"Pretty! They are both surpassingly beautiful, though not at all alike!--the former a blonde, with deep blue eyes and golden tresses; the latter a brunette, with locks as dark as a feather fallen from the wings of night, and black eyes, from which Cupid, who continually lurks under the long lashes, borrows the barbs for the arrows with which he mortally wounds multitudes of unlucky swains." "Do not be poetical, Thomas. Pray take your foot from the stirrup and dismount before Pegasus carries you to the clouds, and you lose an opportunity of listening to plain, sensible prose. Each one of these young ladies has a devoted lover." "You may well say devoted; for if Claribel or Imogen were to wish for an icicle from the end of the North Pole with which to cool a lemonade, either Harry Vincent or Clarence Hastings would hurry thither and slip off into the unfathomable abyss of space in a desperate attempt to obtain it." "Your imagination is both hyperborean and hyperbolical. But let us return from the North Pole to the ladies. Claribel loves Clarence, and Imogen Harry, and yet neither will marry the man she loves." "And why not, oh, prophet?" "Because no pretty woman ever does. Each lady will select some nonentity of the masculine gender, and expect her lover to enter into a contest of rivalry. Each gentleman will decline the contest." "Why so?" "I know them both. Each is a proud man, and has an abundance of self-respect. No daughter of Eve can comprehend a proud man, though every woman knows how to manage a vain one to perfection. Although either Harry or Clarence would, as you say, go to the North Pole in obedience to the wishes of the woman he adores, neither of them will consent to humiliation for her sake. She will persist in her course, and will ultimately find herself abandoned by her lover. Then, after a few years----" "Well, what after a few years?" "You will behold the once fairy-like Claribel a matron of robust proportions, married to a plain man, who made her an offer in a business-like manner." "And Clarence?" "A bald-headed man, who, having worked like a beaver and made a large fortune, is enjoying it with a wife who is as ugly as sin, but is a most excellent manager of his domestic affairs." "Toney, when do you intend to publish your book of prophecies?" "A prophet has no honor in his own country. But, do you not hear the sound of music in the ball-room? Let us go in,-- On with the dance! let joy be unconfined, No sleep till morn when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet." CHAPTER II. In one of the border States of the South, in the midst of a romantic scenery, is situated the village of Bella Vista. Being connected by railway with a number of populous towns, it had become a place of resort during the season of summer for persons who desired to exchange the sultry atmosphere of cities for the cool breezes, shady groves, and pure fountains of this delightful retreat.