doom of Ishmael is the doom of the whole race of men. His hand against every one, and every one's hand against him. Talk of general benevolence and philanthropy—nonsense! We all in our hearts hate each other; and good cause have we for so doing. But night comes in with a more genial spirit: we have done our worst and our bitterest; and we need a small space to indulge any little bit of cordiality that may be left in us. A thousand gay phantasms float in on the sunny south, which has left the far-off vineyards of its birth. The taverns of our ancestors would ill bear contrasting with the clubs of to-day; but many a gay midnight was past in the former:—midnights, whose mirth has descended even to us; half the jests, whose gaiety is still contagious; half the epigrams, whose point is yet felt, were born of those brief and brilliant hours. Such a supper, and such a party, were now waiting to adjourn to a tavern near the theatre.
While they loitered till Booth doffed his theatrical costume, Norbourne's attention was attracted by the young actress to whom May-
