Where did I leave myself? as the Irishman said--on my road to Lord
Dawton's. I was lucky enough to find that personage at home; he was
writing at a table covered with pamphlets and books of reference.

"Hush! Pelham," said his lordship, who is a quiet, grave, meditative
little man, always ruminating on a very small cud--"hush! or do oblige me
by looking over this history, to find out the date of the Council of
Pisa."

"That will do, my young friend," said his lordship, after I had furnished
him with the information he required--"I wish to Heaven, I could finish
this pamphlet by to-morrow: it is intended as an answer to--. But I am so
perplexed with business, that--"

"Perhaps," said I, "if you will pardon my interrupting you, I can throw
your observations together--make your Sibylline leaves into a book. Your
lordship will find the matter, and I will not spare the trouble."

Lord Dawton was profuse in his thanks; he explained the subject, and left
the arrangement wholly to me. He could not presume to dictate. I promised
him, if he lent me the necessary books, to finish the pamphlet against
the following evening.

"And now," said Lord Dawton--"that we have settled this affair--what news
from France?"--

"I wish," sighed Lord Dawton, as we were calculating our forces, "that we
could gain over Lord Guloseton."