Chapter III: Part 3

Diggory Lawson completed his journey, but returned to London with a complete mental nausea of the cockney's plan for making him into a gentleman. Torn entirely from his beloved books, he was infinitely more miserable than when their only companionship subjected him to weariness. His mind hurried with anxiety, dissipated by the unintellectual nature of his engagement, annoyed and disgusted with the manners of those he was compelled to regard as the proper associates of his leisure, he wrote home to his father entreating permission to return. One paragraph will show the character of his letter:--

"Not a single thought or habit of my short life has prepared me for such an engagement as that procured me by your friend. It was misery enough to listen to the prattle of 'unidea'd girls,' as Dr. Johnson expressed himself on a similar occasion; but of all the tortures in the world, deliver me from the company of empty, conceit-blown mortals, who have such large notions of their own importance as these 'highly respectable commercial gentlemen.' I entreat your permission to return home, for I am 'like a fish out of water.'"

The boon was readily granted,--for Diggory's mother, having never been separated from her child before, had wept every day since she parted with him. The very next month, Dig's father gave up the notion of making him into a gentleman,--for the bobbin-net speculation waned,--and there was an end to making an immense fortune in a twinkling. He embarked the little capital he had gained in the more staple manufacture of the town, took Diggory into the trade, and associating with plain, sensible men, and cultivating knowledge in his leisure hours, Diggory Lawson was happier every day, and was no longer "the lad who felt like a fish out of water."

THE INTELLECTUAL LEVER THAT LACKED A FULCRUM.

Mr. Mortimer had suddenly inherited an estate of something more than five hundred a year, by the death of an uncle, and was persuaded by his Whig acquaintances in the metropolis, since he had just jumped into "a qualification," to set himself in earnest about getting into Parliament: for a seat then, when Lord Melbourne's premiership seemed to be held by a very frail tenure, might--his cockney friends entreated him to remember--enable him to "_save_ the country" for, at least, another year, from the "merciless grasp" of the Tories. So Mr. Mortimer set his wits to work, to find out how the seat was to be gained. He hunted for opinions wherever he went; but none "took his fancy" so much as a shrewd hour's advice given him one day, without a fee, by a lawyer, or a person who said he was one, and with whom he fell into conversation on board one of the Richmond steamers.

"Start a newspaper, sir; that's your only sure card, for cheapness," said the earnest talking man who called himself "a solicitor:" "the press gives a man a power that is irresistible."

Mr. Mortimer was struck with the words, and wondered that he had never, by his own unassisted thought, alighted on so "tangibly-intelligent an idea," as he inwardly and emphatically termed it. But the "legal gentleman's" next words made him feel still more confident that he was talking to a man who was worth listening to:--a solid matter-of-fact man, and not a mere fanciful idealist:--one who surveyed his ground before he either trod upon it himself, or recommended others to set their feet upon it.

"And, if I were asked," the said legal gentleman continued, _without_ being asked,--"if I were asked _where_ would you start it? I should say 'Kent,' in one word. You desire to serve the present administration. Well: there's Greenwich, and Deptford, and Woolwich: the naval and military establishments give the government full sweep there: Chatham, the same: Deal and Sandwich, no difference: Dover, as beforesaid: Hythe--there Marchbanks (that's the genteel way of pronouncing his name) can put you in if he likes, for he's a Whig: Canterbury: Lord Albert Conyngham's going out, and a Whig's sure to be returned there. In fact, there is but old Rochester where the Tories are sure; and Maidstone where the Conservatives can't easily be got out. Start a paper on Whig principles in Kent, sir; and--this is autumn of Eighteen-Forty--and, my word to a thousand pounds! before Forty-one is out, you will be returned for one or other of the Kentish boroughs."

Mr. Mortimer was quite decided: he declared he was. And so he buttoned up the breast of his surtout, and put on his gloves, after pulling them off very suddenly,--and began to walk, very energetically, about the deck of the little packet. The "solicitor" took care to keep close to his elbow, suggesting, and then answering, a hundred questions on hops, and cherries, and wheat, and sanfoin, and clover, and smuggled spirits and tobacco; and the scores of "houses to let" at the watering-places, and the company there, and how it differed at Margate and Ramsgate, and Dover and Gravesend, respectively; and, in short, on "all and sundry," the natural and manufactured productions of "Kent, the first English county in point of rank," as the legal gentleman assured Mr. Mortimer it was always esteemed to be.

Mr. Mortimer was quite decided: he declared he was!

"Egad! now I recollect," said the legal gentleman. "A friend of mine in one of the streets leading into Cheapside, has, at this very time, a large assortment of type, with a small handy machine-press, a most neat affair, I'll assure you! in fact, every thing that would be suitable for a commencement: they came into his hands for a bad debt, and might be had amazingly cheap."

Mr. Mortimer looked just as eager as the solicitor wished him to look.

"And, if you like," continued the solicitor; "if you like,--but 'tis of no consequence if you prefer new type,--only that would be most confoundedly expensive,--but, if you like,--I have no doubt I could get the whole lump,--I had almost said, dirt-cheap for you."

Mr. Mortimer commissioned the legal gentleman, in a twinkling, to make the purchase; for he was decided: he declared he was. So Mr. Mortimer gave the gentleman his card; and the "solicitor" (who swore, when he discovered that he had "lost his card-case") gave Mr. Mortimer his address; and as the packet was at Westminster Stairs by this time, Mr. Mortimer got out, and bade "good day," with a grateful smile, to the "solicitor," who remained in the boat to land at London Bridge, for the city.

