble to approach us,\u2014one who could quote Horace and talk about the \u201cto kalon,\u201d\u2014was an acknowledgment of our power. As we returned to the outer chamber we looked round to see Mr. Molloy in his usual garments, but he was not as yet there. We waited while we smoked one of our own cigars, but he came not. He had, so far, gained his aim; and, as we presumed, preferred to run the risk of too long a course of hot air to risking his object by seeing us again on that afternoon. At last we left the building, and are bound to confess that our mind dwelt much on Mr. Michael Molloy during the remainder of that evening.<\/p>\n<p>It might be that after all we should gain much by the singular mode of introduction which the man had adopted. He was certainly clever, and if he could write as well as he could talk his services might be of value. Punctually at the hour named he was announced, and we did not now for one moment think of declining the interview. Mr. Molloy had so far succeeded in his stratagem that we could not now resort to the certainly not unusual practice of declaring ourselves to be too closely engaged to see any one, and of sending him word that he should confide to writing whatever he might have to say to us. It had, too, occurred to us that, as Mr. Molloy had paid his three shillings and sixpence for the Turkish bath, he would not prove to be one of that class of visitors whose appeals to tender-hearted editors are so peculiarly painful. \u201cI am willing to work day and night for my wife and children; and if you will use this short paper in your next number it will save us from starvation for a month! Yes, Sir, from,\u2014starvation!\u201d Who is to resist such an appeal as that, or to resent it? But the editor knows that he is bound in honesty to resist it altogether,\u2014so to steel himself against it that it shall have no effect upon him, at least, as regards the magazine which is in his hands. And yet if the short thing be only decently written, if it be not absurdly bad, what harm will its publication do to anyone? If the waste,\u2014let us call it waste,\u2014of half-a-dozen pages will save a family from hunger for a month, will they not be well wasted? But yet, again, such tenderness is absolutely incompatible with common honesty,\u2014and equally so with common prudence. We think that our readers will see the difficulty, and understand how an editor may wish to avoid those interviews with tattered gloves. But my friend, Mr. Michael Molloy, had had three and sixpence to spend on a Turkish bath, had had money wherewith to buy,\u2014certainly, the very vilest of cigars. We thought of all this as Mr. Michael Molloy was ushered into our room.<\/p>\n<p>The first thing we saw was the tattered glove; and then we immediately recognised the stout middle-aged gentleman whom we had seen on the other side of Jermyn Street as we entered the bathing establishment. It had never before occurred to us that the two persons were the same, not though the impression made by the poverty-stricken appearance of the man in the street had remained distinct upon our mind. The features of the gentleman we had hardly even yet seen at all. Nevertheless we had known and distinctly recognised his outward gait and mien, both with and without his clothes. One tattered glove he now wore, and the other he carried in his gloved hand. As we saw this we were aware at once that all our preconception had been wrong, that that too common appeal would be made, and that we must resist it as best we might. There was still a certain jauntiness in his air as he addressed us. \u201cI hope thin,\u201d said he as we shook hands with him, \u201cye\u2019ll not take amiss the little ruse by which we caught ye.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt was a ruse then, Mr. Molloy?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDivil a doubt o\u2019 that, Mr. Editor.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut you were coming to the Turkish bath independently of our visit there?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSorrow a bath I\u2019d\u2019ve cum to at all, only I saw you go into the place. I\u2019d just three and ninepence in my pocket, and says I to myself, Mick, me boy, it\u2019s a good investment. There was three and sixpence for them savages to rub me down, and threepence for the two cheroots from the little shop round the corner. I wish they\u2019d been better for your sake.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>It had been a plant from beginning to end, and the \u201cto kalon\u201d and the half-dozen words from Horace had all been parts of Mr. Molloy\u2019s little game! And how well he had played it! The outward trappings of the man as we now saw them were poor and mean, and he was mean-looking too, because of his trappings. But there had been nothing mean about him as he strutted along with a blue-checked towel round his body. How well the fellow had understood it all, and had known his own capacity! \u201cAnd now that you are here, Mr. Molloy, what can we do for you?