CHAPTER XXXI. Old and new Acquaintances
Elated with the idea of seeing life, Pen went into a hundred queerLondon haunts. He liked to think he was consorting with all sortsof men--so he beheld coalheavers in their tap-rooms; boxers in theirinn-parlours; honest citizens disporting in the suburbs or on the river;and he would have liked to hob and nob with celebrated pickpockets, ordrink a pot of ale with a company of burglars and cracksmen, had chanceafforded him an opportunity of making the acquaintance of this class ofsociety. It was good to see the gravity with which Warrington listenedto the Tutbury Pet or the Brighton Stunner at the Champion's Arms, andbehold the interest which he took in the coalheaving company assembledat the Fox-under-the-Hill. His acquaintance with the public-houses ofthe metropolis and its neighbourhood, and with the frequenters of theirvarious parlours, was prodigious. He was the personal friend of thelandlord and landlady, and welcome to the bar as to the clubroom. Heliked their society, he said, better than that of his own class, whosemanners annoyed him, and whose conversation bored him. "In society,"he used to say, "everybody is the same, wears the same dress, eats anddrinks, and says the same things; one young dandy at the club talks andlooks just like another, one Miss at a ball exactly resembles another,whereas there's character here. I like to talk with the strongest man inEngland, or the man who can drink the most beer in England, or withthat tremendous republican of a hatter, who thinks Thistlewood was thegreatest character in history. I like better gin-and-water than claret.I like a sanded floor in Carnaby Market better than a chalked one inMayfair. I prefer Snobs, I own it." Indeed, this gentleman was a socialrepublican; and it never entered his head while conversing with Jackand Tom that he was in any respect their better; although, perhaps, thedeference which they paid him might secretly please him.
Pen followed him then to these various resorts of men with great gleeand assiduity. But he was considerably younger, and therefore much morepompous and stately than Warrington, in fact a young prince in disguise,visiting the poor of his father's kingdom. They respected him as a highchap, a fine fellow, a regular young swell. He had somehow about himan air of imperious good-humour, and a royal frankness and majesty,although he was only heir-apparent to twopence-halfpenny, and but onein descent from a gallypot. If these positions are made for us, weacquiesce in them very easily; and are always pretty ready to assume asuperiority over those who are as good as ourselves. Pen's condescensionat this time of his life was a fine thing to witness. Amongst men ofability this assumption and impertinence passes off with extremeyouth: but it is curious to watch the conceit of a generous and cleverlad--there is something almost touching in that early exhibition ofsimplicity and folly.
So, after reading pretty hard of a morning, and, I fear, not law merely,but politics and general history and literature, which were as necessaryfor the advancement and instruction of a young man as mere dry law,after applying with tolerable assiduity to letters, to reviews, toelemental books of law, and, above all, to the newspaper, until the hourof dinner was drawing nigh, these young gentlemen would sally out uponthe town with great spirits and appetite, and bent upon enjoying a merrynight as they had passed a pleasant forenoon. It was a jovial time, thatof four-and-twenty, when every muscle of mind and body was in healthyaction, when the world was new as yet, and one moved over it spurredonwards by good spirits and the delightful capability to enjoy. If everwe feel young afterwards, it is with the comrades of that time: thetunes we hum in our old age, are those we learned then. Sometimes,perhaps, the festivity of that period revives in our memory; but howdingy the pleasure-garden has grown, how tattered the garlands look, howscant and old the company, and what a number of the lights have goneout since that day! Grey hairs have come on like daylight streamingin--daylight and a headache with it. Pleasure has gone to bed with therouge on her cheeks. Well, friend, let us walk through the day, soberand sad, but friendly.
I wonder what Laura and Helen would have said, could they have seen, asthey might not unfrequently have done had they been up and in London, inthe very early morning when the bridges began to blush in the sunrise,and the tranquil streets of the city to shine in the dawn, Mr. Pen andMr. Warrington rattling over the echoing flags towards the Temple, afterone of their wild nights of carouse--nights wild, but not so wicked assuch nights sometimes are, for Warrington was a woman-hater; and Pen, aswe have said, too lofty to stoop to a vulgar intrigue. Our young Princeof Fairoaks never could speak to one of the sex but with respectfulcourtesy, and shrank from a coarse word or gesture with instinctivedelicacy--for though we have seen him fall in love with a fool, as hisbetters and inferiors have done, and as it is probable that he did morethan once in his life, yet for the time of the delusion it was always asa Goddess that he considered her, and chose to wait upon her. Men servewomen kneeling--when they get on their feet, they go away.