Mr. Mortimer dined very heartily, and in most speechless silence; for he was exceedingly full of thought, and exceedingly pleased with his good-fortune. Every thing had fallen out so exceedingly, so wonderfully lucky. The advice of the legal gentleman was so intelligent,--so sensible,--so deeply distinguished by common sense, which Dean Swift (Mr. Mortimer remembered) always said was of more value than all other kinds of sense put together. In fact, the man he (Mr. Mortimer) could clearly see was "up to snuff," and knew all about the mysteries of government influence, and where it lay, and what the county produced; and--every thing! But to complete his good fortune, to put the crowning mark upon it, this very man knew where type and a machine-press was to be had for a mere trifle! so that he (Mr. Mortimer) had nothing to do but to write out an advertisement for the Chronicle; and he _would_ write it out that very afternoon, and take it to the office himself; and to-morrow morning, within three hours of the paper being published, no doubt, half-a-score literary men would be at the door, as corrivals and competitors for the new editorship.

Thus was Mr. Mortimer ruminating over his third glass of claret, when the servant's announcement that Mr. ---- had called,--the very legal gentleman whom Mr. Mortimer left at Westminster Stairs but two hours before,--caused him to open his eyes very wide, and ask the gentleman's name again. The gentleman was introduced, however, and, with a world of apologies, but another world of assurances that it resulted from his zeal to serve Mr. Mortimer, regretted that he should have intruded at such a time; but he had bought the machine-press and the type, for he had run upon his friend in Cheapside before he reached his own residence, and snapped up the whole thing before any one else found it, and it was now actually at the door!

"At the door!" cried Mr. Mortimer,--"what door?"

"My dear sir," answered the legal gentleman, with singular suavity, "I regret exceedingly, as I have just observed, that I should have intruded at this particular time; but I knew the highly important object,--the national object, as I may say,--that you had fixed your mind upon--admitted of no delay, and so I went to work _instanter_. To a gentleman who is rather unused to these things----"

Mr. Mortimer confessed he _was_ unused to these things, and felt that he _ought_ to feel grateful, exceedingly grateful, to the gentleman.

The gentleman begged there might be no apology.--But Mr. Mortimer really felt he ought to apologise.--Yet the gentleman most particularly begged there might be no apology; and--there was the little bill!--and--where would Mr. Mortimer have the goods put, since they were in a van--the very first thing, in the shape of a conveyance, that the gentleman could see when he had bargained for the type and the machine-press--in a van, at the door!

The bill was something more than one hundred pounds, and--and--Mr. Mortimer was staggered, for he had not calculated on half the sum; but, what could he say? It would be so disrespectful, so ungrateful, so ungentlemanlike, to demur to the price or the purchase; so Mr. Mortimer thanked the gentleman "most heartily:" he was under very deep obligations to him: it was what he ought not to expect from a mere stranger: he would retain a most grateful sense of the gentleman's kindness. And he begged the gentleman would be seated; and would the gentleman take claret, or did he prefer Burgundy?

The gentleman reminded Mr. Mortimer that the van was at the door, and it was necessary to say what was to be done with the goods. He (the "legal gentleman") had an unoccupied office just now on his hands, and it was at Mr. Mortimer's service if----

An English thought shot across Mr. Mortimer's mind, and he rang the bell, and summoned his landlady. "Did she know of any upholsterer, or other tradesman in the neighbourhood, who could take care of a little furniture that was in the van at the door?" The landlady replied that she did, and Mr. Mortimer begged she would see it taken care of, in her own name.

The legal gentleman looked very sharply and earnestly at his watch,--when the landlady withdrew, and Mr. Mortimer again mentioned the wine. He, the "legal gentleman," really could not stay at that particular time: he had acted thus promptly in order to serve Mr. Mortimer, for he was aware of the vast importance of promptitude in national affairs, and Mr. Mortimer's particular business might most emphatically be termed a national affair, when its ultimate purpose was considered.

Mr. Mortimer could not press the gentleman under such circumstances, so began to write out a cheque for the amount of the bill. A sudden thought struck him, however, just as he had handed it to the gentleman.

"We must talk one point over, my dear sir," he said, "and that is, _where_ must the paper be published? for you observed that there were already several small papers of an insignificant character in the county, and that they were published at different towns. Now _where_ must my new paper be published, so as best to compete with one of them?"

The legal gentleman looked as if taken aback for a moment, but speedily answered, "Why not in London?"

"Hum!" replied Mr. Mortimer, musingly: "would not that be rather out of character? Might not the Kentish people deny that the paper was a Kentish paper at all, then?"

"Your plan, sir, is this," answered the solicitor, with the same air of unanswerable decision and discernment which he wore in the steamer;--"take a trip of observation through the whole county for yourself: it will cost you little, if you go shrewdly to work; and you will learn much, by the way, that will be of immense service to you, in the great undertaking itself: that's the likeliest way to find your fulcrum, as a clever mechanical friend of mine always says, and then plant your intellectual lever; and may it prove successful, sir, is my heart's best wish, in raising you speedily to the House of Commons!"

The legal gentleman rounded with a smile; but his speech needed no gilding for Mr. Mortimer: it went to the inmost chamber of his brain, with the speed and power of instant and undisturbable conviction; and he shook his adviser most fervently by the hand, and regretted, again and again, that the gentleman could not stay and spend the evening, but hoped he would have the pleasure of his company again, when he, Mr. Mortimer, had completed the little projected tour. The legal gentleman assured Mr. Mortimer he would feel honoured in accepting the invitation, and, with great politeness, withdrew.

