her lonely chamber, glowering at the image of the young rival who has
won all the applause,--when she bemoans her waning charms and the
wearisome life which has lost its sparkle, and sees its emptiness and
hollowness,--does she not look wistfully at that little flame which
flickers on her hollowing cheek, from which the stage-blush has been
washed, and think the game a losing one? The Senator lives near by, and
that is Madame's room over the way. Did not Caesar have a candle that he
bought of Brutus? And how many Mesdames have cursed the name of
Mademoiselle!

And don't we, all of us, Mrs. G., take out our French Grammars, and
learn, at some period of our lives, to translate that Gallic phrase?
Don't we all get that old saw down and try its teeth on our tender
flesh? When the old friends drop off, and the dear eyes we have loved
look strange to us,--when the darling of our hearts is ruthlessly torn
away, and we sit in the darkness of the tomb,--when shame for the living
lost bows us to the earth in anguish,--when life has become meaningless,
and nothing remains to vitalize the monotony of existence,--when we look
upon our own past hopes, ambitions, interests, as though they
characterized some other being, long since departed,--when the morning
light and the evening shade, May's sweet flowers and November's yellow
leaves, are only the symbols of Time's weary flight, and awaken neither
cheer nor gloom,--do we not all of us hear, in the silence of our
hearts, the grating of that blade? Statues of Memnon are we all. The
bright morning sun brings melodious music from our hearts; the soft,
perfumed air bears afar the strains of jocund hope, passionate love, and
aspiring faith. But when the shadows fall, the strains lose their
sweetness and beauty; one by one, the rich harmonies change into harsh
dissonance, then cease altogether; and the sun sets on a silent form
which in the morning sent forth seraphic tones.

My dear boy, let us hope that you and I and all those we love so dearly
will always have a bright sun above our earthly horizon to give us
cheer, and to light our way, and to bring sweet songs from our hearts.
And if it should set in the night of suffering and sorrow, let us guide
ourselves by a holier, purer, steadier light than mortal hands can mould
or kindle. So pass me those snuffers, and I will put out the candle, and
we will go to bed. For all this paper of candle-ends I have collected,
Bridget will find our b