n, as
they are called--the trading part of the latter especially--is carried
to an excess that would appear harsh and incredible. The temperament
of W----'s father was diametrically the reverse of his own. Old W----
was a little, busy, cringing tradesman, who, with his son upon his
arm, would stand bowing and scraping, cap in hand, to anything that
wore the semblance of a gown--insensible to the winks and opener
remonstrances of the young man, to whose chamber-fellow, or equal in
standing, perhaps, he was thus obsequiously and gratuitously ducking.
Such a state of things could not last. W---- must change the air of
Oxford or be suffocated. He chose the former; and let the sturdy
moralist, who strains 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 h