The New York coach-maker's magazine, devoted to the literary, social, and mechanical interests of the craft by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Carriage and wagon making
Publisher: New York, E. M. Stratton [etc.]

falutin air8 tbey lisaunied. But then, to do them justice, they couldn't well be ignorant as to their personal attractiveness, when they were constantly besieged by a score or so of sighing, ogling, whiraperincr^ and finger*&queezing " lovyers." JIow I, who knew the sisters so well, w.-v? over drawn into tke unmitiirate<l madness of loving Kate Collier, has always exceeded my comprehension. I knew licr for the heartless flirt that sho really was, and yet, a kind

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THE NEW YORK COACH-MAKER*S MAGAZINE,

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word or^ two, and one of those killing smiles she used as bait, did my business. I took to star-gazing, moonlight walks, and starving mj rather corpulent frame into sentimental proportions on a homoeopathic diet of corn-dodgers and sonr-kront. Hair and poetry became my passions, and I cultivated moustaches, and spouted Byron with such frantic energy, as to endanger my windpipe, and fill the minds of my landlady and fellow-boarders witii horror and disgust.

Kate, who was the youngest, and perhaps the prettiest of the three, possessed, in a marvelous degree, the power of fascinating all on whom she tried her bewitching faculties ; it was not strange, then, that the feeble attempts I at first made to extricate myself from her toils, were abortive; reason fled before her smile, and the soft music of her voice set folly to dancing jigs in my poor deluded brain. In my blindness I believed that the deceitful little jade loved me; so I was the happiest fellow on earth, and as proud of my conquest as a yellow dog with four tads. The style I put on among my chop-fallen rivals when we met at the 'Squire's was far from conciliating, and the consequence was they hated me cordially. Strenuous efforts were put forth to supplant me; lies were told to my disparagement^ and threats the most dire were showered on my devoted head. Violent hands were even laid on me by one infuriated individual, who declared that nothing short of the demolition of my countenance would satisfy his wrath; but in the midst of the operation he became so exhausted, that it was found necessary to carry him home on a board. His fate acted as a cooler on the others, and for the time, I was left to bask in the smiles of the divine Kate, in peace—peace ! alas it was of short duration.

It was a cool, pleasant evening in September, and from every window in the Collier Mansion lights flashed out into the darkness, throwing fantastic patches of gold across the dusty road, and up into the tall poplars, mat^ like a phalanx of dusky giants, guarded the building from the vagrant whims of sun, wind, and rain.

Crowds of the village belles and beaux, gtdly attired in their Sunday dry-goods, were passing in panoramic succession through the wide £ront door, flashing along the hall, and adding new effulgence to the glory of the newly papered and white-washed parlors. It was Kate's—my Kate's—birth-night, and the 61ite and fashion of Bruntwood were congregating, by special invitation, to honor the festive occasion.

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