Had it not been for him, the finest young
man Lancashire ever bred would have been alive and merry with his noble
father at this moment. I don't wonder Your Reverence weeps and wrings
your hands. I would have died a thousand times to save him; and if ever
I may shew my face in the open day-light again, I'll go to Pembroke and
beg Dr. Lloyd to let me take Fido to Mistress Constantia. Poor Fido! Mr.
Eustace hid him all through the siege, or the garrison would have eat
him. We gave him a morsel out of our own mess, and that was short
commons enough. I fancy I see him walking after Mr. Eustace when he went
to be shot, and then sitting on his body. I warrant they found the lock
of Mrs. Constantia's hair lying on his heart; for he looked at it every
day, and swore he never would part with it. O! that I had died instead
of him; there is nobody to grieve for Ralph Jobson!"
Thus imitating the artifice, while unable to catch the spirit of the
Grecian painter, I describe sorrow as personified in a faithful
attendant, and leave the reader's imagination to picture the frantic
father and the fainting mistress of Eustace--affliction wearing the form
of a ministering angel in Isabel, and that of a mourning patriarch in
Dr.
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