’ ‘Back?’ Melusine put a hand to her aching temple. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. Her father held some printed document in his hand, and appeared not to observe her entry. 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. "Like master like man," observed Jack as he rolled the inanimate body to the side of the road. ‘Wait! At least tell me where I can find you. "Quite captivated, Ma'am," added Mr. 'Whoso giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord;' that's my comfort. We have so much to be thankful for.
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