myself; I had forgotten all my good intentions, and the firm vows of amendment with which I had bound myself, and had yielded to the first temptation which came in my way.
In vain did I call up every black and threatening cloud of domestic sorrow, which was to meet me on my return home—the dreadful vacuum occasioned by my mother's death—the grief of my father—my brother and sisters in deep mourning, and the couch on which I had left the best of parents, when I turned away my thoughtless head from her in the anguish of her grief. I renewed my promises of amendment, and felt some secret consolation in doing so.
When I arrived at my father's door, the servant who let me in, greeted me with a loud and hearty welcome. I ran into the drawing-room, where I found that my brothers and sisters had a party of children to spend the evening with them. 'They were dancing to the music of a piano, played on by my aunt, while my father sat in his arm chair, in high good humour.
