der! I must here ask you to call to remembrance, as vividly
as you can, the masterpieces of our grand Albrecht Duerer. Let those
beautiful virgin forms which he has pourtrayed, instinct with grace and
suavity, sweetness, gentleness, pious meekness, rise before you. Think
of the noble, tender shapes; the pure, rounded foreheads white as snow;
the rose-tint suffusing the cheeks; the delicate lips, red as cherries;
the eyes, looking far away, in dreamy longing, half shadowed by the
dark lashes, as moonlight is by thick leafage. Think on the silky hair,
carefully gathered and knotted. Think on all the heavenly beauty of
those virgin forms, and you will see the lovely Rosa. He who relates
this tale cannot hope otherwise to pourtray her. Let me, however,
remind you of another grand painter into whose soul a ray from those
ancient days has penetrated: I mean our German Master, Cornelius. Just
as he has made Margaret (in his illustrations to Goethe's mighty
'Faust') appear, as she says--

"I'm not a lady; nor am I fair,"

such was Rosa, when she felt constrained, bashfully and modestly, to
evade the ardent advances of some admirer.

She now bent low before Paumgartner, in child-like deference, took his
hand, and pressed it to her lips. The old gentleman's pale cheeks
glowed. As the radiance of the evening sky fading away into darkness,
brightens up suddenly for a last moment, gilding the dark foliage ere
it sinks into night, so did the fire of youth long-perished flash up in
his eyes. "Ah, Master Martin!" he cried, "you are a wealthy, prosperous
man, but by far the most precious gift that Heaven has bestowed on you
is your charming Rosa. The sight of her makes the hearts of us old
fellows beat, as we sit at the Council Board: and if _we_ can't turn
our eyes away from her, who can blame the young gallants if they stand
staring like stone images when they meet her in the street; or see only
_her_ in church, and not the parson? What marvel that, when there is a
_fete_ in the common meadow, they drive the other girls to despair, by
all running after _your_ daughter, following _her_ exclusively with
their sighs, love-looks, honeyed speeches? Master Martin, you are well
aware you may pick and choose among the best patrician blood in the
country-side for your son-in-law, whenever you have a mind."

Master Martin's face crumpled up into sombre folds. He told his
daughter to go and bring some fine old wine; and when