Chapter I

It was on the eve of a day in the happy month of June, that my
great grandfather's carriage, drawn by six hundred and twenty-two
white horses, drew up under the tall palm trees before the gates of
the venerable Higgins' Lodge, and I was lifted almost fainting from
the wearied vehicle. As my grandfather supported my trembling steps
into the spacious hall of the lodge, I noticed that another figure
had been added to our party. It was that of a man six feet high,
and broad in proportion, whose majestic and spacious brow betokened
realms of elysian thought and excrescent ideality. His pallid
tresses hung in curls down his back, and an American flag floated
from his Herculean shoulders. Fixed by a fascination only to be
realized by those who have felt so, I cast my piercing glance at
him, and my inmost soul knew all his sublimity. It was as though an
angel's wing had swept my temples, and left a glittering pinion
there.

"Mr. Higgins," said my grandfather, "here is your ward,
Galushianna."

For an instant silence prevailed.

Then Mr. Higgins said, in tones of exquisitely modulated thunder:

"What did you bring the d--d girl _here_ for, you old cuss you?"

It was as when one sees a strain of music. I remembered the prayers
of my dear departed mother when she sought to enlighten my
speechless infancy with divine grace, and I felt that I loved this
Higgins.

Such is life. We wander through the bowers of love without a
thought of the morrow, while the dread vulture of predestination
eats into our souls, and cries, wo! wo! Truly, earthly happiness is
a mockery.