,
And add, as a compliment justly your due,
There is not a girl in these feminine ranks
Who could, if she would, hold a candle to you."

Verily "darkness brings the stars to view." On this occasion there was
no little "sparking," and though the flames of the gas lamps gave no
light, love's flame burned brighter than ever.

Saratoga in Winter.

Saratoga is not a "Country where the leaves never fall, and the
eternal day is summer-time." As the gorgeous autumnal sunsets of
October crown the golden-capped, or no longer verdant forests, the
summer beauties prepare to return to their winter homes. The falling
leaves in this vicinity are wondrously beautiful, and the cool sunsets
will richly reward those who tarry to behold them; but "the season" is
over, and the little town becomes almost a deserted village.

"Brightly, sweet Summer, brightly,
Thine hours have floated by."

A shade of melancholy cannot but possess those who remain after the
last polka is polked, the last light in the last ball-room is
extinguished, and the summer ended. At length the railway engine
whistles at long intervals; the mail-bags lose their plethora; the
parish preachers, shorn of occasional help, knuckle to new sermons;
the servants disperse; the head waiter retires to private life, and
the dipper-boy disappears in the shades of the pine forests; the
Indians pack up their duds, and, like the Arab, silently steal away;
while the landlords retire within their sanctums to count over their
hard-earned dollars.

After a time the village seems to become accustomed to the "new
departure," and local politics, Tammany rings and frauds, and
committees of forty agitate the public breast, until Spring returns
and Saratoga blossoms again with new beauty.

Romance.

Although Saratoga is preeminently a fashionable resort, and the city
of vanity fair, it is nevertheless Cupid's summer-home; and lovers
here acknowledge the first throbbings of that passion of bright hopes,
and too many sad realities--love. The complaint is always heard that
"fish don't bite this season;" but autumn comes, the butterflies
return home, and then it is found that a goodly number have been
_caught_. Those not matrimonially inclined should know that a sojourn
at a Spa is attended with considerable danger.

Saratoga Society.

The poet says of Saratoga life:

"Saratoga society,
What endless variety!
What pinks of