“Old!” cried Saville: “Ah, talk not of it! Ugh!—Ugh! Curse this cough! But hang politics; it always brings disagreeable reflections. Glad, my old pupil,—glad am I to see that you still retain your august contempt for these foolish strugglers—insects splashing and panting in the vast stream of events, which they scarcely stir, and in which they scarcely drop before they are drowned—”
“Or the fishes, their passions, devour them,” said Godolphin.
“News!” cried Saville; “let us have real news; cut all the politics out of the Times, Fanny, with your scissors, and then read me the rest.”
Fanny obeyed.
“‘Fire in Marylebone!’”
“That’s not news!—skip that.”
“‘Letter from Padieal.’”
“Stuff! What else?”
“Emigration:—‘No fewer than sixty-eight——‘”
“Hold! for mercy’s sake! What do I, just going out of the world, care for people only going out of the country? Here, child, give the paper to Godolphin; he knows exactly what interests a man of sense.”