THE MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 487 "Sir George Belson," continued Mrs. Gray, "I ap- | tude to our High Priest, joy, to resist his influence; so point you my counsel: there is the defendant; see you come then, goddess fair and free, do your client justice. Come, my dear madam, here are Mrs. Shuffle and Mr. Cutwell, who would not touch a card till your arrival. I must not tell you what Col. Talbot said about your skill and beauty, lest I make Mr. Freeman jealous." 66 'Oh, Mistress Gray, I lost so much last time to Sir George, I feel ashamed to play again without paying him." Come, that is an excellent joke; do but plead his cause with yonder fair tyrant, and the debt is cancelled. Shall it be cassino or brag to-night? ecarte used you very shabbily." But, marm, I-I am not over-stocked to-night; Mr. Freeman is vastly stingy, and” Exactly, my dear lady; your views and mine perfectly agree. It is well to lay these lordly men under obligations sometimes, that we may display our grace in returning them. Sir George, mon amie, ici si vous plait, Mrs. Freeman wisely objected to the encumbrance of a purse, and allows you the honour of being her banker." "The condescensions of Mrs. Freeman and her lovely daughter make me a bankrupt even in thanks," replied the polished baronet. 46 64 Euthanasia started. "Madam, will you not send for your My are pray-pray, Sir George" girl, the eyes of the room are upon you," interrupted Mrs. Gray, looping her arm in Euthanasia's, and leading her away: come, fair novice, these trifling arrangements are things of course;-tell me how you like these night blooming Ceres, and these foreign moonlight warblers, that only sing by night; each are typical of woman, my love, whose feelings and heart should open by night only." "They are beautiful indeed," she answered softly. "Do you draw? are you fond of engravings? here are some of Bartolozzi's, and are counted fine; here is Hero and Leander-poor fellow, he looks very noble lying there dead, but a live lover is preferable, is it not? Here is Romeo and Juliet, the passionate Italian; what fire in her eyes-what soul of passion in her looks. What is here? Parasine and Hugo, Juan and Ha.dee -are they not superb?" 'In Heaven yclept Euphrosyne; You see, even Milton, the poet of religion, argues for pleasure; believe me, none but the cynic and the fool can deem it wrong." Euthanasia tried to breathe-tried to rally her reason; she felt oppressed by the luxury, the voluptuousness around her. Stunned by flattery and sophistry, urged by passionate entreaty, softened by her own loving heart, she almost reeled beneath their united power; a mist came over her eyes, and she felt faint. Belson joined them, and received an expressive look from Mrs. Gray. "Miss Freeman will be better in my boudoir, baronet; the heat is too much for her here push now or never," she added, in a low tone, "I will see to the mother." As the accomplished votary of vice expected, she found Mrs. Freeman seated at the gaming table, rapidly losing the vast sum Sir George had given her, t sharpers and blacklegs; with a flushed face and aching heart, the wretched woman began to feel the toils into which she had run; and as caid after card came up wrong, and eagle followed eagle, in quick succession, even the bland voice of Mrs. Gray failed to encourage or soothe her. At last she was again without a cent, and Mrs. Gray advised her to make another effort to redeem her loss. It was against her, and she rose up stunned and tortured, in debt five hundred dollars to Col. Talbot. "It is unfortunate," said Mrs. Gray, emphatically, "but debts of honour must be paid." "Can-can you assist me ma'm ?" stammered out the ashamed and miserable woman. "I, my dear madam, I never keep a dollar; it is putting temptation to play, out of my way; I am the worst person in the world to ask." "I-I will leave my wa ch, and-and-oh, Lord! what will become of me?" "Come, don't blubber," exclaimed Col. Talbot, roughly; you are a pretty enough creature, if you wer'n't so beplastered with frippery and paint: we'll "Yes-no-I--where is my mother-in-law-settle all that." where is Mrs. Freeman ?" "Oh! the earth has not made a supper of her; here is Sir George--he will tell us," replied the lady, with perfect sang froid. "What art in lure or wile has brought this brilliant flush to my Euthanasia's cheek, Mrs. Gray; I shall grow jealous of you, if you can make her blush," exclaimed the gallant baronet, as he joined them aad took an arm of each. "Sir, I desire-I command you not to touch me. Mrs. Gray, will you see this-madam-sir" "Indeed," said Mrs. Gray, rising, "indeed, my dear lady, I have nothing to say to it; only pray make no scena here; you and the Colonel can, I dare say, accommodate matters: he is a gentleman of honour." "I will give you, sir, a draft upon my husband; he will gladly pay it for the lesson I have learned this night." "Really, I believe it is the heat that is your rival, "Pon honour, madam, just as you please," respondand not me, baronet; can you give us