Sepulchre's church. The youth with the hair brushed back and the spectacled Scotchman joined in the fray for and against the women’s vote. “But, dear, think! He is your father. ’ ‘I’m that sorry, miss,’ Kimble said glumly. 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. She made an abrupt personal appeal. " "Is she alive?" repeated the widow. My late husband, I mean. You may enjoy your pride, your arrogance—in a coffin. Do so; and I am yours as heretofore. ” She laid her fingers for a moment upon his arm. All her protests seemed stifled before she could find words to utter them. Take it," he cried, lifting the babe from the bottom of the boat, and flinging it towards its unfortunate father.
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