That was what an acquaintance of Pen's said to him in his hard homelyway;--an old friend with whom he had fallen in again in London--no otherthan honest Mr. Bows of the Chatteris Theatre, who was now employed aspianoforte player, to accompany the eminent lyrical talent which nightlydelighted the public at the Fielding's Head in Covent Garden: and wherewas held the little club called the Back Kitchen.
Numbers of Pen's friends frequented this very merry meeting. TheFielding's Head had been a house of entertainment, almost since thetime when the famous author of 'Tom Jones' presided as magistrate in theneighbouring Bow Street; his place was pointed out, and the chairsaid to have been his, still occupied by the president of the night'sentertainment. The worthy Cutts, the landlord of the Fielding's Head,generally occupied this post when not disabled by gout or other illness.His jolly appearance and fine voice may be remembered by some of mymale readers: he used to sing profusely in the course of the harmonicmeeting, and his songs were of what may be called the BritishBrandy-and-Water School of Song--such as 'The Good Old EnglishGentleman,' 'Dear Tom, this Brown Jug,' and so forth--songs in whichpathos and hospitality are blended, and the praises of good liquor andthe social affections are chanted in a baritone voice. The charms of ourwomen, the heroic deeds of our naval and military commanders, are oftensung in the ballads of this school; and many a time in my youth have Iadmired how Cutts the singer, after he had worked us all up to patrioticenthusiasm, by describing the way in which the brave Abercrombiereceived his death-wound, or made us join him in tears, which he shedliberally himself, as in faltering accents he told how autumn's fallingleaf "proclaimed the old man he must die"--how Cutts the singer becameat once Cutts the landlord, and, before the applause which we weremaking with our fists on his table, in compliment to his heart-stirringmelody, had died away,--was calling, "Now, gentlemen, give your orders,the waiter's in the room--John, a champagne cup for Mr. Green. Ithink, sir, you said sausages and mashed potatoes? John, attend on thegentleman."
"And I'll thank ye give me a glass of punch too, John, and take care thewather boils," a voice would cry not unfrequently, a well-known voice toPen, which made the lad blush and start when he heard it first--that ofthe venerable Captain Costigan; who was now established in London, andone of the great pillars of the harmonic meetings at the Fielding'sHead.
The Captain's manners and conversation brought very many young men tothe place. He was a character, and his fame had begun to spread soonafter his arrival in the metropolis, and especially after his daughter'smarriage. He was great in his conversation to the friend for thetime being (who was the neighbour drinking by his side), about "medaughther." He told of her marriage, and of the events previous andsubsequent to that ceremony; of the carriages she kept; of Mirabel'sadoration for her and for him; of the hundther pounds which he was atperfect liberty to draw from his son-in-law, whenever necessity urgedhim. And having stated that it was his firm intention to "dthraw nextSathurday, I give ye me secred word and honour next Sathurday, thefourteenth, when ye'll see the money will be handed over to me atCoutts's, the very instant I present the cheque," the Captain wouldnot unfrequently propose to borrow a half-crown of his
friend until thearrival of that day of Greek Calends, when, on the honour of an officerand gentleman, he would repee the thrifling obligetion.
Sir Charles Mirabel had not that enthusiastic attachment to hisfather-in-law, of which the latter sometimes boasted (although in otherstages of emotion Cos would inveigh, with tears in his eyes, against theingratitude of the child of his bosom, and the stinginess of the wealthyold man who had married her); but the pair had acted not unkindlytowards Costigan; had settled a small pension on him, which was paidregularly, and forestalled with even more regularity by poor Cos; andthe period of the payments was always well known by his friend atthe Fielding's Head, whither the honest Captain took care to repair,bank-notes in hand, calling loudly for change in the midst of the fullharmonic meeting. "I think ye'll find that note won't be refused at theBank of England, Cutts, my boy," Captain Costigan would say. "Bows,have a glass? Ye needn't stint yourself to-night, anyhow; and a glass ofpunch will make ye play con spirito." For he was lavishly free with hismoney when it came to him, and was scarcely known to button his breechespocket, except when the coin was gone, or sometimes, indeed, when acreditor came by.
It was in one of these moments of exultation that Pen found his oldfriend swaggering at the singers' table at the Back Kitchen of theFielding's Head, and ordering glasses of brandy-and-water for any of hisacquaintances who made their appearance in the apartment. Warrington,who was on confidential terms with the bass singer, made his way up tothis quarter of the room, and Pen walked at his friend's heels.
