Heidegger had been on the point of marriage with this young lady; but,being affected with some slight disorder, she had swallowed one of herlover's prescriptions, and died on the bridal evening. The greatestcuriosity of the study remains to be mentioned; it was a ponderousfolio volume, bound in black leather, with massive silver clasps.
There were no letters on the back, and nobody could tell the titleof the book. But it was well known to be a book of magic; and once,when a chambermaid had lifted it, merely to brush away the dust, theskeleton had rattled in its closet, the picture of the young ladyhad stepped one foot upon the floor, and several ghastly faces hadpeeped forth from the mirror; while the brazen head of Hippocratesfrowned, and said- "Forbear!"Such was Dr. Heidegger's study. On the summer afternoon of our talea small round table, as black as ebony, stood in the centre of theroom, sustaining a cut-glass vase of beautiful form and elaborateworkmanship. The sunshine came through the window, between the heavyfestoons of two faded damask curtains, and fell directly across thisvase; so that a mild splendor was reflected from it on the ashenvisages of the five old people who sat around. Four champagneglasses were also on the table.
"My dear old friends," repeated Dr. Heidegger, "may I reckon onyour aid in performing an exceedingly curious experiment?"Now Dr. Heidegger was a very strange old gentleman, whoseeccentricity had become the nucleus for a thousand fantasticstories. Some of these fables, to my shame be it spoken, mightpossibly be traced back to my own veracious self; and if anypassages of the present tale should startle the reader's faith, I mustbe content to bear the stigma of a fiction monger.
When the doctor's four guests heard him talk of his proposedexperiment, they anticipated nothing more wonderful than the murder ofa mouse in an air pump, or the examination of a cobweb by themicroscope, or some similar nonsense, with which he was constantlyin the habit of pestering his intimates. But without waiting for areply, Dr. Heidegger hobbled across the chamber, and returned with thesame ponderous folio, bound in black leather, which common reportaffirmed to be a book of magic. Undoing the silver clasps, he openedthe volume, and took from among its black-letter pages a rose, or whatwas once a rose, though now the green leaves and crimson petals hadassumed one brownish hue, and the ancient flower seemed ready tocrumble to dust in the doctor's hands.
"This rose, said Dr. Heidegger, with a sigh, "this same witheredand crumbling flower, blossomed five and fifty years ago. It was givenme by Sylvia Ward, whose portrait hangs yonder; and I meant to wear itin my bosom at our wedding. Five and fifty years it has been treasuredbetween the leaves of this old volume. Now, would you deem it possiblethat this rose of half a century could ever bloom again?""Nonsense!" said the Widow Wycherly, with a peevish toss of herhead. "You might as well ask whether an old woman's wrinkled facecould ever bloom again.""See!" answered Dr. Heidegger.
He uncovered the vase, and threw the faded rose into the waterwhich it contained. At first, it lay lightly on the surface of thefluid, appearing to imbibe none of its moisture. Soon, however, asingular change began to be visible. The crushed and dried petalsstirred, and assumed a deepening tinge of crimson, as if the flowerwere reviving from a deathlike slumber; the slender stalk and twigs offoliage became green; and there was the rose of half a century,looking as fresh as when Sylvia Ward had first given it to herlover. It was scarcely full blown; for some of its delicate red leavescurled modestly around its moist bosom, within which two or threedewdrops were sparkling.
"That is certainly a very pretty deception," said the doctor'sfriends; carelessly, however, for they had witnessed greatermiracles at a conjurer's show; "pray how was it effected?""Did you never hear of the 'Fountain of Youth'?" asked Dr.
Heidegger, "which Ponce de Leon, the Spanish adventurer, went insearch of two or three centuries ago?""But did Ponce de Leon ever find it?" said the Widow Wycherly.
"No, answered Dr. Heidegger, "for he never sought it in the rightplace. The famous Fountain of Youth, if I am rightly informed, issituated in the southern part of the Floridian peninsula, not far fromLake Macaco. Its source is overshadowed by several gigantic magnolias,which, though numberless centuries old, have been kept as fresh asviolets by the virtues of this wonderful water. An acquaintance ofmine, knowing my curiosity in such matters, has sent me what you seein the vase.""Ahem!" said Colonel Killigrew, who believed not a word of thedoctor's story: "and what may be the effect of this fluid on the humanframe?""You shall judge for yourself, my dear colonel," replied Dr.
Heidegger; "and all of you, my respected friends, are welcome to somuch of this admirable fluid as may restore to you the bloom of youth.
For my own part, having had much trouble in growing old, I am in nohurry to grow young again. With your permission, therefore, I willmerely watch the progress of the experiment."While he spoke, Dr. Heidegger had been filling the four champagneglasses with the water of the Fountain of Youth. It was apparentlyimpregnated with an effervescent gas, for little bubbles werecontinually ascending from the depths of the glasses, and burstingin silvery spray at the surface. As the liquor diffused a pleasantperfume, the old people doubted not that it possessed cordial andcomfortable properties; and though utter sceptics as to itsrejuvenescent power, they were inclined to swallow it at once. But Dr.
Heidegger besought them to stay a moment.
