CATHOLIC EMANCIPATION.

333

heart, and back my opinion wi' sic arguments as I had learned out of that book which the Pope, I fancy, wadna allow a poor lay-creature like me to read at nicht, afore gaun to-bed, and just after I had seen the bairns a' soun' asleep in theirs, wi' their quiet smiling faces hushed to peace, under the protecting love o' Him wha had wrapt the innocent things in the heaven o' happy dreams. Still, I wadna ca' the Pope a leear, like Mr Wolff; for nae man's a leear, unless he kens that he is ane; and his Holiness, for onything I ken to the contrar, may be, in his delusion, a lover of the Truth.

North. You would not, if in Parliament, James, vote for what is called Catholic Emancipation?

Shepherd. I scarcely think I would,—at least I would be what Mr Canning says he is not, a security grinder.

Tickler. And I, James.

North. And I, James.

Shepherd. And, thank heaven! the majority of the British Parliament, and three-fourths of the British people, Mr North. North. Have you read Dr Phillpotts' Letter, Tickler?

1

Tickler. I have, with delight. One of the ablest productions of modern days-bold, fearless, manly, gentlemanly, Protestant. North. And yet the Whigs all call it personal-nay, libellous -although Dr Phillpotts expresses towards Mr Canning, to whom it is addressed, the greatest respect for his character, and the highest admiration of his talents. Not thus, Tickler, did they speak and write of that illustrious person a few short years ago.

Tickler. I have made out a paper on that point,—but it is too long, I fear, for the Magazine-it would occupy three sheets-of malignity, stupidity, and abuse incredible, but from the tongues and fingers of Whigs. Even now, they hate Mr Canning. We, on the contrary, always loved him-then as now-but

Shepherd. What noise is that in that press? Is't a mooss getting its neck into a trap? Let's see

[Opens the press, and out steps a person, shabby genteel, in black or brownish apparel.

1 Afterwards the Bishop of Exeter. In the letter referred to, and in other publications, he argued against the Catholic Emancipation Act. But when that measure was brought before Parliament by the Duke of Wellington and Sir Robert Peel, he preserved an entire silence, which was generally construed as consent.

334

A GENTLEMAN OF THE PRESS.

Wha are ye, my man, that's here hearkenin to a conversation that I'm thinking, fra the face o' you, you're no very able to understand the drift o'?-wha are ye, my man, wi' cheeks like potty, and tautied hair, and a coat sae desperate short in the sleeves? But dinna be sae feared, I'm no gaun to put ye to death, only what was ye chrissend? or are you a Pagan wi' some outlandish name, and a mother-tongue unintelligible in this quarter o' the habitable globe? I'll haud ye, sir, by the cuff o' the neck, till ye speak-Are ye dumb, sir?

North. James, James-my dear Shepherd, relax your hold, he is a short-hand writer.

Shepherd. A short-hand writer! a short-hand writer! and that's the way o't-that's the way o't-that the Noctes Ambrosianæ are gotten up for that Magazine o' yours, Mr North!!! How durst you, sir, sit in that press takin down my words? A pretty gentleman o' the press, indeed! Gude faith! a wee thing would mak me fling you out o' the window! There's anither shake for you, sir, to mak your blood circulate.

North. Mr Gurney, don't mind the Shepherd, it is his way. -James, James, he is not one of the enemy-and as worthy a fellow as lives: moderate your fury, James.

Shepherd. Now the cat's out o' the bag. Never could I comprehend how a haill night's conversation, on to the sma' hours, could get itsel a' prented word for word in the Magazine, doun to my verra spellin, afore—and there, for thae sax years past, hae ye been writin in the press, my man, takin doun the conversation in hieroglyphics, and at hame extendin your notes, as they ca't, ower your sooens1 and sma' beer afore gaun to sleep on caff.2

Tickler. Come, James, you are getting personal and abusive. Mr Gurney is a most excellent fellow-a man of education, and a small private fortune of his own on the death of his grandmother.

North. Sit down, Mr Gurney, and take a glass of toddy. Shepherd. What for will you no speak, sir? Open your mouth and speak.

North. Mr Gurney, James, is no speaker.
Shepherd. What, is he dumb?

North. Rather so, Shepherd. It would be a long story to tell you how he lost his tongue early in life in Persia.

1 Sooens-a sort of flummery made of the dust of oatmeal.

9 Caff-chaff.

A COLLOQUIAL LUMINARY.

335

Shepherd. He's aff-he's aff-out at the door like a shot. He may be a short-haun writer, but he's a lang-legged ane. See, yonner he's jinkin round the corner o' Union Place already, never doutin that I'm at his tails! There's no anither gentleman o' the press, is there, in ahint that ither door, on the richt cheek o' the fire?

Tickler. Well, the world must just content itself without any record of this meeting. Nor does it much matter, for I have seen the Shepherd much brighter.

Shepherd. I hate to see ony man ower bricht, as it is ca'd, in company. Commend me to the man that's just like a star amang ither stars-only noos and thans a wee thocht brichter than the luminaries around him, as if something internal glanced out frae within his verra core, and after a few fitfu' flashes, let him relapse back again into his former sober radiance.

Tickler. A new image, James, or something like it-Go on -I'll follow thee.

