One solace was left to him, brandy.

Even when he had causes to try and councils to attend, he had seldom gone to bed sober.

Now, when he had nothing to occupy his mind save terrible recollections and terrible forebodings, he abandoned himself without reserve to his favourite vice.

Many believed him to be bent on shortening his life by excess.

He thought it better, they said, to go off in a drunken fit than to be hacked by Ketch, or torn limb from limb by the populace.
Once he was roused from a state of abject despondency by an agreeable sensation, speedily followed by a mortifying disappointment.