And you couldn’t say ’twas regularity of features exactly, either, for her eyes were too limited in circumference, and her nose too numerous in diameter; and her mouth monopolized too much latitude, and she had a hair-mole on one cheek, and faint dawnings of a moustache on her upper lip.  But in spite of these trivial eccentricities, you felt when you looked at her, as I said before—­ah—­a sort of—­as it were—­a—­

By Jove, I can’t describe it.

The general impression was that she was an heiress, and the comments were numerous.

“How graceful!” “Look at that swan-like neck!” “What a perfect form!” “What a dove-like expression!” “Do introduce me!” “Who is she?”

“She’s a poor relation of Mrs. LADLE’S.”

“There, I thought so!” “What an object!” “Forcing herself into genteel society, too!” “The audacity of these creatures is perfectly horrid.”

It was BELINDA’S turn to choose next, and she pointed straight at the man she wanted, and said: 

“Jeffry MAULBOY.”

It was natural she should choose him, for he was greatly respected by all present, and the ladies especially regarded him as simply a hero; for he was one of the Great Masters in the noble Art of Muscle.

Let me explain.

At the time of which I write, there had been a contest in the Universities of America between Brains and Muscle, and the latter had conquered.  Brains were accounted a very good thing in their way, but what we want, sir, is Muscle.  If a man can master his Greek, and his Latin, and his Theology, and his Law, and such frothy trifles between times, well and good, but he musn’t neglect his Muscle.

And so base-ball clubs were organized, and the Long Heels challenged the Short Heels, and the leading journals published cards of defiance from the Knockers to the Hitters, together with labored editorials on the same.  And boat-races and sculling matches were set on foot, and once a year the students repaired with their friends to a city afflicted with a lake, where, pending the contest, they organized a Reign of Terror, during which the harmless inhabitants locked themselves in their houses and clasped their offspring to their bosoms, or gazed terror-stricken from an attic-window upon the classical marauders below, as they indulged in a post-mortem examination of a private dwelling, or the rare pleasantry of roasting a policeman.  But dared complain, for public excitement waxed high on the subject of Muscle.

And when the day arrived which was to decide the momentous question, the banks of the lake were decked with the beauty and culture of the land, and fair hands “staked their odds,” and fair lips became familiar with “home-stretches,” “spurts,” and “fouls.”