O'Brien left us early the next morning, and, at breakfast time, a letter was handed to my father. It was from my uncle, coldly communicating to him that Lord Privilege had died the night before very suddenly, and informing him that the burial would take place on that day week, and that the will would be opened immediately after the funeral. My father handed the letter over to me without saying a word, and sipped his tea with his tea-spoon. I cannot say that I felt very much on the occasion; but I did feel, because he had been kind to me at one time: as for my father's feelings, I could not--or rather I should say, I did not wish to analyse them. As soon as he had finished his cup of tea, he left the breakfast-table, and went into his study. I then communicated the intelligence to my sister Ellen. "My God!" said she, after a pause, putting her hand up to her eyes, "what a strange, unnatural state of society must we have arrived at when my father can thus receive the intelligence of a parent's death. Is it not dreadful?" "It is, my dearest girl," replied I; "but every feeling has been sacrificed to worldly considerations and an empty name. The younger sons have been neglected, if not deserted. Virtue, talent, everything set at naught--intrinsic value despised--and the only claim to consideration admitted, that of being the heir entail. When all the ties of nature are cast loose by the parents, can you be surprised if the children are no longer bound by them? Most truly do you observe, that it is a detestable state of society." "I did not say detestable, brother; I said strange and unnatural." "Had you said what I said, Ellen, you would not have been wrong. I would not, for the title and wealth which it brings, be the heartless, isolated, I may say neglected, being that my grandfather was: were it offered now, I would not barter for it Ellen's love." Ellen threw herself in my arms; we then walked into the garden, where we had a long conversation relative to our future wishes, hopes and, prospects. CHAPTER FORTY ONE. POMPOUS OBSEQUIES--THE READING OF THE WILL, NOT EXACTLY AFTER WILKIE--I AM LEFT A LEGACY--WHAT BECOMES OF IT--MY FATHER, VERY WARM, WRITES A SERMON TO COOL HIMSELF--I JOIN O'BRIEN'S BRIG, AND FALL IN WITH SWINBURNE.