,, mingled, _i.e._, his with hers 100 „ voice lost in 108 Eye met with a tear 108 Tear stood in eye 127 Tears, face bathed with 130 Dropped one tear, no more 131 Tears, press-gang could scarce keep from 136 Big drops wetted gray beard 137 Tears, shower of 138 ,, scarce forced—blubbered like a boy 139 Moistened eye 141 Tears choked utterance 144 I have wept many a time 144 Girl wept, brother sobbed 145 Harley kissed off her tears as they flowed, and wept between 145 every kiss Tears flowing down cheeks 148 ,, gushed afresh 148 Beamy moisture 154 A tear dropped 165 Tear in her eye, the sick man kissed it off in its bud, 176 smiling through the dimness of his own Hand wet by tear just fallen 185 Tears flowing without control 187 Cheek wiped (at the end of the last chapter) 189 AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION MY dog had made a point on a piece of fallow-ground, and led the curate and me two or three hundred yards over that and some stubble adjoining, in a breathless state of expectation, on a burning first of September. It was a false point, and our labour was vain: yet, to do Rover justice (for he’s an excellent dog, though I have lost his pedigree), the fault was none of his, the birds were gone: the curate showed me the spot where they had lain basking, at the root of an old hedge. I stopped and cried Hem! The curate is fatter than I; he wiped the sweat from his brow. There is no state where one is apter to pause and look round one, than after such a disappointment. It is even so in life. When we have been hurrying on, impelled by some warm wish or other, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left—we find of a sudden that all our gay hopes are flown; and the only slender consolation that some friend can give us, is to point where they were once to be found. And lo! if we are not of that combustible race, who will rather beat their heads in spite, than wipe their brows with the curate, we look round and say, with the nauseated listlessness of the king of Israel, “All is vanity and vexation of spirit.”