soft fields, and they become picturesqu

E skirt looped up with rosettes and natty little ends of ribbon; her feet beneath

her petticoat, "like little mice," stole out, "as if they feared
the light." Somewhere, among the many editions of Dickens's works, I have seen a Dolly Varden that resembled her. It was agreed between us that she should
be reproduced in a life-size
portrait, with such a distribution
of rich colors as the subject seemed to call for, as his fine taste might select, and his cunning hand lay on. I sought to break down his reserve, and make myself
acceptable to him, by the display of a discreet geniality, and a certain frankness, not falling into familiarity, which should seem to proceed from sympathy, and a _bon hommie_, that, assured of its own kindly purpose,

would take no account of his almost angry distance. The opportunity

was auspicious, and
I was on the alert to turn it to account.
I made a little story of the picture, and touched it with romance. I told him of Virginia,--especially of that part of the State
in which this saucy little lady lived,--of its famous scenery,
its historic places, and the peculiar features of its society. I strove to make the lady present to his mind's eye by dwelling on her certain eccentricities, and helping my somewhat
particular description of her character with anecdotes, more or less pointed and amusing, especially to so grave a foreigner,

of her singular ready-wittedness and graceful audacity. Then I had much

to say about her little "ways" of attitude, gesture, and expression, and some hints to offer for slight changes in the finer lines of the

face, and in the expression, which might make the
likeness more real to both of us, and, by getting
up an interest in him for the picture,

procure his favorable impression for myself. I had the gratification, as my experiment
proceeded, to find that it was by no means unsuccessful. His austerity appreciably relaxed,