ned, lest it should break the spell--lest even a
father's and a mother's kiss should dull the blessedness of the dreamer.
So sleep on, Luise! and smile ever as thou sleepest--though it be the
sleep of death.

These people were poor in worldly goods, but rich in the things of home
and heart. Luise, the first-born, had been staying with a Spanish
relative, who had taken charge of her education, and had now come back
to her native Lisbon "for good." Three younger children there
were--blithe, affectionate prattlers--whose glee at the recovery of
Luise had been so exuberant, so boisterous, that they were now sent to
play in the neighboring vineyards, that they might not disturb their
tired sister's repose.

Long played that smile upon her face; and never were the two gazers
tired of gazing, and of smiling as they gazed. Luise, they thought, had
seemed a little sad as well as weary when she alighted at the dear
familiar door. But this smile was so full of joy unspeakable, so fraught
with beatific meaning, so reflective of beatific vision, that it laughed
their fears away, and spoke volumes where the seeming sorrow had not
spoken even words.

The shrill song of a mule-driver passing by the window aroused the
sleeper. The smile vanished, and as she started up and looked hastily
and inquiringly around, a shade of mingled disappointment and
bewilderment gathered darkly on her brow.

"You must turn and go to sleep again, my child," whispered the mother.
"I wish Pedro were not so proud of his voice, and then you might still
be dreaming of pleasant things."

"I _was_ dreaming, then?" said Luise, somewhat sadly. "I thought it was
real, and it made me _so_ happy! Ah, if I could dream it again, and
again--three times running, you know--till it became true!"

"What was it, Luise?" asked her father. "We must know what merry thought
made you so joyful. It will be a dream worth knowing, and, therefore,
worth telling."

"Not at present," interrupted his wife. "Let her get some more rest; and
then, when she is thoroughly refreshed after such a tedious journey, she
will make us all happy with realities as well as dreams."

"And are dreams never realities?" asked the girl, with a sigh.

"Child! child! if we're going to be philosophical, and all that, we
shall never get you to sleep again. Don't talk any more, my Luise; but
close your eyes, and see if _you_ can't realize a dream; that will be
the best answer to your question."

"I