Mr. Mortimer's Kentish tour was commenced the very next morning. He was in the street at Greenwich, as soon as the first train could arrive there, in its fifteen minutes' journey from the foot of London Bridge. Mr. Mortimer could, of course, think of no step so likely to be taken with a view to obtaining information, as calling at a respectable business-like inn. He had made a little inquiry in the railway carriage; and "The Mitre" and "The Greyhound" were recommended as highly respectable resorts of company. Mr. Mortimer bent his steps towards the Greyhound. He found the landlord to be a person of very frank and pleasing appearance, and of very courteous manners; but it was too early for company, so the tourist intimated that he would require dinner at such an hour, and went out to saunter a few hours about the Hospital and the Park. There seemed to be much that a person might be pleased with, he thought, amidst all that he saw; but his mind was fixed on obtaining information, and he could see no one walking in the Park, nor about the Hospital colonnades, that was at all likely, in his judgment, to tell him any thing about the desirableness or propriety of starting a newspaper at Greenwich. He passed several old pensioners, while in this discontented mood, sitting under the shade of the noble chestnut trees, some recounting their naval adventures while turning the quid, or smoking, and others reading. Suddenly, he observed that a veteran who was reclining alone was reading a newspaper; and the whim seized him to make a little inquiry in the line of his own pursuit, though he thought it a somewhat unlikely quarter from whence to obtain the information he was seeking.

"You are busy, I see, my friend," said Mr. Mortimer: "any particular news, just now?"

"Why no, sir?" answered the veteran, looking through his spectacles at the person who asked him the question: "every thing seems very dull, but you know they always fill the newspapers up with something,--what with things that happen and things that never did happen, and what with things that they invent, and things that they borrow."

"Do you read the papers much?" asked Mr. Mortimer, thinking the old man displayed shrewdness enough to deserve another question.

"Why, sir, I might read 'em more than I do, if I would," answered the veteran; "but I don't think it worth the trouble. This is a London paper, and I see it weekly. They publish two papers in Greenwich here, but they're neither of 'em worth looking at, according to my thinking. How they get supported I can't make out, for nobody thinks any thing of 'em; yet I heard a person say that there was strong talk of another being started by some gentleman that's disposed to fool his money away. 'Tis a pity but what somebody or other would advise him different, for it's the wildest scheme in the world, I think, to imagine that any newspaper can prosper in a place like this, that's so near London."

Mr. Mortimer felt as if he would have dropped into the earth, and had but just presence of mind left to bid the old pensioner "good morning," before he walked away to recover the blow thus given to his hopes. But he consoled himself by reflecting that it was a "mere vulgar old man" who had delivered this opinion,--one who was not at all likely to know what chance there was for the success of a newspaper enterprise, into which so many commercial and political interests and considerations must needs be woven. It must be a matter altogether beyond the scope and reach of a mere Greenwich pensioner. After restoring his own confidence in some degree, the tourist returned to his inn, dined, read the papers, and at length had the pleasure of seeing the evening company begin to gather. But Mr. Mortimer was resolved to make longer preliminary observation this time, ere he introduced the subject that most nearly concerned him. He was pleased to find, by attending to the tone of remarks, as the current subjects of Mahomet Ali, and Napier, and the Syrian question, were being discussed, that the two great parties of Whigs and Tories were fully represented in the room. He thought this a fortunate circumstance for himself, since he would be less likely to gather a biassed decision among the company, on his great newspaper question, when he thought the time was come for his introduction of it. And after waiting long, he _did_ introduce it, cautiously concealing, as he thought, the fact, that he himself was desirous of commencing a Kentish paper. But Mr. Mortimer was not the cunningest man in the world, and more than one member of the company perceived his purpose before the close of the conversation.

"Vy, sir, you understand,"--began a very elderly person, of a portly figure, who seemed to be held in great respect by his companions, but who, by his dialect, had evidently been thrown among the least cultivated portion of the metropolitan population,--"you understand, that's a vay o' hembarking cappitle, as it vere, vich I vouldn't recommend, for von: for, by the same rule, you understand, another gen'lmans a-been thinking of it, and I said the same, you understand, to him."

But Mr. Mortimer did _not_ understand; and he therefore made no reply.

"But it depends a good deal on the particular object the individual has in view who embarks the capital," observed a thin, keen-looking man: "if Captain Dundas, now, were to start a paper in Greenwich, it could not fail to answer his purpose."

"By the same rule," interjected the elderly person, "that's quite another affair, as it vere. The Captain, you understand,--and success to him say I, vith all my 'art!--the Captain, you understand, by the same rule, vouldn't care about the paper paying."

"Exactly," observed the bland landlord, reconciling the apparent difference of his guests; "so that that does not disprove your point."

"But pray, gentlemen," asked Mr. Mortimer, "may I ask what would be the particular object of Captain Dundas, if he were to start a new paper in your town?"

"O! Parliament, sir!--Parliament, of course!" quickly replied the thin, keen-looking man, with a very significant shake of the head.

Mr. Mortimer's blood beat quick with a rush of thoughts; but he resolved to be prudent, and so he said nothing; but he felt more than ever assured of the legal gentleman's intelligence who had first recommended his present errand, and he sank gently back, when he had sipped largely at his brandy and water, and pulled away vehemently at his cigar. "It is indeed the intellectual lever, as the gentleman said," reflected Mr. Mortimer within himself, "whereby a man may raise himself to the House of Commons: every intelligent man thinks so: but then--where to plant the fulcrum?"

