drank together; with quivering lips, quaffed long-drawn, sober
bumpers; comparing all their past experiences; and canvassing those
hidden themes, on which octogenarians dilate.

For when the fires and broils of youth are passed, and Mardi wears its
truer aspect--then we love to think, not act; the present seems more
unsubstantial than the past; then, we seek out gray-beards like
ourselves; and hold discourse of palsies, hearses, shrouds, and tombs;
appoint our undertakers; our mantles gather round us, like to winding-
sheets; and every night lie down to die. Then, the world's great
bubble bursts; then, Life's clouds seem sweeping by, revealing heaven
to our straining eyes; then, we tell our beads, and murmur pater-
nosters; and in trembling accents cry--"Oro! be merciful."

So, the monarch and Rozoko.

But not always were they thus. Of bright, cheerful mornings, they took
slow, tottering rambles in the woods; nodding over grotesque walking-
sticks, of the Chimpanzee's handiwork. For sedate Rozoko was a
dilletante-arborist: an amateur in canes. Indeed, canes at last became
his hobby. For half daft with age, sometimes he straddled his good
staff and gently rode abroad, to take the salubrious evening air;
deeming it more befitting exercise, at times, than walking. Into this
menage, he soon initiated his friend, the king; and side by side they
often pranced; or, wearying of the saddle, dismounted; and paused to
ponder over prostrate palms, decaying across the path. Their mystic
rings they counted; and, for every ring, a year in their own
calendars.

Now, so closely did the monarch cleave to the Chimpanzee, that, in