ity, re-enters the capital with Anne of Austria and
Mazarine, D'Artagnan, now captain of mousquetaires, riding on one side
of his carriage, and Porthos, now Baron du Vallon, on the other. Baron
Porthos goes back to his estates, happy and glorious; Aramis and Athos
return to the seclusion whence the stirring times had called them
forth, the latter leaving his son in charge of D'Artagnan, who is to
take the young man with him to the Flemish wars. The restless spirit
of the Gascon abhors the idea of repose.

"Come, D'Artagnan," said Porthos, as he got upon his horse to depart,
"take my advice; throw up your commission, hang up your sword, and
accompany me to Du Vallon. We will grow old together, whilst talking
of our past adventures."

"Not so," replied D'Artagnan. "_Peste!_ the campaign is just opening,
and I mean to make it. I hope to gain something by it."

"And what do you hope to become?"

"_Pardieu!_ who can tell? Marshal of France, perhaps."

"Ah, ah!" said Porthos, looking at D'Artagnan, to whose gasconading he
had never been able quite to accustom himself. And the two friends
parted.

"You will prepare your best apartment for me, Madeleine," said
D'Artagnan to his handsome hostess, as he re-entered his hotel. "I
must keep up appearances, now that I am Captain of Mousquetaires."

THE GRAND GENERAL JUNCTION AND INDEFINITE EXTENSION RAILWAY RHAPSODY.

BY A PROVISIONAL COMMITTEE OF CONTRIBUTORS.

Though the farmer's hope may perish,
While in floods the harvest lies,
Speculation let us cherish,
Let the Railway market rise!

Honest trader, whosoever,
Sick with losses, sad with cares,
Quit your burden now or never,
Cut the shop and deal in shares.

Spendthrift--short of drink and dinners,
Half-pay captain, younger son,
Boldly throw while all are winners,
Laugh henceforth at debt and dun.

Come, ye saints, whose skill in cavilling,
Shock'd at skittles, cards, or dice,
Thinks, except for Sunday travelling,
Railway gaming is no vice.

Hither haste, each black-leg fellow,
Quit the turf or loaded bone;
Like your brother-black Othello,
Own your occupation's gone.

Tribes that live by depredation--
"Bulls" and "Bears," and birds of prey,
See the coming spoliation,
Scent the premiums far away.

"Stags!" your rapid forms revealing,
Show awhile your front so bright,