He was very skilful at the pencil, and drew this portrait a short time before his dissolution, presented it to me, and charged me to preserve it in remembrance of him.
My mother loved the youth because he was amiable and unfortunate, and chiefly because she fancied a very powerful resemblance between his countenance and mine.

I was too young to build affection on any rational foundation.

I loved him, for whatever reason, with an ardour unusual at my age, and which this portrait had contributed to prolong and to cherish.
In thus finally leaving my home, I was careful not to leave this picture behind.

I wrapped it in paper in which a few elegiac stanzas were inscribed in my own hand, and with my utmost elegance of penmanship.

I then placed it in a leathern case, which, for greater security, was deposited in the centre of my bundle.