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“I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. "Mother—dear mother!" said Jack, bursting into tears. “Alone, dear?” “Yes, aunt. Hours were spent in preparation for the event. Feel for the lock, and prize it open,—you don't need to be told how. \" She replied. "I hear you plotting with your wicked associates," cried Mrs. In fact, it had been anciently the right hand postern under the gate leading towards the city. 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. “Rather darker than most of them. "I am very happy to be of service to you.
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