328

THE VARIED YEAR.

Shepherd. What'n enormities! He maun dree penance by a pilgrimage to Loch Derg. What other crimes has Mr Croker committed?

North. He has, moreover, attributed to Henry Bate Dudley, the Fighting Parson, the Editorship of the old Morning Herald, instead of the old Morning Post.

Shepherd. What a sinner!

North. And he has erroneously said, that Burgoyne's surrender at Saratoga took place in March 1778, instead of October 1777. He is mistaken, too, in saying that Lord Townshend was not Secretary of State till 1720.

Shepherd. In short, the seven deadly sins!

North. The perpetration of which has so incensed the immaculate and infallible Reviewer, that he has not scrupled to assert that the whole of Mr Croker's part of the work is ill compiled, ill arranged, ill expressed, and ill printed.

Shepherd. Fee! faw! fum! I smell the bluid o' a pairty

man.

North. Fetid in faction.

Tickler. Can this be the same Pseudo-Samson who supposes he slew Southey and Sadler-and that he has now smitten Croker under the fifth rib?

North. The same; and I lament to see a young man of his endowments a prey to such pitiful impulses of malice, which, impotent as are the fumblings they excite, cannot fail to weaken the intellect they degrade down to such paltry work, and will make one who is now not unjustly the object of partial admiration, ere long that of general contempt.

Shepherd. Thank heaven, sir, that I'm out o' the stour1 o' pairty in the Forest! In cities, towns, and villages, frae Lunnon down to Pettycur, it keeps drivin in your face, till in angry blindness you stoiter again' your fellow-creturs borin alang in the opposite direction, or rin yoursel wi' a dunsh again' the wa'. But a's sweet and serene out-by yonner, sir, and natur follows her ain way in obedience to the everlastin laws that bring ae season in beauty out o' the bosom o' the ither, the shady simmer broonin awa by imperceptible gradations o' colour intil the gorgeous autumn-the autumn fadin awa in fire intil the seelent snaws o' winter-and the winter in gude time layin aside her white mantle, and in green symar 1 Stour-flying dust. 2 Symar-Cymar, scarf.

2

NORTH'S POLITICAL PREDILECTIONS.

329

changin afore the gratefu' gaze intil the warld-worshipped spring.

North. No Reform needed there, James.

Shepherd. Weel said, sir-nae Reform-except in our ain hearts—and there it'ill be needed as lang's St Mary's' rows2 the silver waters o' the Yarrow, wi' a' their eemaged clouds, hills, and trees, to join her sister Ettrick, ere the twa melt their name and natur in the sea-seeking Tweed.

Tickler. In spite of all that has been said, Mr North, James, is the only critic of the age that, in his judgments on literature, is unbiassed by his political predilections.

Shepherd. I canna gang just that length alang wi' ye, Mr Tickler; for noo and then the tae o' the Tory wull peep out frae aneath the robes o' Rhadamanthus. In soumin up the evidence again' the prisoner at the bar (and every author's a panel), his eloquence I've sometimes thocht has had rather a little leanin towards the culprit that had the gude fortun no to be a Whig, although there could be nae dout o' his guilt. An' sure I am, that in cases I could mention, he has induced the Jury to acquit the criminal, wi' a verdict o' "no proven," when everybody in the court, includin those in the box and on the bench, kent that there was a thief afore them, as certainly as if they had grupped the plagiary wi' his haun in the man's breeks.

Tickler. Every judge should lean to the side of mercy.

Shepherd. That's true. But then again, sir, on the ither haun, whan the accused has happened to be a Whig, and the evidence, though strong again' him, admittin o' some dout, I've thocht that I've sometimes seen a deevil darkenin in his een, and heard a deevil thunderin frae his lips, death to the sinner wha itherwise micht hae been allowed to get aff wi' banishment to Botany Bay for the term o' his natural life. This is scarcely justice.

Tickler. Yet, granting all that to be true, what does it prove but that our venerable friend is human?

Shepherd. Say rather inhuman.

North. Let me be impeached. But pray particularise. Shepherd. No-I won't-for I've nae wish to be personal. Suffeece it to say, that twa-three leeterary Tories are trottin and doun baith toon and kintra the noo unco crouse, wha, 1 St Mary's Loch, out of which the Yarrow flows. 2 Rows-rolls.

up

330

NORTH, A LITERARY DRACON.

if the High Court o' Justiciary had dune their duty, o' which you are the Lord Justice Clerk, would hae been knappin stanes across the water, and that a wheen Whigs are, awin' to you, established in sma' shops in Hobart's Toon, wha micht hae been tryin to pick up a no very dishonest livelihood in their ain kintra o' Cockayne, say by sellin saloop.

North. This much I must say in my own vindication, James, that I have never known an instance of one such delinquent, on his return from transportation, after expiry of his term, conducting himself in such a way as to leave any doubt on my mind that he should originally have been hanged.

Shepherd. Safe us! What do you mean by being hanged originally? You haena invented, I howp, a mair savage style o' strangulation? You're no for layin aside the rape, and for garrin the executioner do his duty wi' the finger and thoom? North. I have now my eye on some delinquents, who, if tried before me

Shepherd. Wull be convickit

North. And if convicted, put to death in the way you mention

Shepherd. But for that purpose ye maun bring in a new

Bill.

