ng low which by its own vigour makes itself
illustrious, calls Murat of the sabre the son of a pastry-cook, of a
Marseilleise pastry-cook. It is a pity that people who give themselves
hoity-toity airs--and the Scotch in general are wonderfully addicted to
giving themselves hoity-toity airs, and checking people better than
themselves with their birth {332} and their country--it is a great pity
that such people do not look at home--son of a pastry-cook, of a
Marseilleise pastry-cook! Well, and what was Scott himself? Why, son of
a pettifogger, of an Edinburgh pettifogger. "Oh, but Scott was descended
from the old cow-stealers of Buccleuch, and therefore . . ." Descended
from old cow-stealers, was he? Well, had he had nothing to boast of
beyond such a pedigree, he would have lived and died the son of a
pettifogger, and been forgotten, and deservedly so; but he possessed
talents, and by his talents rose like Murat, and like him will be
remembered for his talents alone, and deservedly so. "Yes, but Murat was
still the son of a pastry-cook, and though he was certainly good at the
sabre, and cut his way to a throne, still . . ." Lord! what fools there
are in the world; but as no one can be thought anything of in this world
without a pedigree, the writer will now give a pedigree for Murat, of a
very different character from the cow-stealing one of Scott, but such a
one as the proudest he might not disdain to claim. Scott was descended
from the old cow-stealers of Buccleuch--was he? Good! and Murat was
descended from the old Moors of Spain, from the Abencerages (sons of the
saddle) of Granada. The name Murat is Arabic, and is the same as Murad
(Le Desire, or the wished-for one). Scott, in his genteel life of
Bonaparte, says that "when Murat was in Egypt, the similarity between the
name of the celebrated Mameluke Mourad and that of Bonaparte's Meilleur
Sabreur was remarked, and became the subject of jest amongst the comrades
of the gallant Frenchman." But the writer of the novel of Bonaparte did
not know that the names were one and the same. Now which was the best
pedigree, that of the son of the pastry-cook, or that of the son of the
pettifogger? Which was the best blood? Let us observe the workings of
the two bloods. He who had the blood of the "sons of the saddle" in him
became the wonderful cavalier of the most wonderful host that ever went
forth to conquest, won for himself a crown, and died the death of a
sol