neither lemon-ed the luminous militaire, who was more than half ade or wine to allay it?" "Lady, to hear is to obey," replied he, smiling: "Euthanasia, my best love, will you not have some?" "Some lemonade, I will." "Yes-and, Sir George, pray see it is well mixed," sa'd Mrs. Gray, with a slight emphasis on the last words: "servants do all things so carelessly. Come, my young guest, they are singing yonder; music, you know, is the food of love; let us hear them." Euthanasia placed her hand to her brow. "How nnreal all this seems as if some enchantment were round me--as if you all spoke and acted something arranged before; why do I feel thus?" Mrs. Gray darted a quick look upon her companion, but rapidly withdrawing it, answered, "And why not yield unhesitatingly to such enchantment. Life, my love, has but few roseate hours, and it is our bounden duty to improve them; it is ingrati tipsy. "And now let me go home. Where, oh God! where is Euthanasia?" exclaimed the startled Mrs. Freeman. "Perfectly safe, in the charge of the baronet." The baronet! If any harm comes to her, Mr. Freeman will kill me; let me go to her; I will go to her, I say" Mrs. Freeman, I wish to make no disturbance with you, but I must make bold to tell you, that you neither can nor shall go to her. You forget that Sir George has purchased your acquiescence with five thousand dollars." "Oh God!" screamed the wretched woman, "I am undone; I have undone myself and my innocent charge." She fell into her chair in strong hysterics, and the infernal party began, in some alarm, to apply restora es; just then a sign made to Mrs. Gray, and she | pallid brow; and something there was of dim remem hurriedly left the room. Sir George was was waiting for her outside. brance about the figure, which haunted the mind of the terrified girl, like the vague phantoms of a dream, with which we struggle, but cannot break. At last, in low, sweet tones, the dreaded stranger spoke; there was a softness in her voice that instantly dispelled the horror of Euthanasia. "Euthanasia," she said, "once again I am come to "Really, Sir George," said Mrs. Gray, who, like all selfish people, was ever alive to her own interest-warn, to save you; the toils are set-the lure is laid; "really I don't halt like these doings. If you can make a fool of the girl, why it is all in the way of business; but a mock marriage brings one under the law, and may give my house a bad name." "Do not think of it, my dear madam," exclaimed he, "I will recompense you a thousand fold for any inconvenience; she is now so wound up by agitation, hurry, and emotion, that she may be won to consent. If this golden opportunity passes, it will never return; and with it is lost your promised premium." "You argue very sensibly," replied Mrs. Gray, with a smile; "go back then, aud I will arrange it; where is she?" "In your boudoir; and bye the bye, Gray, has any one the entree there, besides myself, for I thought I heard a voice there?" "Bless me, no!" replied Mrs. Gray, in much alarm, "here, Mauritia, has any one been up to the blue room to-night?" The servant, with some confusion, owned that she had admitted a lady up to change her shoes; and after several severe reprimands, the worthy couple separated, each to their own praiseworthy occupations. * * * but the of eye God slumbereth not; and the victim shall "Have you then so soon forgotten me? or, does the change of dress efface all resemblance to the Sister of Charity? See, my child, it is for you that I have laid aside the holy habit, which I vowed never to change with life; this is the dress in which my false seducer lured me from my innocence and home; I have preserved it to weep over in anguish, by day and night, and now it will strike horror to his remorseless heart." You are deceived, good sister-believe me you are -he denies it most solemnly, most sincerely." "Put it then to the proof,-I say to you, that is the man who, with treachery and foul falsehood, deceived and ruined me;-that is the man who too soon after reproached and scorned me for my guilt;-that is the man"-she lowered her voice-" who, in a fit of ungovernable rage, struck a coward's blow to the heart he had betrayed, and left me there to die. Do you doubt ine ?-behold the dagger, blazoned with his arms, and stained-lady, that crimson rust is from my blood!" "Horrible! most horrible!" shuddered Euthanasia. "With unsleeping love I have followed you here; by heavy bribes to those who are only faithful to the best purchaser, I have ascertained that an infernal deception is in contemplation; this house is itself a sink of iniquity; those around you the basest of the base; I would have you save yourself." "What would you have me to dɔ?” asked the trembling girl. "Give me that muffling cloak and veil, in which the false villain strove to steal you away; well and nobly did you resist his lures; give me now that veil, and take my place behind those curtains; if he do not verify my words, and accuse himself, let my punishment in another world be bitter as it has been in this." Euthanasia