'Nothing fills a child's mind like a large old mansion; better if un- or partially occupied;peopled with the spirits of deceased members of the county and Justices of the Quorum.Would I were buried in the peopled solitude of one, with my feelings at seven years old '-From Letters of Charles Lamb.To attempt a formal biography of Derrick Vaughan would be out of the question, eventhough he and I have been more or less thrown together since we were both in the nursery.But I have an odd sort of wish to note down roughly just a few of my recollections of him, and to show how his fortunes gradually developed, being perhaps stimulated to make theattempt by certain irritating remarks which one overhears now often enough at clubs or indrawing-rooms, or indeed wherever one goes. "Derrick Vaughan," say these authorities ofthe world of small-talk, with that delightful air of omniscience which invariablycharacterises them, "why, he simply leapt into fame. He is one of the favourites of fortune.Like Byron, he woke one morning and found himself famous."Now this sounds well enough, but it is a long way from the truth, and I-SydneyWharncliffe, of the Inner Temple, Barrister-at-law-desire, while the past few years arefresh in my mind, to write a true version of my friend's caree
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