“Mydearwidow，youarecharming！”criedColonelKilligrew，whose
eyeshadbeenfixeduponherface，whiletheshadowsofagewere
flittingfromitlikedarknessfromthecrimsondaybreak。
Thefairwidowknew，ofold，thatColonelKilligrew’scompliments
werenotalwaysmeasuredbysobertruth；soshestartedupandran
tothemirror，stilldreadingthattheuglyvisageofanoldwoman
wouldmeethergaze。Meanwhile，thethreegentlemenbehavedinsuch
amannerasprovedthatthewateroftheFountainofYouthpossessed
someintoxicatingqualities；unless，indeed，theirexhilarationof
spiritsweremerelyalightsomedizzinesscausedbythesuddenremoval
oftheweightofyears。Mr。Gascoigne’smindseemedtorunon
politicaltopics，butwhetherrelatingtothepast，present，orfuture
couldnoteasilybedetermined，sincethesameideasandphrases
havebeeninvoguethesefiftyyears。Nowherattledforth
full-throatedsentencesaboutpatriotism，nationalglory，andthe
people’sright；nowhemutteredsomeperilousstufforother，inasly
anddoubtfulwhisper，socautiouslythatevenhisownconsciencecould
scarcelycatchthesecret；andnow，again，hespokeinmeasured
accents，andadeeplydeferentialtone，asifaroyalearwere
listeningtohiswell-turnedperiods。ColonelKilligrewallthis
timehadbeentrollingforthajollybottlesong，andringinghis
glassinsymphonywiththechorus，whilehiseyeswanderedtoward
thebuxomfigureoftheWidowWycherly。Ontheothersideofthe
table，Mr。Medbournewasinvolvedinacalculationofdollarsand
cents，withwhichwasstrangelyintermingledaprojectforsupplying
theEastIndieswithice，byharnessingateamofwhalestothe
polaricebergs。
AsfortheWidowWycherly，shestoodbeforethemirror
courtesyingandsimperingtoherownimage，andgreetingitasthe
friendwhomshelovedbetterthanalltheworldbeside。Shethrusther
faceclosetotheglass，toseewhethersomelong-rememberedwrinkle
orcrow’sfoothadindeedvanished。Sheexaminedwhetherthesnow
hadsoentirelymeltedfromherhairthatthevenerablecapcouldbe
safelythrownaside。Atlast，turningbrisklyaway，shecamewitha
sortofdancingsteptothetable。
“Mydearolddoctor。”criedshe，“prayfavormewithanother
glass！”
“Certainly，mydearmadam，certainly！”repliedthecomplaisant
doctor；“see！Ihavealreadyfilledtheglasses。”
There，infact，stoodthefourglasses，brimfulofthiswonderful
water，thedelicatesprayofwhich，asiteffervescedfromthe
surface，resembledthetremulousglitterofdiamonds。Itwasnowso
nearlysunsetthatthechamberhadgrownduskierthanever；butamild
andmoonlikesplendorgleamedfromwithinthevase，andrestedalike
onthefourguestsandonthedoctor’svenerablefigure。Hesatina
high-backed，elaborately-carved，oakenarm-chair，withagray
dignityofaspectthatmighthavewellbefittedthatveryFatherTime，
whosepowerhadneverbeendisputed，savebythisfortunatecompany。
EvenwhilequaffingthethirddraughtoftheFountainofYouth，they
werealmostawedbytheexpressionofhismysteriousvisage。
But，thenextmoment，theexhilaratinggushofyounglifeshot
throughtheirveins。Theywerenowinthehappyprimeofyouth。Age，
withitsmiserabletrainofcaresandsorrowsanddiseases，was
rememberedonlyasthetroubleofadream，fromwhichtheyhad
joyouslyawoke。Thefreshglossofthesoul，soearlylost，and
withoutwhichtheworld’ssuccessivesceneshadbeenbutagallery
offadedpictures，againthrewitsenchantmentoveralltheir
prospects。Theyfeltlikenew-createdbeingsinanew-created
universe。
“Weareyoung！Weareyoung！”theycriedexultingly。
Youth，liketheextremityofage，hadeffacedthestrongly-marked
characteristicsofmiddlelife，andmutuallyassimilatedthemall。
Theywereagroupofmerryyoungsters，almostmaddenedwiththe
exuberantfrolicsomenessoftheiryears。Themostsingulareffectof
theirgayetywasanimpulsetomocktheinfirmityanddecrepitudeof
whichtheyhadsolatelybeenthevictims。Theylaughedloudlyat
theirold-fashionedattire，thewide-skirtedcoatsandflapped
waist-coatsoftheyoungmen，andtheancientcapandgownofthe
bloominggirl。Onelimpedacrossthefloorlikeagoutygrandfather；
onesetapairofspectaclesastrideofhisnose，andpretendedto
poreovertheblack-letterpagesofthebookofmagic；athird
seatedhimselfinanarm-chair，andstrovetoimitatethevenerable
dignityofDr。Heidegger。Thenallshoutedmirthfully，andleaped
abouttheroom。TheWidowWycherly-ifsofreshadamselcouldbe
calledawidow-trippeduptothedoctor’schair，withamischievous
merrimentinherrosyface。
“Doctor，youdearoldsoul。”criedshe，“getupanddancewithme！”
Andthenthefouryoungpeoplelaughedlouderthanever，tothinkwhat
aqueerfigurethepoorolddoctorwouldcut。
“Prayexcuseme。”answeredthedoctorquietly。“Iamoldand