put both hands to her forehead. "I know not what is true or what is false; so many things are told me; so many contradictory assertions made, that I am stunned and confused between them. If you be honest, why this masquing and disguise? Why not meet him openly?" Like the bird to which it erst belonged, my grey goose quill is very mutable. I do not pique myself, like the renowned Cervantes, with following one unbroken line-patience, gentle reader, the scenes will be shifted but this once more, and then the curtain will fall before me and my humble attempt to please you. It was in a room where luxury and elegance vied with each other for mastery-where the senses were courted by every blan fishm nt, and vice had done her utmost to veil herself in beauty;-it was here that, stunned by emotion, misled by sophistry, agitated by tenderness, and confused by every warring sentiment, Euthanasia sat alone. She strove to think, she strove to pray, but the spell was over her spirit, and bound her down with a mighty power. Her guardian angel seemed to slumber, and silent, stupified, almost senseless, she yielded impassively to the stream of events which hurried her along. One only friend was with her-her faithful greyhound, who had contrived to elude the Argus eyes of Mrs. Freeman, in the car. riage, and had kept close to his mistress ever since, now laid couched at her feet, and frequently, with the privileged boldness of an old favourite, pushed his long nose into her hand, as if to demand his accustomed caress. The parting footsteps of Sir George had scarcely died away, when a low sigh sounded through the room. Euthanasia gazed fearfully round; a female form stood by her, dressed in the well remem- "I did-I was-no, I was not her friend; but-but bered habit of the Tyroi; at the moment the dog-hark! their steps are on the stairs-choose now, for sprang up, and with a long, protracted whine gambol the crisis is at hand?" led towards the stranger, jumping and rolling, as if in the very madness of delight. A strange, indefinable awe gathered over the heart of Euthanasia; something there was so sudden, so spiritual, in the unheard of entrance of the stranger,--in the long unseen, yet still loved dress of her native home;-the agitation of the dog, too, was most unaccountable, and she tried to speak to him in vain; her tongue clove to her mouth, and she set motionless, gazing upon her unlooked for visitor. There mute and still it stood, with face as deathly pale as the shrouded corpse, and dark, beseeching eyes fixed on Euthanasia; the raised hand was so transparent and thin, it hardly veiled the light from the "Because," replied the nun, sadly-" because I would have you assert your own dignity, and be your own salvation; but time wears, Euthanasia, I can make but one more appeal to you:-had you-forgive this weakness-do you remember your mother?"" "My mother! gracious heavens! did you know her?" "Here, take the cloak and veil," exclaimed Euthanasia, throwing them off; "you knew my beloved-my sainted mother, and will not deceive her child; I trust you with my happiness-oh, beware!" She retired, in deep emotion, behind the long curtains which hung over a bay window. The nun looked after her with a lingering gaze of sad affection, then hastily wrapping herself in the cloak, she seated her self where Euthanasia had been; and the greyhound who, with the wonderous instinct of the dog, had, af ter fifteen years, recognized his long lost mistress, laid himself contentedly down at her feet. The door opened, and Sir George Belson entered, THE MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 489 with an eye brightened by anticipated triumph, accom- | Freeman; he and the half fainting nun rushed towards panied by a man dressed in black, and an attendant. the curtains, and the father lifted and brought out the *He ran forward to the supposed Euthanasia, and drop-insensible form of Euthanasia. Like a crushed flowping on his knee, spoke to her in the softest tones which art or seduction could supply: "My soul's best treasure, will you not forgive this feverish impatience of the heart that adores you? Behold this holy man, Euthanasia—will you not consent that he may secure to me a treasure, without which life is valueless? Oh! be above the weak scruples of your sex, and trust yourself to one who will shrine you in his heart of hearts! If I make you not now irrevocably mine, I feel that I shall forever lose you. My sister urges on the one hand-your father denies his consent on the other; Euthanasia, I will not survive your loss, and my blood will be on your head if you deny my prayer." er she hung over his arm, her long dark hair streaming around her, as in sorrow; and while the anguished mother bent over her in speechless woe, a strong resemblance could easily be seen between their pallid faces. Sir George Belson, who had overcome the belief that he beheld the dead, struggled to assume again his daring audacity, and in satanic tones addressed the group "This is really a very dramatic performance; relationships