So Mr. Mortimer rejoined the conversation, which was now in full tide respecting the relative chances of a new Whig, and a new Tory paper; and pressed the question very closely, whether, in the whole county of Kent, Greenwich were the more likely place to start a new paper. To this question there were many answers: one said it was a better place than Woolwich, where a new paper had just started; and another compared it with Gravesend; and others with Canterbury, and Dover; but there was a fair majority in the room for Greenwich;--yet, what chiefly puzzled Mr. Mortimer was the fact, that when he subjected his own doubt to the consideration of the company, as to whether the immediate proximity of Greenwich to London would not militate against the chances of prosperity for a new Greenwich paper, there were equal numbers, for and against. One circumstance particularly gratified Mr. Mortimer: the thin, keen-looking man strenuously maintained that the contiguity of Greenwich to London would be, and was, and must necessarily be, the strongest, the most advantageous point of view in which the whole question to be solved could be entered upon. The thin, keen-looking man said a great deal more,--but, somehow or other, Mr. Mortimer understood him less, the more he talked; and as the hour was advancing on midnight, Mr. Mortimer withdrew, resolving to turn the whole conversation over, and make up his mind in bed.

But Mr. Mortimer did _not_ turn the conversation over there, for he had smoked and drank too much, in his earnestness, to keep awake one minute when he was fairly abed. Yet he dreamt wonderful things about the "Intellectual Lever,"--things that warmed and enraptured his fancy when he woke the next morning;--but nothing about the "fulcrum,"--so that he gained no help by his dreams towards making up his mind about publishing at Greenwich. It was "all right," however, Mr. Mortimer reflected, as he sat down to breakfast,--it was all right, that he did not make up his mind at the outset: it was most judicious to keep himself, mentally, in equilibrio, until he had been round the country, completed his tour of observation, and then put the merits and advantages of each town side by side,--so as to enable himself to draw a correct judgment.

If all Mr. Mortimer's thinkings were to be related, his story would be a very long one. Suffice it to say, that he, forthwith, set out for Lewisham, when he had breakfasted, and paid his bill, and bidden the landlord good-morning. From Lewisham Mr. Mortimer strode on to Bromley; and from Bromley, per stage-coach, he went to Sevenoaks, and the next day to Tunbridge, and to the Wells the following day. This was the route Mr. Mortimer had most sagaciously chalked out for himself,--he being thoroughly bent on making the complete circuit of the county. The "Intellectual Lever" he took care to mention whereever he went,--for he had now fully resolved to give his projected newspaper that name,--and he thought every one looked as pleased with it as he felt himself. Indeed, every one was delighted during the whole of this part of Mr. Mortimer's tour with the idea of a newspaper that was to take up the interests of parts of the county which, they assured him, had been so much neglected, notwithstanding they were so highly important. Equal delight and similar assurances greeted the ears of the projector at Cranbrook, and Tenterden, and Ashford, and Hythe, and Folkestone,--insomuch that Mr. Mortimer began to feel more than ever puzzled with the task of arranging, in his own mind, the astounding claims of importance preferred by the respectable denizens of the towns through which he passed,--ever announcing his design of planting the "Intellectual Lever"--when he should have found a "fulcrum."

At Dover, Mr. Mortimer made a longer halt, finding a most agreeable lodging at the Gun Hotel, and meeting, moreover, advisers of a determined character for "planting the Intellectual Lever" there: it was the key of England, these counsellors assured Mr. Mortimer: it was, really, the only natural "fulcrum" for the lever, seeing that it received the first continental news: it was, anciently, of so much importance; it was about to become of so much importance, by the formation of a grand new harbour, and by its new railway connection with London; and, above all, it sent two members to parliament. Mr. Mortimer was troubled, for the Dover counsellors assured him _they_ would have nothing to do with a Greenwich paper: Greenwich was nothing to them; and as for the other towns through which the projector had passed, they only laughed to hear them mentioned.

"It must be Dover," thought Mr. Mortimer;--yet he had resolved to act prudently, and so he did not positively say so; but bidding his earnest advisers a very earnest farewell, mounted a daily conveyance for Deal and Walmer. There, he was assured by all with whom he conversed, that the "Intellectual Lever" must be published at Dover,--and then--and then--it could not fail to secure the _entire_ patronage of Deal and Walmer! Mr. Mortimer thought the Deal and Walmer people talked somewhat inflatedly anent their straggling sea-side villages,--for so he was inclined to call them: but then, he reflected again, that they shared with Sandwich in returning two members to Parliament. To Sandwich he went, next day; but--what was the importance of any town he had visited compared with Sandwich--in the eyes of its little population? Mr. Mortimer was perplexed--greatly perplexed--for the little old town looked, to him, so very unimportant, and the claims of its inhabitants to political consideration were so lofty! Dover? yes, they thought Dover might do,--or Canterbury; but the "lever" must be planted in _their_ neighbourhood. In fact, Mr. Mortimer perceived, clearly enough, that the Sandwichers would have liked to tell him, plainly, that Sandwich was the proper "fulcrum" for the "Intellectual Lever," but very shame withheld them.

The next day, the traveller went on in the same kind of daily conveyance--half-cab, half-cart--to Ramsgate. The journeying was very pleasant, in the neighbourhood of the sea, and the company very cheerful; but they were not of a character to understand much about levers and fulcrums,--so Mr. Mortimer said nothing about either, but listened rather than conversed.