\u201d we said with as pleasant a smile as we were able to assume. Of course we knew what was to follow. Out came the roll of paper of which we had already seen the end projecting from his breast pocket, and we were assured that we should find the contents of it exactly the thing for our magazine. There is no longer any diffidence in such matters,\u2014no reticence in preferring claims and singing one\u2019s own praises. All that has gone by since competitive examination has become the order of the day. No man, no woman, no girl, no boy, hesitates now to declare his or her own excellence and capability. \u201cIt\u2019s just a short thing on social manners,\u201d said Mr. Molloy, \u201cand if ye\u2019ll be so good as to cast ye\u2019r eye over it, I think ye\u2019ll find I\u2019ve hit the nail on the head. \u2018The Five-o\u2019clock Tay-table\u2019 is what I\u2019ve called it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh!\u2014\u2018The Five-o\u2019clock Tea-table.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDon\u2019t ye like the name?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAbout social manners, is it?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cJust a rap on the knuckles for some of \u2019em. Sharp, short, and decisive! I don\u2019t doubt but what ye\u2019ll like it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>To declare, as though by instinct, that that was not the kind of thing we wanted, was as much a matter of course as it is for a man buying a horse to say that he does not like the brute\u2019s legs or that he falls away in his quarters. And Mr. Molloy treated our objection just as does the horse-dealer those of his customers. He assured us with a smile,\u2014with a smile behind which we could see the craving eagerness of his heart,\u2014that his little article was just the thing for us. Our immediate answer was of course ready. If he would leave the paper with us, we would look at it and return it if it did not seem to suit us.<\/p>\n<p>There is a half-promise about this reply which too often produces a false satisfaction in the breast of a beginner. With such a one it is the second interview which is to be dreaded. But my friend Mr. Molloy was not new to the work, and was aware that if possible he should make further use of the occasion which he had earned for himself at so considerable a cost. \u201cYe\u2019ll read it;\u2014will ye?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, certainly. We\u2019ll read it certainly.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd ye\u2019ll use it if ye can?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAs to that, Mr. Molloy, we can say nothing. We\u2019ve got to look solely to the interest of the periodical.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd, sure, what can ye do better for the periodical than print a paper like that, which there is not a lady at the West End of the town won\u2019t be certain to read?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAt any rate we\u2019ll look at it, Mr. Molloy,\u201d said we, standing up from our chair.<\/p>\n<p>But still he hesitated in his going,\u2014and did not go. \u201cI\u2019m a married man, Mr. \u2014\u2014,\u201d he said. We simply bowed our head at the announcement. \u201cI wish you could see Mrs. Molloy,\u201d he added. We murmured something as to the pleasure it would give us to make the acquaintance of so estimable a lady. \u201cThere isn\u2019t a betther woman than herself this side of heaven, though I say it that oughtn\u2019t,\u201d said he. \u201cAnd we\u2019ve three young ones.\u201d We knew the argument that was coming;\u2014knew it so well, and yet were so unable to accept it as any argument! \u201cSit down one moment, Mr. \u2014-,\u201d he continued, \u201ctill I tell you a short story.\u201d We pleaded our engagements, averring that they were peculiarly heavy at that moment. \u201cSure, and we know what that manes,\u201d said Mr. Molloy. \u201cIt\u2019s just,\u2014walk out of this as quick as you came in. It\u2019s that what it manes.\u201d And yet as he spoke there was a twinkle of humour in his eye that was almost irresistible; and we ourselves,\u2014we could not forbear to smile. When we smiled we knew that we were lost. \u201cCome, now, Mr. Editor; when you think how much it cost me to get the inthroduction, you\u2019ll listen to me for five minutes any way.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWe will listen to you,\u201d we said, resuming our chair,\u2014remembering as we did so the three-and-sixpence, the two cigars, the \u201cto kalon,\u201d the line from Pope, and the half line from Horace. The man had taken much trouble with the view of placing himself where he now was. When we had been all but naked together I had taken him to be the superior of the two, and what were we that we should refuse him an interview simply because he had wares to sell which we should only be too willing to buy at his price if they were fit for our use?