The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow. “Promise. She recalled how she had stretched out her arms toward the magic blue horizon. I'll lay my life he's gone. It’s just because all that side of your life hasn’t fairly begun. "And so you've given up all hope of escaping, eh, Jack?" remarked Hogarth. Sheppard. " The Wastrel tried to reach Ruth's lips. 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.
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