eely with him.
On these especial occasions he had a curious habit of wheeling round in
front of us a large mirror which constituted one of his studio
"properties," and into this, whilst talking to me, he would intently
gaze at his own reflected image, and mine, laying his cheek beside mine
so as to bring both our faces to the same level, and directing me also
to look into the mirror. Sometimes this curious inspection terminated
satisfactorily; in which case, after perhaps an hour's chat on his knee,
I was tenderly placed in the easy-chair, in such a position that my
father could see me without his work being materially interfered with;
our conversation was maintained with unflagging spirit on both sides;
and the day was brought to a happy close by our dining together, and
perhaps going to the theatre or a concert afterwards. There were
occasions, however, when this pleasant state of affairs did not obtain--
when the ordeal of the mirror did not terminate so satisfactorily. It
occasionally happened that, whilst gazing at my father's reflected
features, I observed a stern and sombre expression settling like a heavy
thunder-cloud upon them; and this always sufficed to speedily reduce me
to silence, however garrulous I might before have been. The paternal
gaze would gradually grow more intense and searching; the thunder-cloud
would lower more threateningly; and unintelligible mutterings would
escape from between the fiercely clenched firm white teeth. And,
finally, I would either be placed--as in the last-mentioned instance--
where my father could look at me whilst at work--and where he _did_
frequently look at me with appalling sternness--or I was at once
dismissed with a short and sharp "Run away, boy; I am busy."

Looking back upon the first eight years of my existence, and
contemplating them by the light of my now matured knowledge, I am
inclined to regard them as quite an unique experience of child-life; at
all events I would fain hope that but few children have suffered so
keenly as I have from the lack of paternal love. And yet I cannot say
that I was absolutely unhappy, except upon and for a day or two after
those chilling dismissals from my father's presence to which I have
briefly referred; the _suffering_, although it existed, had by long
usage become a thing to which I had grown accustomed, and it consisted
chiefly in a yearning after those endearments and evidences of affection
which I instinctively felt