her singing sometimes; and though she evidently is not trained, yet is
there a wild sweetness in her fitful and sometimes fantastic
melodies,--such as can come only from the inspiration of the
moment,--strangely enough, reminding me of those long passages I have
heard from my little neighbor's room, yet of different tone, and by no
means to be mistaken for those weird harmonies.

I cannot pretend to deny that I am interested in the girl. Alone,
unprotected, as I have seen so many young girls left in boarding-houses,
the centre of all the men's eyes that surround the table, watched with
jealous sharpness by every woman, most of all by that poor relation of
our landlady, who belongs to the class of women that like to catch
others in mischief when they are too mature for indiscretions, (as one
sees old rogues turn to thief-catchers,) one of Nature's _gendarmerie_,
clad in a complete suit of wrinkles, the cheapest coat-of-mail against
the shafts of the great little enemy,--so surrounded, Iris spans this
commonplace household-life of ours with her arch of beauty, as the
rainbow, whose name she borrows, looks down on a dreary pasture with its
feeding flocks and herds of indifferent animals.

These young girls that live in boarding-houses can do pretty much as
they will. The female _gendarmes_ are off guard occasionally. The
sitting-room has its solitary moments, when any two boarders who wish to
meet may come together accidentally, (_accidentally_, I said, Madam, and
I had not the slightest intention of Italicizing the word,) and discuss
the social or political questions of the day, or any other subject that
may prove interesting. Many charming conversations take place at the
foot of the stairs, or while one of the parties is holding the latch of
a door,--in the shadow of porticos, and especially on those outside
balconies which some of our Southern neighbors call "stoops," the most
charming places in the world when the moon is just right and the roses
and honeysuckles are in full blow,--as we used to think in eighteen
hundred and never mention it.

On such a balcony or "stoop," one evening, I walked with Iris. We were
on pretty good terms now, and I had coaxed her arm under mine,--my left
arm, of course. That leaves one's right arm free to defend the lovely
creature, if the rival--odious wretch!--attempt to ravish her from your
side. Likewise if one's heart should happen to beat a little, its mute
language will not be with