only kept common talk whilst that eavesdropping
rascal of a landlord was in the room; so that, now the coast is clear
once more, I pray you for news from Court."

"The Plot is nonsuited," answered the courtier--"Sir George Wakeman
acquitted--the witnesses discredited by the jury--Scroggs, who ranted on
one side, is now ranting on t'other."

"Rat the Plot, Wakeman, witnesses, Papists, and Protestants, all
together! Do you think I care for such trash as that?--Till the Plot
comes up the Palace backstair, and gets possession of old Rowley's own
imagination, I care not a farthing who believes or disbelieves. I hang
by him will bear me out."

"Well, then," said the lord, "the next news is Rochester's disgrace."

"Disgraced!--How, and for what? The morning I came off he stood as fair
as any one."

"That's over--the epitaph[*] has broken his neck--and now he may write
one for his own Court favour, for it is dead and buried."

[*] The epitaph alluded to is the celebrated epigram made by Rochester
on Charles II. It was composed at the King's request, who
nevertheless resented its poignancy.

The lines are well known:--

"Here lies our sovereign lord the King,
Whose word no man relies on,
Who never said a foolish thing,
And never did a wise one."

"The epitaph!" exclaimed Tom; "why, I was by when it was made; and it
passed for an excellent good jest with him whom it was made upon."

"Ay, so it did amongst ourselves," answered his companion; "but it got
abroad, and had a run like a mill-race. It was in every coffee-house,
and in half the diurnals. Grammont translated it into French too; and
there is no laughing at so sharp a jest, when it is dinned into your
ears on all sides. So disgraced is the author; and but for his Grace of
Buckingham, the Court would be as dull as my Lord Chancellor's wig."

"Or as the head it covers.--Well, my lord, the fewer at Court, there
is the more room for those that can bustle there. But there are two
mainstrings of Shaftesbury's fiddle broken--the Popish Plot fallen into
discredit--and Rochester disgraced. Changeful times--but here is to the
little man who shall mend them."

"I apprehend you," replied his lordship; "and meet your health with my
love. Trust me, my lord loves you, and longs for you.--Nay, I have done
you reason.--By your leave, the cup is with me. Here is to his buxom
Grace of Bucks."

"As blithe a peer," said Smith, "as ever tur