And here is the sunny, laughing Gail Hamilton. Her warm face and yellowish hair would melt an iceberg. Even her dress is the color of sunbeams. Why is she not sent to open the Northwest passage? It is true Franklin, Kane, and Hall have failed, but that is because they did not take along enough fire. And yet we could not spare Gail, for what single woman would be left to teach married ones how to manage their husbands? Who would teach us how to bring up our children in a bazaar-like way? It is true Gail Hamilton is not a mother, but this may be her misfortune, besides she may not be old enough to assume such enormous responsibilities in a small way. A galaxy of stars blaze in the neighborhood of Gail Hamilton. The woman in black with such elegant lace is Mrs. Lander, of histrionic fame. Queen Elizabeth on the stage! Queen Elizabeth in private life! This is her court--dukes, lords, princes of republican blood. A wave of the jeweled hand and they are gone. A ship full-rigged, with a fair wind, in the offing. It is great and good Mrs. Ann S. Stevens, Philadelphia’s fair jewel; long may she blaze. What a faultless costume! Quaker color, and such glorious lace. By her side stands her slender, amber-haired daughter, clad in white satin and tarletan, with pearls at her snowy throat and thin ears; “blooded,” you may be sure of that. Who next? Octavia Le Vert, only child of Madame Le Vert--scarlet satin gown, great, black Oriental eyes, exotic of the South. She makes you think of a magnolia blossom, even the perfume in imagination stifles you. This is Madame Le Vert, sweet, loving, trustful woman--hurt her? Not much, if you only knew how to avoid it. She steals your heart out of your bosom, you cannot tell how; you only feel that you have missed something, you search for it and it is gone. Oh! these Southern women, so savage in war, so loving, so winning in peace. Our John used to say “you can’t trust ’em.” But who wants to trust ’em. We never expect to marry a woman if life and death were staked on the result. Another turn of the human kaleidoscope, lo! here is Congressman Harmer, of Philadelphia, with his handsome wife. What a superbly matched pair. Quicker than electric flash the mind goes back to Eden, to the first Adam and the first Eve, and you are comforted with the proof that creation goes on in pretty much the same faultless way, making pairs, each half for the other. It is true there is often a missing link, but that makes the union all the more beautiful by comparison of the broken parts tossed helplessly on a sea of trouble. But Mrs. Harmer, her dress must have been faultless, for alas, nothing is remembered but her fine figure and handsome face.