rheumatic，andmydancingdayswereoverlongago。Buteitherofthese
gayyounggentlemenwillbegladofsoprettyapartner。”
“Dancewithme，Clara！”criedColonelKilligrew。
“No，no，Iwillbeherpartner！”shoutedMr。Gascoigne。
“Shepromisedmeherhand，fiftyyearsago！”exclaimedMr。
Medbourne。
Theyallgatheredroundher。Onecaughtbothherhandsinhis
passionategrasp-anotherthrewhisarmaboutherwaist-thethird
buriedhishandamongtheglossycurlsthatclusteredbeneaththe
widow’scap。Blushing，panting，struggling，chiding，laughing，her
warmbreathfanningeachoftheirfacesbyturns，shestroveto
disengageherself，yetstillremainedintheirtripleembrace。Never
wastherealivelierpictureofyouthfulrivalship，withbewitching
beautyfortheprize。Yet，byastrangedeception，owingtothe
duskinessofthechamber，andtheantiquedresseswhichtheystill
wore，thetallmirrorissaidtohavereflectedthefiguresofthe
threeold，gray，witheredgrandsires，ridiculouslycontendingfor
theskinnyuglinessofashrivelledgrandam。
Buttheywereyoung：theirburningpassionsprovedthemso。
Inflamedtomadnessbythecoquetryofthegirl-widow，whoneither
grantednorquitewithheldherfavors，thethreerivalsbeganto
interchangethreateningglances。Stillkeepingholdofthefairprize，
theygrappledfiercelyatoneanother’sthroats。Astheystruggled
toandfro，thetablewasoverturned，andthevasedashedintoa
thousandfragments。ThepreciousWaterofYouthflowedinabright
streamacrossthefloor，moisteningthewingsofabutterfly，which，
grownoldinthedeclineofsummer，hadalightedtheretodie。The
insectflutteredlightlythroughthechamber，andsettledonthesnowy
headofDr。Heidegger。
“Come，come，gentlemen！come，MadamWycherly。”exclaimedthe
doctor，Ireallymustprotestagainstthisriot。”
Theystoodstillandshivered；foritseemedasifgrayTimewere
callingthembackfromtheirsunnyyouth，fardownintothechill
anddarksomevaleofyears。TheylookedatoldDr。Heidegger，who
satinhiscarvedarm-chair，holdingtheroseofhalfacentury，which
hehadrescuedfromamongthefragmentsoftheshatteredvase。At
themotionofhishand，thefourriotersresumedtheirseats；themore
readily，becausetheirviolentexertionshadweariedthem，youthful
thoughtheywere。
“MypoorSylvia’srose！”ejaculatedDr。Heidegger，holdingitin
thelightofthesunsetclouds；“itappearstobefadingagain。”
Andsoitwas。Evenwhilethepartywerelookingatit，the
flowercontinuedtoshrivelup，tillitbecameasdryandfragileas
whenthedoctorhadfirstthrownitintothevase。Heshookoffthe
fewdropsofmoisturewhichclungtoitspetals。
“Iloveitaswellthusasinitsdewyfreshness。”observedhe，
pressingthewitheredrosetohiswitheredlips。Whilehespoke，the
butterflyfluttereddownfromthedoctor’ssnowyhead，andfellupon
thefloor。
Hisguestsshiveredagain。Astrangechillness，whetherofthebody
orspirittheycouldnottell，wascreepinggraduallyoverthemall。
Theygazedatoneanother，andfanciedthateachfleetingmoment
snatchedawayacharm，andleftadeepeningfurrowwherenonehadbeen
before。Wasitanillusion？Hadthechangesofalifetimebeencrowded
intosobriefaspace，andweretheynowfouragedpeople，sitting
withtheiroldfriend，Dr。Heidegger？
“Arewegrownoldagain，sosoon？”criedthey，dolefully。
Intruththeyhad。TheWaterofYouthpossessedmerelyavirtue
moretransientthanthatofwine。Thedeliriumwhichitcreatedhad
effervescedaway。Yes！theywereoldagain。Withashudderingimpulse，
thatshowedherawomanstill，thewidowclaspedherskinnyhands
beforeherface，andwishedthatthecoffinlidwereoverit，sinceit
couldbenolongerbeautiful。
“Yes，friends，yeareoldagain。”saidDr。Heidegger，“andlo！
theWaterofYouthisalllavishedontheground。Well-Ibemoanit
not；forifthefountaingushedatmyverydoorstep，Iwouldnotstoop
tobathemylipsinit-no，thoughitsdeliriumwereforyearsinstead
ofmoments。Suchisthelessonyehavetaughtme！”
Butthedoctor’sfourfriendshadtaughtnosuchlessonto
themselves。TheyresolvedforthwithtomakeapilgrimagetoFlorida，
andquaffatmorning，noon，andnight，fromtheFountainofYouth。
NOTE。InanEnglishreview，notlongsince，Ihavebeenaccused
ofplagiarizingtheideaofthisstoryfromachapterinoneofthe
novelsofAlexandreDumas。Therehasundoubtedlybeenaplagiarism
ononesideortheother；butasmystorywaswrittenagooddealmore
thantwentyyearsago，andasthenovelisofconsiderablymorerecent
date，ItakepleasureinthinkingthatM。Dumashasdonemethe
honortoappropriateoneofthefancifulconceptionsofmyearlier
days。Heisheartilywelcometoit；norisittheonlyinstance，by
many，inwhichthegreatFrenchromancerhasexercisedtheprivilege
ofcommandinggeniusbyconfiscatingtheintellectualpropertyofless
famouspeopletohisownuseandbehoof。September，1860
THEEND