"It glistens
like a lost jewel in an ash-barrel; or, more correctly, it is like
an exquisite flower that nature has perversely made the outcome
of a rank and poisonous vine. Of course the flower is poisonous
also, and as soon as its first delicate bloom is over, will grow
as rank and repulsive as the vine that bears it. Like produces
like; and with such parentage, what hope is there for her? I am
glad no one suspects my absurd project; for every hour convinces
me of its impracticability. The ancient Undine was a myth, and my
modern Undine might be called a white lie, but one that will grow
darker every day. At a distance she presents the semblance of a
very fair woman, but I have been unable to detect a single element
yet that will prevent her from developing into an old and ugly hag,
in spite of all that art and costume can do for her."
After supper Stanton brought Mr. Mayhew to Van Berg's retired
nook, and the artist gave the hand of the weary, listless man such
a cordial pressure as to cause him a slight surprise, but after
satisfying his faint interest by a brief glance, he turned the back
of his chair towards all the gay company, although it contained
his wife and daughter, puffed mechanically at his cigar, and looked
vacantly into space.
Pages:
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84