d that was
flung to me with insolent patronage by the low hucksters who employed
me. I can put my finger upon two or three magazine articles written at
this period, and paid for with a few wretched shillings, which papers as
I read them awaken in me the keenest pangs of bitter remembrance.
[Mr. George Warrington, of the Upper Temple, says he remembers a book,
containing his grandfather's book-plate, in which were pasted various
extracts from reviews and newspapers in an old type, and lettered
outside Les Chains de l'Esclavage. These were no doubt the contributions
above mentioned; but the volume has not been found, either in the
town-house or in the library at Warrington Manor. The Editor, by
the way, is not answerable for a certain inconsistency, which may be
remarked in the narrative. The writer says earlier, that he speaks
without bitterness of past times, and presently falls into a fury with
them. The same manner of forgiving our enemies is not uncommon in the
present century.] I recall the doubts and fears which agitated me,
see the dear wife nursing her infant and looking up into my face with
hypocritical smiles that vainly try to mask her alarm: the struggles of
pride are fought over again: the wounds under which I smarted re-open.
There are some acts of injustice committed against me which I don't know
how to forgive; and which, whenever I think of them, awaken in me the
same feelings of revolt and indignation. The gloom and darkness gather
over me--till they are relieved by a reminiscence of that love and
tenderness which through all gloom and darkness have been my light and
consolation.

CHAPTER LXXXII. Miles's Moidore

Little Miles made his appearance in this world within a few days of the
gracious Prince who commands his regiment. Illuminations and cannonading
saluted the Royal George's birth, multitudes were admitted to see him
as he lay behind a gilt railing at the Palace with noble nurses watching
over him. Few nurses guarded the cradle of our little Prince; no
courtiers, no faithful retainers saluted it, except our trusty Gumbo
and kind Molly, who to be sure loved and admired the little heir of my
poverty as loyally as our hearts could desire. Why was our boy not named
George like the other paragon just mentioned, and like his father? I
gave him the name of a little scapegrace of my family, a name which
many generations of Warringtons had borne likewise; but my poor little
Miles's love and kind