example in adopting it.'"

"I doubt not," said I, "that both gouty George and his devoted servant
will be mouldering in their tombs long before royalty in England thinks
about adopting popery."

"We can wait," said the man in black; "in these days of rampant
gentility, there will be no want of kings nor of Scots about them."

"But not Walters," said I.

"Our work has been already tolerably well done by one," said the man in
black; "but if we wanted literature, we should never lack in these
regions hosts of literary men of some kind or other to eulogise us,
provided our religion were in the fashion, and our popish nobles
chose--and they always do our bidding--to admit the canaille to their
tables--their kitchen tables. As for literature in general," said he,
"the Santa Sede is not particularly partial to it, it may be employed
both ways. In Italy, in particular, it has discovered that literary men
are not always disposed to be lick-spittles."

"For example, Dante," said I.

"Yes," said the man in black, "a dangerous personage; that poem of his
cuts both ways; and then there was Pulci, that Morgante of his cuts both
ways, or rather one way, and that sheer against us; and then there was
Aretino, who dealt so hard with the poveri frati; all writers, at least
Italian ones, are not lick-spittles. And then in Spain,--'tis true, Lope
de Vega and Calderon were most inordinate lick-spittles; the Principe
Constante of the last is a curiosity in its way; and then the Mary Stuart
of Lope; I think I shall recommend the perusal of that work to the
Birmingham ironmonger's daughter--she has been lately thinking of adding
'a slight knowledge of the magneeficent language of the Peninsula' to the
rest of her accomplishments, he! he! he! But then there was Cervantes,
starving, but straight; he deals us some hard knocks in that second part
of his Quixote. Then there were some of the writers of the picaresque
novels. No, all literary men are not lick-spittles, whether in Italy or
Spain, or, indeed, upon the Continent; it is only in England that all--"

"Come," said I, "mind what you are about to say of English literary men."

"Why should I mind?" said the man in black, "there are no literary men
here. I have heard of literary men living in garrets, but not in
dingles, whatever philologists may do; I may, therefore, speak out
freely. It is only in England that literary men are invariably
lick-spittles; on which account, perhap