this fascinating being, that every corner of her rich
domain is open to the highest or lowest of mortals without reserve;
and so lovely is she herself, and so bewitching is her company, that
few, few indeed, are they who do not cherish her as a bosom friend and
as the dearest of companions.

Bearing, however, her vagrant characteristics in mind, we shall not be
surprised at the peculiar ideas some people entertain of her haunts,
nor at the strange places in which they search for her person. One
would hardly believe that hundreds of thousands have sought her
through the smoke, din, and turmoil of those lines "where all
antipathies to comfort dwell,"--the railroads; while others, more
adventurous, plough the ocean deep, scale the mighty mountains, or
soar amid the clouds for her; or, strange to say, have sought her in
the battle field 'mid scenes of bloody death. Like Hotspur, such would
pluck her--

"From the pale-faced moon;"

or would

"Dive into the bottom of the deep,
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground"

for her.

But she is a lady before whom strength and pride fall nerveless and
abased; her gracious smiles are to be wooed, not commanded; her bright
presence may be won, not forced;

"For spotless, and holy, and gentle, and bright,
She glides o'er the earth like an angel of light."

Possessing all the gentleness of her mother--_Taste_, she shrinks from
everything rude or abrupt; and when, as has frequently been the case,
persons have attempted to lay violent hands upon her, she has invariably
eluded their vigilance, by leaving in her place, tricked out in her
superabundant ornaments to blind them, her half-brother--_Whim_, who
sprang from the same father--_Wit_, but by another mother--_Humour_. She
herself, wanderer as she is, is not without her favourite haunts, in
which she lingers as if even loath to quit them at all.

Finally, wherever yet the _accomplished_ needlewoman has been found,
in the Jewish tabernacle of old--in the Grecian dome where the "Tale
of Troy divine" glowed on the canvass--or in the bower of the
high-born beauty of the "bright days of the sword and the lance"--in
the cell of the pale recluse--or in the turretted prison of the royal
captive--there has FANCY been her devoted friend, her inseparable
companion.

FOOTNOTE:

[124] She was then a mere child, not more, if I remember rightly, than
twelve years old.

CHAPTER XXI.

"LES ANCIENNES