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. Oh, cuss it!” “Eh?” “He said I would. Wood," urged Jack. "Don't stir," replied Jack. She creaked, groaned, and rattled; but that was only her way of yawning when she awoke. Without realizing what she has done, she's made a dreadful mess of it. “Certainly her voice is far more musical. ‘Well?’ she said. "If that sickly brat lives to be a man," continued Jonathan, rising, "I'll hang him upon the same tree as his father.
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