132 

 A STRAY LEAF IN THE LIFE OF A GREAT NOVELIST ! 



" The why the where what boots it now to tell ?" CORSAIR. 

 " My Majesty ! this is mere diversion !" WIDOW CHESHIRE. 



" CONFOUND this gout !" pettishly exclaimed Mr. Walton, as he 

 rose from his solitary dinner. 



Now, Mr. Walton was a bon vivant, a humourist of the first fashion, 

 a tale-writer (it must be owned) of the first talent, and one whose 

 society was so constantly courted, in all dinner-giving and literary 

 circles, that a lonely meal was a most unusual and unpleasant occurrence 

 to him. 



" Well,'* continued he, " I must, per force, content myself with 

 another day of sofa and Quarterly ;" for Mr. Walton ranked among the 

 most devoted adherents to the Quarterly creed of politics. 



Scarcely had he uttered these words, in a tone half peevish and half 

 resigned, when a servant handed him a letter, bearing an official seal of 

 stupendous dimensions, and marked in the corner, " private and con- 

 fidential." 



Walton eagerly opened the envelope, and to his no small dismay, 

 learned that the great man on whose smiles he lived, and to whose 

 fortunes and party he was attached (by a snug place), required imme- 

 diate information on subjects connected with our naval establishments, 

 into the expenditure of which, the great political economist, on the 

 opposite side of the house, intended to make certain inquiries in the 

 course of a night or two. Mr. Walton was requested, not to say com- 

 manded, to see the commissioner at Portsmouth as speedily as possible, 

 to investigate facts, and to report progress on his return. It was at the 

 same time delicately hinted, that the expenses of this important mission, 

 would be defrayed by the writer from that convenient and ever-open 

 source, the public purse. 



" A journey of seventy-two miles when I'd resolved upon quiet : 

 but in the service of one's country, when it costs one nothing ! Well, I 



must forget the gout, or lose my . Hang it ! I can't call on the 



commissioner in list slippers. Travers ! step up to Hoby's, and tell 

 him to send me a pair of boots, somewhat larger than my usual fit ; and 

 take a place in the Portsmouth coach for to-morrow morning ; 'tis too 

 late to night for the mail but d'ye hear ? not in my name, as I travel 

 incog," 



Walton made the few arrangements for so short an absence from 

 town, retired earlier than usual to bed, was horrified at the imperative 

 necessity of rising before the sun, found himself booked by his literal 

 servant as " Mr. Incog," had the coach to himself, and at six o'clock in 

 the evening, alighted at the George, in High-street. 



Travelling without a servant, and with so scanty an allowance of 

 baggage, he was ushered into the coffee-room, of which he found 

 himself the sole occupant, asked for the bill of fare, and was served 

 with the usual delicacies of a coffee-room dinner ; cold soup, stale fish, 

 oiled butter, rancid anchovy, flabby veal-cutlet, with mildewed mush- 



