might be imagined at first view in choosing Paris for his debut. He had calculated pretty exactly the time it would take for the news of the count's death to travel to the remote eastern borders of Hungary, if it traveled there at all; the time his friends would wait patiently for his own arrival, allowing for accidental detention, and the time which would probably elapse in tracing him to Paris. Knim was not one of that numerous class of vulgar rogues whose plans are always out at the elbows somewhere, and whose exploits so often exhibit such a mixture of consummate art and consummate folly. He always calculated the chances, and if there was one in a hundred against him, abandoned the game. On such strong grounds as these he ventured boldly in the face of the world, and his first step was to avail himself to the full benefit of his letter of credit. This he presented to the banker, at the same time handing two or three of the more recent letters from the cabinet of the count, and placing some of the most valuable of that nobleman's jewels in his hands, not as security but for safe keeping. The banker, without the least suspicion, gave him what money he asked, and credited him for the remainder. The count then launched his barque boldly into the current, and had for some months been gradually ascending the firmament of fashion, when he met the son of our old acquaintance, Mr. Mervin, with whom he cultivated an intimacy for reasons which will hereafter appear. We will now return to the new world, and see what had happened during the absence of Mr. Gilbert Mervin, the younger. We have premised that the family spent much of their time in the country. Mr. Mervin was fond of ease and quiet, and his wife had no objection, for she had rivals in the city, whereas in the retired neighborhood where they resided she was incontestably lady of the ascendant. Nor had Georgiana any decided dislike to a temporary eclipse which not only renewed her bloom, but added to her consequence. It was genteel to reside for several months out of town, and at a distance which clearly demonstrated that her papa had no notes to pay. We feel ourselves somewhat puzzled in attempting to introduce this young lady properly to our readers, for she was neither beautiful nor homely, sensible or foolish, accomplished or otherwise, amiable or ill-natured. There was nothing piquant about her, and yet when she was seen walking of a summer morning or evening, as she often might, under the broad shadows of the imperial elms that skirted the grassy margin of the little lake, there was that in her form and movements amply sufficient to set a country lad, of excitable feelings and somewhat poetical temperament, building castles in the air, as actually happened to the cost of poor Brooke Wingate. Brooke was the son of a neighbor of Mr. Mervin, who, though possessed of a fine farm and out of debt, had no pretensions to any other distinction than that of being an honest and a worthy man. He certainly was no gentleman, that every body allowed; for he was often detected laboring in his own vineyard, and driving his own wagon to mill or market. Ilad it | been only to church on Sunday, he might have been saved, but his case was now irretrievable. Brooke was educated at a neighboring academy, where he had cultivated that species of literature which appeals rather to the heart and the imagination than to the understanding, and was gifted by nature with a strong tendency to mental abstractions and depressions, occasionally lightened up by the scorching sunshine of a species of ideal enjoyment which, though he could not always command, generally came at his call. Altogether, he might be deemed a dangerous character; dangerous to others and doubly so to himself; for though his impulses were generally virtuous in their origin, they were apt to run into extremes that were almost certain, in the end, to destroy his own happiness and endanger that of others. The two families were acquainted with each other, but did not visit, although Gilbert and Brooke had formed a sort of acquaintance incidentally, and the latter had sometimes been at Mr. Mervin's on some trifling occasion or other. Here he had seen Georgiana; nay, he had once spoken to her, and was answered in a voice so sweet to his ear that he went home and wrote a sonnet on the music of the spheres. Our readers may make a jest of this, but it was no joke to poor Brooke. His heart was tinder, but hitherto there had been no flint and steel to strike fire. In all the neighboring country round there was not a shepherdess or woodland nymph of sufficient refinement of manners, or cultivation of mind, to awaken the dormant energies of that smothered fire which awaited only the falling of a spark to light into a flame and become unextinguishable. From that hour Brooke had a subject for his contemplation; a deity at whose shrine he could offer up his secret devotions in the solitude of his rambles, and in that ideal world which he had created by the power of his ardent, glowing imagination. Georgiana sometimes thought of