Look Back. Look Back At Me." Richard

I Do Try To Say, God’s Will Be Done, Sir,” Said The Squire, Looking Up At Mr. Gibson For The First Time, And Speaking With More Life In His Voice; “but It’s Harder To Be Resigned Than Happy People Think.

But Margaret Was At An Age When Any Apprehension, Not Absolutely Based On A Knowledge Of Facts, Is Easily Banished For A Time By A Bright Sunny Day, Or Some Happy Outward Circumstance. And When The Brilliant Fourteen Fine Days Of October Came On, Her Cares Were All Blown Away As Lightly As Thistledown, And She Thought Of Nothing But The Glories Of The Forest.

Anticipation Was The Soul Of Enjoyment.

But Margaret Went Less Abroad, Among Machinery And Men; Saw Less Of Power In Its Public Effect, And, As It Happened, She Was Thrown With One Or Two Of Those Who, In All Measures Affecting Masses Of People, Must Be Acute Sufferers For The Good Of Many. The Question Always Is, Has Everything Been Done To Make The Sufferings Of These Exceptions As Small As Possible?

We Do Not Look For Reason For Logic In The Passionate Entreaties Of Those Who Are Sick Unto Death; We Are Stung With The Recollection Of A Thousand Slighted Opportunities Of Fulfilling The Wishes Of Those Who Will Soon Pass Away From Among Us: And Do They Ask Us For The Future Happiness Of Our Lives, We Lay It At Their Feet, And Will It Away From Us.