The weary heart has ceased to ache; the burning pulses are still; the troubled spirit has flown to the only rest which is not a deceit.

Power and love, hope and fear, avarice, ambition,--they are quenched at last! Death is the only monastery, the tomb is the only cell." "Your passion is ever for active life," said Gertrude.

"You allow no charm to solitude, and contemplation to you seems torture.

If any great sorrow ever come upon you, you will never retire to seclusion as its balm.

You will plunge into the world, and lose your individual existence in the universal rush of life." "Ah, talk not of sorrow!" said Trevylyan, wildly.