Full of gratitude, Mr. Temple could express it only
by a bow—and retired. The antechamber
was now filling fast for the levee. One person
after another stopped him; all had some pressing business,
or some business which they thought of consequence,
either to the nation or themselves.
“Mr. Temple, I must trouble you to look over
these heads of a bill.”
“Mr. Temple!—My memorial—just
give me your advice.”
“Sir—I wrote a letter, three weeks
ago, to Lord Oldborough, on the herring-fishery, to
which I have not had the honour of an answer.”
“Mr. Temple—the address from Nottingham—Where’s
the reply?”
“Mr. Temple, may I know whether his lordship
means to see us gentlemen from the city about the
loan?”
“Sir—Pray, sir!—My new
invention for rifling cannon—Ordnance department!—Sir,
I did apply—War-office, too, sir!—It’s
very hard I can’t get an answer—bandied
about!—Sir, I can’t think myself well
used—Government shall hear more.”
“One word, Mr. Temple, if you please, about
tithes. I’ve an idea—”
“Temple, don’t forget the Littleford turnpike
bill.”
“Mr. Temple, who is to second the motion on
Indian affairs?”
“Temple, my good friend, did you speak to Lord
Oldborough about my little affair for Tom?”
“Mr. Temple, a word in your ear—the
member for the borough, you know, is dead;
letters must be written directly to the corporation.”
“Temple, my dear friend, before you go, give
me a frank.”
At last Mr. Temple got away from memorialists, petitioners,
grievances, men of business, idle men, newsmen, and
dear friends, then hastened to Alfred to unburden
his mind—and to rest his exhausted spirits.
The moment that Mr. Temple reached his friend’s
chambers, he threw himself into a chair.
“What repose—what leisure—what
retirement is here!” cried he. “A
man can think and feel a moment for himself.”
“Not well, I fear, in the midst of the crackling
of these parchments,” said Alfred, folding up
the deeds at which he had been at work. “However,
I have now done my business for this day, and I am
your man for what you please—if you are
not engaged by some of your great people, we cannot
do better than dine together.”
“With all my heart,” said Mr. Temple.
“And where shall we dine?” said Alfred.
“Any where you please. But I have a great
deal to say to you, Alfred—don’t
think of dining yet.”
“At the old work!” cried Alfred.
“‘You think of convincing,
while I think of dining.’”
But, as he spoke, Alfred observed his friend’s
agitated countenance, and immediately becoming serious,
he drew a chair beside Mr. Temple, and said, “I
believe, Temple, you have something to say that you
are anxious about. You know that if there is
any thing I can do, head, hand, and heart are at your
service.”
