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earnest, diligent, and unwearied,--
Abra was ready ere we called her name,
And though we called another, Abra came.[2]
It was my task each day to visit the various families assembled in our
town, and when the weather permitted, I was glad to prolong my ride, and to
muse in solitude over every changeful appearance of our destiny,
endeavouring to gather lessons for the future from the experience of the
past. The impatience with which, while in society, the ills that afflicted
my species inspired me, were softened by loneliness, when individual
suffering was merged in the general calamity, strange to say, less
afflicting to contemplate. Thus often, pushing my way with difficulty
through the narrow snow-blocked town, I crossed the bridge and passed
through Eton. No youthful congregation of gallant-hearted boys thronged the
portal of the college; sad silence pervaded the busy school-room and noisy
playground. I extended my ride towards Salt Hill, on every side impeded by
the snow. Were those the fertile fields I loved--was that the interchange
of gentle upland and cultivated dale, once covered with waving corn,
diversified by stately trees, watered by the meandering Thames? One sheet
of white covered it, while bitter recollection told me that cold as the
winter-clothed earth, were the hearts of the inhabitants. I met troops of
horses, herds of cattle, flocks of sheep, wandering at will; here throwing
down a hay-rick, and nestling from cold in its heart, which afforded them
shelter and food--there having taken possession of a vacant cottage. Once
on a frosty day, pushed on by restless unsatisfying reflections, I sought a
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