M.L.B.

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SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

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THE MAN-MOUNTAIN.


We were all--Julia, her aunt, and myself, seated at a comfortable fire on
a December evening. The night was dark, starless, and rainy, while the
drops pattered upon the windows, and the wind howled at intervals along
the house-tops. In a word, it was as gloomy a night as one would wish to
see in this, the most dismal season of the year. Strictly speaking, I
should have been at home, for it was Sunday; and my own habitation was at
too great a distance to justify a visit of mere ceremony on so sacred a
day, and amid such stormy weather. The truth is, I sallied out to see
Julia.

I verily believe I could write a whole volume about her. She came from the
north country, and was at this time on a visit to her aunt, in whose house
she resided; and in whose dining-room, at the period of my story, we were
all seated round a comfortable fire. Though a prodigious admirer of
beauty, I am a bad hand at describing it. To do Julia justice, however, I
must make the attempt. She was rather under the middle size, (not much,)