he way to the front door, and, after answering Harry's
inquiries as to dogs, by saying that no one else need be afraid, as they
(the dogs) always bit him (Karl), he raised an antiquated brass knocker,
and gave two or three taps, which seemed to echo through an immense
number of empty rooms. "Take care," said Harry, "or you'll frighten Miss
Mary into something or other." "There's no fear of that," replied Karl;
"she's not so nervous as you." Harry was proceeding to rap back; but he
was interrupted by hearing some one coming to the door, which was the
next moment thrown open, and Ashburner saw a fine-looking,
plainly-dressed old man, or thought he saw such an one, for it was too
dark to distinguish clearly. "How are you, Judge?" said Karl, stepping
forward, and shaking the old gentleman's hand. "Hullo, Benson! my fine
fellow! is this you? Why, who have you got with you?" "This is my
brother Harry," said Karl, "and this is my friend Mr. Ashburner. Mr.
Ashburner, allow me to introduce you to my friend Judge Edwards." "How
do you do, sir?" said the Judge, stepping forward, and shaking Ashburner
by the hand; "very happy to make your acquaintance, sir."

Ashburner bowed his acknowledgments and intimated, according to custom,
that he was very happy, and then, after slapping Harry on the back, and
asking why he hadn't been over before, the Judge asked every body to
walk in. They did so--the Judge leading the way--and calling to several
individuals of the female gender, as Miss Squires would say, for light.
The call was a necessary one, for the day had been as hot and sultry as
though it were August; and on a summer evening, in both town and
country, it is a frequent custom to sit in the dark by the open windows,
and enjoy the cool air which these times always bring. The excellence of
the custom did not, however, prevent Ashburner from falling over a
chair, or Harry from running against a centre table, with a crash that
left the party in some doubt whether he or the table was upset. "Bless
me," said the Judge, who noticed these mishaps, "they ought to have had
lights here," and then he added, in explanation, "that in hot weather
_they_ liked to sit in the dark, as it seemed cooler and kept the
musquitoes out; which excuse for a very proper, pleasant and sensible
custom, is invariably given in the United States, in all houses, rich or
poor, high or low, whenever a stranger happens to find the parlor
unlighted." In a few moments, ho