The shock was severe, for though he had
never treated me with kindness, still he was my father, and at his
death I felt myself alone in the world.
I returned home to act as chief mourner at his funeral. It was attended
by many of the sportsmen of the country; for he was an important member
of their fraternity. According to his request his favorite hunter was
led after the hearse. The red-nosed fox-hunter, who had taken a little
too much wine at the house, made a maudlin eulogy of the deceased, and
wished to give the view halloo over the grave; but he was rebuked by
the rest of the company. They all shook me kindly by the hand, said
many consolatory things to me, and invited me to become a member of the
hunt in my father's place.
When I found myself alone in my paternal home, a crowd of gloomy
feelings came thronging upon me. It was a place that always seemed to
sober me, and bring me to reflection. Now, especially, it looked so
deserted and melancholy; the furniture displaced about the room; the
chairs in groups, as their departed occupants had sat, either in
whispering tete-a-tetes, or gossiping clusters; the bottles and
decanters and wine-glasses, half emptied, and scattered about the
tables--all dreary traces of a funeral festival. I entered the little
breakfasting room. There were my father's whip and spurs hanging by the
fire-place, and his favorite pointer lying on the hearth-rug. The poor
animal came fondling about me, and licked my hand, though he had never
before noticed me; and then he looked round the room, and whined, and
wagged his tail slightly, and gazed wistfully in my face.
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