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Updated: June 28, 2025
In most big undertakings, one or two men do the work while the rest sit near and talk till the ripe decorations begin to fall. Wressley was the working-member of the Foreign Office firm, and, to keep him up to his duties when he showed signs of flagging, he was made much of by his superiors and told what a fine fellow he was.
We had a Viceroy in those days who knew exactly when to "gentle" a fractious big man and to hearten up a collar-galled little one, and so keep all his team level. He conveyed to Wressley the impression which I have just set down; and even tough men are apt to be disorganized by a Viceroy's praise. There was a case once but that is another story.
Ruskin writes something like this somewhere, I think; but in ordinary life a few kisses are better and save time. About a month after he had lost his heart to Miss Venner, and had been doing his work vilely in consequence, the first idea of his "Native Rule in Central India" struck Wressley and filled him with joy.
Ruskin writes something like this somewhere, I think; but in ordinary life a few kisses are better and save time. About a month after he had lost his heart to Miss Venner, and had been doing his work vilely in consequence, the first idea of his Native Rule in Central India struck Wressley and filled him with joy.
This man's name was Wressley, and it was the Shibboleth, in those days, to say "Wressley knows more about the Central Indian States than any living man." If you did not say this, you were considered one of mean understanding.
Wressley would have made a very good Clerk in the Herald's College had he not been a Bengal Civilian. Upon a day, between office and office, great trouble came to Wressley overwhelmed him, knocked him down, and left him gasping as though he had been a little schoolboy.
Which, knowing what Wressley of the Foreign Office was once, struck me as about the bitterest thing that I had ever heard a man say of his own work. Not though you die to-night, O Sweet, and wail, A spectre at my door, Shall mortal Fear make Love immortal fail I shall but love you more, Who from Death's house returning, give me still One moment's comfort in my matchless ill. Shadow Houses.
It's all about those how-wid Wajahs. I didn't understand it." Wressley of the Foreign Office was broken, smashed, I am not exaggerating by this one frivolous little girl. All that he could say feebly was: "But, but it's my magnum opus! The work of my life." Miss Venner did not know what magnum opus meant; but she knew that Captain Kerrington had won three races at the last Gymkhana.
This man's name was Wressley, and it was the Shibboleth, in those days, to say: "Wressley knows more about the Central Indian States than any living man." If you did not say this, you were considered one of mean understanding.
Wressley didn't press her to wait for him any longer. He had sense enough for that. Then came the reaction after the year's strain, and Wressley went back to the Foreign Office and his "Wajahs," a compiling, gazetteering, report-writing hack, who would have been dear at three hundred rupees a month. He abided by Miss Venner's review.
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