Pen started and blushed to see Costigan. He had just come from LadyWhiston's party, where he had met and spoken with the Captain's daughteragain for the first time after very old old days. He came up withoutstretched hand, very kindly and warmly to greet the old man; stillretaining a strong remembrance of the time when Costigan's daughter hadbeen everything in the world to him. For though this young gentleman mayhave been somewhat capricious in his attachments, and occasionally havetransferred his affections from one woman to another, yet he alwaysrespected the place where Love had dwelt, and, like the Sultan ofTurkey, desired that honours should be paid to the lady towards whomhe had once thrown the royal pocket-handkerchief. The tipsy Captainreturning the clasp of Pen's hand with all the strength of a palmwhich had become very shaky by the constant lifting up of weightsof brandy-and-water, looked hard in Pen's face, and said, "GreciousHeavens, is it possible? Me dear boy, me dear fellow, me dear friend;"and then with a look of muddled curiosity, fairly broke down with, "Iknow your face, me dear dear friend, but, bedad, I've forgot your name."Five years of constant punch had passed since Pen and Costigan met.Arthur was a good deal changed, and the Captain may surly be excused forforgetting him; when a man at the actual moment sees things double, wemay expect that his view of the past will be rather muzzy.
Pen saw his condition and laughed, although, perhaps, he wassomewhat mortified. "Don't you remember me, Captain?" he said. "I amPendennis--Arthur Pendennis, of Chatteris."
The sound of the young man's friendly voice recalled and steadied Cos'stipsy remembrance, and he saluted Arthur, as soon as he knew him, with aloud volley of friendly greetings. Pen was his dearest boy, his gallantyoung friend, his noble collagian, whom he had held in his inmost heartever since they had parted--how was his fawther, no, his mother, andhis guardian, the General, the Major? "I preshoom, from your apparance,you've come into your prawpertee; and, bedad, yee'll spend it like a manof spirit--I'll go bail for that. No? not yet come into your estete? Ifye want any thrifle, heark ye, there's poor old Jack Costigan has gota guinea or two in his pocket--and, be heavens! you shall never want,Awthur, me dear boy. What'll ye have? John, come hither, and lookaloive; give this gentleman a glass of punch, and I'll pay for't.--Yourfriend? I've seen him before. Permit me to have the honour of makingmeself known to ye, sir, and requesting ye'll take a glass of punch."
"I don't envy Sir Charles Mirabel his father-in-law," thought Pendennis."And how is my old friend, Mr. Bows, Captain? Have you any news of him,and do you see him still?"
"No doubt he's very well," said the Captain, jingling his money, andwhistling the air of a song--'The Little Doodeen'--for the singingof which he was celebrated at the Fielding's Head. "Me dear boy--I'veforgot your name again--but my name's Costigan, Jack Costigan, and I'dloike ye to take as many tumblers of punch in my name as ever yeloike. Ye know my name; I'm not ashamed of it." And so the captain wentmaundering on.
"It's pay-day with the General," said Mr. Hodgen, the bass singer, withwhom Warrington was in deep conversation: "and he's a precious deal morethan half seas over. He has already tried that 'Little Doodeen' of his,and broke it, too, just before I sang 'King Death.' Have you heardmy new song, 'The Body Snatcher,' Mr. Warrington?--angcored at SaintBartholomew's the other night--composed expressly for me. Per'aps youor your friend would like a copy of the song, sir? John, just 'avethe kyndness to 'and over a 'Body Snatcher' 'ere, will yer?--There's aportrait of me, sir, as I sing it--as the Snatcher--considered ratherlike."
"Thank you," said Warrington; "heard it nine times--know it by heart,Hodgen."
Here the gentleman who presided at the pianoforte began to play upon hisinstrument, and Pen, looking in the direction of the music, beheld thatvery Mr. Bows, for whom he had been asking but now, and whose existenceCostigan had momentarily forgotten. The little old man sate before thebattered piano (which had injured its constitution wofully by sitting upso many nights, and spoke with a voice, as it were, at once hoarse andfaint), and accompanied the singers, or played with taste and grace inthe intervals of the songs.
