A Spanish Romance.

There is not an iota of truth in “The Philadelphia News” rumor that Miss Kate Field is about to be married to a Western journalist. Miss Field will never wed; and the secret of her celibacy is to be found in a singularly sad and romantic tale which has never yet, we think, been put in print.

Some years ago Miss Field made a visit to Spain with a view to acquainting herself with certain old Castilian legends which she desired to make literary use of. She took with her many letters of introduction to Spanish grandees, among them a letter to Marshal Serrano. This wealthy and influential nobleman received her most cordially, and entertained her at his castle in Madrid for several weeks; his wife, a sister of the Comte de Paris (now deceased), being particularly charmed by the vigor of Miss Field’s intellect, and the insinuating grace of her manners. It happened, that, during her stay at Serrano Castle, the beautiful young American met, among other Spanish noblemen, the young Alvaredo Lopez y Jesus de Ratz, one of the wealthiest, handsomest, and bravest scions of Spanish royalty. He was a hidalgo of the thirty-second magnitude, heir-apparent to the dukedom of Aragon, and, what was considered better than all else, he possessed large political influence, and 198stood high in the favor of the dominant party. Alvaredo Lopez de Ratz fell a willing victim to the personal and intellectual charms of the fascinating American girl; and with that precipitancy peculiar to the impassioned sons of stately old Spain, he avowed his love at the second meeting. Somewhat startled by the suddenness of his fervid declaration, though not insensible to his exceeding eligibility, Miss Field coyly employed those evasive, Fabian arts which so admirably beseem her sex, and which render a beautiful girl all the more beautiful in the opinion of mankind. So, therefore, Alvaredo set himself bravely to the task of melting the marble heart of the proud American at whose imperious feet he had incontinently cast down his heart, his titles, his hopes, his all. Day after day he weaved sonnets to her eyes and hair, or pursued her with sighings and avowals: night after night he lingered beneath her window, blending his rich baritone voice in amorous serenades with the throbbing tones of his mandolin or lute.

One day, Miss Field, accompanied by the young Alvaredo Lopez de Ratz, went to the amphitheatre to witness a bull-fight, the same being a celebration of the feast of St. Isadore. When they reached the place, they found that their seats were on the other side of the amphitheatre; and to save time, they thought to cut across the arena, the combat not yet having begun. Scarcely, however, had 199they reached the centre of the arena, when, by some fatal blunder, the door to the bull-pen was thrown open, and out rushed a monstrous Andalusian bull, lashing his tail wildly, pawing the earth, and bellowing fiercely.

“Suave mio! suave mio!” (“Save me! save me!”) cried Miss Field, in tones that would have wrung the most callous heart.

“Carissima mia,” answered Alvaredo Lopez de Ratz, “te suavo spezza!” (“Dearest, I will save thee!”)

Then, drawing his stiletto, the brave young lover threw himself between the infuriated bull and the red parasol which Miss Field had unfurled, and behind which she stood, pale, shrieking, trembling. While the bull gored at Alvaredo Lopez de Ratz, that valiant young nobleman carved and whittled the shaggy monster’s frothing nostrils right dexterously: meantime, divers picadors, matadors, and cavaliers hastened to the rescue of Miss Field, who was borne insensible from the arena.

But what of Alvaredo Lopez y Jesus de Ratz? Alas! his gored and lifeless remains, mutilated beyond recognition, were raked up and gathered together after the matadors had slain the infuriate bull. A braver man was never borne from the battle-field on two-score and ten dust-pans!

Ever since that tragedy, Miss Field has disdained the advances of the masculine sex. Pondering ever on the fate of her young Spanish suitor, she 200never hears an impassioned avowal that she does not droop her pretty head, and regretfully murmur, “Ratz!”