poor father were alive, HE would care what was to become of us: he
would not have suffered us to begin this long journey without a few
more shillings in our pockets."

At the end of this sentence, William, who had with some effort
suppressed his tears while his brother spoke, now uttered, with a
voice almost inarticulate,--"Don't say any more; don't talk any more
about it. My father used to tell us, that when he was gone we must
take care of ourselves: and so we must. I only wish," continued
he, giving way to his grief, "that I had never done anything to
offend him while he was living."

"That is what I wish too," cried Henry. "If I had always been
dutiful to him while he was alive, I would not shed one tear for him
now that he is gone--but I would thank Heaven that he has escaped
from his creditors."

In conversation such as this, wherein their sorrow for their
deceased parent seemed less for his death than because he had not
been so happy when living as they ought to have made him; and
wherein their own outcast fortune was less the subject of their
grief, than the reflection what their father would have endured
could he have beheld them in their present situation;--in
conversation such as this, they pursued their journey till they
arrived at that metropolis, which has received for centuries past,
from the provincial towns, the bold adventurer of every
denomination; has stamped his character with experience and example;
and, while it has bestowed on some coronets and mitres--on some the
lasting fame of genius--to others has dealt beggary, infamy, and
untimely death.