trains the point of the filial duties as high
as they can bear, censure the dereliction; he cannot estimate the
struggle. I stood with W----, the last afternoon I ever saw him, under
the eaves of his paternal dwelling. It was in the fine lane leading
from the High-street to the back of ***** college, where W---- kept
his rooms. He seemed thoughtful, and more reconciled. I ventured to
rally him--finding him in a better mood--upon a representation of the
Artist Evangelist, which the old man, whose affairs were beginning to
flourish, had caused to be set up in a splendid sort of frame over his
really handsome shop, either as a token of prosperity, or badge of
gratitude to his saint. W---- looked up at the Luke, and, like Satan,
"knew his mounted sign--and fled." A letter on his father's table
the next morning, announced that he had accepted a commission in a
regiment about to embark for Portugal. He was among the first who
perished before the walls of St. Sebastian.

I do not know how, upon a subject which I began with treating half
seriously, I should have fallen upon a recital so eminently painful;
but this theme of poor relationship is replete with so much matter for
tragic as well as comic associations, that it is difficult to keep
the account distinct without blending. The earliest impressions which
I received on this matter, are certainly not attended with anything
painful, or very humiliating, in the recalling. At my father's table
(no very splendid one) was to be found, every Saturday, the mysterious
figure of an aged gentleman, clothed in neat black, of a sad yet
comely appearance. His deportment was of the essence of gravity; his
words few or none; and I was not to make a noise in his presence. I
had little inclination to have done so--for my cue was to admire in
silence. A particular elbow chair was appropriated to him, which was
in no case to be violated. A peculiar sort of sweet pudding, which
appeared on no other occasion, distinguished the days of his coming.
I used to think him a prodigiously rich man. All I could make out of
him was, that he and my father had been schoolfellows a world ago at
Lincoln, and that he came from the Mint. The Mint I knew to be a place
where all the money was coined--and I thought he was the owner of
all that money. Awful ideas of the Tower twined themselves about his
presence. He seemed above human infirmities and passions. A sort
of melancholy grandeur invested him. From some i