Bows had seen and recollected Pen at once when the latter came into theroom, and had remarked the eager warmth of the young man's recognitionof Costigan. He now began to play an air, which Pen instantly rememberedas one which used to be sung by the chorus of villagers in 'TheStranger,' just before Mrs. Haller came in. It shook Pen as he heardit. He remembered how his heart used to beat as that air was played,and before the divine Emily made her entry. Nobody, save Arthur, took anynotice of old Bows's playing: it was scarcely heard amidst the clatterof knives and forks, the calls for poached eggs and kidneys, and thetramp of guests and waiters.
Pen went up and kindly shook the player by the hand at the end of hisperformance; and Bows greeted Arthur with great respect and cordiality."What, you haven't forgot the old tune, Mr. Pendennis?" he said; "Ithought you'd remember it. I take it, it was the first tune of that sortyou ever heard played--wasn't it, sir? You were quite a young chap then.I fear the Captain's very bad to-night. He breaks out on a pay-day; andI shall have the deuce's own trouble in getting home. We live together.We still hang on, sir, in partnership, though Miss Em--though my ladyMirabel has left the firm.--And so you remember old times, do you?Wasn't she a beauty, sir?--Your health and my service to you,"--and hetook a sip at the pewter measure of porter which stood by his side as heplayed.
Pen had many opportunities of seeing his early acquaintance afterwards,and of renewing his relations with Costigan and the old musician.
As they sate thus in friendly colloquy, men of all sorts and conditionsentered and quitted the house of entertainment; and Pen had the pleasureof seeing as many different persons of his race, as the most eagerobserver need desire to inspect. Healthy country tradesmen and farmers,in London for their business, came and recreated themselves withthe jolly singing and suppers of the Back Kitchen,--squads of youngapprentices and assistants, the shutters being closed over the sceneof their labours, came hither for fresh air doubtless,--rakish youngmedical students, gallant, dashing, what is called "loudly" dressed, and(must it be owned?) somewhat dirty,--were here smoking and drinking,and vociferously applauding the songs; young university bucks were tobe found here, too, with that indescribable genteel simper which is onlylearned at the knees of Alma Mater;--and handsome young guardsmen, andflorid bucks from the St. James's Street Clubs--nay, senators Englishand Irish; and even members of the House of Peers.
The bass singer had made an immense hit with his song
of 'The BodySnatcher,' and the town rushed to listen to it. The curtain drew aside,and Mr. Hodgen appeared in the character of the Snatcher, sitting on acoffin, with a flask of gin before him, with a spade, and a candle stuckin a skull. The song was sung with a really admirable terrific humour.The singer's voice went down so low, that its grumbles rumbled into thehearer's awe-stricken soul; and in the chorus he clamped with his spade,and gave a demoniac "Ha! ha!" which caused the very glasses to quiveron the table, as with terror. None of the other singers, not evenCutts himself, as that high-minded man owned, could stand up beforethe Snatcher, and he commonly used to retire to Mrs. Cutts's privateapartments, or into the bar, before that fatal song extinguishedhim. Poor Cos's ditty, 'The Little Doodeen,' which Bows accompaniedcharmingly on the piano, was sung but to a few admirers, who mightchoose to remain after the tremendous resurrectionist chant. The roomwas commonly emptied after that, or only left in possession of a veryfew and persevering votaries of pleasure.
Whilst Pen and his friend were sitting here together one night, orrather morning, two habitues of the house entered almost together. "Mr.Hoolan and Mr. Doolan," whispered Warrington to Pen, saluting thesegentlemen, and in the latter Pen recognised his friend of the Alacritycoach, who could not dine with Pen on the day on which the latter hadinvited him, being compelled by his professional duties to declinedinner-engagements on Fridays, he had stated, with his compliments toMr. Pendennis.
Doolan's paper, the Dawn, was lying on the table much bestained byporter, and cheek-by-jowl with Hoolan's paper, which we shall call theDay; the Dawn was Liberal--the Day was ultra-Conservative. Many of ourjournals are officered by Irish gentlemen, and their gallant brigadedoes the penning among us, as their ancestors used to transact thefighting in Europe; and engage under many a flag, to be good friendswhen the battle is over.
"Kidneys, John, and a glass of stout," says Hoolan. "How are you,Morgan? how's Mrs. Doolan?"
"Doing pretty well, thank ye, Mick, my boy--faith she's accustomed toit," said Doolan. "How's the lady that owns ye? Maybe I'll step downSunday, and have a glass of punch, Kilburn way."
