Letter II

_The Answer_

_Naples_

It is not necessary for me to assure my St. Julian, that I really felt
those sentiments of filial sorrow which he ascribes to me. Never did any
son sustain the loss of so indulgent a father. I have nothing by which
to remember him, but acts of goodness and favour; not one hour of
peevishness, not one instance of severity. Over all my youthful follies
he cast the veil of kindness. All my imaginary wants received a prompt
supply. Every promise of spirit and sensibility I was supposed to
discover, was cherished with an anxious and unremitting care.

But such as he was to me, he was, in a less degree, to all his
domestics, and all his dependents. You can scarcely imagine what a
moving picture my palace--and must I call it mine? presented, upon my
first arrival. The old steward, and the grey-headed lacqueys endeavoured
to assume a look of complacency, but their recent grief appeared through
their unpractised hypocrisy. "Health to our young master! Long life,"
cried they, with a broken and tremulous accent, "to the marquis of
Pescara!" You will readily believe, that I made haste to free them from
their restraint, and to assure them that the more they lamented my ever
honoured father, the more they would endear themselves to me. Their
looks thanked me, they clasped their hands with delight, and were
silent.