him too, when, as often happens, the idleness of the hands gives employment to the heart, and activity to the fancy. Such a youth she thought might be a pleasant companion in the country, to visit her occasionally on rainy days, and accompany her on her rambles along the banks of the lake. To he was no gentleman, but she could not deny that, though, in the fashionable jargon, he wanted tournure, and was not dressed precisely in the newest fashion, he certainly possessed the air distingué; for he was somewhat above the middle size, extremely well made, and had that expression of face as well as that strange, indescribable, deep-seeking glance of the eye which it is dangerous for susceptible young women to encounter too frequently. There was, in truth, something excessively romantic about Brooke, and we leave our female readers to embody the phrase into any form they please. be sure, They met two or three times by accident, after which they met frequently by design. They did not make assignations, but it soon came to be understood that Georgiana frequently walked on the banks of the little lake, and that Master Brooke was fond of fishing. In our system of philosophy, it is held to be impossible that such a state of things should not such as strong passion alone inspires, and which weak minds can seldom resist. Georgiana trembled from apprehension of the consequences of this threatened encounter; she coaxed, soothed, and promised until she became unwarily entangled in engagements which could not be severed without a breach of faith, and the sacrifice of the happiness of another. Brooke at that moment tasted the full brimmed cup of happiness for the first and last time. Georgiana soon afterward returned with her cousin to town, previous to which she had another interview with Brooke, and, half in pity and half in apprehension of the consequences of leaving him unsatisfied, repeated those promises, and renewed those pledges which had once before stilled the boiling surges of his bosom. produce certain consequences. Brooke was worth | ing to Georgiana, and at length succeeded. The the glance of a lady's eye, especially when she had sense of inferiority, mingled with the modest diffinothing but the beauties of nature to look at; he pos-dence of true love, which had hitherto restrained his sessed both the gift of tongue and eye, with which he tongue, now yielded to more imperious impulses; he spoke several languages; and his strong excitable unfolded his heart-he detailed the state of his feelfeelings often exhibited themselves in eloquent decla-ings-reproached her with cruelty in thus wounding mations, which, if not in strict unison with classical his feelings with these exhibitions of familiarity with taste, exercised great power over the feelings and her cousin, and he ended by solemnly declaring that imagination of Georgiana. During the long summer he would take the first opportunity to meet and insult there were seldom any visiters, for Mr. Mervin was him, let what might be the consequence. All this was a man of ease and disliked the trouble of entertain-spoken with an impetuous overbearing eloquence, ing company, of which they had quite enough in town to satisfy even his wife. Mrs. Mervin was not the most watchful of mothers, and Georgiana was permitted to go whither she pleased from a conviction that no harm could befall her in this quiet retreat, where neither turnpike, nor railroad, nor steamboat disturbed the peaceful inhabitants. This intercourse was not exactly clandestine, yet still there seemed a tacit understanding that secrecy was desirable. Georgiana knew it would not be approved by her parents, and Brooke was conscious that there was an inequality in their condition which precluded all probability that it would be tolerated if known. Georgiana at first considered his company as a pleasant relief from the tediousness of idleness and solitude; by degrees it became something like a want, and his absence caused an indescribable sort of uneasiness that was at first unaccountable, but by degrees became more easy of explanation. She began to fancy herself in love, and perhaps might have been a little so, for she often thought that if he were only a fashionable young gentleman, and had a little more tournure, she would actually like to unite her fate with his forever. But this was quite out of the question; and if she ever looked steadily to future consequences, her anticipations shadowed forth nothing but a vague and indefinite prospect that ended in nothing. As for poor Brooke, he was over head and ears, and his destiny was fixed for life. He had neither the resource of employment, dissipation, or splendid luxury, to fritter away his feelings, and dispute the empire of love in his heart. Georgiana had become his all in all. Present or absent, she occupied all his thoughts, absorbed all his wishes, and might be said to constitute his very being. He had not yet declared his passion, but a hundred little nothings had occurred between them, on which a mind like his could build a castle in the air, and