court. The girl with whom he nervously holds conversation, and whose
bright, Italian eyes, undulating black hair, Grecian face and fair
features, swelling bust and beautifully-chiseled shoulders, round
polished arms and tapering hands, erect figure, so exactly dressed
in black brocade, and so reserve in her demeanor, is the Anna Bonard
of this history. "Judge!" she says in reply to a question he has
advanced, and turning disdainfully upon him her great black eyes,
walks gracefully out of the room.

Sitting on a sofa opposite is a slender youth, somewhat flashily
dressed. His complexion is sandy, there is something restless in his
manner; and in his features, which are sharp and watchful, is that
which indicates a mind weak and vacillating. He sits alone,
seemingly thoughtful, and regarding with a jealous eye the insidious
manner in which the venerable judge addresses the beautiful Anna, in
whom you must know, reader, he has a deep and passionate interest.
As Anna passes out of the room he, like one in despair, rests his
head in his pale, bony, and freckled hand, and mutters to himself:
"I will have revenge. His gray hairs shall not save him--my name is
George Mullholland!"

Here and there, on sofas arranged between the great windows, sit
faded denizens, reclining languidly in dresses of various bright
colors, set off with gaudy trinkets, and exhibiting that passion for
cheap jewelry so much in vogue with the vulgar of our self-plumed
aristocracy--such as live at fashionable hotels, and, like Mrs.
Snivel, who has a palace on the Fifth Avenue, make a show-case for
cheap diamonds of themselves at breakfast table. Beside these
denizens are men of every shade and grade of society. With one sits
the distinguished lawyer; with a second converses the