Mr. Mortimer had been perplexed before,--but what could describe his perplexity, when he had spent a day each in Ramsgate and Margate? He was lectured rather than told,--by every company he joined,--on the absolute, the imperative necessity of regarding "the Isle of Thanet" in its proper light: every body was neglecting it: no one attended to it: their interests were vanishing: property was becoming of no value: any petty village in Kent could have its puffs and its praises, while their towns--the two most respectable watering-places in all England--were forgotten! Dover?--nonsense!--Canterbury was the place--if the gentleman did not like to venture on taking the Isle of Thanet for a fulcrum. But the gentleman must remain another day, and attend the grand "annual dinner of the Isle of Thanet," at the "Ranelagh Gardens;"--a delightful spot, Mr. Mortimer was assured it was: the gentleman would then be able to draw some more accurate conclusion as to the real importance of their distinct part of Kent. So Mr. Mortimer staid, and attended the dinner, and was much pleased, for a time. A London editor of a newspaper was there, it is true; and drew a little more attention than Mr. Mortimer was pleased to see; but then, the editor belonged to a daily paper, and Mr. Mortimer consoled himself with the belief that that would not stand in the way of his weekly "lever," when he had found the fulcrum, and planted it. But, alack! poor Mr. Mortimer--how did he feel during the last three hours of the feast;--for it was a protracted midnight affair, according to custom, elsewhere, in similar "annual" meetings;--how did poor Mr. Mortimer feel when, after all the usual "loyal toasts" had been drunk,--and the grand toast of the evening, the "prosperity" toast, came on,--an ambitious Ramsgate-man dared to put the name of _his_ town before the name of Margate! Thunder and lightning! Etna and Vesuvius!--Was there ever any thing comparable to the rage that followed, and the denunciation, and the eloquent invective, so far transcending Chatham and Grattan and Brougham, and all the wielders of scathing sarcasm that ever breathed! Ten?--no! nor twenty pages--would not hold the speeches:--so 'tis to no purpose making more words about it: Mr. Mortimer was--to use a very expressive slang phrase or two--Mr. Mortimer was completely _flummaxed_ and _flabbergasted_; or, as Jonathan would say--he was "struck all of a heap!" Mr. Mortimer's head reeled, and he said nothing,--no! not a word, as they crammed him into a carriage with half-a-dozen more, at midnight, to go back to Margate; though the reason might, partly, be, that he had tippled two bottles of sherry, and was asleep: but, suffice it to say, that, the next morning, Mr. Mortimer left Margate for Canterbury, more than ever puzzled with the immense problem of the "relative importance" of towns in Kent,--more than ever in a quandary as to where the true and indisputable "fulcrum" existed for "planting the intellectual lever."

Canterbury,--ah! Canterbury was a city he had often longed to see, and he had, more than once, half made up his mind to visit it, for mere curiosity. But, _now_, when his brains were in such a whirl with thinking about the lever, and finding such alarming difficulty in discovering the fulcrum--why he forgot Becket, and the Black Prince, and St. Augustine, and deferred all historical inquiries and all sight-seeing, and asked about nought but newspapers. "Newspapers, sir!"--exclaimed the landlord of the inn at which he alighted,--"newspapers!--why, Lord love ye! we have _four_ published here in Canterbury, already!"

Mr. Mortimer stared more than ever he had stared in his life. "Four!" he echoed; "four! What sort o' papers are they, pray?"

"Sort o' papers, sir!" answered the landlord, "why very capital papers: three of 'em at least,--them as is heddited by Mr. Mudford, a werry clever man, sir."

"Mudford!--what--Mudford that used to edit the Courier?"

"The werry same gen'lman, sir," answered the cockney landlord.

Mr. Mortimer turned pale. "And the other paper?" he said, by way of question.

"Oh! that, sir, is a low radical affair--"The Kent Herald;"--but I don't belong to that party, though they're werry strong here; and the paper sells well, they say."

Mr. Mortimer sat down, and tried to think. He sipped a pint of sherry, and munched a couple of biscuits, and he _did_ think; for the result was, that he took coach in another hour, and set off for Chatham and Rochester.

And now, Mr. Mortimer, singularly enough, rose from zero to fever heat, in his hopes and resolves about the fulcrum and the intellectual lever. "The four towns," as the Chatham people told him,--Strood, Rochester, Chatham, and Brompton, united as they were, lying around the basin of the Medway, filled with trading enterprise, blending so many great interests,--the dockyard, the soldiers' barracks, the hulks, the Dissenters, so all-powerful in Chatham, the Jew brokers, the cigar smugglers (or makers rather), the corporation of Rochester and its two members, and Chatham and its one member of Parliament, the cathedral, and the castle in ruins,--were all thrown upon Mr. Mortimer in such clustered phrases of inviting importance, that he completely lost his "rules of prudence," and proclaimed in a tone very like a shout, and very like Archimedes, only he didn't speak Greek,--"I have found it!" Yes: Mr. Mortimer declared he had found it; found the fulcrum for the lever, and the new newspaper _should_ be published at Chatham: the forty thousand inhabitants of the four towns, he said, were surely able to support a paper themselves. He was decided, he declared he was.

Mr. Mortimer's resolution was confirmed beyond the possibility of change, he felt assured, by a little voyage in the steamer to Sheerness. Chatham was "just the place," the Sheerness people assured him, for the publication of a paper, and _they_ would support it; in fact, it would have the support of "the _whole_ Isle of Sheppy!" Mr. Mortimer was exhilarated,--nay, he was exultant; and, although he had determined only to stay an hour in Sheerness, and then get on board a steamer for returning up the Thames, he was so pleased that he remained all day, and drank as hard, in his earnestness, as he had at the "Ranelagh Gardens" in the Isle of Thanet.

