had entrusted to me, as an earnest of what was to come, was all that remained of a life of work, a fortune of expenditure.
The shadow of a starless night was thrown
Over the world in which I moved alone"—
I could without a sigh "let the dead past bury its dead," but the future which promised so much for me and mine—how could I bear to give it up?
The attending physician, who gathered that I had met with some sudden business reverse, said soothingly: "Remember this line of Shakespeare:
and this which Beaumont and Fletcher borrowed from Seneca:
This trouble, great though it be, may be like the heating in molten lead and quenching in cold brine which gives to steel its greatest hardness and most exquisite temper. Everything is for the best."
With this I could not agree. I am not sure that I agree with it yet. I replied, peevishly: "It is very easy for you to console me; to patch