Burlesques William Makepeace Thackeray

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young hero with the golden hair and the ivory bow. Squintoff's fame as a marksman was
known throughout Europe; but who was his young competitor? Ah? there was ONE heart
in the assembly that beat most anxiously to know. 'Twas Helen's.
The crowning trial arrived. The bull's eye of the target, set up at three-quarters of a mile
distance from the archers, was so small, that it required a very clever man indeed to see,
much more to hit it; and as Squintoff was selecting his arrow for the final trial, the Rowski
flung a purse of gold towards his archer, saying—"Squintoff, an ye win the prize, the purse
is thine." "I may as well pocket it at once, your honor," said the bowman with a sneer at
Otto. "This young chick, who has been lucky as yet, will hardly hit such a mark as that."
And, taking his aim, Squintoff discharged his arrow right into the very middle of the bull'seye.
"Can you mend that, young springald?" said he, as a shout rent the air at his success, as
Helen turned pale to think that the champion of her secret heart was likely to be overcome,
and as Squintoff, pocketing the Rowski's money, turned to the noble boy of Godesberg.
"Has anybody got a pea?" asked the lad. Everybody laughed at his droll request; and an old
woman, who was selling porridge in the crowd, handed him the vegetable which he
demanded. It was a dry and yellow pea. Otto, stepping up to the target, caused Squintoff to
extract his arrow from the bull's-eye, and placed in the orifice made by the steel point of the
shaft, the pea which he had received from the old woman. He then came back to his place.
As he prepared to shoot, Helen was so overcome by emotion, that 'twas thought she would
have fainted. Never, never had she seen a being so beautiful as the young hero now before
her.
He looked almost divine. He flung back his long clusters of hair from his bright eyes and
tall forehead; the blush of health mantled on his cheek, from which the barber's weapon had
never shorn the down. He took his bow, and one of his most elegant arrows, and poising
himself lightly on his right leg, he flung himself forward, raising his left leg on a level with
his ear. He looked like Apollo, as he stood balancing himself there. He discharged his dart
from the thrumming bowstring: it clove the blue air—whiz!
"HE HAS SPLIT THE PEA!" said the Princess, and fainted. The Rowski, with one eye,
hurled an indignant look at the boy, while with the other he levelled (if aught so crooked
can be said to level anything) a furious glance at his archer.
The archer swore a sulky oath. "He is the better man!" said he. "I suppose, young chap, you
take the gold chain?"