Mr. Mortimer had but _one_ call now to make, in order to complete the line of Kentish survey,--circle, rather, which he had so sagaciously laid down for himself; and he, accordingly, got out at Gravesend, the next morning, as he was proceeding in the packet on the Thames. Not that Mr. Mortimer thought Gravesend of great importance, but it might be as well, he said within himself, to call there. Unfortunate Mr. Mortimer! what did he know of the "relative importance" of the towns of Kent? Landlords, company, shopkeepers, loungers of all grades, in fact, every body, insisted that Gravesend was the _only_ place in Kent where a paper could possibly prosper! People little thought of the real worth of Gravesend. "But you have no member of parliament," said poor Mr. Mortimer, feeling all his old tribulation returning. What then? it was answered: they had a corporation, and two piers, and two packet companies, with eternal war between the piers and the companies,--war that shook the whole bank of the Thames, and was even perceived to have caused sundry vibrations in London bridge itself, where "the companies'" packets landed their passengers. Besides, they had had a paper in Gravesend once,--"The Journal,"--and _it_ prospered; but no sooner was it removed to Greenwich than it became worthless. _That_ ought to be a convincing proof to Mr. Mortimer that Gravesend was the proper, the _only_ fulcrum for his intellectual lever. Above all,--Gravesend was now become "London in parvo,"--a fine, well-fed and well-dressed gentleman observed: genteel people,--he meant prosperous merchants,--removed their families thither for the entire summer season, and just took the run with the steamers to London and back, morning and evening, to transact business: the metropolis possessed its finest suburb in the rising and extending and rapidly-improving town of Gravesend!--and the company cheered the gentleman's speech most enthusiastically,--and, poor Mr. Mortimer! he was, more than ever, confounded, puzzled, bothered, perplexed, flummaxed, and flabbergasted! He could not return to London that day: that was as clear as the sun at noon,--although the "fulcrum" question was become so disastrously dim, since he left Chatham and Sheerness. Nay, Mr. Mortimer staid at Gravesend even the whole of the following day; and the more people he saw--(and he saw no end of new faces,--in fact, they appeared to him, in his puzzled condition, to spring out of the earth--though the fact was they came in fresh shoals by the packet every morning, noon, and night, from town,)--the more people he saw, the more he was told that Gravesend was the place wherein he ought to publish "The Intellectual Lever:" that _there_ he could lift all Kent, and get himself returned,--the conclusion, he thought, ought to be,--for any Kentish borough _he chose_ to represent!

"Well," said Mr. Mortimer to himself, as he was dressing on the fourth morning of his stay in Gravesend: "it _is_ strange--certainly."

Mr. Mortimer would have said more to himself,--but he just then happened to be glancing down into the street, as he was tying his neckerchief, and seeing an omnibus going by,--one of the regular and frequent conveyances from Gravesend to Chatham,--that run the eight miles with passengers,--he read upon one of its sides--"Meets conveyances to MAIDSTONE."

"Why, what in the world has possessed me, all this time?" exclaimed Mr. Mortimer, aloud, although he was alone,--"what in the world has possessed me, that I have been going round Kent, and calling at every little hole without thinking of Maidstone,--the county town, where the assizes are held,--in the very core and centre of the shire?"

There was no one to answer Mr. Mortimer,--but he was down stairs in another minute,--besought the landlord to stop the omnibus,--paid his bill,--and set off, breakfastless, for Maidstone, by way of Chatham. Mr. Mortimer was resolved he would have his own unbiassed judgment this time, and so called on no one at Chatham or Rochester.

Maidstone--finished Mr. Mortimer! A _new_ newspaper for Kent?--why, every one assured him it was of all schemes the most foolish. The "Maidstone Gazette," on the Whig side, was edited by Mr. Whiting, a gentleman of real talent, swarmed with advertisements, and had a good circulation: the "Maidstone Journal," on the Conservative side, was rising into favour and patronage, with its own party: these were the two _real_ representatives of Kent: there was no room for another paper: fools might speculate, in any corner, to please knaves, and throw their money away: there was no full growth of radicalism, as in the manufacturing districts: London was so near at hand that its daily papers and literary periodicals supplied every want:--in short, every man of any pretensions to common sense assured Mr. Mortimer, if he desired to throw away his fortune, his projected "lever" was the very instrument to enable him to throw it away effectually,--if he chose Kent for the "fulcrum!"

Mr. Mortimer returned to London an altered man. He believed he had been "humbugged;" and so it proved. He tried to find "the solicitor," but no such person was to be found at the house he had pencilled down on his tablets. "Ah!" thought Mr. Mortimer, as he returned towards the West end,--"how lucky it was that I bethought me not to let the fellow place the types and the press in his 'office,' as he called it!" Mr. Mortimer resolved to sell the materials, get back his hundred pounds, and give up the scheme. He sent for an appraiser. The press was only fit to burn, and the types had to be sold for old metal!!--

Mr. Mortimer is _not_ in parliament yet.

NICHOLAS NIXON, "GENTLEMAN,"
WHO COULD NOT UNDERSTAND WHY, BUT WHO KNEW "IT WAS SO."

Dullness was well nigh at the meridian of her reign in old Lincoln. In the solemn "precincts" of the cathedral the humble bees seemed almost afraid to disturb the solitude by a hum; and venerable maiden ladies had no vicissitude of existence, save an occasional scold at their servants, or a grumbling complaint of "short measure" to the coalman as he made his weekly call. And, indeed, the rest of the city was most autumnally tame and uninteresting. The fashionables were at the watering-places,--the throng of the working population was in the fields,--and while one tradesman complained, with a yawn, to his neighbour, that there was "nothing doing, and no money stirring," the other invariably rejoined, "No, nor won't be, till after harvest!"--and then imitated his neighbour in stretching his mouth from ear to ear.

In fact, the only interesting people you met were those who endeavoured to keep you awake by collecting and pouring out several dull, disagreeable, or doleful subjects in a breath; such as the relation of the robbery of such a tradesman's shop at noon-day,--the thieves having taken advantage of the extreme dullness of the time to effect their villainous scheme;--or, the accident of the poor-fellow, the bricklayer's assistant, falling from the top of his ladder, with the hod on his head, and being taken up to the hospital;--coupled with the "remarkable fact" that he was the second husband of a poor woman whose first fell from a pear-tree, and was killed, leaving her with a large family;--with an additional half-score of disasters, if your nerves or inclination would permit you to stay and learn the sum-total of the catalogue.

