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Introductory.
I.
WITH MY AUNT TABITHY.
—Pshaw!—said my Aunt Tabithy,—have you not done with dreaming?
My Aunt Tabithy, though an excellent and most notable person, loves occasionally a quiet bit of satire. And when I told her that I was sharpening my pen for a new story of those dreamy fancies, and half experiences, which lie grouped along the journeying hours of my solitary life, she smiled as if in derision.
"Ah, Isaac," said she, "all that is exhausted: you have rung so many changes on your hopes and your dreams, that you have nothing left, but to make them realif you can."
(11)
