The poor boy's letter did not say much. He had been too proud to acknowledge the tenderness which his heart felt. He only said, that on the eve of a great battle, he wished to bid his father farewell, and solemnly to implore his good offices for the wife--it might be for the child--whom he left behind him. He owned with contrition that his irregularities and his extravagance had already wasted a large part of his mother's little fortune. He thanked his father for his former generous conduct; and he promised him that if he fell on the field or survived it, he would act in a manner worthy of the name of George Osborne.
His English habit, pride, awkwardness perhaps, had prevented him from saying more. His father could not see the kiss George had placed on the superscription of his letter. Mr. Osborne dropped it with the bitterest, deadliest pang of balked affection and revenge. His son was still beloved and unforgiven.

The poor boy's letter did not say much. He had been too proud to acknowledge the tenderness he felt. He only said, that on the eve of a great battle, he wished to bid his father farewell, and solemnly to implore his good offices for the wife - and perhaps the child - whom he left behind. He confessed that his extravagance had already wasted a large part of his mother's little fortune. He thanked his father for his former generous conduct; and he promised him that whether he fell on the field or survived it, he would act in a manner worthy of the name of George Osborne.
His English habit, pride, awkwardness perhaps, had prevented him from saying more. His father could not see the kiss George had placed on the address of his letter. Mr. Osborne dropped it with the bitterest pang of balked affection and revenge. His son was still beloved and unforgiven.
