You seem to want this chap out of Canton. 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. " "Lord bless us! you alarm me. Recollect, he's chained to the ground by a great horse-padlock, and is never unloosed except when he comes to that hatch. ‘This is not love, Marthe. ” The man’s face was dark with passion. "But, I own, I think it is like.
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