Shepherd. Or haply, sir, not that he was ony brichter than afore-but that the rest had grown somewhat dimmer, or mair obscure, as a cloud, or the shadow o' a cloud, had tamed their lustre, and made some o' them indeed amaist disappear frae the heavens a'thegither!

North. O! better and better, James. You speak like an absolute Coleridge.

Shepherd. Or suppose we liken a man, that in company is just what he ought to be, to a good fire-made o' Scotch coals, wi' a sprinklin o' English-no bleezin as if soot had fa'en doun the chimley, and then flingin out reek amaist to chock you, and also to blear your een, at the same time makin the room so insufferably hot that water would pabble in a dish; but a calm, composed fire, bold as the sun, yet mild almost as the moon, shinin and warmin all it looks upon with a summery spirit, till all our feelings expand in the glow like flowers, and the circle o' humanity round it becomes, in the best sense o' the word, Christianised by the gracious light!

North. That man, Tickler, flings away as much poetry in the course of an afternoon's crack, as would serve the Pet Poet of a Cockney coterie all his lifetime.

Shepherd. What's that you were sayin, sir, to Mr Tickler? I'm rather deafish, It's maist a pity the short-haun writer

336

CRUELTY TO ANIMALS.

ran aff; but aiblins he's gotten intil the press again through a back-door;—and if sae, I shanna disturb him; for I carena, for my ain pairt, although every single syllable that ever was uttered by me within these four wa's was prented in capitals, and circulated to the remotest corners o' the Earth.

North. Did you go t'other day, James, to hear Mr Somerville of Currie's' sermon against cruelty to animals? I don't remember seeing your face in the throng. It was an elegant discourse.

Shepherd. I dinna doubt that, for he's a clever chieland as gude a man and as humane as ever used a doublebarrelled gun.

Tickler. What! Is he a sportsman, and yet preaches about cruelty to animals?

North. Did not you know, Tickler, that Mr Somerville invented a gun-lock, for which he ought to have got a patent?

Tickler. In that case he ought just to have allowed a brother clergyman to preach the Gibsonian Sermon.-For although, for my own part, I see no cruelty in field-sports, no man in the pulpit can possibly defend them; and if he omits all mention of them, he leaves his argument incomplete-and when the preacher is a notorious good shot, slaughtering right and left, to a dead certainty, there is room for the scoffers to treat the entire sermon with derision.

Shepherd. I dinna see that ava. Real cruelty to animals canna be defined, but everybody kens what it is—for example, thumpin wi' a rung a puir auld, tremblin, staggerin, worn-out, starved horse, reesting at a steep pull in the trams aneath a ton o' coals, a' the time the carter swearing like Cloots-that's cruelty, and should be preached against, and also punished by Act o' Parliament.

Tickler. But there is no cruelty, you think, James, in the Rev. Mr Somerville shooting at a hare on her form, who carries off into the brake her poor wounded withers full of No. 34 or 35, and there continues dying by inches all through the week-expiring, perhaps, within the tinkle of the Sabbath bell of Currie kirk?

Shepherd, It's just a' a dounricht sophism, Mr Tickler, and you ken it is-but I hate a' argling and hargarbargling o' argument ower ane's toddy-or indeed onywhere else, except

1 Currie is a village near Edinburgh.

SIR JOHN MALCOLM.-BOADEN.

337

at the Bar when Jeffrey or Cobrun's speaking- and there, to be sure, it's a treat to hear the tane threeping and the tither threeping, as if not only their verra lives depended on't, but the haill creation; whereas the dispute was only about some abstract consideration o' a point o' law in the way o' preliminary form anent the regulation o' the Court, kittle enough to be understood, nae doubt, sin' the introduction o' the new system; but as to the real intrinsic maitter o' equity and justice, nae mair than a preliminary that might hae been gien against either the ae party or the ither, without detriment to the patrimonial interests either o' the plaintiff or defendant, the respondent or appellant, in sic a cause no easy o' being discriminated by a hearer like me, no verra deeply versed in the laws.

North. An Annual Sermon against any one particular vice, —and none more odious than cruelty of disposition,—is a foolish Institution. Let people go regularly to church, and hear good sermons, of which there is no lack either in the city or the country,-and they will be merciful to their beasts, I hope, through the spirit of Christianity thus fanned and fostered in their hearts.

Shepherd. That is verra true.-Cruelty to animals is no a gude subject for a haill sermon,-and it's only clever men, like Chalmers and Somerville, that can prevent it from becoming even absurd in the pulpit, when formally treated of, and at great length-whereas

North. Put these two little volumes, James, in your pocket, that you are ogling on the side-table.-Sketches of Persia,a few pages of it is a cheering recreation for a leisure hour. Sir John1 tells a story admirably, and is a man of keen and incessant observation. I had no idea he could have written anything so light and vivacious, so elegant even, and so full of character. The volumes must be popular, and I hope he will give us more of them, a couple more at the least. Murray has published nothing so good of the kind for years. Shepherd. Hae ye read Boaden's Life o' Siddons, sir?

North. I have, James-and I respect Mr Boaden for his intelligent criticism. He is rather prosy occasionally-but why not? God knows, he cannot be more prosy than I am 1 Sir John Malcolm, G.C.B., for some time envoy at the court of Persia, died in 1833.

VOL. I.

Y