"Ah, Mr Lorton," said Lady Dasher, "I'm afraid it will _never_ come right again. You are too sanguine, like all young people." "Oh, `never' is a long day," I said; "we should all be hopeful and merry, I think, at least on this one day in the year." "I could never be merry again, Mr Lorton," she said, with a prodigious sigh, which seemed to come from the depths of her heart, "since poor dear papa died;" and she then passed on mournfully homewards, with Bessie and Seraphine in her wake. Their cheerful faces, as they nodded back and smiled at Horner and myself, contrasted strongly with their mother's lugubrious visage. I wonder if anybody ever saw her laugh? I've got my doubts about it. Then came out Miss Pimpernell, her kind old face beaming with smiles as she bowed here and there, and gave a cordial greeting to us young fellows, who still stood around the church porch. She did not forget me, you may be certain. "God bless you, Frank, my boy!" she said, in her affectionate, purring way; dismissing me home with a light heart to eat the traditionary roast turkey and plum-pudding, at peace with all mankind, and in love with all womankind for her sake. What a happy, happy day it had been! That night I passed and repassed Min's house a dozen times at least, only that I might see her shadow on the blinds, weaving luxurious castles in Spain the while. I would be a great general, a distinguished orator, a famous statesman, a celebrated author! I would do some grand, heroic action. I desired to be "somebody," something, only great and glorious! And yet, as One above is my judge, I had not one selfish craving, not a single purely-personal thought in connection with these mad wishes. It was but for _her_ sake that I longed for honour and fame and advancement. Only for her, only for her! CHAPTER SIX. "ECSTASY!" "...From thy rose-red lips my name Floweth; and then, as in a swoon, With dinning sound my ears are rife, My tremulous tongue faltereth, I lose my colour, I lose my breath, I drink the cup of a costly death, Brimm'd with delirious draughts of warmest life!" Some few days after Christmas, little Miss Pimpernell gave a small evening party for the especial delectation of those who had so meritoriously assisted in the decoration of the church. Of course, it was not at all like the "barty" the celebrated Hans Breitman "giv'd" to his friends for the imbibition of "lager beer" ad libitum; but still, one may feel inclined to exclaim, in the exquisite broken words of that worthy, "Where am dat barty now?" For, time has worked its usual changes; and all of us have long since been divided, separated, scattered, and dispersed to the four winds of heaven, so to speak, to the severance of old ties, and all kindred associations.