"The devil! thou art quite smitten!" said the captain of pistoliers, with a boisterous laugh. "That idea amuses me extremely; I would give my best helmet to see a woman who was so little aware of her own beauty that she required to be told of it. I assure you, sir, that these pretty creatures are quite as artificial as their scenery." The Sleswig cavalier pulled up his high ruff to conceal how he smiled; and, though I felt indignant at their severe remarks on the actress, there was such a frank, pleasant, and soldierly air about them both, that I could not quarrel with them. They were much alike, having both the same devil-may-care aspect; having mustaches shorn off at the corners of their mouths, with broad foreheads and bold restless eyes; over his right temple the pistolier had a sword-cut, which was scarcely healed. After a pause-- "I say, Fritz," said he; "have you, who are an enterprising genius, actually never discovered where this girl lives?" "How can I with certainty! No one knows any thing about where she lives--save that she does not live at home." There was a flourish of music. "Ece! the curtain rises again!" said M'Alpine, waving his bonnet; "and again all eyes turn towards her, like flowers towards the sun." My goddess was again upon the stage, but in a very different dress. The scene disclosed was a far stretching valley between beautiful mountains; over one of these rose the pale light of the moon; on the other died away the last glow of the west; the calm current of a starlit river wound between the shaded hills, and the lofty arches of a ruined bridge spanned it; their downward shadows were reflected deep in the stream below. The white columns of a ruined temple, such as might have stood in Lybian deserts, arose on one side; on the other stood the red square keep of a guarded fortress, and dark Italian pine-woods threw their gloom around them. The white-orbed moon soared slowly into the blue sky, which became studded by innumerable stars; it edged the ruins, the rocks, the leaves, and the riplets of the stream below with a silvery wavering light; and, lo! there seemed to be nothing but objects of nature standing palpably before us. Clad in long and graceful drapery, which was white as snow, girdled by a glittering zone or bandelet below her rounded bosom, with her arms bare to those dazzling shoulders, on which her long hair rolled unbound, with a lyre in her hand, and a bright star sparkling on her radiant brow, Prudentia, as the Genius of Poetry, arose from the ruin of a fallen column, around which the leaves of the ivy, the vine, and acanthus were clustering, and came forward greeted by a storm of applause. I know not whether it was the style of her dress, or the subdued light around her; but she seemed paler, and if possible more beautiful, than before.