"Yes," I observed; "but their sporting and sparkling answers their purpose. They amuse the holiday multitude for a day."
"And are dry for a week.--If France shall have a revolution, it will be as much a matter of mechanism, of show, and of holiday, as the '_grand jet-d'eau_.'" He was mistaken. We ended with a parting health to Mariamne, and his promise to attend to my interests at the Horse-guards, on which I was still strongly bent. The Jew was clearly no sentimentalist; but the glass of wine, and the few words of civility and recollection with which I had devoted it to his pretty daughter, evidently touched the father's heart. He lingered on the steps of the hotel, and still held my hand. "You shall not," said he, "be the worse for your good wishes, nor for that glass of wine. I shall attend to your business at Whitehall when you are gone; and you might have worse friends than Mordecai even there." He seemed big with some disclosure of his influence, but suddenly checked himself. "At all events," he added, "your services on the present occasion shall not be forgotten. You have a bold, ay, and a broad career before you. One thing I shall tell you. We shall certainly have war. The government here are blind to it. Even the prime minister--and there is not a more sagacious mind on the face of the earth--is inclined to think that it may be averted. But I tell you, as the first secret which you may insert in your despatches, that it will come--will be sudden, desperate, and universal."
"May I not ask from what source you have your information; it will at least strengthen mine?"
"Undoubtedly. You may tell the minister, or the world, that you had it from Mordecai. I lay on you only one condition--that you shall not mention it within a week. I have received it from our brethren on the Continent, as a matter of business. I give it to you here as a flourish for your first essay in diplomacy."
We had now reached the door of the post-chaise. He drew out another letter. "This," said he, "is from my daughter. Before you come among us again, she will probably be the wife of one of our nation, and the richest among us. But she still values you as the preserver of her life, and sends you a letter to one of our most intimate friends in Paris. If he shall not be frightened out of it by the violence of the mob, you will find him and his family hospitable. Now, farewell!" He turned away.