"Don't bring Patsey with you, Mick, for our Georgy's got the measles,"said the friendly Morgan, and they straightway fell to talk aboutmatters connected with their trade--about the foreign mails--about whowas correspondent at Paris, and who wrote from Madrid--about the expensethe Morning Journal was at in sending couriers, about the circulation ofthe Evening Star, and so forth.
Warrington, laughing, took the Dawn which was lying before him, andpointed to one of the leading articles in that journal, which commencedthus--
"As rogues of note in former days who had some wicked work toperform,--an enemy to be put out of the way, a quantity of false cointo be passed, a lie to be told or a murder to be done--employed aprofessional perjurer or assassin to do the work, which they werethemselves too notorious or too cowardly to execute: our notoriouscontemporary, the Day, engages smashers out of doors to utter forgeriesagainst individuals, and calls in auxiliary cut-throats to murder thereputation of those who offend him. A black-vizarded ruffian (whom wewill unmask), who signs the forged name of Trefoil, is at present one ofthe chief bravoes and bullies in our contemporary's establishment. He isthe eunuch who brings the bowstring, and strangles at the order ofthe Day. We can convict this cowardly slave, and propose to do so. Thecharge which he has brought against Lord Bangbanagher, because he is aLiberal Irish peer, and against the Board of Poor Law Guardians of theBangbanagher Union, is," etc.
"How did they like the article at your place, Mick?" asked Morgan; "whenthe Captain puts his hand to it he's a tremendous hand at a smasher. Hewrote the article in two hours--in--whew--you know where, while the boywas waiting."
"Our governor thinks the public don't mind a straw about these newspaperrows, and has told the Docthor to stop answering," said the other. "Themtwo talked it out together in my room. The Docthor would have liked aturn, for he says it's such easy writing, and requires no reading up ofa subject: but the governor put a stopper on him."
"The taste for eloquence is going out, Mick," said Morgan.
"'Deed then it is, Morgan," said Mick. "That was fine writing when theDocthor wrote in the Phaynix, and he and Condy Roony blazed away at eachother day after day."
"And with powder and shot, too, as well as paper," says Morgan, "Faith,the Docthor was out twice, and Condy Roony winged his man."
"They are talking about Doctor Boyne and Captain Shandon," Warringtonsaid, "who are the two Irish controversialists of the Dawn and the Day,Dr. Boyne being the Protestant champion and Captain Shandon the Liberalorator. They are the best friends in the world, I believe, in spiteof their newspaper controversies; and though they cry out against theEnglish for abusing their country, by Jove they abuse it themselvesmore in a single article than we should take the pains to do in a dozenvolumes. How are you, Doolan?"
"Your servant, Mr. Warrington--Mr. Pendennis, I am delighted to havethe honour of seeing ye again. The night's journey on the top of theAlacrity was one of the most agreeable I ever enjoyed in my life, and itwas your liveliness and urbanity that made the trip so charming. I haveoften thought over that happy night, sir, and talked over it to Mrs.Doolan. I have seen your elegant young friend, Mr. Foker, too, here,sir, not unfrequently. He is an occasional frequenter of this hostelry,and a right good one it is. Mr. Pendennis, when I saw you I was on theTom and Jerry Weekly Paper; I have now the honour to be sub-editor ofthe Dawn, one of the best-written papers of the empire"--and he bowedvery slightly to Mr. Warrington. His speech was unctuous and measured,his courtesy oriental, his tone, when talking with the two Englishmen,quite different to that with which he spoke to his comrade.
"Why the devil will the fellow compliment so?" growled Warrington, witha sneer which he hardly took the pains to suppress. "Psha--who comeshere?--all Parnassus is abroad to-night: here's Archer. We shall havesome fun. Well, Archer, House up?"
"Haven't been there. I have been," said Archer, with an air of mystery,"where I was wanted. Get me some supper, John--something substantial. Ihate your grandees who give you nothing to eat. If it had been at ApsleyHouse, it would have been quite different. The Duke knows what I like,and says to the Groom of the Chambers, 'Martin, you will have some coldbeef, not too much done, and a pint bottle of pale ale, and somebrown sherry, ready in my study as usual;--Archer is coming here thisevening.' The Duke doesn't eat supper himself, but he likes to see a manenjoy a hearty meal, and he knows that I dine early. A man can't liveupon air, be hanged to him."
"Let me introduce you to my friend, Mr. Pendennis," Warrington said,with great gravity. "Pen, this is Mr Archer, whom you have heard metalk about. You must know Pen's uncle, the Major, Archer, you who knoweverybody?"
