y in a most lamentable
condition at the time when, by showing a little courage, he might have
enabled them to conquer. This worthy, in his last will, bequeathed his
heart to England, his right arm to Scotland, and his bowels to Ireland.
What the English and Scotch said to their respective bequests is not
known, but it is certain that an old Irish priest, supposed to have been
a great-grand-uncle of the present Reverend Father Murtagh, on hearing of
the bequest to Ireland, fell into a great passion, and, having been
brought up at 'Paris and Salamanca,' expressed his indignation in the
following strain: 'Malditas sean tus tripas! teniamos bastante del olor
de tus tripas al tiempo de tu nuida dela batalla del Boyne!'

His son, generally called the Old Pretender, though born in England, was
carried in his infancy to France, where he was brought up in the
strictest principles of Popery, which principles, however, did not
prevent him becoming (when did they ever prevent anyone?) a worthless and
profligate scoundrel. There are some doubts as to the reality of his
being a son of James, which doubts are probably unfounded, the grand
proof of his legitimacy being the thorough baseness of his character. It
was said of his father that he could speak well, and it may be said of
him that he could write well--the only thing he could do which was worth
doing, always supposing that there is any merit in being able to write.
He was of a mean appearance, and, like his father, pusillanimous to a
degree. The meanness of his appearance disgusted, and his pusillanimity
discouraged the Scotch when he made his appearance amongst them in the
year 1715, some time after the standard of rebellion had been hoisted by
Mar. He only stayed a short time in Scotland, and then, seized with
panic, retreated to France, leaving his friends to shift for themselves
as they best could. He died a pensioner of the Pope.

The son of this man, Charles Edward, of whom so much in latter years has
been said and written, was a worthless, ignorant youth, and a profligate
and illiterate old man. When young, the best that can be said of him is
that he had occasionally springs of courage, invariably at the wrong time
and place, which merely served to lead his friends into inextricable
difficulties. When old, he was loathsome and contemptible to both friend
and foe. His wife loathed him, and for the most terrible of reasons; she
did not pollute his couch, for to do