<\/p>\n<p>Then he told his tale. As for Paris, Constantinople, and New York, he frankly admitted that he knew nothing of those capitals. When we reminded him, with some ill-nature as we thought afterwards, that he had assumed an intimacy with the current literature of the three cities, he told us that such remarks were \u201cjust the sparkling gims of conversation in which a man shouldn\u2019t expect to find rale diamonds.\u201d Of \u201cDoblin\u201d he knew every street, every lane, every newspaper, every editor; but the poverty, dependence, and general poorness of a provincial press had crushed him, and he had boldly resolved to try a fight in the \u201cmethropolis of litherature.\u201d He referred us to the managers of the \u201cBoyne Bouncer,\u201d the \u201cClontarf Chronicle,\u201d the \u201cDonnybrook Debater,\u201d and the \u201cEchoes of Erin,\u201d assuring us that we should find him to be as well esteemed as known in the offices of those widely-circulated publications. His reading he told us was unbounded, and the pen was as ready to his hand as is the plough to the hand of the husbandman. Did we not think it a noble ambition in him thus to throw himself into the great \u201careanay,\u201d as he called it, and try his fortune in the \u201cmethropolis of litherature?\u201d He paused for a reply, and we were driven to acknowledge that whatever might be said of our friend\u2019s prudence, his courage was undoubted. \u201cI\u2019ve got it here,\u201d said he. \u201cI\u2019ve got it all here.\u201d And he touched his right breast with the fingers of his left hand, which still wore the tattered glove.<\/p>\n<p>He had succeeded in moving us. \u201cMr. Molloy,\u201d we said, \u201cwe\u2019ll read your paper, and we\u2019ll then do the best we can for you. We must tell you fairly that we hardly like your subject, but if the writing be good you can try your hand at something else.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSure there\u2019s nothing under the sun I won\u2019t write about at your bidding.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIf we can be of service to you, Mr. Molloy, we will.\u201d Then the editor broke down, and the man spoke to the man. \u201cI need not tell you, Mr. Molloy, that the heart of one man of letters always warms to another.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt was because I knew ye was of that sort that I followed ye in yonder,\u201d he said, with a tear in his eye.<\/p>\n<p>The butter-boat of benevolence was in our hand, and we proceeded to pour out its contents freely. It is a vessel which an editor should lock up carefully; and, should he lose the key, he will not be the worse for the loss. We need not repeat here all the pretty things that we said to him, explaining to him from a full heart with how much agony we were often compelled to resist the entreaties of literary suppliants, declaring to him how we had longed to publish tons of manuscript,\u2014simply in order that we might give pleasure to those who brought them to us. We told him how accessible we were to a woman\u2019s tear, to a man\u2019s struggle, to a girl\u2019s face, and assured him of the daily wounds which were inflicted on ourselves by the impossibility of reconciling our duties with our sympathies. \u201cBedad, thin,\u201d said Mr. Molloy, grasping our hand, \u201cyou\u2019ll find none of that difficulty wid me. If you\u2019ll sympathise like a man, I\u2019ll work for you like a horse.\u201d We assured him that we would, really thinking it probable that he might do some useful work for the magazine; and then we again stood up waiting for his departure.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNow I\u2019ll tell ye a plain truth,\u201d said he, \u201cand ye may do just as ye plaise about it. There isn\u2019t an ounce of tay or a pound of mait along with Mrs. Molloy this moment; and, what\u2019s more, there isn\u2019t a shilling between us to buy it. I never begged in my life;\u2014not yet. But if you can advance me a sovereign on that manuscript it will save me from taking the coat on my back to a pawnbroker\u2019s shop for whatever it\u2019ll fetch there.\u201d We paused a moment as we thought of it all, and then we handed him the coin for which he asked us. If the manuscript should be worthless the loss would be our own. We would not grudge a slice from the wholesome home-made loaf after we had used the butter-boat of benevolence. \u201cIt don\u2019t become me,\u201d said Mr. Molloy, \u201cto thank you for such a thrifle as a loan of twenty shillings; but I\u2019ll never forget the feeling that has made you listen to me, and that too after I had been rather down on you at thim baths.\u201d We gave him a kindly nod of the head, and then he took his departure.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYe\u2019ll see me again anyways?\u201d he said, and we promised that we would.