I’ll tell you what, brother of mine, said old Morgan; if I live to see that happy day, I don’t believe I shall be content to lay my grey head in any grave at all, let it be as peaceful as it may. I hope those fatal spinsters won’t cut my thread, just when I want to wind up my bottom, and be merry: why, I’ve a cellar full of wine, that I hope will be drank out before I die; I have a locker full of money to scatter amongst the poor, and a subterranean of strong beer to set the antient Britons a-dancing on their heads. I know I am an old gouty good-for-nothing blockhead; but what then? ’Tis other people’s wit, not our own, that makes us merry; and let death stand at the door, I’ll have my laugh out, so long as he does not come in, and spoil the company: Here’s my old friend Wilson, who has literally one leg in the grave, why he makes battle still, like a stout fellow, and fights upon his stumps, as Whittington did in Chevy Chase. Was there ever in the annals of good fortune such a happy father as he is? ’Tis not in the order of things probable, that a fellow, like his son Henry, with all the disadvantages of modest merit, refined high principle and rigid unrelenting honour, should find himself invited, nay, compelled, to be one of the happiest and most prosperous gentlemen, that beauty, wealth and virtue ever joined to bless. How, in the name of all that’s wonderful, did it come to pass, that Devereux, a trader in diamonds, should have the good sense to discover, and the good heart to reward, the merits of Major Wilson? What shall I say of him? Why, I will say, that he is worthy to enjoy the friendship of De Lancaster, and his daughter to share the affection and esteem of Cecilia and Amelia; and if any body can suggest how I may do him and her greater honours, I shall be glad to hear it. As for myself, if some kind spirit, that is friendly to good fellowship, will graciously keep from me pain and sickness for a while, I shall be profoundly thankful; but I must not be importunate; if he gives me to the full as much as I deserve, and gives no more, my allowance will be nothing: still if I may be suffered to hang, as I do, like a ragged remnant, on the skirts of society, I shall be well content, for I would fain shake honest Devereux by the hand before I die; aye, and poor Anderton before he dies, because he loved the dear white man, whom I loved and lamented, and because he dandled on his knee my pretty Amelia, who is sweeter than all his sugar-canes, though she does not care a rush for such a rascally old negro as I am. Oh sir, sir, cried Amelia, don’t say that, even in jest--And rising from her seat, devoutly put her arms about his neck, and pressed her lips upon his forehead. Child, child, he cried; don’t overthrow me. I am a weak old fool with a watery head, and you, who are the fair nymph of the fountain, can make it stream at pleasure.