field of
immortality than ever was decreed by Omnipotence, or ever pencil drew
or artist imagined." But, dear me, while he is waiting there the couple
climb out at the back window and scurry home! This is romantic enough,
but there is a lack of dignity in the situation.

At this point McClintock puts in the whole of his curious play--which we
skip.

Some correspondence follows now. The bitter father and the distressed
lovers write the letters. Elopements are attempted. They are idiotically
planned, and they fail. Then we have several pages of romantic powwow
and confusion dignifying nothing. Another elopement is planned; it is to
take place on Sunday, when everybody is at church. But the "hero" cannot
keep the secret; he tells everybody. Another author would have found
another instrument when he decided to defeat this elopement; but that is
not McClintock's way. He uses the person that is nearest at hand.

The evasion failed, of course. Ambulinia, in her flight, takes refuge
in a neighbor's house. Her father drags her home. The villagers gather,
attracted by the racket.

Elfonzo was moved at this sight. The people followed on to see what was
going to become of Ambulinia, while he, with downcast looks, kept at
a distance, until he saw them enter the abode of the father, thrusting
her, that was the sigh of his soul, out of his presence into a solitary
apartment, when she exclaimed, "Elfonzo! Elfonzo! oh, Elfonzo! where
art thou, with all thy heroes? haste, oh! haste, come thou to my relief.
Ride on the wings of the wind! Turn thy force loose like a tempest, and
roll on thy army like a whirlwind, over this mountain of trouble and
confusion. Oh friends! if any pity me, let your last efforts throng upon
the green hills, and come to the relief of Ambulinia, who is guilty of
nothing but innocent love." Elfonzo called out with a loud voice, "My
God, can I stand this! arouse up, I beseech you, and put an end to this
tyranny. Come, my brave boys," said he, "are you ready to go forth to
your duty?" They stood around him. "Who," said he, "will call us to
arms? Where are my thunderbolts of war? Speak ye, the first who will
meet the foe! Who will go forward with me in this ocean of grievous
temptation? If there is one who desires to go, let him come and shake
hands upon the altar of devotion, and swear that he will be a hero; yes,
a Hector in a cause like this, which calls aloud for a speedy remedy."
"Mine be the deed," said a