Youthful spirits have a natural buoyancy that floats them easily over the first wave of trouble, however severe. It is the long succession of wearing disappointments and corroding¹ griefs, of anxious days and restless nights, of abortive² aims and hopes deferred³, which finally overcomes their lightsomeness, and sinks them fathoms⁴ deep under a smooth-flowing surface of gentle cheerfulness, a teasing ebb⁵ and flow of worriment, or an icy plane of despair.

But of this grievous iteration, and its depressing effect, Bergan, as yet, had no experience. His heart involuntarily grew lighter⁶ as he went down the long avenue. The old Hall, with its dust-clogged and tradition-darkened atmosphere, its dusky delights and duskier temptations, seemed to fade back again into the unsubstantiality of his childhood's visions. His sojourn⁷ there was, at best, but a brief, casual episode in an otherwise coherent life. He now recurred⁸ to the main argument. Not that he could foresee precisely⁹ how it was to be wrought¹⁰ out. But the very uncertainty¹¹ before him was not without its own special and potent¹² charm. It gave such unlimited¹³ scope to hope and imagination; there was in it so much room for sturdy endeavor and noble achievement, for an iron age of progress, and a golden era of fame!

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