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And, as I gazed the other day at this picture hanging in the shabby suburban parlour, I could only contrast him with his anaemic descendants who possessed the likeness.Between the children of poor Mary Kinley, Cousin Robert's daughter, and the hardy stock of the old country there is a gap indeed! It was his son who built on the Second Bank the wide, corniced mansion in which to house comfortably his eight children.Dreams, to him, were matters for suspicion and distrust.I sometimes ask myself, as I gaze upon his portrait now, the duplicate of the one painted for the Bar Association, whether he ever could have felt the secret, hot thrills I knew and did not identify with religion.I loved him, but he made of righteousness a stern and terrible thing implying not joy, but punishment, the, suppression rather than the expansion of aspirations.
One of my earliest recollections is of the silver breakfast service and egg-cups which my great-grandfather brought with him from Sheffield to Philadelphia shortly after the Revolution. Hugh Moreton Paret, after whom I was named, was the best known physician of the city in the decorous, Second Bank days. Behind the store were moored the barges that floated down on the swift current to the Ohio, carrying goods to even remoter settlements in the western wilderness.Associated with this torture is a peculiar Sunday smell and the faint rustling of silk dresses. Pound, who made interminable statements to the Lord.