"Heaven only knows," said Saville, "what all these times will produce. I lose my head in the dizzy quickness of events. Fanny, hand me my snuff-box. Well, I fancy my last hour is not far distant; but I hope, at least, I shall die a gentleman. I have a great dislike to the thought of being revolutionised into a roturier. That's the only kind of revolution I have any notion about. What do you say to all this, Godolphin? Every one else is turning politician; young Sunderland whirls his cab down to the House at four o'clock every day--dines at Bellamy's on cold beef; and talks of nothing but that d----d good speech of Sir Robert's'. Revolution! faith, the revolution is come already. Revolutions only change the aspect of society, is it not changed enough within the last six months? Bah! I suppose you are bit by the mania?" "Not I! while I live I will abjure the vulgar toil of ambition. Let others rule or ruin the state;--like the Duc de Lauzun, while the guillotine is preparing, I will think only of my oysters and my champagne." "A noble creed!" said Fanny, smiling: "let the world go to wreck, and bring me my biscuit! That's Godolphin's motto." "It is life's motto." "Yes--a gentleman's life." "Pish! Fanny; no satire from you: you, who are not properly speaking even a tragic actress! But there is something about your profession sublimely picturesque in the midst of these noisy brawls. The storms of nations shake not the stage; you are wrapt in another life; the atmosphere of poetry girds you. You are like the fairies who lived among men, visible only at night, and playing their fantastic tricks amidst the surrounding passions--the sorrow, the crime, the avarice, the love, the wrath, the luxury, the famine, that belong to the grosser dwellers of the earth. You are to be envied, Fanny." "Not so; I am growing old." "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." "'Sale of Lord Lysart's wines----'" "Capital!" cried Saville: "that's news--that's interesting!"