from which it could draw ample nourishment for the most ardent hopes. In the course of the second summer of this intercourse, Brooke was exceedingly disturbed by the intrusion of a pair of cousins, a brother and sister, who came to spend a few weeks, and relieve the solitude of Georgiana. This, of course, interrupted those walks which had long constituted his sole earthly enjoyment, and when he saw, as he often did, the idol of his soul walking arm and arm with her cousin, chatting, laughing, and sometimes romping in all the hilarity of youthful spirits, his heart curdled into the gall of bitterness, his blood boiled with mingled rage and jealousy, and his brain reeled with the intensity of his feelings. He watched for an opportunity of speak We must now cross the seas once more-which is nothing now-a-days-and see what the illustrious maghar, Count Schinschlinger, the lion, has been doing all this while. It is sufficient for our purpose to say that the maghar figured in all but the diplomatic circles, which he did not much affect for reasons which will readily occur to the reader; that he supported his new dignity with equal spirit and propriety; and that he especially cultivated the acquaintance of Americans of distinction or respectability, and most especially of all, that of Mr. Gilbert Mervin. The count looked forward to the period when the friends of his deceased master would almost necessarily either hear of his death, or be induced to institute inquiries which might lead to a disagreeable result. That time was now approaching, and, like an experienced politician, he contemplated a change of position. His money, too, was melting away apace, and the moment approaching in which it might become necessary to replenish his purse. He had cultivated a friendship with Gilbert, who, like most of our countrymen, was extremely communicative on the subject of family affairs. He knew exactly what sort of people Mr. and Mrs. Mervin were; and, above all, he knew that Georgiana, her grandmother being dead, was an heiress, who, when she became of age, would be sole mistress of a very large fortune, which she might bestow on whom she pleased. This being explained, it will not appear at all surprising that, when the younger Mervin was called home by his father, he was equally surprised and delighted at the count proposing to accompany him. "I have seen all worth seeing in Europe," said the count—“ I have visited the most interesting portions of Asia and Africa; I am tired of Paris, and nothing is left me but the new world." His proposal was eagerly accepted; the count drew the remnant of his funds from the banker, and, | castles and his ten thousand vassals at the feet of with his jewels and cabinet of letters, embarked for Georgiana, and all were accepted with the most his new sphere of adventure in company with his gracious condescension. For reasons which he did friend. Gilbert was expected in autumn, and the not choose to diclose, the count urged on his marriage; family were all assembled in town to meet him and produced such of the contents of the cabinet as, reinhis illustrious friend, the lion. Mr. Mervin preserved forced by his jewels, removed all doubts of his claim his usual equanimity; Mrs. Mervin was rather in a to be what he assumed, and in a short time the fidget to know what the count would think of Georgi- fashionable world was clectrified with envy at the ana, and Georgiana, who had received from her bro- annunciation of the marriage of the Illustrious Count ther the most flaming description of the count's per- Schinschlinger, and his long pedigree, with Miss son, manners, and castles in Hungary, sympathized Georgiana Mervin. She was the happiest woman in deeply in her mother's feelings. She had mustered the world, except, perhaps, Mrs. Mervin, who gloried her forces, purchased the most becoming dresses, and in being the mother-in-law of a count, even more than summoned all the airs and graces to her aid; while Georgiana did in being his wife. at that very moment poor Brooke Wingate was dwelling on her image with an intensity of devotion which, as she never felt herself, she could not comprehending fire, reading a newspaper, while his good wife in others. The count came-we will not say saw and conquered-but certainly made a most favorable impression on both mother and daughter. His face was ever expressive; his figure unobjectionable; his manners polished; and his conversation peculiarly lively and entertaining, being, however, rather derived from his observation than his reading. In the course of the winter he became the decided lion of the fashionable world; his taste and skill in music; the variety of languages at his command; the extent and intimacy of his acquaintance with foreign countries; his title, and the unpretending modesty with which he bore it, all combined to complete one of the best specimens of a lion ever offered for exhibition in this New World. Though he was the farthest of any man living from boasting of these advantages, which, as he frequently observed, were the mere accidents of