"It seems that there is an indescribable something in the features of many women--a look, a smile, or a glance of the eye--that sends the blood thrilling to the heart, and involuntarily kindles the flame of love upon its altar. It is no wonder that sages and philosophers have worshipped with such mad devotion at the shrine of beauty! It is no wonder that the mighty Pericles knelt at the feet of his beloved Aspasia! It is no wonder that the once powerful Antony sacrificed his country to the fatal embraces of the bewitching Cleopatra! It is no wonder that the thirst for glory cooled in the heart of the philosophic Abelard, when he beheld the beauty of the exquisite Heloise! It is no wonder, indeed, that he quitted the dry maxims of Aristotle to practise the more pleasing precepts of Ovid! But this is rhapsody!" It is. The lady is dressed in white, (probably cambric muslin,) and Mr. Mattson assures us that her features he shall not attempt to describe. He proceeds, however, to say that her "eyes are hazel, but very dark," "her complexion pure as alabaster," her lips like the lips of Canova's Venus, and her forehead like--something very fine. Mr. Ulric attempts to speak, but his embarrassment prevents him. The young lady "turns to depart," and our adventurer goes home as he came. The next chapter commences with "How mysterious is human existence!"--which means, when translated, "How original is Mr. Mattson!" This initial paragraph concludes with a solemn assurance that we are perishable creatures, and that it is very possible we may all die--every mother's son of us. But as Mr. M. hath it--"to our story." Paul has discovered the mansion of the young lady--but can see no more of the young lady herself. He therefore stands sentinel before {176} the door, with the purpose "of making observations." While thus engaged, he perceives a tall fellow, "with huge black whiskers and a most forbidding aspect," enter the house, in a familiar manner. Our hero is, of course, in despair. The tall gentleman could be no other than the accepted lover of the young lady. Having arrived at this conclusion, Paul espies a column of smoke in the woods, and after some trouble discovers it to proceed from "a log dwelling which stood alone, with its roof of moss, amid the silence and solitude of nature." A dog barks, and an old woman makes her appearance. This old lady is a most portentous being. She is, however, a little given to drinking; and offers our hero a dram, of which Mr. Mattson positively assures us that gentleman did not accept. "Can you tell me," says Paul, "who lives in the stone house?" "Do you mean the Florence mansion," she asked. "Very like--who is its owner?" "A man of the same name--Richard Florence." "Who is Richard Florence?" "An Englishman; he came to this country a year or two ago." "Has he a wife?" "Not that I know of." "Children?" "An only daughter." "What is her name?" "Emily."