"Dined with him the day before yesterday at Gaunt House," Archer said."We were four--the French Ambassador, Steyne, and we two commoners."
"Why, my uncle is in Scot----" Pen was going to break out, butWarrington pressed his foot under the table as a signal for him to bequiet.
"It was about the same business that I have been to the palaceto-night," Archer went on simply, "and where I've been kept four hours,in an anteroom, with nothing but yesterday's Times, which I knew byheart, as I wrote three of the leading articles myself; and though theLord Chamberlain came in four times, and once holding the royal teacupand saucer in his hand, he did not so much as say to me, 'Archer, willyou have a cup of tea?'"
"Indeed! what is in the wind now?" asked Warrington--and turning to Pen,added, "You know, I suppose, that when there is anything wrong at Courtthey always send for Archer."
"There is something wrong," said Mr. Archer, "and as the story will beall over the town in a day or two I don't mind telling it. At the lastChantilly races, where I rode Brian Boru for my old friend the Duke deSaint Cloud--the old King said to me, Archer, I'm uneasy about SaintCloud. I have arranged his marriage with the Princess Marie Cunegonde;the peace of Europe depends upon it--for Russia will declare war if themarriage does not take place, an
d the young fool is so mad about MadameMassena, Marshal Massena's wife, that he actually refuses to be a partyto the marriage. Well, Sir, I spoke to Saint Cloud, and having got himinto pretty good humour by winning the race, and a good bit of moneyinto the bargain, he said to me, 'Archer, tell the Governor I'll thinkof it.'"
"How do you say Governor in French?" asked Pen, who piqued himself onknowing that language.
"Oh, we speak in English--I taught him when we were boys, and I savedhis life at Twickenham, when he fell out of a punt," Archer said. "Ishall never forget the Queen's looks as I brought him out of the water.She gave me this diamond ring, and always calls me Charles to this day."
"Madame Massena must be rather an old woman, Archer," Warrington said.
"Dev'lish old--old enough to be his grandmother; I told him so," Archeranswered at once. "But those attachments for old women are the deuce andall. That's what the King feels: that's what shocks the poor Queen somuch. They went away from Paris last Tuesday night, and are living atthis present moment at Jaunay's Hotel."
"Has there been a private marriage, Archer?" asked Warrington.
"Whether there has or not I don't know," Mr. Archer replied, "all I knowis that I was kept waiting for four hours at the palace; that I neversaw a man in such a state of agitation as the King of Belgium when hecame out to speak to me, and that I'm devilish hungry--and here comessome supper."
"He has been pretty well to-night," said Warrington, as the pair wenthome together: "but I have known him in much greater force, and keepinga whole room in a state of wonder. Put aside his archery practice,that man is both able and honest--a good man of business, an excellentfriend, admirable to his family as husband, father, and son."
"What is it makes him pull the long bow in that wonderful manner?"
"An amiable insanity," answered Warrington. "He never did anybody harmby his talk, or said evil of anybody. He is a stout politician too, andwould never write a word or do an act against his party, as many of usdo."
"Of us! Who are we?" asked Pen. "Of what profession is Mr. Archer?"
"Of the Corporation of the Goosequill--of the Press, my boy," saidWarrington; "of the fourth estate."
"Are you, too, of the craft, then?" Pendennis said.
"We will talk about that another time," answered the other. They werepassing through the Strand as they talked, and by a newspaper office,which was all lighted up and bright. Reporters were coming out of theplace, or rushing up to it in cabs; there were lamps burning in theeditors' rooms, and above where the compositors were at work: thewindows of the building were in a blaze of gas.
"Look at that, Pen," Warrington said. "There she is--the greatengine--she never sleeps. She has her ambassadors in every quarter ofthe world--her couriers upon every road. Her officers march alongwith armies, and her envoys walk into statesmen's cabinets. They areubiquitous. Yonder journal has an agent, at this minute, giving bribesat Madrid; and another inspecting the price of potatoes in CoventGarden. Look! here comes the Foreign Express galloping in. They will beable to give news to Downing Street to-morrow: funds will rise or fall,fortunes be made or lost; Lord B. will get up, and, holding the paper inhis hand, and seeing the noble marquis in his place, will make a greatspeech; and--and Mr. Doolan will be called away from his supper at theBack Kitchen; for he is foreign sub-editor, and sees the mail on thenewspaper sheet before he goes to his own."
And so talking, the friends turned into their chambers, as the dawn wasbeginning to peep.
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