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!"
"Good morning, sir!" echoed Mr. Nicholas Nixon, though it was somewhat
vacantly. And thrice he turned to look after the clergyman when they had
separated,--stunned and confounded as he felt at what the dignitary had
said; and then wondered how it could be! But the more Mr. Nicholas
wondered, the less he could comprehend what he wondered at. He knew that
he himself was what he was thirty years ago,--the same old-fashioned
Tory, who, even then, lived each day alike, in the same house in the
Minster-yard; but as for the subdean and many others, though he
perceived they had changed, he could not comprehend why:--all that he
could comprehend was,--that _it was so_.