u once kissed in its manly
beauty,--when the bloom of your own youth shall have passed away, and,
in its stead, you see the faded remnants of your queenly prime,--when
round you gather the fair youths and maidens who are living over the
joys and sorrows which once moved your tired heart, and which you then
shall look upon with that sad philosophy which tells you that the day
has come when earthly interests can never sway you more,--will you not
then have a partner who will share the memories of the past, and, heart
to heart, will tread with you the slow decline, and win the prize
outranking all,--eternal peace?

Yes, Madam, Jack has his messmate in the tarry bunk; Dick has his pal in
the hidden haunt; the Major winks to the Colonel in the luxurious club;
and Madame smiles on Monsieur in the brilliant drawing-room. Castor and
Pollux pitched their quoits, Damon and Pythias ran their races, Strephon
and Chloe ogled and blushed, and Darby and Joan tottered hand in hand
along, in olden times; and all over the world, to-day, the never-ending
game of human passion is played and shared by eager, restless, trembling
hearts.

I declare, while I have been chatting aside with you, I have trumped the
Major's ace, and lost the odd trick and the game! What a thunder-cloud
he looks like! Ah, Madam, let us hope that we may all play the cards
which Fortune shall deal to us, so as never to lose the prize we covet!
And when they are at last thrown by, and the game of life is over, may
we have won those riches which neither moth nor rust will corrupt! May
kingly honor and queenly virtue guide us on, and lead us to those courts
above, where they forever reign in sublime power!

A LANDSCAPE PAINTER.

Do you remember how, a dozen years ago, a number of our friends were
startled by the report of the rupture of young Locksley's engagement
with Miss Leary? This event made some noise in its day. Both parties
possessed certain claims to distinction: Locksley in his wealth, which
was believed to be enormous, and the young lady in her beauty, which was
in truth very great. I used to hear that her lover was fond of comparing
her to the Venus of Milo; and, indeed, if you can imagine the mutilated
goddess with her full complement of limbs, dressed out by Madame de
Crinoline, and engaged in small talk beneath the drawing-room
chandelier, you may obtain a vague notion of Miss Josephine Leary.
Locksley, you remember, was rather a short man, dar