North. My Lord Melbourne2 has promised to do so immediately after the prorogation-provided it appears that during the dark nights spring-guns have worked well

Shepherd. And that Swing has been gruppit in a man-trap. North. Look, James, at the Lord Chancellor3

Shepherd. I do. An' in that mane o' his, he looks like a lion-ape—at ance ludicrous and fearsome-a strange mixture o' the meanest and the michtiest o' a' beasts. Hairy Broom

Tickler. The Besom of destruction

Shepherd. Soopin the Court o' Chancery, like a strang wun', the chaff frae a barn-floor. See that he doesna scatter in the air the wheat that o' richt belangs to the suitors. Auld Eldon used to lay't up carefully in heaps, that it micht be carried awa afterwards by the richt owners, aften difficult to be determined

1 Awin-owing.

2 At this time Lord Melbourne was Home Secretary.

3 Brougham.

BROUGHAM.-FAUNTLEROY.

331

Tickler. In the decision of a judge, James, what the world demands now-is despatch.

Shepherd. The idea o' the balance trembling to a hair is noo obsolete! Yet it was an idea, sir, o' the finest grandeur, and I've gazed on't personified in a pictur, till I hae sworn a seelent oath in a' cases o' diffeeculty to ca' on my conscience wi' the same nicest adjustment to look alang the beam ere she decided that it had settled intil the unwaverin and everlastin richt.

North. Brougham is a great orator, as orators go, James, sober or

Shepherd. What?

North. And some of his speeches in the House of Commons, in favour of the mitigation of our penal code, were noble in eloquence and in argument. He boldly denounced the doctrine of the justice of capital punishments in cases of forgery, the doctrine of its expediency even in a country that had grown great and glorious by commerce.

Shepherd. I hae nae douts on baith.

Tickler. And I have none either. Fauntleroy' performed an appropriate part in the character of Swing. Yet, so cheap is pity, that the most vulgar pauper can afford to pipe his eye for the fate of the unfeeling forger, who has wasted on insatiable prostitutes the pittances of widows and orphans, forgetting their faces and their hands held up to Heaven in resignation by their cold hearths, in the mournful sight, forsooth, of the white cheeks and closed eyes of a cowardly and hypocritical convict quivering, not in remorse for his crime, but in terror of its punishment, on the scaffold that has shook to the tread of many a wretch, unpitied, because poor-and unpetitioned for, because no-Banker.

North. Let us, at another time, argue this great question. But hark! the thunderous voice of the great Commoner subdued down to the timid tone of the Lord Chancellor, who, on the very same petition being presented by the Duke of Sussex, which, in former times, called for Henry Brougham's indignant denunciations of cruelty and injustice, lately opened his mouth and emitted nothing but wind, like a barn-door fowl agape in the pip!

1 Henry Fauntleroy, banker, was tried at the Old Bailey for forgery, 30th October 1824, found guilty, and executed a month afterwards.

Shepherd. What lang thin folios are thae you're lookin at, Mr Tickler? Do they conteen picturs?

Tickler. "The Beauties of the Court of King Charles the Second, a series of Portraits illustrating the Memoirs of De Grammont, Pepys, Evelyn, Clarendon, and other Contemporary Writers; with Memoirs, Critical and Biographical, by Mrs Jameson, authoress of Memoirs of the Loves of the Poets, and the Diary of an Ennuyée."

North. One of the most eloquent of our female writers-full of feeling and fancy-a true enthusiast with a glowing soul. Shepherd. Mrs Jameson's prose aye reminds me o' Miss Landon's poetry—and though baith hae their fauts, I would charactereese baith alike by the same epithet-rich. I hate a simple style, for that's only anither word for puir. What I mean is, that when you can say nae better o' a style than that it's simple, you maun be at a great loss for eulogium. There's naething simpler nor water, and, at times, a body drinks't greedily frae the rim o' his hat made intil a scoop; but for a' that, in the lang rin, I prefer porter.

Tickler. Much.

North. In calling water the best of elements, Pindar was considering it as the groundwork of Glenlivet.

Shepherd. Nae dout, Glenlivet's pure speerit, and in ae sense simple but then it's an essence-an ethereal essence o' the extract o' maut- and water's but the medium in which it's conveyed. But o' a' the liquids, no ane's simple except water. Even milk and water's a wee composite, and has its admirers-though no here. But let me look at the Beauties. Tickler. Avast hauling.

Shepherd. That's richt-every man his ain number. And wha's fa'n to my share, but her wham Mrs Jameson weel ca's "the pretty, witty, merry, open-hearted Nelly"-that jewel o' a cretur, Nell Gwynn! Gie me a kiss, ma lassie! Better for thee hadst thou been born in the Forest!

North. La Belle Hamilton! La Belle Stewart! Superb Sultana with voluptuous bust! Divine Diana, dreaming of delight and Endymion!

Shepherd. What's that you're sayin, sir? Her bosom's no worth lookin at, I'm sure, in comparison wi' wee Nelly's, that reminds ane o' the Sang o' Solomon. I wunner hoo Sir Peter could control himsel, sae as to be able to draw't. Surely