The Living Age ...

To the pleasure-loving inhabitants of Paris,ges for which the French are famous, or gayly St. Cloud offers one of those delightful places tripping on the greensward to the enlivening of resort which, in the neighborhood of a great sound of some popular air, a sense of pleasure city, seems to transport the beholder hundreds and joy animates the whole being, and, pleasing of miles from the capital, and by rendering cheap and pleased, diffuses itself around in all those and innocent pleasures easy of access, does more little graces and amenities which have made to ameliorate the condition of the lower orders French politeness proverbial throughout the than can well be imagined. From the noise and world. dust of manufactories, from the glare and oppressive atmosphere of the crowded work-room; Gayly sounds the castanet, and, also, but too often, from the deficiences and

Beating time to bounding feet,

When, after daylight's golden set, discomforts of an ill-regulated house — to the

Maid and youths by moonlight meet. toiling artisan and ever-bending seamstress, how Oh, then, how sweet to move enchanting the transition to the shades and ver- Through all that maze of mirth, dure of St. Cloud, whose beautiful Lauterne,

Led by light from eyes we love

Beyond all eyes on earth. modelled from the tower of Demosthenes at Athens, finely placed on a lofty eminence, com

Then, the joyous banquet spread mands a noble prospect of the surrounding On the cool and fragrant ground, country; here, seated beneath the magnificent With heaven's bright sparklers overhead, old trees that wave over them with a thousand

And still brighter sparkling round.

Oh, then, how sweet to say gentle influences, the smiling landscape at their

Into some loved one's car, feet, whose shining river, spanned by its superb Thoughts reserved through many a day bridges, reflects the palaces on its banks, and

To be thus whisper'd here. the gayly-dressed groups whose many-colored

When the dance and feast are done, garments are seen amongst the groves, the spark- Arm in arm as bome we stray, ling fountains, and shadowy walks in all direc- How sweet to see the dawning sun tions, life insensibly assumes a more cheering as

O'er her cheek's warm blushes play!

Then, too, the farewell kisspect: its pains and penalties are either forgotten

The words, whose parting tone or borne more easily; and indulging in the harm

Lingers still in dreams of bliss, less luxury of some of those fantastic bevera-! That haunt young hearts alone.

" A lovely day

Of her slumbers deep in the hushed noontide,
In the lap of May

Laid in the shadows cool and wide,
Sat singing of Summer; not far away; That far in the heart of the forest hide :-
And the words of her song

Of her active hands that strive to bring
Were caught by a throng

To fruition the work of her sister Spring :
Of bursting buds that hasted along. Till—just as her songs of completeness ring-
She told of Summer with mild blue eyes With stalwart stride o'er the laden fields
And hair like the gold of sunset skies,

Comes Autumn: a warrior blade he wields; And floating robe of a thousand dies;

Affrighted, sweet Summer her treasure yields. Of her cheek's soft hue

Then flushes her cheek--and her pulse grows slow, Where the blush shows through.

And into her eyes comes a look of woe And her forehead bathed in morning dew, As she gathers her floating robes to go: Of her happy song so sweet and mild,

And with some fair flowers still in her hand, Of her breath, as pure as the breath of a child, Companioned o'er head by a songster band, Over her lips all undefiled :

She passes on to a southern land. Of her languishing air at the evening hour,

'Twas thus a day When shadows creep through grove and bower, In the lap of May And dews weigh down the closing flower :

Sat singing of Summer not far away. Of her joyous shout in the early morn,

And the words of her song Over the hills and woodlands borne,

Were caught by a throng Answered by Echo's dulcet horn :

Of bursting buds that hasted along."

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