<\/p>\n<p>We were anxious enough about the manuscript, but we could not examine it at that moment. When our office work was done we walked home with the roll in our pocket, speculating as we went on the probable character of Mr. Molloy. We still believed in him,\u2014still believed in him in spite of the manner in which he had descended in his language, and had fallen into a natural flow of words which alone would not have given much promise of him as a man of letters. But a human being, in regard to his power of production, is the reverse of a rope. He is as strong as his strongest part, and remembering the effect which Molloy\u2019s words had had upon us at the Turkish bath, we still thought that there must be something in him. If so, how pleasant would it be to us to place such a man on his legs,\u2014modestly on his legs, so that he might earn for his wife and bairns that meat and tea which he had told us that they were now lacking. An editor is always striving to place some one modestly on his legs in literature,\u2014on his or her,\u2014striving, and alas! so often failing. Here had come a man in regard to whom, as I walked home with his manuscript in my pocket, I did feel rather sanguine.<\/p>\n<p>Of all the rubbish that I ever read in my life, that paper on the Five-o\u2019clock Tea-table was, I think, the worst. It was not only vulgar, foolish, unconnected, and meaningless; but it was also ungrammatical and unintelligible even in regard to the wording of it. The very spelling was defective. The paper was one with which no editor, sub-editor, or reader would have found it necessary to go beyond the first ten lines before he would have known that to print it would have been quite out of the question. We went through with it because of our interest in the man; but as it was in the beginning, so it was to the end,\u2014a farrago of wretched nonsense, so bad that no one, without experience in such matters, would believe it possible that even the writer should desire the publication of it! It seemed to us to be impossible that Mr. Molloy should ever have written a word for those Hibernian periodicals which he had named to us. He had got our sovereign; and with that, as far as we were concerned, there must be an end of Mr. Molloy. We doubted even whether he would come for his own manuscript.<\/p>\n<p>But he came. He came exactly at the hour appointed, and when we looked at his face we felt convinced that he did not doubt his own success. There was an air of expectant triumph about him which dismayed us. It was clear enough that he was confident that he should take away with him the full price of his article, after deducting the sovereign which he had borrowed. \u201cYou like it thin,\u201d he said, before we had been able to compose our features to a proper form for the necessary announcement.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMr. Molloy,\u201d we said, \u201cit will not do. You must believe us that it will not do.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNot do?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo, indeed. We need not explain further;\u2014but,\u2014but,\u2014you had really better turn your hand to some other occupation.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSome other occupa-ation!\u201d he exclaimed, opening wide his eyes, and holding up both his hands.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIndeed we think so, Mr. Molloy.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd you\u2019ve read it?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cEvery word of it;\u2014on our honour.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd you won\u2019t have it?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell;\u2014no, Mr. Molloy, certainly we cannot take it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYe reject my article on the Five-o\u2019clock Tay-table!\u201d Looking into his face as he spoke, we could not but be certain that its rejection was to him as astonishing as would have been its acceptance to the readers of the magazine. He put his hand up to his head and stood wondering. \u201cI suppose ye\u2019d better choose your own subject for yourself,\u201d he said, as though by this great surrender on his own part he was getting rid of all the difficulty on ours.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMr. Molloy,\u201d we began, \u201cwe may as well be candid with you\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019ll tell you what it is,\u201d said he, \u201cI\u2019ve taken such a liking to you there\u2019s nothing I won\u2019t do to plaise ye. I\u2019ll just put it in my pocket, and begin another for ye as soon as the children have had their bit of dinner.\u201d At last we did succeed, or thought that we succeeded, in making him understand that we regarded the case as being altogether hopeless, and were convinced that it was beyond his powers to serve us. \u201cAnd I\u2019m to be turned off like that,\u201d he said, bursting into open tears as he threw himself into a chair and hid his face upon the table. \u201cAh! wirra, wirra, what\u2019ll I do at all? Sure, and didn\u2019t I think it was fixed as firm between us as the Nelson monument? When ye handselled me with the money, didn\u2019t I think it was as good as done and done?\u201d I begged him not to regard the money, assuring him that he was welcome to the sovereign. \u201cThere\u2019s my wife\u2019ll be brought to bed any day,\u201d he went on to say, \u201cand not a ha\u2019porth of anything ready for it! \u2019Deed, thin, and the world\u2019s hard. The world\u2019s very hard!