Nicholas Nixon, "gentleman," had dwelt threescore years in the venerable city; that is to say, the whole of his life, and had kept decent state as a householder among the genteel people of the Minster-yard, for at least half of the term. Living "retired," on a yearly income, and passing each successive day of his existence in an almost unvaried routine of eating, washing, dressing, walking, and sleeping, one would have thought that all seasons of the year would have become equally agreeable or indifferent to him. But Mr. Nixon was too true a Minster-yard cit either to feel or to affect indifference in a matter that, he knew, drew forth so much dull comment among his fellow-citizens, as did the dullness of the autumn season.

"Really, Mr. Subdean," said he to that cathedral dignitary, as he overtook him, by the County Hospital, at the top of the "Steep Hill," in the forenoon of one of these drowsy days, "I think our autumns grow duller and duller every year: I'm sure you must feel it to be a bore that you are in residence this latter end."

"I feel it to be a little dull to be among you, at this time of the year, Mr. Nixon," replied the subdean, "but still it is an agreeable change."

"I am glad you can think so, sir," rejoined Gentleman Nixon;--for that was the mode by which he was usually distinguished from the several tradesmen Nixons who inhabited the city,--"I am glad you can bring yourself to think so: for my own part, I feel it to be very dull, very dull, indeed!--Are you for a walk to the Bar, sir?"

"I am, Mr. Nixon: shall I have the pleasure of your company?" was the rejoinder of the courteous and kind-natured clergyman.

"I shall be most happy, Mr. Subdean: I feel very highly honoured, sir: I----"

"And what is the best news, stirring, Mr. Nixon?" asked the subdean, desirous of cutting short the retired gentleman's flourish of politeness.

"Well, sir," answered Mr. Nicholas, very quickly, "I think the best news is that the poor freemen have had the spirit to stop this mushroom scheme of the town council to turn the West Common into a botanical garden. They are a mischievous set, these Below-hill Whig-radicals, depend upon it, Mr. Subdean: we shall have need to look sharp after 'em."

The churchman was full well acquainted with Gentleman Nixon's undeviating adherence to the "Pink" partisanship,--that is to say, Sibthorpian, or "House-of-Canwick" side of politics, which was most prevalent "Above-hill"--the division of old Lincoln comprising the habitations situate around the ancient castle and magnificent cathedral, and beyond which the Roman city did not extend. The subdean, I say, knew well that Mr. Nixon was among the most unchanging of the well-nigh changeless denizens in this elevated region: he knew that Mr. Nicholas professed the highest, the most exclusive toryism; and therefore he showed no signs of surprise at the uncharitable manner in which Mr. Nicholas chose to express himself upon the question of the political morality displayed by the citizens dwelling in the lower region; and yet the clergyman, by one gentle word, excited great surprise in Mr. Nicholas Nixon.

"I really don't think the new corporation are intentionally mischievous," said he; "I have no doubt they mean well: 'tis reckoned to be an age of improvements, you know, Mr. Nixon, and they must be in the fashion."

"'Pon my honour, sir, I don't understand the rule by which you distinguish between mischievous deeds and intentions," sharply observed Mr. Nicholas: "I always think that when a number of men deliberately attempt mischief they mean it."

"I think their scheme would have been less objectionable had they proposed that each of the poor freemen should have cultivated a little plot of garden ground for himself on the common," observed the churchman, by way of parrying the citizen's strong remark.

"But the law would not permit that, in my opinion, any more than the other," said the retired gentleman: "besides, the fact is just this, sir: once permit these reforming gentry to begin their schemes of improvement, and one acre after another would disappear from the corporate tenure of the freemen,--until, the property becoming individual, it would quickly be bought for a dog's price, by one or other of these liberals who have longer purses and more knavish heads than the rest of their neighbours."

"I hope none of the new corporation are such men as you are speaking of," said the subdean: "you know, Mr. Nixon, I neither go along with them nor their party; but I do not like to be uncharitable."

"Uncharitable! nonsense, sir!" exclaimed the exclusive cit, forgetting his courtesy, through bigoted partisanship: "I do not hold these fellows to be at all deserving of a charitable opinion, for I believe them capable of any wickedness. Why, sir, as Mr. Christopher shrewdly observed on the hustings in the castle-yard at the last county contest, while he pointed to the venerable Minster, 'These fellows would turn that sacred and time-hallowed building into a cotton-mill to-morrow if they had the power.' I believe he hit the mark there, sir, for he made the liberals very sore, I assure you," and Mr. Nicholas Nixon chuckled with a vindictive pleasure as he ended.

"If I did not excuse Mr. Christopher from a knowledge of the rash speeches which excitement and opposition impel country gentlemen to deliver on the hustings," rejoined the clergyman, looking somewhat grave, "I could not hesitate to censure him for making so offensive a remark. I do not see any good to be done by this fierce spirit of quarrel--but much evil."

"Pardon me, Mr. Subdean," persisted Gentleman Nixon, "but I really must say that I think if all of us were as tamely disposed as yourself, the church would soon tumble over your ears."

"I think nothing can tend to build it up so securely, Mr. Nixon," returned the dignitary, with a smile, "as showing the world that we, as ministers of the church, are the truest friends of mankind,--the readiest and most cheerful toilers for human happiness. You know I never like to talk politics, in any shape; I would much rather hear you and other gentlemen propose some plan for making the poor more comfortable in their circumstances,--or join you in any little scheme for amusing them. Do you attend the concerts of these young working-men in St. Peter's church, Mr. Nixon?"

