Part 6

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.