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A PROMENADE IN BATH.
I found my father at his hotel, sitting with his friend Jorian DeWitt, whom I had met once before, and thought clever.

He was an ex-captain of dragoons, a martyr to gout, and addicted to Burgundy, which necessitated his resorting to the waters, causing him, as he said, between his appetites and the penance he paid for them, to lead the life of a pendulum.

My father was in a tempered gay mood, examining a couple of the county newspapers.

One abused him virulently; he was supported by the other.