\u201d And this was he who had talked to me about Constantinople and New York at the baths, and had made me believe that he was a well-informed, well-to-do man of the world!<\/p>\n<p>Even now we did not suspect that he was lying to us. Why he should be such as he seemed to be was a mystery; but even yet we believed in him after a fashion. That he was sorely disappointed and broken-hearted because of his wife, was so evident to us, that we offered him another sovereign, regarding it as the proper price of that butter-boat of benevolence which we had permitted ourselves to use. But he repudiated our offer. \u201cI\u2019ve never begged,\u201d said he, \u201cand, for myself, I\u2019d sooner starve. And Mary Jane would sooner starve than I should beg. It will be best for us both to put an end to ourselves and to have done with it.\u201d This was very melancholy; and as he lay with his head upon the table, we did not see how we were to induce him to leave us.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019d better take the sovereign,\u2014just for the present,\u201d we said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNiver!\u201d said he, looking up for a moment, \u201cniver!\u201d And still he continued to sob. About this period of the interview, which before it was ended was a very long interview, we ourselves made a suggestion the imprudence of which we afterwards acknowledged to ourselves. We offered to go to his lodgings and see his wife and children. Though the man could not write a good magazine article, yet he might be a very fitting object for our own personal kindness. And the more we saw of the man, the more we liked him,\u2014in spite of his incapacity. \u201cThe place is so poor,\u201d he said, objecting to our offer. After what had passed between us, we felt that that could be no reason against our visit, and we began for a moment to fear that he was deceiving us. \u201cNot yet,\u201d he cried, \u201cnot quite yet. I will try once again;\u2014once again. You will let me see you once more?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd you will take the other sovereign,\u201d we said,\u2014trying him. He should have had the other sovereign if he would have taken it; but we confess that had he done so then we should have regarded him as an impostor. But he did not take it, and left us in utter ignorance as to his true character.<\/p>\n<p>After an interval of three days he came again, and there was exactly the same appearance. He wore the same tattered gloves. He had not pawned his coat. There was the same hat,\u2014shabby when observed closely, but still carrying a decent appearance when not minutely examined. In his face there was no sign of want, and at moments there was a cheeriness about him which was almost refreshing. \u201cI\u2019ve got a something this time that I think ye must like,\u2014unless you\u2019re harder to plaise than Rhadhamanthus.\u201d So saying, he tendered me another roll of paper, which I at once opened, intending to read the first page of it. The essay was entitled the \u201cChurch of England;\u2014a Question for the People.\u201d It was handed to me as having been written within the last three days; and, from its bulk, might have afforded fair work for a fortnight to a writer accustomed to treat of subjects of such weight. As we had expected, the first page was unintelligible, absurd, and farcical. We began to be angry with ourselves for having placed ourselves in such a connection with a man so utterly unable to do that which he pretended to do. \u201cI think I\u2019ve hit it off now,\u201d said he, watching our face as we were reading.<\/p>\n<p>The reader need not be troubled with a minute narrative of the circumstances as they occurred during the remainder of the interview. What had happened before was repeated very closely. He wondered, he remonstrated, he complained, and he wept. He talked of his wife and family, and talked as though up to this last moment he had felt confident of success. Judging from his face as he entered the room, we did not doubt but that he had been confident. His subsequent despair was unbounded, and we then renewed our offer to call on his wife. After some hesitation he gave us an address in Hoxton, begging us to come after seven in the evening if it were possible. He again declined the offer of money, and left us, understanding that we would visit his wife on the following evening. \u201cYou are quite sure about the manuscript?\u201d he said as he left us. We replied that we were quite sure.