Claribel Carrington and Imogen Hazlewood were cousins. The former was an orphan whose father had died in affluence, leaving his only child a large estate. Her home was the magnificent mansion of her uncle, Colonel Hazlewood, a wealthy citizen of Bella Vista, and her constant companion was the beautiful Imogen. Each of these young ladies had a devoted lover, who, as Tom Seddon had remarked, would have gone on a pilgrimage to the North Pole in search of an icicle in obedience to her wishes. Clarence Hastings adored the lovely Claribel, and Imogen was worshiped by the handsome Harry Vincent. The young men were only sons of two wealthy gentlemen, and consequently each would inherit an ample fortune. They were highly educated and accomplished. Clarence had devoted himself to the study of medicine; while Harry was a man of leisure and had become a votary of the Muses, having already published a small volume of poems, which were admired by the general reader, and had even been commended by critics. But Clarence, although he had made great progress in anatomy and was satisfied that a man could not exist without a heart, was inclined to believe that a woman sometimes managed to get along without that important organ. He arrived at this conclusion from pursuing his studies in the society of the lovely Claribel. Harry Vincent had discovered that the poets in all ages had used the word in their verses, and supposed that most women had a heart, but was afraid that Imogen had grown up in magnificent beauty without ever having had one deposited by nature in her bosom. After much meditation, he determined to ascertain if he was not mistaken, and in the afternoon of the very day on which the valiant Captain Bragg had been expelled from the hotel by the indignant landlord, he proceeded to the mansion of Colonel Hazlewood and inquired for Imogen. He was told that she was walking in the garden. Thither he went, and in an arbor beheld a sight which convinced him that the beautiful Imogen had a heart. He hastily retired, and determined to go to the Mexican war, and march for the Halls of the Montezumas. What spectacle was it that caused such warlike emotions in the bosom of Harry Vincent? Why was he so suddenly impelled to march under the star-spangled banner against Santa Anna and his legions, in the valley of Mexico? Oh, women! women! pretty doves or pigeons! How many men for you their weapons clutch! For you the Grecians murdered all the Phrygians. And it was on account of one of the most beautiful of womankind that poor Harry Vincent determined to shoulder his musket and shed his blood on the field of battle.