fortune, yet he would sometimes adroitly cause himself to be questioned by Georgiana or her mother on the subject of his family affairs. Then he would, in the most self-denying manner, casually allude to his descent from the ancient kings of Hungary, his seven castles, and his thousands of serfs, whom he could sell at pleasure. Mrs. Mervin actually got the fidgets, and Georgiana, alas! she forgot poor Brooke, or remembered him only as a country lad who had whilom assisted her to pass her time in the country, and resigned herself to the happy vision which now danced before her imagination. To be a countess, the wife of a man descended from King Stephen Battori; mistress of as many castles as Corporal Trim's King of Bohemia, and ten thousand slaves! what woman in her senses could resist such attractions? Yet, to do Georgiana justice, a growing preference for the count's person, manners and accomplishments, most especially his music, mingled with the fascinations of his worldly advantages The count had studied the art of love in a Venetian gondola, under the most consummate masters, and soon made the fearful homage of Brooke Wingate appear like that of a savage offering incense to his barbarous idol. We have not space to enter into all the refined minutiae of this adept, or to detail the manner in which he spun his web and caught his fly. It is enough for our purpose to record the result. The count one day cast himself, his seven A few days after this glorification of the house of Mervin, the elder Mr. Wingate was sitting by a rous was at her evening occupation of knitting, and Brooke luxuriating in the Fool's Paradise, or the lover's limbo of delusive hope and empty anticipations. The wintry winds roared in the chimney-tops; the snow beat against the windows till they rattled; and the dreary comfortless scene without made that within more dear to the hearts by which it was enjoyed. Ever and anon, when the old man came to a murder, an abduction, or a robbery, he read it aloud to his wife, who would wonder and admire at the wickedness of the world. As to Brooke, he neither heard the roaring of the storm nor the wonders of the newspaper. He was weaving a delicious romance, which he had just brought to the happy conclusion of a marriage, with the consent of all parties, when he was roused by the following words from his father "Why Brooke, only think, Miss Mervin I see is just married;" and he read the annunciation aloud, as a piece of news that was not particularly interesting, for neither himself nor his wife had the least suspicion of the dagger which had at that moment entered into the heart of their son, until he suddenly started up, and rushed bare headed out into the merciless storm without uttering a word. The old man followed him to the outer door as fast as his age would permit, but he had disappeared in the mists of snow, and it was in vain to follow. The father, who was at this time aided by the mother, called aloud, but received no answer, and returned to the now desolate fireside to talk, and to ponder over the strange conduct of their son. It was vain to follow him, for none knew which way he went, and the evening which had commenced so cheerily was followed by a night of dismal apprehensions. The next morning search was made, and Brooke at length tracked to a barn, whither, after wandering about for hours in the bitter storm, he had instinctively sought shelter. The blow had been so sudden and so heavy, that it reached his brain like a flash of lightning, and in an instant shattered it forever. His reason was utterly, yet not irretrievably deranged, nor was the derangement accompanied by either raving or violence. It was moody, silent and submissive. He suffered himself to be led quietly home; appeared to recognize his parents; seated himself quietly in the chimney corner, and seemed insensible to all that was passing around him. Thus he continued until the spring came, the grass grew green, the flowers bloomed and the birds sang. He would then every day wander along the banks of the lake until he was weary, and then sit down under a spreading elm, where he had often sat with Georgiana. Whether this was from some vague, indistinct recollection of the past, or the mere effect of habit, it is impossible to say. He occasionally exhibited glimpses of reason, and would enter into conversation on ordinary subjects with those he had formerly known, from which, however, he soon wandered away to others having no connection whatever with what preceded. It was in this way that, meeting Mr. Mervin's gardener one morning, some little gossip took place, and he learned that Georgiana and her husband were expected every hour. On receiving this information he started abruptly away toward the lake, and his body was found next morning, entangled in the roots of an old tree that projected into the water. At the moment this discovery was made, two splendid equipages came prancing along the road, which ran close to the border of the lake, and those within, seeing the crowd that had gathered together, stopped to inquire