<\/p>\n<p>On the following day we dined early at our club and walked in the evening to the address which Mr. Molloy had given us in Hoxton. It was a fine evening in August, and our walk made us very warm. The street named was a decent little street, decent as far as cleanliness and newness could make it; but there was a melancholy sameness about it, and an apparent absence of object, which would have been very depressing to our own spirits. It led nowhither, and had been erected solely with the view of accommodating decent people with small incomes. We at once priced the houses in our mind at ten and sixpence a week, and believed them to be inhabited by pianoforte-tuners, coach-builders, firemen, and public-office messengers. There was no squalor about the place, but it was melancholy, light-coloured and depressive. We made our way to No. 14, and finding the door open entered the passage. \u201cCome in,\u201d cried the voice of our friend; and in the little front parlour we found him seated with a child on each knee, while a winning little girl of about twelve was sitting in a corner of the room, mending her stockings. The room itself and the appearance of all around us were the very opposite of what we had expected. Everything no doubt was plain,\u2014was, in a certain sense, poor; but nothing was poverty-stricken. The children were decently clothed and apparently were well fed. Mr. Molloy himself, when he saw me, had that twinkle of humour in his eye which I had before observed, and seemed to be afflicted at the moment with none of that extreme agony which he had exhibited more than once in our presence. \u201cPlease, Sir, mother aint in from the hospital,\u2014not yet,\u201d said the little girl, rising up from her chair; but it\u2019s past seven and she won\u2019t be long. \u201cThis announcement created some surprise. We had indeed heard that of Mrs. Molloy which might make it very expedient that she should seek the accommodation of an hospital, but we could not understand that in such circumstances she should be able to come home regularly at seven o\u2019clock in the evening. Then there was a twinkle in our friend Molloy\u2019s eye which almost made us think for the moment that we had been made the subject of some, hitherto unintelligible, hoax. And yet there had been the man at the baths in Jermyn Street, and the two manuscripts had been in our hands, and the man had wept as no man weeps for a joke. \u201cYou would come, you know,\u201d said Mr. Molloy, who had now put down the two bairns and had risen from his seat to greet us.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWe are glad to see you so comfortable,\u201d we replied.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cFather is quite comfortable, Sir,\u201d said the little girl. We looked into Mr. Molloy\u2019s face and saw nothing but the twinkle in the eye. We had certainly been \u201cdone\u201d by the most elaborate hoax that had ever been perpetrated. We did not regret the sovereign so much as those outpourings from the butter-boat of benevolence of which we felt that we had been cheated. \u201cHere\u2019s mother,\u201d said the girl running to the door. Mr. Molloy stood grinning in the middle of the room with the youngest child again in his arms. He did not seem to be in the least ashamed of what he had done, and even at that moment conveyed to us more of liking for his affection for the little boy than of anger for the abominable prank that he had played us.<\/p>\n<p>That he had lied throughout was evident as soon as we saw Mrs. Molloy. Whatever ailment might have made it necessary that she should visit the hospital, it was not one which could interfere at all with her power of going and returning. She was a strong hearty-looking woman of about forty, with that mixture in her face of practical kindness with severity in details which we often see in strong-minded women who are forced to take upon themselves the management and government of those around them. She courtesied, and took off her bonnet and shawl, and put a bottle into a cupboard, as she addressed us. \u201cMick said as you was coming, Sir, and I\u2019m sure we is glad to see you;\u2014only sorry for the trouble, Sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>We were so completely in the dark that we hardly knew how to be civil to her,\u2014hardly knew whether we ought to be civil to her or not. \u201cWe don\u2019t quite understand why we\u2019ve been brought here,\u201d we said, endeavouring to maintain, at any rate a tone of good-humour. He was still embracing the little boy, but there had now come a gleam of fun across his whole countenance, and he seemed to be almost shaking his sides with laughter. \u201cYour husband represented himself as being in distress,\u201d we said gravely. We were restrained by a certain delicacy from informing the woman of the kind of distress to which Mr. Molloy had especially alluded,\u2014most falsely.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLord love you, Sir,\u201d said the woman, \u201cjust step in here.\u201d Then she led us into a little back room in which there was a bedstead, and an old writing-desk or escritoire, covered with papers. Her story was soon told. Her husband was a madman.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMad!\u201d we said, preparing for escape from what might be to us most serious peril.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe wouldn\u2019t hurt a mouse,\u201d said Mrs. Molloy. \u201cAs for the children, he\u2019s that good to them, there aint a young woman in all London that\u2019d be better at handling \u2019em.