England. Some of them have really come over to us. I myself
confess a baronet who presided over the first radical meeting ever held
in England--he was an atheist when he came over to us, in the hope of
mortifying his own Church--but he is now--ho! ho!--a real Catholic
devotee--quite afraid of my threats; I make him frequently scourge
himself before me. Well, Radicalism does us good service, especially
amongst the lower classes, for Radicalism chiefly flourishes amongst
them; for though a baronet or two may be found amongst the radicals, and
perhaps as many lords--fellows who have been discarded by their own order
for clownishness, or something they have done--it incontestably
flourishes best among the lower orders. Then the love of what is foreign
is a great friend to us; this love is chiefly confined to the middle and
upper classes. Some admire the French, and imitate them; others must
needs be Spaniards, dress themselves up in a zamarra, stick a cigar in
their mouths, and say, "Carajo." Others would pass for Germans; he! he!
the idea of any one wishing to pass for a German! but what has done us
more service than anything else in these regions--I mean amidst the
middle classes--has been the novel, the Scotch novel. The good folks,
since they have read the novels, have become Jacobites; and, because all
the Jacobs were Papists, the good folks must become Papists also, or, at
least, papistically inclined. The very Scotch Presbyterians, since they
have read the novels, are become all but Papists; I speak advisedly,
having lately been amongst them. There's a trumpery bit of a half papist
sect, called the Scotch Episcopalian Church, which lay dormant and nearly
forgotten for upwards of a hundred years, which has of late got
wonderfully into fashion in Scotland, because, forsooth, some of the
long-haired gentry of the novels were said to belong to it, such as
Montrose and Dundee; and to this the Presbyterians are going over in
throngs, traducing and vilifying their own forefathers, or denying them
altogether, and calling themselves descendants of--ho! ho! ho!--Scottish
Cavaliers!!! I have heard them myself repeating snatches of Jacobite
ditties about "Bonnie Dundee," and--

'"Come, fill up my cup, and fill up my can,
And saddle my horse, and call up my man."

There's stuff for you! Not that I object to the first part of the ditty.
It is natural enough that a Scotchman should cry, "Come, fill up my cup!"