Page:A Tale of Rosamund Gray and Old Blind Margaret - Lamb (1798, 1st ed).djvu/121

 could not prefs him further. I could not call the dead to life again.

So we drank, and told old stories—and repeated old poetry—and sung old songs—as if nothing had happened. We sat till very late—I forgot, that I had purposed returning to town that evening—to Allan all places were alike—I grew noisy, he grew chearful—Allan's old manners, old enthusiasm, were returning upon him—we laughed, we wept, we mingled our tears, and talked extravagantly.

Allan was my bed-fellow that night—and we lay awake, planning schemes of living together under the same roof, entering upon similar pur-