the occasion. On learning the fate of poor Brooke, a lady, seated beside a gentleman in one of the carriages, suddenly uttered a scream and grasped him convulsively by the arm. The gentleman tenderly inquired what was the matter, and was answered -"Nothing-nothing-only I never could bear the sight of a dead body." The cavalcade passed on and alighted at the door of Mr. Mervin's mansion. The Countess Schinschlinger had received a thorn in her heart. It was neither very tender nor very susceptible of retaining deep impressions. But the most indurated heart can feel remorse; and when she learned, as she did too soon for her peace of mind, the details of the progress of poor Brooke's madness, with its final catastrophe, she felt he had died at her hands, and that she had murdered him. This conviction effectually poisoned her present happiness, and obscured all her anticipations founded on the splendors of her rank and fortune. But this dream was about to close in waking disappointment and misery. arrested by the return of the count and countess, in the former of whom, notwithstanding the alteration of his dress, and an enormous appanage of whiskers, he instantly recognized the veritable Knim, the faithful servant of the Hungarian maghar. The Lion of the West remembered him too, and saw at once that he was recognized. He started, turned pale, and almost ran out of the room, so quick was his pace. Even Mrs. Mervin, who generally knew every thing, did not know what to make of this curious introduction. "Were you and the count previously acquainted?" she inquired rather anxiously. "I have seen the gentleman before,” replied he. "The gentleman! don't you know he is a nobleman, and is called His Excellency? But where did you get acquainted-he never mentioned your name to me-but I suppose he did not know we were related." I "I imagine he had a better reason than that," said the gentleman dryly. "But, my dear aunt, I am very much fatigued, and should like to take a nap before tea. To-morrow you shall have the whole history, chapter and verse." Saying which, he retired rather unceremoniously, leaving the lady somewhat perplexed as well as offended. The gentleman was still more perplexed as to the course it became him to pursue on this critical occasion. He considered that his cousin was married, and could not be unmarried again; that he had nothing but his own testimony to rely on, and that Knim, being doubtless in possession of the deceased count's papers, might apparently so substantiate his identity as to render his testimony either doubtful or altogether nugatory. But on the other hand, he could not endure the idea of his cousin resting quietly in the arms of a counterfeit swindler, and, as he now believed, murderer. He determined, therefore, to beard the count next morning, and tell the whole story. But that illustrious lion saved him the trouble. He did not make his appearance that evening, being, as Georgiana announced, quite indisposed; and was missing the next morning. But he did not depart alone, or at least empty handed. He carried off all the jewels he had presented to Georgiana; all her own beside; and all the money she had in the gold purse he had presented her, together with the purse itself. The son of the American merchant at Smyrna was a nephew of Mrs. Mervin, and being now on a visit to his native country, had just arrived at a distant port, When Georgiana retired the previous evening, the whence he immediately wrote to his uncle Mr. Mer-count was absent, a circumstance she thought a little vin, who cordially invited him to visit his house in the country. The invitation was accepted, and the young man arrived while Georgiana and the count were absent, on an excursion of several days. His good aunt, who was always full of Georgiana's great marriage, had hardly welcomed him when she began to dilate on the glories of Count Schinschlinger. "Count who?" exclaimed the gentleman, rather abruptly, and suddenly fell into a train of reflection. He thought the name had once been familiar to him, and at length, by a process with which memory often works out her problems, recollected the Hungarian nobleman who had died at Smyrna so suddenly. "Is it possible," thought he, "that this can be his successor-or-hum-" His cogitations were suddenly strange, as he was so indisposed. She waited for him some time, wondering what had become of him, but by degrees her anxiety, if it may be so called, yielding to weariness, she retired to rest, and slept undisturbed until the next morning. She then, finding the count still absent, and that he had not been at home during the night, immediately sounded the alarm. All was now confusion, doubt and dismay. Search was made in vain about the house and garden, and Georgiana, in an agony of apprehension, insisted that the horses should be saddled and the servants despatched in all directions in search of her husband, for she was sure something had happened to him. At this crisis, the young gentleman from Smyrna made his appearance, and requested to speak with Mr. Mer vin in