Editor. So much the better: I abominate “Nervous complaints and debility,” or the “Patent bug destroyer by steam only,” side by side with, “Thirty-five thousand pounds wanted”—“The daughter of a clergyman”—“Books published this day.”—(Exit Printer, laughing at the humourous vein of the Editor.)—Well! one leader only: I must write something else. No Paris papers—no Dutch mail—no Flander’s mail—no German mail—no mail from Buenos Ayres—no New York papers! By-the-bye, it will look like a piece of information to announce that there is nothing. (Writes.’)—“We have seldom known a day so barren of intelligence of every description. There has not been a single arrival from the Continent, nor any ship, letters, or papers from the other side of the Atlantic. Whether this profound calm may be considered as the harbinger of a coming storm we know not; but when we remember the ominous complexion of the advices last received from the East of Europe, and the louring aspect of affairs in general in the transatlantic hemisphere, it is not unreasonable to conclude that our next accounts from both quarters will be important. Our readers have not forgotten the opinion we expressed on Tuesday, and the comprehensive view we took on Wednesday, of the whole of our political relations. We are standing, as it were, upon the crater of a volcano, which may break forth every moment. The attitude of Russia is equivocal—the intentions of France are doubtful—Austria still wears her mask (though we are not deceived by it)—while the Peninsula becomes more and more embarrassing to the great powers of Europe. If we turn our eyes towards the United States of North America, what do we behold? Alas! this question needs no answer from us. And if we look at the new republics of South America, does not the same scene present itself? But we will not pursue this painful theme. A few hours, in all probability, will put us in possession of facts that will more than justify all our predictions.” (A knock at the door.) Come in. (Dr. Froth enters.) Froth, how are you?
Dr. F. Quite well, at your service, my friend.
Editor. Thank you—but you may keep your health for yourself, and your service for your other friends—you shall not physic me.
Dr. F. Ha! ha! ha! very good—you are always brilliant—any news to-day?
Editor. Not a syllable, that I have heard—have you any?
Dr. F. (Looking grave.) The king is very ill!
Editor. Indeed!
Dr. F. He is, by Jove! It wont do to mention it, because of the way in which it came to my ears; but you may depend upon it he is in a very ticklish situation just now.
Editor. How do you mean? (Dr. F. points to his head, with a very significant look.) Pooh! I don’t believe a word of it! where did you hear it? (Dr. F. looks round the room, and then whispers in the Editor’s ear.) That should be good authority, but——
Dr. F. It is a fact, and you’ll hear more about it, before long. I met Mr. Peel on his way to Downing-street as I came here, and he appeared very agitated. He was walking uncommonly fast, though the day is so hot. But I’ll not interrupt you any longer, for I know your time is precious—so good bye. Do you happen to have the Haymarket card disengaged this evening? And if you could spare me your Vauxhall ticket for next Friday I should be very much obliged to you. And when you have no other use for it, I wish you would remember me for Mathews and Yates at the Adelphi. I have promised Mrs. Froth to take her; and she particularly desired me to ask you whether you have orders for any of the minor theatres? She does not care which—the Cobourg, or the Surrey, or Astley’s—-but she wants to give our cook a treat before the season is over.