"Wine and women, my dear Greenwood," continued the Marquis, "are the only earthly enjoyments worth living for. I hope to die, with my head pillowed on the naked—heaving bosom of beauty, and with a glass of sparkling champagne in my hand." "Your lordship would then even defy the pangs of the grim monster who spares no one," said Greenwood. "I have lived a joyous life, my dear friend; and when death comes, I can say that no mortal man—not even Solomon, with his thousand wives and concubines—nor any eastern Sultan, who had congregated the fairest flowers of Georgia, Circassia, and Armenia in his harem,—had more deeply drunk than I of the pleasures of love." Just as the aged voluptuary uttered these words, a silver bell that hung in the apartment was agitated gently by a wire which communicated with the adjoining saloon. "Now all is in readiness!" exclaimed the Marquis: "follow me." The nobleman opened the door leading into the saloon, which he entered, accompanied by Greenwood. He then closed the door behind him. The saloon was involved in total obscurity; the blackest darkness reigned there, unbroken by a ray. "Give me your hand," said the Marquis. Greenwood complied; and the nobleman led him to a sofa at a short distance from the door by which they had entered. They both seated themselves on the voluptuous cushions. For some moments a solemn silence prevailed. At length that almost painful stillness was broken by the soft notes of a delicious melody, which, coming from the farther end of the apartment, stole, with a species of enchanting influence, upon the ear. Gentle and low was that sweet music when it began; but by degrees it grew louder—though still soft and ravishing in the extreme. Then a chorus of charming female voices suddenly burst forth; and the union of that vocal and instrumental perfection produced an effect thrilling—intoxicating—joyous, beyond description. The melody created in the mind of Greenwood an anxious desire to behold those unseen choristers whose voices were so harmonious, so delightful. The dulcet, metallic sounds agitated the senses with feelings of pleasure, and made the heart beat with vague hopes and expectations. For nearly twenty minutes did that delicious concert last. Love was the subject of the song,—Love, not considered as an infant boy, nor as a merciless tyrant,—but Love depicted as the personification of every thing voluptuous, blissful, and enchanting,—Love, the representative of all the joys which earth in reality possesses, or which the warmest imagination could possibly conceive,—Love apart from the refinements of sentiment, and contemplated only as the paradise of sensualities. And never did sweeter voices warble the fervid language of passion through the medium of a more enchanting poesy! Twenty minutes, we said, passed with wonderful rapidity while that inspiring concert lasted.