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486 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP
to buy 'em. I am as good a judge of sprats as any man in London.
My tap in life is to be small beer henceforth, and I am growing
quite to like it, and think it is brisk, and pleasant, and wholesome."
There was not a little truth in Philip's account of himself, and his
capacities and incapacities. Doubtless he was not born to make
a great name for himself in the world. But do we like those only
who are famous 1 As well say we will only give our regard to men
who have ten thousand a year, or are more than six feet high.
While of his three female friends and advisers, my wife admired
Philip's humility, Mrs. Brandon and Mrs. Mugford were rather
disappointed at his want of spirit, and to think that he aimed so
low. I shall not say which side Firmin's biographer took in this
matter. Was it my business to applaud or rebuke him for being
humble-minded, or was I called upon to advise at all 1 My amiable
reader, acknowledge that you and I in life pretty much go our own
way. We eat the dishes we like because we like them, not because
our neighbour relishes them. We rise early, or sit up late; we
work, idle, smoke, or what not, because we choose so to do, not
because the doctor orders. Philip, then, was like you and me,
who will have our own way when we can. Will we not 1 If you
won't, you do not deserve it. Instead of hungering after a stalled
ox, he was accustoming himself to be content with a dinner of herbs.
Instead of braving the tempest, he chose to take in sail, creep along
shore, and wait for calmer weather.
So, on Tuesday of every week let us say, it was this modest
sub-editor's duty to begin snipping and pasting paragraphs for the
ensuing Saturday's issue. He cut down the parliamentary speeches,
giving due favouritism to the orators of the Pall Mall Gazette
party, and meagre outlines of their opponent's discourses. If the
leading public men on the side of the Pall Mall Gazette gave
entertainments, you may be sure they were duly chronicled in the
fashionable intelligence ; if one of their party wrote a book it was
pretty sure to get praise from the critic. I am speaking of simple
old days, you understand. Of course there is no puffing, or jobbing,
or false praise, or unfair censure now. Every critic knows what he
is writing about, and writes with no aim but to tell truth.
Thus Philip, the dandy of two years back, was content to wear
the shabbiest old coat; Philip, the Philippus of one-and-twenty,
who rode showy horses, and rejoiced to display his horse and person
in the park, now humbly took his place in an omnibus, and only
on occasions indulged in a cab. From the roof of the larger vehicle
he would salute his friends with perfect affability, and stare down
on his aunt as she passed in her barouche. He never could be
quite made to acknowledge that she purposely would not see him ;