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Such also was Fairburn's opinion, and accordingly the schooner was made snug to meet the hurricane should it arrive. The crew were clustering in groups on deck watching the strange appearance, and in suppressed voices asking each other what it could mean.
Blackett was asking himself at the same moment. "We seem fated to quarrel, Fairburn's family and ours. Whose is the pride now, I wonder! Fairburn thinks a deal of his independence, as he calls it; I should call it simply pride, myself.
Knight's, in Sweeting's Alley; Fairburn's, in a court off Ludgate Hill; Hone's, in Fleet Street bright, enchanted palaces, which George Cruikshank used to people with grinning, fantastical imps, and merry, harmless sprites, where are they?
"I have no fear of the future, even did not the present calm weather almost preclude the sensation of fear; for I have been taught that God is everywhere, and has power to preserve us if He so will it." I said this in answer to Fairburn's remark.
The two miles had now been decreased to one and a half, by Fairburn's and my computation; and we hoped soon to be able to get a shot at the chase to bring down some of her spars. "Yes," said Van Graoul, when he heard us expressing that hope; "if we can bring down some of her spars, remember she can bring down some of ours, so that we are not the nearer on that account."
How we used to believe in them! to stray miles out of the way on holidays, in order to ponder for an hour before that delightful window in Sweeting's Alley! in walks through Fleet Street, to vanish abruptly down Fairburn's passage, and there make one at his "charming gratis" exhibition.
Fairburn's business necessitated that his single brig should be constantly running to and from London, and it was early rumoured that French cruisers and privateers were prowling about the North Sea and the Channel.
Fairburn's shop knows him no more; not only has Knight disappeared from Sweeting's Alley, but, as we are given to understand, Sweetings Alley has disappeared from the face of the globe. Mr. Cruikshank may have drawn a thousand better things since the days when these were; but they are to us a thousand times more pleasing than anything else he has done.
Here, were Little Warblers and Fairburn's Comic Songsters. Here, too, were ballads on the old ballad paper and in the old confusion of types; with an old man in a cocked hat, and an arm-chair, for the illustration to Will Watch the bold Smuggler; and the Friar of Orders Grey, represented by a little girl in a hoop, with a ship in the distance.
Alexander Wilmot again took possession of the apartments in Mr. Fairburn's house, and was not sorry once more to find himself surrounded by all the comforts and luxuries of civilization.
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