the hours successively till she comes to the Twelve that shall sound
"Wife" in her ears on the morrow, moving her lips the while, and looking
round archly solemn when she has done; and that sight so catches at Mrs.
Berry's heart that, not guessing Time to be the poor child's enemy, she
endangers her candle by folding Lucy warmly in her arms, whimpering;
"Bless you for a darling! you innocent lamb! You shall be happy! You
shall!"

Old Time gazes grimly ahead.




CHAPTER XXIX

Although it blew hard when Caesar crossed the Rubicon, the passage of
that river is commonly calm; calm as Acheron. So long as he gets his
fare, the ferryman does not need to be told whom he carries: he pulls
with a will, and heroes may be over in half-an-hour. Only when they
stand on the opposite bank, do they see what a leap they have taken. The
shores they have relinquished shrink to an infinite remoteness. There
they have dreamed: here they must act. There lie youth and irresolution:
here manhood and purpose. They are veritably in another land: a moral
Acheron divides their life. Their memories scarce seem their own! The
Philosophical Geography (about to be published) observes that each man
has, one time or other, a little Rubicon--a clear or a foul water to
cross. It is asked him: "Wilt thou wed this Fate, and give up all behind
thee?" And "I will," firmly pronounced, speeds him over. The above-
named manuscript authority informs us, that by far the greater number of
caresses rolled by this heroic flood to its sister stream below, are