Dare we look back upon the darkened vista, and, in imagination retrace the path we have trod? With how many vain hopes is it shaded! with how many good resolutions, never fulfilled, is it paved! Where are the dreams of ambition in which, twelve years ago, we indulged? Where are the aspirations that fired us—the passions that consumed us then? Has our success in life been commensurate with our own desires—with the anticipations formed of us by others? Or, are we not blighted in heart, as in ambition? Has not the loved one been estranged by doubt, or snatched from us by the cold hand of death? Is not the goal, towards which we pressed, further off than ever—the prospect before us cheerless as the blank behind?—Enough of this. . I will not be sent away. It was a night of storm and terror, which promised each moment to become more stormy and more terrible. He kept at it even on those nights when the monsoon began to break with heavy storms and he had to weight down with stones everything on his table. ’ ‘Sir!’ came from Trodger, and the booted feet clattered off and out of the front door. “Shut up, you little faggot. All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. ” The ants seemed to salute in attention.
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