"Sir, I take the liberty to tell you plainly," persevered the heated "Pink" partisan, "that the easy good-nature of such kind-hearted people as yourself, and the indolence of our most respectable citizens Above-hill, go far to make it nearly impossible, already, to recover any degree of influence in city affairs. We are almost a lost party: the Blues have it all their own way,--and although you must be aware they are bent on ruining the poor entirely, under the mask of helping them, yet you will not lend a hand to oppose them----"

"But am I not telling you, my dear sir," interrupted the subdean, "that I think all the quarrels in the world can never convince mankind--the poor as well as the rest--that the quarrellers are the friends of mankind? If the Blue party be so bitterly bent on ruining the poor, as you say they are--let us carry relief into the houses of the poor always in the spirit of benevolence, and never as an act to oppose a party. If we look at the very persons we have to relieve, I think we may learn to do this,--for indeed, Mr. Nixon, there is no denying but that the poor are much more skilful in discerning the motives of those who visit them with charitable professions, than they were some years ago."

"Why, sir, what with Methodist cant on the one hand, and demagoguism on the other, the poor are spoilt," replied Mr. Nicholas, in the same tart spirit: "they have the impudence, now-a-days, to pry into the conduct of all ranks and conditions: your cloth does not screen you from their envious inquisitiveness; and they make all kinds of offensive and sneering remarks on respectable people. And then, their pride! Why now, Mr. Subdean, here we are, nearly at St. Botolph's bar, and not a single poor man has paid you a mark of respect, all the way we have walked! Take my word for it, sir,--forty years ago if I had been honoured to walk down the street with a cathedral dignitary, I should have seen every poor man that we met touch his hat to him! I ask you, sir, what is to come of such a state of things?" concluded Mr. Nicholas, in a very earnest and emphatic tone.

The churchman fairly burst into laughter; and had it been any other than a Minster grandee, Gentleman Nixon would have been highly irritated by his mirth. As it was, he began to suspect himself of folly, for having carried his opposition to such an extremity in a merely friendly dialogue.

"Come now, Mr. Nixon," resumed the subdean, in a tone of pleasant expostulation, "does not this very circumstance, of the striking change in manners that you have alluded to, convince you that the hostile course is unwise? Do you expect, now, that the poor can be brought to observe the same outwardly submissive courtesies that their fathers practised when you and I were young?"

"Well, I must confess, I do not," tardily--but perforce of conviction--Mr. Nicholas made answer.

"It would be foolish to expect it, Mr. Nixon," continued the clergyman; "and as they will continue to keep the course they have commenced outwardly, so will they grow in the habit of scrutinising the conduct of those above them. I think the time is nearly at hand when neither Blues nor Pinks, nor any other shade of political party, will be able to raise excitements by attempting to persuade the poor, that these are designing to cheat them, while those are their disinterested and sympathising friends. The times are changed, for the English people are changed: we cannot deny it, since we have here a proof of it, Mr. Nixon."

"That we have, too truly, Mr. Subdean!" echoed Mr. Nicholas, and sighed very dolorously.

"Nay, I do not think there is any cause for regret, in all this," observed his cheerful and more enlightened acquaintance; "whatever severe causes may have operated to produce it, no philanthropist can regret that there is discernible the commencement of a spirit of self-respect on the part of the poor. We are all equal in the sight of our Maker, you know, my friend; and for my part I assure you, I do not desire that the old usages of servility should be resumed, and the great first law of human brotherhood be again lost sight of--for, I suspect, that was too often the fact while the brother in superfine cloth received such frequent obeisance from the brother in ragged linen."

"I must again say you surprise me greatly, sir," observed Gentleman Nixon, beginning again to recover his belligerent humour.

"But _do not_ be surprised, Mr. Nixon," answered the churchman, instantly and persuasively: "the world has changed, though you remain an honest Tory, and----"

"And you have become a Whig, sir, I fear," observed Mr. Nicholas, while his face and throat began to assume the hue of a distempered turkey-cock.

"No, Mr. Nixon, a Conservative, if you please."

"All the same," said the retired gentleman, but with a subsidence of his mettle; "scarcely any thing but a distinction without a difference."

"To speak the broad truth," resumed the clergyman, "there are but very few now, who boast themselves,--as you do, Mr. Nixon, most honestly,--to be Tories. Nor are you very far from right in your belief of the resemblance of some other parties,--for the old Whig and the modern Conservative are nearly akin. The modern Whig would also have been a Radical some few years ago, while the hotter advocates for change have also considerably enlarged their demands."

"And do you pretend to tell me, Mr. Subdean," asked Mr. Nicholas, very impatiently, "that you and others are any other than madmen to yield to this jacobinical spirit of change?--I say jacobinical--the plain word that my father used, and that I believe to be the best word."

"But I do _not_ believe it to be the best word, my dear sir," repeated the subdean, and took the hand of the retired gentleman with a smile,--seeing they were about to separate; "I believe we should be madmen indeed if we did not yield wisely to this spirit of change. You will never find me among the advocates of rash and hasty changes, Mr. Nixon; but I repeat--change has begun,--and if we do not yield to it wisely, it will speedily proceed more rashly and hastily than any of us would wish to see. All parties are amalgamating, for they are blending names; and all ranks are converging to a common point, where rank will be forgotten. Forty years ago you could not have imagined that a cathedral dignitary would have walked from the 'Chequer Gate to St. Botolph's Bar, and not one of the hundreds of poor men he met ever touch their hat to him;--and yet you have walked with me every inch of the way this morning, and seen every poor man pass by without showing the subdean any more respect than he shows to one of his ragged neighbours:--you have seen this, Mr. Nixon, and you cannot deny that _it was so_. Good morning, sir!"