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Updated: September 14, 2024


I have no doubt there's hope for you yet, if you pull yourself together, and get rid of this idiotic notion of marrying Miss Bosswinkel." In answer to this, Tussmann and Bosswinkel cried out together, in what is termed on the lyric stage "ensemble" "I can't." "He shan't."

Only rid me of this terrible enchantment as you can, if you choose. 'Tussmann! he said, in that awful hollow voice of his, 'nothing shall annoy you more, if you will take your solemn oath, here where we stand, to give up all idea of marrying Miss Albertine Bosswinkel. Commissionsrath! you may fancy what I felt when this atrocious proposition was made to me.

Every one who knows Miss Albertine Bosswinkel is aware that, as has been said, she is the very personification of youth, beauty, and delightsomeness; that, like all other Berlin young ladies, she dresses in the best possible taste in the latest fashions, sings in Zelter's choir, has lessons on the piano from Herr Lauska, dances most beautifully, sent a tulip charmingly embroidered and surrounded by violets to the last exhibition, and though by nature of a bright, lively temperament, is quite capable of displaying the proper amount of sentimentality required at tea-parties, at all events.

Tussmann would be content with very little in the shape of portion, and Bosswinkel hated bother of every kind, disliked making new acquaintances, and, in his capacity of a Commissionsrath, thought a great deal more of money than he ought to have done. The Clerk of the Privy Chancery was at first alarmed at the suggestion.

Bosswinkel, who was just coming up, started back in much alarm as this school-chum of his came bumping into his arms. "What in the name of all that's " he cried; "what's going on? what ails your face?" Tussmann, almost out of his mind, related all that had happened, in broken phrases; how Albertine had behaved to him how Edmund had treated him.

But I cannot help performing it, because it is indispensable to the dénouement of this Berlinese tale of the Choice of a Bride by three personages, suitors for the hand of Miss Albertine Bosswinkel.

And all the time there were invisible hands beating my back black and blue. More than that; all round me, wherever I turned, the place was swarming with Tussmanns waltzing with their arms round besoms. At last I fell down exhausted, and lost my consciousness. When the light shone into my eyes in the morning oh, Bosswinkel, share my terror!

Bosswinkel said, "do you think I'm going to believe all this rubbish? Did ever anybody hear of magical phenomena of this sort happening in our enlightened city of Berlin?" "Now," said Tussmann, "don't you see what a quagmire of ignorance and error the fact that you never read anything plunges you into?

The gentleman drank rather more than was good for him: he couldn't keep on his legs, and went out to the street staggering." "Don't you see," Bosswinkel said, "this is what comes of that terrible habit of liquoring up? You'll have to leave it off, I can assure you, if you're going to be my son-in-law."

I presume you have the effrontery to be paying your addresses to Miss Bosswinkel yourself; you've got hold of a portrait of her on glass, and shown it at the Town-hall in a magic-lantern held under your cloak. My good sir, I know something about these matters, as well as you do; you're going the wrong way to work if you think you're going to frighten and bully me in this sort of way."

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