rrent among the
initiated Jacobites. The moment Mr. Pembroke had uttered the Shibboleth,
with the appropriate gesture, the bibliopolist greeted him,
notwithstanding every disclamation, by the title of Doctor, and conveying
him into his back shop, after inspecting every possible and impossible
place of concealment, he commenced: 'Eh, Doctor!--Well--all under the
rose--snug--I keep no holes here even for a Hanoverian rat to hide in.
And, what--eh! any good news from our friends over the water?--and how
does the worthy King of France?--Or perhaps you are more lately from
Rome? it must be Rome will do it at last--the church must light its
candle at the old lamp.--Eh--what, cautious? I like you the better; but
no fear.' Here Mr. Pembroke with some difficulty stopt a torrent of
interrogations, eked out with signs, nods, and winks; and, having at
length convinced the bookseller that he did him too much honour in
supposing him an emissary of exiled royalty, he explained his actual
business.

The man of books with a much more composed air proceeded to examine the
manuscripts. The title of the first was 'A Dissent from Dissenters, or
the Comprehension confuted; showing the Impossibility of any Composition
between the Church and Puritans, Presbyterians, or Sectaries of any
Description; illustrated from the Scriptures, the Fathers of the Church,
and the soundest Controversial Divines.' To this work the bookseller
positively demurred. 'Well meant,' he said, 'and learned, doubtless; but
the time had gone by. Printed on small-pica it would run to eight hundred
pages, and could never pay. Begged therefore to be excused. Loved and
honoured the true church from his soul, and, had it been a sermon on the
martyrdom, or any twelve-penny touch--why, I would venture something for
the honour of the cloth. But come, let's see the other. "Right Hereditary
righted!"--Ah! there's some sense in this. Hum--hum--hum--pages so many,
paper so much, letter-press--Ah--I'll tell you, though, Doctor, you must
knock out some of the Latin and Greek; heavy, Doctor, damn'd heavy--(beg
your pardon) and if you throw in a few grains more pepper--I am he that
never preached my author. I have published for Drake and Charlwood
Lawton, and poor Amhurst [Footnote: See Note 4.]--Ah, Caleb! Caleb! Well,
it was a shame to let poor Caleb starve, and so many fat rectors and
squires among us. I gave him a dinner once a week; but, Lord love you,
what's once a week, when a ma