the perfect artifice
of her companion. The longer the interview continued, the more charmed
was pretty Polly, until, within the first quarter of an hour (as the old
magistrate noted by his watch), she was evidently beginning to be in
love. Nor need it have been witchcraft that subdued her in such a hurry;
the poor child's heart, it may be, was so very fervent, that it melted
her with its own warmth, as reflected from the hollow semblance of a
lover. No matter what Feathertop said, his words found depth and
reverberation in her ear; no matter what he did, his action was heroic
to her eye. And, by this time, it is to be supposed, there was a blush
on Polly's cheek, a tender smile about her mouth, and a liquid softness
in her glance; while the star kept coruscating on Feathertop's breast,
and the little demons careered, with more frantic merriment than ever,
about the circumference of his pipe-bowl. Oh, pretty Polly Gookin, why
should these imps rejoice so madly that a silly maiden's heart was about
to be given to a shadow! Is it so unusual a misfortune?--so rare a
triumph?

By and by, Feathertop paused, and throwing himself into an imposing
attitude, seemed to summon the fair girl to survey his figure, and
resist him longer, if she could. His star, his embroidery, his buckles,
glowed, at that instant, with unutterable splendor; the picturesque hues
of his attire took a richer depth of coloring; there was a gleam and
polish over his whole presence, betokening the perfect witchery of
well-ordered manners. The maiden raised her eyes, and suffered them to
linger upon her companion with a bashful and admiring gaze. Then, as if
desirous of judging what value her own simple comeliness might have,
side by side with so much brilliancy, she cast a glance towards the
full-length looking-glass, in front of which they happened to be
standing. It was one of the truest plates in the world, and incapable of
flattery. No sooner did the images, therein reflected, meet Polly's eye,
than she shrieked, shrank from the stranger's side, gazed at him for a
moment, in the wildest dismay, and sank insensible upon the floor.
Feathertop, likewise, had looked towards the mirror, and there beheld,
not the glittering mockery of his outside show, but a picture of the
sordid patchwork of his real composition, stript of all witchcraft.

The wretched simulacrum! We almost pity him! He threw up his arms with
an expression of despair, that went farther tha