are fast springing up between us. I am disappointed in establishing a very tender claim to that young lady's regard, so perhaps I may be more successful in claiming a title to her respect as a father." His deep voice sounded like distant music, and all "Man! man!" shrieked the woman wildly. was so still when he ceased that ancient chaos seemed "Silence!" said Mr. Freeman, sternly: "heed not to reign throughout the apartment. Alas! there were the maddened ravings of a disappointed villain; my two beating hearts there, whose wild pulsations al-child-my child, look up to bless your father with a most stopped the breath of life. word." "You do not speak-oh! let me read this gentle silence as a soft consent; give me your hand-it trembles, love-Euthanasia, can you fear to trust me? then hear me, eternal heavens, and so judge me God, who reignest there, if I have in aught deceived, or falsely spoken-if ever to mortal being I breathed before these words of passion, may the grave give up its mouldering dust, and the long buried dead appear to blast me "Really, Lord Eustace-or Mr. Freeman, since I understand that is your nom de guerre-I beg to congratulate you on your acquisitions: a lady wife-no ghost, but very substantial flesh, as fair, as frail-but that's nothing; then there is your beauteous daughter--she will look rather coldly before company, no doubt, but once" past-the mask has fallen-the serpent has unrolled his hideous folds-and as I may be forgiven by my father, and my God, do I now infinitely spurn and from my soul despise thee." "Once," said Euthanasia, raising herself with infinite dignity-"once, sir, she loved you with all the His hand was on the veil as he spoke; that and the deep tenderness of a woman's heart, who pictured you cloak dropped at the moment, and the wretched vic-as perfect as she wished you to be; but that time is tim of his guilt stood before him, as if his awful adjuration had been heard at the dread tribunal of God, and the earth given up its prey to confront him in his blasphemy. There she stood, in the very dress in which she had last past her husband's threshold, hold- Mr. Freeman looked with parental delight upon his ing the damning proof of his atrocity, in the blood-lovely child, now more lovely in the dignity of mind, stained dagger, with ashy brow, and fixed, glazing eye, while the eyes of the erring mother were fixed upon as though she even now pleaded against him in the her, as if their straining love would service even delast, dreadful Judgment day of Earth. Backward spair and death. rushed the horror-stricken man; the hair stood erect upon his head; his failing limbs shook beneath him; and the cold sweat dropped from his livid brow; groans burst from his heaving chest, as if his agony and awe precluded words. At last, with a howl like that of the eternally tormented, he cried, "What want ye here! ye are rotten and dead, and the earth has covered ye! What want ye here? did I not feel your last quivering convulsions!-did I not hear your lastest gasp! Why do ye come to me?-I never loved ye--it was your happy husband that I hated. What do ye here ?-I scorned thee-spurned thee and trampled on thee!" the "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord," solemnly said nun, "and I will repay it." "Vengeance!" howled the infuriated wretch, "it is false as hell; there is no vengeance-no Lord-look at me--am not I blessed with every earthly good, and have I canted and prayed? Where is Eustace Selwyn-he who, because he was my superior and my benefactor, I hated-where is he, the generous and good-why forsaken-poor, miserable-perhaps dead -ha! ha ha!" "Can this be possible?" asked Belson, in his most seducing tones; "do I hear this from the gentle Euthanasia? not thus, a few hours since, did she repulse my love." It is most true," replied the noble girl, firmly, "that love was then my glory, for 1 thought you worthy of it; now it is my shame and sorrow, that ever the whiting of the sepulchre could have hidden its foulness from me. Man, hear me repeat, that I wil lingly and forever renounce you that I cast you from me as a thing even too vile to trample on!" There was the conviction of truth in her words and manner; muttering a deep curse, Belson rushed from the room. "Lord, now lettest thy servant depart in peace," sighed the erring woman, as she fell staggering to the floor. The strength of purpose which had hitherto upheld her now failed, and long worn and exhausted nature sunk beneath the tension; her mission was fulfilled; her penitence accepted; and the angel of mercy was rapidly loosing the earthly cords which held her struggling spirit from its rest. Mr. Freeman and Euthanasia ran to support her; she looked up with a dying smile- "To die thus, is to be most blessed-can'st thou for. "Forgive thee, Eloisa-aye, as thine eternal Judge has forgiven thee. My child, kneel for your mother's blessing." "No, unhappy man," said the man who had been named as Mr. Freeman, entering and coming slowly forward-"No! Eustace Selwyn lives, to pity thee-give me, Eustace?" to