I happened to be
there when his first 'proofs' arrived. The Major had had an attack
of jaundice, and was in a fiendish humour. We had a miserable time
of it at dinner, for he badgered Derrick almost past bearing, and I
think the poor old fellow minded it more when there was a third
person present. Somehow through all he managed to keep his
extraordinary capacity for reverencing mere age--even this degraded
and detestable old age of the Major's. I often thought that in this
he was like my own ancestor, Hugo Wharncliffe, whose deference and
respectfulness and patience had not descended to me, while
unfortunately the effects of his physical infirmities had. I
sometimes used to reflect bitterly enough on the truth of Herbert
Spencer's teaching as to heredity, so clearly shown in my own case.
In the year 1683, through the abominable cruelty and harshness of
his brother Randolph, this Hugo Wharncliffe, my great-great-great-
great-great grandfather, was immured in Newgate, and his
constitution was thereby so much impaired and enfeebled that, two
hundred years after, my constitution is paying the penalty, and my
whole life is thereby changed and thwarted.
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