private. Georgiana was more alarmed than | rived in safety, and after due consideration proceeded ever; she was sure he had some terrible news of her to Venice. Here his adventures terminated. He husband, and insisted on its being instantly commu- entered on a course of life which finally brought him nicated to her. to the galleys, where he had the satisfaction of once more meeting his father, who reproached him for his neglect and want of filial duty in never seeking him. "But for all this," replied Knim, "you cannot deny that I am a dutiful sonI have followed in the footsteps of my father." "Calm yourself, my dear cousin; your husband is not dead, I assure you," said the young man. "Then some dreadful accident has happened, I am sure, or he would not have been absent all night," replied she. "He must be seriously hurt-let me go to him instantly." "I pledge you my honor he is not hurt." "Then where is he-and what do you mean? "My dear cousin, permit me to speak to my uncle alone." I "No-whatever you say, I must and will hear. insist on your telling me all you know, and at once. I cannot bear this suspense, and I must inform you, sir, that I think your present conduct not only inexplicable but unfeeling." "Well, then," and he hesitated a few moments"well, you must know it soon, and the present time is perhaps as good as any other. Your husband, madam, is an impostor, a thief, and, as I believe, a murderer. He knows that I am acquainted with all this, and has fled from apprehension that I would unmask his villanies and bring him to punishment." Georgiana neither screamed nor fainted, for her sensibilities were not very acute. But she was stunned by this startling annunciation, until pride, and perhaps a better feeling, confidence in her husband, prompted her to declare her utter disbelief in these terrible imputations. The young man, thus called upon to sustain his veracity, entered on a minute detail of all the transactions at Smyrna, as before related, and concluded by expressing his full belief that the count would never return. Georgiana still maintained his innocence, and insisted that he should be searched for every where; but Mr. Mervin now interfered and declared his conviction that her husband was an impostor and a villain. Georgiana retired with her mother, who sided with her on this occasion, and discovered, what she had overlooked before, that her jewels, her money, and her gold purse, had all disappeared with her husband. "The mean wretch, to rob me of my jewels!" exclaimed Georgiana; and for a time indignation triumphed over grief. The illustrious maghar and lion never made his appearance again in the great menagerie of the New World. He had walked to the nearest town, whence he transported himself to the nearest seaport, where he dropped his title and remained incog. till an opportunity offered to embark for Leghorn. There he ar The catastrophe of the lion was hushed up, but soon got wind, and flew to the utmost extremities of the new world of fashion. Some declared they never could have believed that such an agreeable, elegant, accomplished man could be an impostor; while others, some how or other, always had a sort of suspicion he was not what he pretended to be. All this passed away as a nine days' wonder, and the example of disappointed vanity and humbled pride was soon forgotten by those whom it might perhaps have shielded from a similar fate. Neither mother nor daughter ever afterward figured in the fashionable world, but passed the remainder of their lives in a retirement they were not fitted to embellish or enjoy. Georgiana heard nothing more of the count, and remained a widowed wife with a living husband. She received no pleasure and derived no benefit from the beauties of nature around, for every object reminded her of the miserable youth with whose happiness she had trifled, whose mind she had destroyed, and whose life she had brought to an untimely end. She did not dare to go to church, for there she never failed to see the grayheaded parents of the youth, dressed in mourning, and, as her conscience whispered, accusing her at the bar of eternal justice as the murderess of their only child. Her mother was not one to whom she could look for parental consolation or rational advice; her father was too fond of his ease to interfere in the troubles of others; and her brother was a fashionable young gentleman in whiskers. Thus she continued to wear away a weary existence, accompanied indeed by no very acute suffering from the recollections of the past, but destitute of all those sources of consolation, those spiritual blessings that, while they light up the future with hope, atone for past transgressions. Georgiana deserved her fate, for she had sported with the happiness of others, and had no right to expect to enjoy it herself. Her husband was a thief and a murderer in the estimation of mankind, and she was little better in the eyes of her Maker. There was a sympathy in their minds, a unity in their fate; and no doubt their marriage was ordained for the punishment of their mutual offences. |