"You are scarce the first person, Mr. De Foe, who has been constrained to smile at what he disapproves."
"Well, his Lordship's instructions are positive."
"You have them, I think, from himself?" asked Stevens, deferentially.
"Through Mr. Buckley. I introduced myself to Mr. Mist in the disguise of a translator of foreign news, with his Lordship's approbation, who commissioned me, in this manner, to be so far concerned in this weekly paper of Mist's, as to be able to keep it within the circle of a secret management, and also prevent the mischievous part of it; but neither Mist nor any of those concerned with him have the least guess by whose direction I do it. You, Mr. Stevens, are one of ourselves, so I speak freely to you."
"Quite so," answered Stevens, dryly.
"Some time ago," resumed De Foe, "I was concerned in the same manner with Dyer's News-Letter. Old Dyer was just dead, and Dormer, his successor, being unable by his troubles to carry on that work, I had an offer of a share both in the property and management. Well, I immediately sent to the Minister, who, by Mr. Buckley, let me know 'twould be a very acceptable piece of service, for that letter was really very prejudicial to the public, and the most difficult to come at in a judicial way in case of offence given. Upon this I took upon myself (and do still take) the entire management of the paper, so that the style still continues Tory, that the party may be amused, and not set up another, which would destroy the design."[[7]]
"Of course your object was not wholly political?" smilingly suggested Stevens.
"You mean, there was a matter of money betwixt us? Of course there was—money or money's worth."
"We have it on good authority that 'the laborer is worthy of his hire,'" answered Stevens, still smiling. "Ah! Mr. De Foe, 'tis in truth such as you and I that rule kingdoms—not Kings nor Ministers."
When Stevens left the office of Mist's Journal, which was in truth Mist's private habitation, he sauntered slowly for a while along the busy streets; turned into a (Whig) coffee-house, which he frequented every Tuesday morning, and called for a dish of coffee and the Postboy; wandering on, turned into another (Tory) coffee-house, which he frequented every Tuesday afternoon, and called for a glass of usquebagh and the St. James's Chronicle. Having made his weekly impression on the society of the two coffee-houses, he sauntered on again until he reached Gray's Inn Road. Here his proceedings suddenly changed. He walked up the Road with the air and pace of a man who had no time to spare, and entering a whitesmith's shop, inquired in a rather loud tone whether Butler (the whitesmith) could attend to a little matter of business. Mrs. Butler, who was in the shop, having informed him that her husband was at leisure to undertake anything required, Stevens sinking his voice to a low whisper, asked further—