Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. " Still his brain refused to assimilate the news or to deduce the tremendous importance of it. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Youth finds it pleasant sometimes to be melancholy. “Go on!” “You know—in Paris they coupled my name with some one’s—an Englishman’s.
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