‘I can tell you, that no man ever spoke freer language to his Majesty and the Prince than I did of our two great friends, in letting him know that they did him more service, and were capable to do him more service, than all those of their rank in Scotland, and it is true. I hope what I said will be useful, and let it have what effect it will as to me, I am overjoyed to have occasion to serve the two prettiest fellows in Europe.’ Lovat spoke of King George as ‘one of the best men on earth, but strangely imposed upon by certain persons. I hope it will not be always so,’――While serving the ‘two prettiest fellows in Europe,’ Lovat did not neglect a prettier,――himself. In one of his letters to Forbes, in the Culloden papers, he says, ‘If you suffer Glengarry, Frazerdale, or Chisholm to be pardoned, I will never more carry a musquet under your command.’ Lovat’s motive is betrayed in another letter, in which he says: ‘The king has been graciously pleased to grant me, this very day, a gift of Frazerdale’s Escheat, and M. Stanhope told me I was so well in his Majesty’s spirit, that all my enemies are not able to do me harm.’ The crafty rascal is fully manifested in the following passage: ‘I spoke to the Duke and my Lord Islay about my marriage, and told them that one of my greatest motives to that design was to secure them the joint interest of the North. They are both fully for it, and the Duke is to speak of it and propose it to the King.’ His Majesty, just then, thinking there was something to be grateful for, appointed the 7th of June as a Thanksgiving Day, for the glorious suppression of the late rebellion. Tory parsons tried their best not to be thankful. Sacheverel suddenly found that St. Andrew’s was out of repair, and must be immediately shut up, but his more discreet churchwardens were afraid to support him. They maintained that, in this case, whatever they thought, the congregation at St. Andrew’s must at least look thankful, by duly assembling. [Sidenote: _THANKSGIVING DAY._] This Thanksgiving Day, being a holiday, the streets were made lively by the onslaughts of contending factions. The Whigs wore orange-coloured ribbon cockades, and a bit of laurel in their hats. The Jacobites sported a scrap of rue or thyme, symbols of their sorrow and of their hopes as to what Time might bring round to them. The Jacobite women wore the same emblems, and they were foremost in the fights which invariably took place when the antagonistic mobs met on the highway. The Whig papers report the total defeat of their adversaries. ‘They were thrashed, cut, and wounded to that degree,’ says the facetious ‘Weekly Journal,’ ‘that many of them will have reason to Rue the Time that ever they met the Whigs, on the 7th of June.’ [Sidenote: _SHERLOCK’S SERMON._]