\u201d Then we heard her story, in which it appeared to us that downright affection for the man was the predominant characteristic. She herself was, as she told us, head day nurse at Saint Patrick\u2019s Hospital, going there every morning at eight, and remaining till six or seven. For these services she received thirty shillings a week and her board, and she spoke of herself and her husband as being altogether removed from pecuniary distress. Indeed, while the money part of the question was being discussed, she opened a little drawer in the desk and handed us back our sovereign, almost without an observation. Molloy himself had \u201ccome of decent people.\u201d On this point she insisted very often, and gave us to understand that he was at this moment in receipt of a pension of a hundred a year from his family. He had been well educated, she said, having been at Trinity College, Dublin, till he had been forced to leave his university for some slight, but repeated irregularity. Early in life he had proclaimed his passion for the press, and when he and she were married absolutely was earning a living in Dublin by some use of the scissors and paste-pot. The whole tenor of his career I could not learn, though Mrs. Molloy would have told us everything had time allowed. Even during the years of his sanity in Dublin he had only been half-sane, treating all the world around him with the effusions of his terribly fertile pen. \u201cHe\u2019ll write all night if I\u2019ll let him have a candle,\u201d said Mrs. Molloy. We asked her why she did let him have a candle, and made some enquiry as to the family expenditure in paper. The paper, she said, was given to him from the office of a newspaper which she would not name, and which Molloy visited regularly every day. \u201cThere aint a man in all London works harder,\u201d said Mrs. Molloy. \u201cHe is mad. I don\u2019t say nothing against it. But there is some of it so beautiful, I wonder they don\u2019t print it.\u201d This was the only word she spoke with which we could not agree. \u201cAh, Sir,\u201d said she; \u201cyou haven\u2019t seen his poetry!\u201d We were obliged to tell her that seeing poetry was the bane of our existence.<\/p>\n<p>There was an easy absence of sham about this woman, and an acceptance of life as it had come to her, which delighted us. She complained of nothing, and was only anxious to explain the little eccentricities of her husband. When we alluded to some of his marvellously untrue assertions, she stopped us at once. \u201cHe do lie,\u201d she said. \u201cCertainly he do. How he makes them all out is wonderful. But he wouldn\u2019t hurt a fly.\u201d It was evident to us that she not only loved her husband, but admired him. She showed us heaps of manuscript with which the old drawers were crammed; and yet that paper on the Church of England had been new work, done expressly for us.<\/p>\n<p>When the story had been told we went back to him, and he received us with a smile. \u201cGood-bye, Molloy,\u201d we said. \u201cGood-bye to you, Sir,\u201d he replied, shaking hands with us. We looked at him closely, and could hardly believe that it was the man who had sat by us at the Turkish bath.<\/p>\n<p>He never troubled us again or came to our office, but we have often called on him, and have found that others of our class do the same. We have even helped to supply him with the paper which he continues to use,\u2014we presume for the benefit of other editors.<\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">Anthony Trollope Books to Read<\/h2>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/3MKShUh\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/3XLByXr\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/4es2zol\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/4df56kM\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><br \/>\nClick on the image to buy a copy<\/p>\n<p>If you enjoyed The Turkish Bath by Anthony Trollope, check out <a href=\"https:\/\/quizlit.org\/christmas-at-thompson-hall-by-anthony-trollope\">Christmas at Thompson Hall by Anthony Trollope, <\/a><\/p>\n<p>Narrated by Arnold Banner, courtesy of Librivox<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>The Turkish Bath by Anthony Trollope was originally published in Saint Paul\u2019s Magazine, Oct. 1869. It was subsequently part of An Editor\u2019s Tales in 1870. This post may contain affiliate links that earn us a commission at no extra cost to you. The Turkish Bath by Anthony Trollope The Turkish Bath by Anthony Trollope IT [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":0,"featured_media":4315,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4314","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-bookreviews"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4314"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4314"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4314\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/4315"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4314"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4314"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4314"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}