he
poet:--

Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness,
Some boundless contiguity of shade,
Where rumour of oppression and deceit,
Of unsuccessful or successful war,
Might never reach me more!"

But, perhaps fortunately for my understanding, if not for my life, I
was not suffered to take refuge in the wilderness. London was around
me; rich and beggared, splendid and sullen, idle and busy London. I
was floating on those waves of human being, in which the struggler
must make for the shore, or sink. I was in the centre of that huge
whispering gallery, where every sound of earth was echoed and
re-echoed with new power; and where it was impossible to dream. My
days were now spent in communication with the offices of government,
and a large portion of my nights in carrying on those
correspondences, which, though seldom known in the routine of Downing
Street, form the essential part of its intercourse with the
continental cabinets. But a period of suspense still remained.
Parliament had been already summoned for the 13th of December. Up to
nearly the last moment, the cabinet had been kept in uncertainty as
to the actual intents of France. There had been declamation in
abundance in the French legislature and the journals; but with this
unsubstantial evidence the cabinet could not meet the country.
Couriers were sent in all directions; boats were stationed along the
coast to bring the first intelligence of actual hostilities suddenly;
every conceivable expedient was adopted; but all in vain. The day of
opening the Session was within twenty-four hours. After lingering
hour by hour, in expectancy of the arrival of despatches from our
ambassador at the Hague, I offered to cross the sea in the first
fishing-boat which I could find, and ascertain the facts. My offer
was accepted; and in the twilight of a winter's morning, and in the
midst of a snow-storm, I was making my shivering way homeward through
the wretched lanes which, dark as pitch and narrow as footpaths, then
led to the centre of the diplomatic world; when, in my haste, I had
nearly overset a meagre figure, which, half-blinded by the storm, was
tottering towards the Foreign office. After a growl, in the most
angry jargon, the man recognized me; he was the clerk whom I had seen
at Mordecai's house. He had, but an hour before, received, by one of
the private couriers of the firm, a letter, with orders to deliver it
with all expedition. He put it into my hand: it