Jack was not half your age when he died. Forgive me if a certain warmth creeps into my words! The Park is green and gray to-day, but I am glowing pink and gold. Gazing into each other's eyes with new-found rapture, neither observed the sudden appearance in the doorway of an elderly woman in travel-stained linen. 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 caught her breath, and her eyes were lit with a sudden terror. Sorrows and danger and disappointment she had known. Would I could purchase his apathy as easily as I can procure his assistance. “I do love you.
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