excited to indignation, had brought his musket to his shoulder, he
hurried from a scene calculated, beyond all others, to thrill the nerves
and curdle the blood of a civilized spectator.




AN AMERICAN GIRL AND HER LOVERS.


In the spring of 1869 I was induced, for the sake of rest and
recreation, to take charge of a young American girl during a tour in
Europe. This young girl was Miss Helen St. Clair of Detroit, Michigan.
We two were by no means strangers. She had been my pupil since the time
when she was the prettiest little creature that ever wore a scarlet
hood. I have a little picture, scarlet hood and all, that I would not
exchange for the most beautiful one that Greuze ever painted. Not that
her face bore any resemblance to the pictures of Greuze. It had neither
the sweet simplicity of the girl in "The Broken Pitcher," nor the
sentimental graces which he bestows on his court beauties. It was an
exceedingly piquant, animated face, never at rest, always kindling,
flashing, gleaming, whether with sunlight or lightning. Her movements
were quick and darting, like those of a humming-bird. Her enunciation,
though perfectly distinct, was marvelously rapid. The same quickness
characterized her mental operations. Her conclusions, right or wrong,
were always instantaneous. Her prompt decisiveness, her talent for
mimicry and her witchery of grace and beauty won her a devoted following
of school-girls, to whom her tastes and opinions were as authoritative
as ever were those of Eugénie to the ladies of her court. School-girls,
like college-boys, are very apt in nicknames, and Helen's was the