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He was torn for ever from your arms, before you knew it was possible you ever could have wished it.—These papers must not be seen;—that might be dangerous—if the hand-writing were known. (He gathers up all the scraps of paper.)—I should be a pitiful bungler indeed, if I knew not yet how to tear a son from the heart of his father, were they link'd together with chains of iron.—Courage my boy! the favourite's removed;—that's a giant's step.—But there is another heart, from which I must tear that image; ay, were that heart to break for it.—(He walks with a striding step across the stage.) I have a heavy debt of hatred against Nature; and by my soul! I'll make it good.—Why was that hideous burden of deformity laid upon me alone;—of all my race, on me alone? (Stamps with his foot!) Hell and damnation! on me alone;—as if she had formed me only of the scum, the very refuse of her stuff! She damn'd me from my birth! And here I swear eternal enmity against her—I'll blast her fairest works.—What are to me the ties of kindred! I'll burst those trammels of affection,—bonds of the soul.—I never knew their force:—She denied me the sweet play of the heart, and all its persuasive eloquence.—What must its place supply? Im-