“Which I am,” replied Stewart, as he sprang over it, and seizing Jerry by the neck—“Now, Mr Jerry, say a good thing directly.”
“Well, promise me to understand it. We are just in the reverse situation of England and Scotland, after the battle of Culloden.”
“What do you mean by that, you wretch?” cried Stewart, whose wrath was kindled by the reference.
“Why, I’m in your clutches, just like Scotland was—a conquered country.”
“You lie, you little blackguard,” cried Stewart, pinching Jerry’s neck till he forced his mouth open: “Scotland was never conquered.”
“Well, then,” continued Jerry, whose bile was up, as soon as Stewart relaxed his hold; “I’m like King Charles in the hands of the Scotch. How much was it that you sold him for?”
Jerry’s shrivelled carcase sounded like a drum, from the blow which he received for this second insult to Stewart’s idolised native land. As soon as he could recover his speech, “Well, haven’t I been very witty? Are you content, or will you have some more? or will you try Prose, and see whether you can draw blood out of a turnip?”
Stewart, who seemed disinclined to have any more elegant extracts from Jerry, resumed his former seat by Prose, who appeared to be in deep reflection.
“Well, Prose, are you thinking of your friends in Cheap-side?”
“And suppose I am, Stewart? We have the same feelings in the city that you have in the heather; and although I do not, like you, pretend to be allied to former kings, yet one may love one’s father and mother, brothers and sisters, without being able to trace back to one’s great-great-grand-father. I never disputed your high pretensions; why, then, interfere with my humble claims to the common feelings of humanity?”