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?"