"Who, looking backward from his manhood's prime,
Sees not the spectre of his misspent time;
And through the shade
Of funeral cypress, planted thick behind,
Hears no reproachful whisper on the wind
From the loved dead!"
The first year of Walter's college life drew to a close, and Rosalind was full of joyous anticipations, laying every plan with reference to his return, and neglecting no means her imagination could suggest to enhance the pleasure of his visit with agreeable surprises. Her mother and Ernest were equally joyful, but her enthusiasm cast their's into the shade. If they started a new idea, she was sure to add something to it which would increase the interest of the occasion. Ernest was very eager to add one to the list of her surprises, in which she could have no share being as much of a surprise to her as to Walter, if he could do it without at the same time giving her pain.
This was the presentation of her picture which had long been finished, and carefully veiled from all eyes except his own. She was so sensitive to the most indirect allusion to that unhappy occurrence between them, that he had not even ventured to give her any pond lilies.
After considerable deliberation, he decided that
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