dier, leaving behind him a son, only inferior to himself in strength,
in prowess, and in horsemanship. The descendant of the cow-stealer
became a poet, a novel writer, the panegyrist of great folks and genteel
people; became insolvent because, though an author, he deemed it
ungenteel to be mixed up with the business part of authorship; died
paralytic and broken-hearted because he could no longer give
entertainments to great folks; leaving behind him, amongst other
children, who were never heard of, a son, who through his father's
interest, had become lieutenant-colonel in a genteel cavalry regiment. A
son who was ashamed of his father because his father was an author; a son
who--paugh--why ask which was the best blood!

So, owing to his rage for gentility, Scott must needs become the
apologist of the Stuarts and their party; but God made this man pay
dearly for taking the part of the wicked against the good; for lauding up
to the skies miscreants and robbers, and calumniating the noble spirits
of Britain, the salt of England, and his own country. As God had driven
the Stuarts from their throne, and their followers from their estates,
making them vagabonds and beggars on the face of the earth, taking from
them all they cared for, so did that same God, who knows perfectly well
how and where to strike, deprive the apologist of that wretched crew of
all that rendered life pleasant in his eyes, the lack of which paralysed
him in body and mind, rendered him pitiable to others, loathsome to
himself,--so much so, that he once said, "Where is the beggar who would
change places with me, notwithstanding all my fame?" Ah! God knows
perfectly well how to strike. He permitted him to retain all his
literary fame to the very last--his literary fame for which he cared
nothing; but what became of the sweetnesses of life, his fine house, his
grand company, and his entertainments? The grand house ceased to be his;
he was only permitted to live in it on sufferance, and whatever grandeur
it might still retain, it soon became as desolate a looking house as any
misanthrope could wish to see--where were the grand entertainments and
the grand company? there are no grand entertainments where there is no
money; no lords and ladies where there are no entertainments--and there
lay the poor lodger in the desolate house, groaning on a bed no longer
his, smitten by the hand of God in the part where he was most vulnerable.
Of what use telling such