ich, barring the perspective, is not so amiss; indeed,
she has caught the notion of "idealizing" (which promises future
originality) from her own natural instincts, and given to the old
witch-elm, that hangs over the stream, just the bough that it wanted to
dip into the water and soften off the hard lines. My only fear is that
Blanche should become too dreamy and thoughtful.

Poor child, she has no one to play with! So I look out, and get her a
dog, frisky and young, who abhors sedentary occupations,--a spaniel,
small, and coal-black, with ears sweeping the ground. I baptize him
"Juba," in honor of Addison's "Cato," and in consideration of his sable
curls and Mauritanian complexion. Blanche does not seem so eerie and
elf-like while gliding through the ruins when Juba barks by her side and
scares the birds from the ivy.

One day I had been pacing to and fro the hall, which was deserted; and
the sight of the armor and portraits--dumb evidences of the active and
adventurous lives of the old inhabitants, which seemed to reprove my own
inactive obscurity--had set me off on one of those Pegasean hobbies
on which youth mounts to the skies,--delivering maidens on rocks, and
killing Gorgons and monsters,--when Juba bounded in, and Blanche came
after him, her straw hat in her hand.

Blanche. "I thought you were here, Sisty: may I stay?"

Pisistratus.--"Why, my dear child, the day is so fine that instead of
losing it indoors, you ought to be running in the fields with Juba."

Juba.--"Bow-wow."

Blanche.--"Will you come too? If Sisty stays in, Blanche does not care
for the butterflies!"

Pisistratus, seeing that the thread of his day-dreams is broken,
consents with an air of resignation. Just as they gain the door, Blanche
pauses, and looks as if there were something on her mind.

Pisistratus--"What now, Blanche? Why are you making knots in that
ribbon, and writing invisible characters on the floor with the point of
that busy little foot?"

Blanche (mysteriously).--"I have found a new room, Sisty. Do you think
we may look into it?"

Pisistratus--"Certainly; unless any Bluebeard of your acquaintance told
you not. Where is it?"

Blanche.--"Upstairs, to the left."

Pisistratus.--"That little old door, going down two stone steps, which
is always kept locked?"

Blanche.--"Yes; it is not locked to-day. The door was ajar, and I peeped
in; but I would not do more till I came and asked you if you thought it
would not be wro