In every pulse of Friendship's heart
There breeds unfelt a throb of pain,
One hour must rend its links apart,
Though years on years have forged the chain.

So ends "The Boys,"--a lifelong play.
We too must hear the Prompter's call
To fairer scenes and brighter day
Farewell! I let the curtain fall.




IV

If the reader thinks that all these talking Teacups came together by mere
accident, as people meet at a boarding-house, I may as well tell him at
once that he is mistaken. If he thinks I am going to explain how it is
that he finds them thus brought together, whether they form a secret
association, whether they are the editors of this or that periodical,
whether they are connected with some institution, and so on,--I must
disappoint him. It is enough that he finds them in each other's company,
a very mixed assembly, of different sexes, ages, and pursuits; and if
there is a certain mystery surrounds their meetings, he must not be
surprised. Does he suppose we want to be known and talked about in
public as "Teacups"? No; so far as we give to the community some records
of the talks at our table our thoughts become public property, but the
sacred personality of every Teacup must be properly respected. If any
wonder at the presence of one of our number, whose eccentricities might