A Cure for the Blues Part 5

It seems to me that this situation is new in romance. I feel
sure it has not been attempted before. Military celebrities have
been disguised and set at lowly occupations for dramatic effect,
but I think McClintock is the first to send one of them to school.
Thus, in this book, you pass from wonder to wonder, through gardens
of hidden treasure, where giant streams bloom before you,
and behind you, and all around, and you feel as happy, and groggy,
and satisfied with your quart of mixed metaphor aboard as you would
if it had been mixed in a sample-room and delivered from a jug.

Now we come upon some more McClintockian surprise--a sweetheart
who is sprung upon us without any preparation, along with a name
for her which is even a little more of a surprise than she herself is.


In 1842 he entered the class, and made rapid progress in the English
and Latin departments. Indeed, he continued advancing with such
rapidity that he was like to become the first in his class,
and made such unexpected progress, and was so studious, that he had
almost forgotten the pictured saint of his affections. The fresh
wreaths of the pine and cypress had waited anxiously to drop once
more the dews of Heaven upon the heads of those who had so often
poured forth the tender emotions of their souls under its boughs.
He was aware of the pleasure that he had seen there. So one evening, as
he was returning from his reading, he concluded he would pay a visit
to this enchanting spot. Little did he think of witnessing a shadow
of his former happiness, though no doubt he wished it might be so.
He continued sauntering by the roadside, meditating on the past.
The nearer he approached the spot, the more anxious he became.
At that moment a tall female figure flitted across his path, with a
bunch of roses in her hand; her countenance showed uncommon vivacity,
with a resolute spirit; her ivory teeth already appeared as she
smiled beautifully, promenading--while her ringlets of hair dangled
unconsciously around her snowy neck. Nothing was wanting to complete
her beauty. The tinge of the rose was in full bloom upon her cheek;
the charms of sensibility and tenderness were always her associates.
In Ambulinia's bosom dwelt a noble soul--one that never faded--
one that never was conquered.


Ambulinia! It can hardly be matched in fiction. The full name
is Ambulinia Valeer. Marriage will presently round it out and
perfect it. Then it will be Mrs. Ambulinia Valeer Elfonzo.
It takes the chromo.


Her heart yielded to no feeling but the love of Elfonzo, on whom
she gazed with intense delight, and to whom she felt herself
more closely bound, because he sought the hand of no other.
Elfonzo was roused from his apparent reverie. His books no longer
were his inseparable companions--his thoughts arrayed themselves
to encourage him to the field of victory. He endeavored to speak
to his supposed Ambulinia, but his speech appeared not in words.
No, his effort was a stream of fire, that kindled his soul into
a flame of admiration, and carried his senses away captive.
Ambulinia had disappeared, to make him more mindful of his duty.
As she walked speedily away through the piny woods, she calmly echoed:
"O! Elfonzo, thou wilt now look from thy sunbeams. Thou shalt
now walk in a new path--perhaps thy way leads through darkness;
but fear not, the stars foretell happiness."