“And me. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. 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. ‘You do not like it?’ ‘That is hardly the point. F. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. We can take our things up with us and stay at the Continental or the Ritz. Ed. Everybody looked askance at everybody else. F. “The smallest will do for me quite well. “I am dying to renew my acquaintance with London, Mrs.
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