“And Neuha led her Torquil by the hand, And waved along the vaults her flaming brand.”
I spent hours in copying it for her, and she preferred the copy to the original, and would have it that the two figures were excellent portraits of her Prince and Fairy.
Sometimes during these readings and sketchings under the apple-tree on the lawn, the sleeping Médor (a huge nondescript sort of dog, built up of every breed in France, with the virtues of all and the vices of none) would wag his three inches of tail, and utter soft whimperings of welcome in his dream; and she would say—
“C’est le Prince Charmant qui lui dit; ‘Médor donne la patte!’”
Or our old tomcat would rise from his slumbers with his tail up, and rub an imaginary skirt; and it was—
“Regarde Mistigris! La fée Tarapatapoum est en
