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MANNING,—I find it very difficult to answer your letter. 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. If they entered a shop, he paused by the doorway, as if waiting for the journey to be resumed. I guess. Martha had grumbled at being obliged to report the matter to Mother Josephine, who had decreed that Melusine must confess to Father Saint-Simon. That old world that had shoved up that silly old hotel, and all the rest of it. Startled by the cry, as may be supposed, the attention of the whole congregation was drawn towards the quarter whence it proceeded.
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