Pisistratus.—"I have again seen my cousin. I cannot make the way I wished. My dear father, you must see him."
Mr. Caxton.—"I? Yes, assuredly, if I can be of any service. But will he listen to me?"
Pisistratus.—"I think so. A young man will often respect in his elder what he will resent as a presumption in his contemporary."
Mr. Caxton.—"It may be so. [Then more thoughtfully] But you describe this strange boy's mind as a wreck! In what part of the mouldering timbers can I fix the grappling-hook? Here it seems that most of the supports on which we can best rely, when we would save another, fail us,—religion, honor, the associations of childhood, the bonds of home, filial obedience, even the intelligence of self-interest, in the philosophical sense of the word. And I, too,—a mere bookman! My dear son, I despair!"
Pisistratus.—"No, you do not despair; no, you must succeed,—for if you do not, what is to become of Uncle Roland? Do you not see his heart is fast breaking?"
Mr. Caxton.—"Get me my hat. I will go; I will save this Ishmael,—I will not leave him till he is saved!"
Pisistratus. (some minutes after, as they are walking towards Vivian's lodging).—"You ask me what support you are to cling to: a strong and a good one, sir."
Mr. Caxton. "Ah! what is that?"
Pisistratus.—"Affection! There is a nature capable of strong affection at the core of this wild heart. He could love his mother,—tears gush to his eyes at her name; he would have starved rather than part with the memorial of that love. It was his belief in his father's indifference or dislike that hardened and imbruted him; it is only when he hears how that father loved him that I now melt his pride and curb his passions. You have affection to deal with! Do you despair now?
"My father turned on me those eyes so inexpressibly benign and mild, and replied softly, 'No!'