hem as a
reformer, whilst riding, as the Earl of Surry rode, into the first town
of the county, drunk, upon a cider-cask, and talking in that state of
_reform_!" Lord Surrey had been his client, and on meeting him in France
afterwards, good-humouredly said--"I have had enough of meddling with
you; I shall trouble you no more."

An odd incident, valuable to those who value foresightedness in this
world's affairs, occurred at the time Scott was lodged at the vicar's,
Mr Bridges. He had a daughter, a young child, and he said--"Who knows
but you may come to be chancellor. As my girl can probably marry nobody
but a clergyman, promise me you will give her husband a living when you
have the seals." His answer was, "My promise is not worth half-a-crown;
but you may have my promise." In after life, the child, then in
womanhood, walked one morning into the chancellor's drawing-room, and
claimed the fulfilment of his promise. It was duly performed, and she
married.

There is perhaps no subject of human interest more entitled to an
anxious and solemn curiosity, than the sentiments of a man of powerful
and fully furnished mind in the immediate prospect of death. The coming
change is so total and so tremendous, alarm and a sense of the unknown
are so natural, that to find unpresuming confidence, and virtuous
constancy of heart, in that awful time, cheers human nature. William
Scott, always distinguished for great capacity and remarkable
acquirements, about this period being seized with an illness, which he
thought mortal, writes these memoranda on the verge of the grave:--

My great comfort is, to write on to my dearest Jack, and about my wife.
Act for me. _Wife, child_. She knows I recommend her to your care.

Object of my life, to make my sisters easy.

Save ------ from ruin if we can.

Protect my memory by your kindness. Life ebbs very fast with me. My
dying thoughts are all kindness and fraternal love about you.

While sensation remains, I think on my dearest brother, with whom I
have spent my life. I die with the same sentiments. As the hand of death
approaches, it is a consolation to think of him. Oh, cherish my wife! If
you loved me, be a brother to her. You will have trouble about my
affairs; you will not grudge it. Oh, take care of _her_! I leave you
that duty. It is the last relief of my failing mind. Cherish my memory.
Keep ----- from ruin, if you can, by any application of any part of my
child's fortune that is re