CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. lxxxiii 
kind: it is a disorder of terrible aspect. It is a 
cancer, so virulent, so fetid, and so deeply rooted 
withal, that neither Dector Whig, nor Doctor Tory, 
nor even the scientific hand of Mr. Surgeon Radi- 
cal, can give any permanent relief to the suffering 
patient. Alas, poor Britannia! it grieves my heart 
to see so fine a personage reduced to such a state. 
Thank Heaven! we Catholics have had no hand in 
thy misfortunes. They have come from another 
quarter, where thy real enemies have had all their 
own way, and have played the game so sadly to thy 
cost. 
Here I terminate these Memoirs; and I put 
away the pen, not to be used again, except in 
self-defence. Thus a musician of old (tired, no 
doubt, with scraping) hung his fiddle on the wall, 
and said, — 
‘¢ Barbiton, hic paries habebit.”’ 
CHARLES WATERTON. 
Walton Hail, December 30. 1837. 
