I never shall know here.
Webster, “Duchess of Malfy.”
The dead! the much-loved dead!
Who doth not yearn to know
The secret of their dwelling place,
And to what land they go?
What heart but asks, with ceaseless tone,
For some sure knowledge of its own.
Mary E. Lee.
The trapper had remained nearly motionless for an hour. His eyes alone had occasionally opened and shut. Suddenly, while musing on the remarkable position in which he was placed Middleton felt the hand which he held grasp his own with incredible power, and the old man, supported on either side by his friends, rose upright to his feet. For a moment he looked around him as if to invite all in presence to listen (the lingering remnant of human frailty), and then, with a fine military elevation of the head, and with a voice that might be heard in every part of that numerous assembly, he pronounced the word “Here.”