of William,
Willie, or Wullie Wallace. The writer begs leave to say that he by no
means wishes to bear hard against William Wallace, but he cannot help
asking why, if William, Willie, or Wullie Wallace was such a particularly
nice person, did his brother Scots betray him to a certain renowned
southern warrior, called Edward Longshanks, who caused him to be hanged
and cut into four in London, and his quarters to be placed over the gates
of certain towns? They got gold, it is true, and titles, very nice
things no doubt; but, surely, the life of a patriot is better than all
the gold and titles in the world--at least Lavengro thinks so,--but
Lavengro has lived more with gypsies than Scotchmen, and gypsies do not
betray their brothers. It would be some time before a gypsy would hand
over his brother to the harum-beck, even supposing you would not only
make him a king, but a justice of the peace, and not only give him the
world, but the best farm on the Holkham estate; but gypsies are wild
foxes, and there is certainly a wonderful difference between the way of
thinking of the wild fox who retains his brush, and that of the scurvy
kennel creature who has lost his tail.

Ah! but thousands of Scotch, and particularly the Charlie o'er the water
people, will say, "We didn't sell Willie Wallace, it was our forbears who
sold Willie Wallace . . . If Edward Longshanks had asked us to sell
Wullie Wallace, we would soon have shown him that" . . . Lord better ye,
ye poor trumpery set of creatures, ye would not have acted a bit better
than your forefathers; remember how ye have ever treated the few amongst
ye who, though born in the kennel, have shown something of the spirit of
the wood. Many of ye are still alive who delivered over men, quite as
honest and patriotic as William Wallace, into the hands of an English
minister, to be chained and transported for merely venturing to speak and
write in the cause of humanity, at the time when Europe was beginning to
fling off the chains imposed by kings and priests. And it is not so very
long since Burns, to whom ye are now building up obelisks rather higher
than he deserves, was permitted by his countrymen to die in poverty and
misery, because he would not join with them in songs of adulation to
kings and the trumpery great. So say not that ye would have acted with
respect to William Wallace one whit better than your fathers--and you in
particular, ye children of Charlie, whom do ye write