hears nothing but the magic words, "I LOVE YOU!" ringing in his ears, and
feels that ecstatic delight which it is permitted mortals to taste but
once in their lives.

But what are the sensations which enter the heart of a young and innocent
girl when she first confesses the passion that fills her heart? A tender
sadness pervades her being--her soul, touched by the hand of Love,
delivers itself to the influence of all the nobler emotions of her nature;
and borne heavenward on the organ's solemn peal, pours forth its rich
treasures in silent and grateful adoration.

[Illustration]

At thirty, a man takes a more decided--I wish I could add a more
amiable--character than at twenty. At twenty he loves sincerely and
devotedly; he respects the woman who has inspired him with the noblest
sentiment of which his soul is capable. At thirty his heart, hardened by
deceit and ill-requited affection, and pre-occupied by projects of worldly
ambition, regards love only as an agreeable pastime, and woman's heart as
a toy, which he may fling aside the moment it ceases to amuse him. At
twenty he is ready to abandon everything for her whom he idolises--rank,
wealth, the future!--they weigh as nothing in the balance against the
fancied strength and constancy of his passion. At thirty he coldly
immolates the repose and happiness of the woman who loves him to the
slightest necessity. I must admit, however--in justice to our
sex--provided his love does not interfere with his interest, nor his
freedom, nor his club, nor his dogs and horses, nor his _petites liaisons
des coulisses_, nor his hour of dinner--the lover is always willing to
make the greatest sacrifices for her whom he has honoured with his
regards. The man of thirty is, moreover, a man of many loves; he carries