Claribel Carrington and Imogen Hazlewood were cousins. The former was an orphan whose father had died in affluence, leaving his only child a large estate. Her home was the magnificent mansion of her uncle, Colonel Hazlewood, a wealthy citizen of Bella Vista, and her constant companion was the beautiful Imogen. Each of these young ladies had a devoted lover, who, as Tom Seddon had remarked, would have gone on a pilgrimage to the North Pole in search of an icicle in obedience to her wishes. Clarence Hastings adored the lovely Claribel, and Imogen was worshiped by the handsome Harry Vincent. The young men were only sons of two wealthy gentlemen, and consequently each would inherit an ample fortune. They were highly educated and accomplished. Clarence had devoted himself to the study of medicine; while Harry was a man of leisure and had become a votary of the Muses, having already published a small volume of poems, which were admired by the general reader, and had even been commended by critics. But Clarence, although he had made great progress in anatomy and was satisfied that a man could not exist without a heart, was inclined to believe that a woman sometimes managed to get along without that important organ. He arrived at this conclusion from pursuing his studies in the society of the lovely Claribel. Harry Vincent had discovered that the poets in all ages had used the word in their verses, and supposed that most women had a heart, but was afraid that Imogen had grown up in magnificent beauty without ever having had one deposited by nature in her bosom. After much meditation, he determined to ascertain if he was not mistaken, and in the afternoon of the very day on which the valiant Captain Bragg had been expelled from the hotel by the indignant landlord, he proceeded to the mansion of Colonel Hazlewood and inquired for Imogen. He was told that she was walking in the garden. Thither he went, and in an arbor beheld a sight which convinced him that the beautiful Imogen had a heart. He hastily retired, and determined to go to the Mexican war, and march for the Halls of the Montezumas.

What spectacle was it that caused such warlike emotions in the bosom of Harry Vincent? Why was he so suddenly impelled to march under the star-spangled banner against Santa Anna and his legions, in the valley of Mexico?

And it was on account of one of the most beautiful of womankind that poor Harry Vincent determined to shoulder his musket and shed his blood on the field of battle.

He rushed frantically from the garden, looking as pale as a ghost. But what had he seen? On his knees in the arbor he beheld Sam Perch, whom Toney Belton called the Long Green Boy, with his head resting on the lap of the beautiful Imogen. The young lady was dipping her handkerchief in a vase of water and tenderly bathing his brow. Now, what had brought the poor Long Green Boy down on his knees before Imogen? What had he said to Imogen, and what had she said to him, that had caused him to faint? Oh, ladies, how do you manage to get a stout young fellow down on his knees before you, when a strong man could not bring him to that position except by a powerful blow from a ponderous fist? The whole thing was a mystery, but the fact was apparent. Perch had gone down on his knees before the lovely Imogen, and she had spoken words which had caused such strong emotions that he had fainted. The Long Green Boy revived, after the young lady, with womanly tenderness, had bathed his brow with water from a fountain. He told her that his heart was broken. She murmured something in reply and glided from the garden, while the poor youth arose from his knees and with his fractured heart proceeded to his room at the hotel.

When the unfortunate Long Green Boy entered his room at the hotel, he seated himself on a trunk in a corner, with a multitude of darts, which had emanated from the eyes of the beautiful Imogen, sticking in his heart and causing him intense agony. The poor youth had been carried away into the regions of rapture, and then suddenly and unexpectedly plunged into the pit of despair. He was convinced that his misery was more than he could bear, and after meditating profoundly upon the most eligible methods of escaping from the troubles of this sublunary state of existence, he arose, and going to an apothecary's shop, asked for a pint of laudanum.

"How much?" inquired the apothecary.

"A pint," said Perch.

"Do you want a whole pint?"

"Yes," said Perch, with a look of despair in his face,—"it will take a whole pint to cure me."

"What is the matter with you?" asked the apothecary.

"I have got the—the toothache," said Perch.

"Humph!" said the apothecary. And he went into a back room to get a bottle.

"Father," said a blue-eyed young lady in the back room, "do not give that young man any laudanum."

"Why not?"

"Because I have been watching him through the door, and I am certain he is crossed in love. He will kill himself."

"Pooh! pooh! the young man has got the toothache. That's worse than being crossed in love a hundred times."

"Oh, father!" said the young lady, and she resumed her reading of "The Sorrows of Werther."

The apothecary filled the bottle and handed it to his customer. Perch returned to his room and proceeded to make preparations for his departure from earth. He sat down and wrote a letter to the cruel Imogen, in which he accused her of being the sole cause of his untimely end. He directed another letter to his distinguished friend, M. T. Pate, telling him that his sufferings were unendurable, and that he had been driven by despair to the commission of the deed.

With a trembling hand the Long Green Boy then poured about half the contents of the bottle into a goblet and hastily drank it off. He then laid himself down on the bed, crossed his legs and folded his arms, and prepared to die with decency. Instead of the lethal effects of the laudanum which he had expected, he soon experienced a wonderful exhilaration. The washstand in the corner of the room seemed to be dancing a jig; there were now two lamps on the table instead of one; and at last the room itself was in motion, and the Long Green Boy supposed that the house was being moved about by an earthquake. In great excitement he arose from the bed, and with the floor rocking and rolling so that he could hardly stand on his feet, he staggered to the table, and, seizing the bottle, swallowed its contents. With a revolving motion he then reached the bed, sank down, and was soon in a state of profound insensibility.

While the Long Green Boy thus lay in a stupor, M. T. Pate entered the apartment. He endeavored to awaken the sleeper, but found it impossible to do so, and seeing a letter on the table addressed to himself, he opened it, and then, with a loud exclamation of horror, rushed from the room.