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. But through the fault of that pig, who dared to call himself Valade and masquerade in society under her birthright. ‘En tout cas, it is not up at all, but down. . Better to remain silent. But I'll tell e'e what we might do——" The young man heard no more. Wood, then, beheld two persons, one of whom he recognised as Rowland, spring on board the chase. I might utter a million, and still I doubt if I could make you understand.
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