of the beauties of her Highness the Princess Helen.  Fancy a complexion such as they say (I know not with what justice) Rowland’s Kalydor imparts to the users of that cosmetic; fancy teeth to which orient pearls are like Wallsend coals; eyes, which were so blue, tender, and bright, that while they run you through with their lustre, they healed you with their kindness; a neck and waist, so ravishingly slender and graceful, that the least that is said about them the better; a foot which fell upon the flowers no heavier than a dew-drop—­and this charming person set off by the most elegant toilet that ever milliner devised!  The lovely Helen’s hair (which was as black as the finest varnish for boots) was so long, that it was borne on a cushion several yards behind her by the maidens of her train; and a hat, set off with moss-roses, sunflowers, bugles, birds-of-paradise, gold lace, and pink ribbon, gave her a distingue air, which would have set the editor of the Morning Post mad with love.

It had exactly the same effect upon the noble Childe of Godesberg, as leaning on his ivory bow, with his legs crossed, he stood and gazed on her, as Cupid gazed on Psyche.  Their eyes met:  it was all over with both of them.  A blush came at one and the same minute budding to the cheek of either.  A simultaneous throb beat in those young hearts!  They loved each other for ever from that instant.  Otto still stood, cross-legged, enraptured, leaning on his ivory bow; but Helen, calling to a maiden for her pocket-handkerchief, blew her beautiful Grecian nose in order to hide her agitation.  Bless ye, bless ye, pretty ones!  I am old now; but not so old but that I kindle at the tale of love.  Theresa MacWhirter too has lived and loved.  Heigho!

Who is yon chief that stands behind the truck whereon are seated the Princess and the stout old lord, her father?  Who is he whose hair is of the carroty hue? whose eyes, across a snubby bunch of a nose, are perpetually scowling at each other; who has a hump-back and a hideous mouth, surrounded with bristles, and crammed full of jutting yellow odious teeth.  Although he wears a sky-blue doublet laced with silver, it only serves to render his vulgar punchy figure doubly ridiculous; although his nether garment is of salmon-colored velvet, it only draws the more attention to his legs, which are disgustingly crooked and bandy.  A rose-colored hat, with towering pea-green ostrich-plumes, looks absurd on his bull-head; and though it is time of peace, the wretch is armed with a multiplicity of daggers, knives, yataghans, dirks, sabres, and scimitars, which testify his truculent and bloody disposition.  ’Tis the terrible Rowski de Donnerblitz, Margrave of Eulenschreckenstein.  Report says he is a suitor for the hand of the lovely Helen.  He addresses various speeches of gallantry to her, and grins hideously as he thrusts his disgusting head over her lily shoulder.  But she turns away from him! turns and shudders—­ay, as she would at a black dose!