On the rocky summit of a beetling precipice, whose base was lashed by the angry Atlantic, stood a moated, and turreted structure, called Il Castello di Grimgothico. As the northern tower had remained uninhabited since the death of its late lord, Henriques De Violenci, lights and figures were, _par consequence_, observed in it at midnight. Besides, the black eyebrows of the present baron had a habit of meeting for several years, and _quelquefois_, he paced the picture-gallery with a hurried step. These circumstances combined, there could be no doubt of his having committed murder. Accordingly, all avoided him, except the Count Stiletto, and the hectic, but heavenly Hysterica. The former, he knew, was the most pale-faced, flagitious character in the world. But birds of a plume associate. The latter shall be presented to the reader in the next chapter. CHAPTER II 'Oh!'--MILTON. 'Ah!'--POPE. A HISTORY.--A MYSTERY.--AN ORIGINAL REFLECTION ON DEATH.--THE HEROINE DESCRIBED.--THE LANDSCAPE NOT DESCRIBED.--AN AWFUL REASON GIVEN. One evening, the Baroness De Violenci, having sprained her left leg in the composition of an ecstatic ode, resolved not to go to Lady Penthesilea Rouge's rout. While she was sitting alone, at a plate of prawns, the footman entered with a basket, which had just been left for her. 'Lay it down, John,' said she, touching his forehead with her fork. That gay-hearted young fellow did as he was desired, and capered out of the room. Judge of her astonishment, when she found, on opening it, a little cherub of a baby sleeping within. An oaken cross, with 'HYSTERICA,' inscribed in chalk, was appended at its neck, and a mark, like a bruised gooseberry, added interest to its elbow. As she and her lord never had children (at least she could answer for herself), she determined, _sur le champ_, on adopting the pretty Hysterica. Fifteen years did this worthy woman dedicate to the progress of her little charge; and in that time, taught her every mortal accomplishment. Her sigh, particularly, was esteemed the softest in Europe. But the stroke of death is inevitable; come it must at last, and neither virtue nor wisdom can avoid it. In a word, the good old Baroness died, and our heroine fell senseless on her body. O what a fall was there, my countrymen!