o
be admitted into the "sanctum sanctorum" of the place,--Professor
Morse's study,--where the master sat among his books and treasures, his
kindly, clear-featured face and bright brown eyes, framed in by silver
hair and beard, shining out from the curtained dimness of the room.
There were many objects fascinating even to a child in that study, which
opened out of the family library with its store of books. The library
was very good, but the study was still better. There, under a glass
case, was the first telegraph-instrument that had ever been made. One or
two of Professor Morse's early paintings hung upon the wall, and
sometimes he would display a few sketches to the older members of the
party, who were naturally regardless of the fact that there was "a chiel
amang 'em, takin' notes." The crowning treat offered within the
study-walls, however, was to have the marvels of the Professor's immense
and powerful microscope displayed before our wondering gaze. There we
became acquainted with the rainbow-tinted plumes of the fly's wing and
the jewels that lie hidden from ordinary ken in the pollen and petals of
the simplest blossoms. And the master of it all, to whom the marvels
were as familiar as the common objects themselves, seemed to derive a
genuine pleasure from that which he bestowed upon his guests.

When Professor Morse purchased Locust Grove, before his second marriage,
he was not aware that it had belonged to the family of the lady who was
soon to become his wife. Indeed, it was not until some friend remarked,
"How delightful for you to take your bride to the old ancestral place
owned by her kindred for so many generations!" that he knew the home
would possess any associations, save those to be formed in the future,
for his _fiancee_. But no doubt at the beginning of their life there
Locust Grove was thus rendered doubly dear to both. The old Livingston
mansion was at that time standing, much nearer to the entrance-gates
than the more modern residence inhabited by the owner's family; and the
quaint well, with the stone curb, the water of which was so remarkable
for its purity that travellers came from a distance to ask the privilege
of drinking, formed an object of interest at least, if not of actual
beauty, before the old vine-grown porch. Gradually the house fell into
decay, and the greater portion was torn down, leaving but five or six
rooms, with their odd, hooded windows and strangely-fashioned fireplaces
and