Francis Ardry and myself dined together, and after dinner partook of a bottle of the best port which the inn afforded.  After a few glasses, we had a great deal of conversation; I again brought the subject of marriage and love, divine love, upon the carpet, but Francis almost immediately begged me to drop it; and on my having the delicacy to comply, he reverted to dog-fighting, on which he talked well and learnedly; amongst other things, he said it was a princely sport of great antiquity, and quoted from Quintus Curtius to prove that the princes of India must have been of the fancy, they having, according to that author, treated Alexander to a fight between certain dogs and a lion.  Becoming, notwithstanding my friend’s eloquence and learning, somewhat tired of the subject, I began to talk about Alexander.  Francis Ardry said he was one of the two great men whom the world has produced, the other being Napoleon; I replied that I believed Tamerlane was a greater man than either; but Francis Ardry knew nothing of Tamerlane, save what he had gathered from the play of Timour the Tartar.  “No,” said he, “Alexander and Napoleon are the great men of the world, their names are known everywhere.  Alexander has been dead upwards of two thousand years, but the very English bumpkins sometimes christen their boys by the name of Alexander—­can there be a greater evidence of his greatness?  As for Napoleon, there are some parts of India in which his bust is worshipped.”  Wishing to make up a triumvirate, I mentioned the name of Wellington, to which Francis Ardry merely said, “bah!” and resumed the subject of dog-fighting.

Francis Ardry remained at the inn during that day and the next, and then departed to the dog and lion fight; I never saw him afterwards, and merely heard of him once after a lapse of some years, and what I then heard was not exactly what I could have wished to hear.  He did not make much of the advantages which he possessed, a pity, for how great were those advantages—­person, intellect, eloquence, connection, riches! yet, with all these advantages, one thing highly needful seems to have been wanting in Francis.  A desire, a craving, to perform something great and good.  Oh! what a vast deal may be done with intellect, courage, riches, accompanied by the desire of ,doing something great and good!  Why, a person may carry the blessings of civilization and religion to barbarous, yet at the same time beautiful and romantic lands; and what a triumph there is for him who does so! what a crown of glory! of far greater value than those surrounding the brows of your mere conquerors.  Yet who has done so in these times?  Not many; not three, not two, something seems to have been always wanting; there is, however, one instance, in which the various requisites have been united, and the crown, the most desirable in the world—­at least which I consider to be the most desirable—­achieved, and only one, that of Brooke of Borneo.