tell thee that, wronged and wretched as he has been, he has never been unsupported by his God, nor deprived of an unstained conscience;-he lives to tell thee, miserable and baffled villain, that the hand of "My mother! Oh God! must I find her but to lose that all-seeing God has arrested thee in thy triumphant her-live-live, oh, injured saint! live, as now, to wickedness, and shielded the innocent with its buck-guard and save your child." ler of power." "My God! my God! 1 thank thee; my husband A noise, as of a heavy fall, interrupted the words of my child-now again I dare to call them so-one last embrace-may the eternal Lord of Heaven pardon my sins, and bless--bless-bless my" It was over; the dying sinner had entered into peace. Over the agony of the bereaved child we throw a veil; it was long ere she would be torn away from the pale corpse. Mr. Freeman having sought and found his terrified, sobbing, miserable wife, brought her to the scene. It was an awful contrast between the besmeared face, torn finery, and agitated sobs of the silly votary to folly, and the silent ashy corpse of her who had paid its fearful penalty. He took a hand of each, and spoke to them solemnly "Let not this dreadful lesson be lost; behold the end of vanity and pride; there kneel beside that lifeless clay, and ask those cold remains of all that was once lovely, happy, and innocent-ask them to reprove your maddening folly. Go each to the solitude of your chamber, and commune with your own heart in stillness; learn that the wages of sin is death, and pray that God may keep you out of temptation." Written for the Casket. THE FIRST OF JUNE. ADDRESSED TO MRS. Occasioned by seeing her after a long absence. How sweet to memory it appears; O'er flood and field, as when we met; Ah! how can I forget? Ah! how can I forget the past, No, never, till in death's retreat, This fond heart shall have ceased to beat; No, never till my memory Shall sadly cease to dwell on thee, The moonlight eve, and love's retreat, Nor did I strive in vaih-to me Ah! those were days of happy youth, I did not meanly sigh To win the lovely flower, then fling Upon the earth to die. Oh no! I loved thee with a pure Oh! there is in the human heart A cord, that vibrates in our youth; It can to life more joy impart, More peace, more pleasure, and more truth, Than after years may ever prove It is the cord of youthful love; Yet broken once, it must remain, It never can vibrate again. Thus hath it been, thus have I known Its ne'er to be forgotten tone: I saw thy loved, thy worship'd charms, I saw my happiest hopes take wing, Accursed jealousy First bade me doubt thy sacred word, To end in misery. Since that dark hour a dreary gloom As when I listened to thy vow, The moonlight nights of June. to me, Bring not the bliss they brought with thee; And even nature seems to wear A mournful sadness in her air. Oh! I have sought the bubble, fame, To banish from my heart regret; But wealth, nor even the proudest name, Can make me e'er forget The happy hours, the blissful years, Now changed to sorrows' sins and tears; In dissipation's dreary wave I plung'd to find oblivion's grave ELIZABETH'S PROGRESSES-SUPERSTITION. To find oblivion to the woe That darkened all my life, but, oh! I sought society and gave To mirth the heart of love's fond slave; Shone through the mask of mirth and glee; The years of hope and passion gone, And never can forget The happy scenes of sunny June, MILFORD BARD. 491 cal fable with Gothic fancies,-a practice sanctioned by the authority of Chaucer Spencer, and Milton, and often accomplished with much grace and ingenuity. Elizabeth was in no usual degree acquainted with the writers of Greece and Rome, and well able to appreci ate such allusions. She took delight in music, and loved the studied magnificence of these pageants, their intricate mechanism, their lofty conceits of high flown adulation addressed to her. The taste of the gravest men of the times gave a countenance to such past times. Sir Thomas Moore did not think it beneath him to compose pageants: and a letter of Lord Bacon is preserved, in which the philosopher appears as the representative of a dozen young gentlemen, of Gray's Inn who declare their willingness to furnish a masque, since the proposal of a joint one by the four inns of court had failed. Some idea of the magnificence of the presents made on such occasions may be formed from an account in the Sidney papers of the Queen's dining at Kew, the seat of Sir John Puckering, lordkeeper. "Her entertainment was great and costly. At her first lightning she had a fine fan presented to her, with a handle garnished with diamonds. When she was in the middle way between the garden-gate and the house, there came running towards her one with a nosegay in his hand, and delivered it to her with a short, well penned speech; it had in it a very rich jewel, with pendants of unfurled diamonds, valued at £400 at least. After dinner, in her private chamber, he gave her a pair of virginials, and in her bed-chamber presented her with a fine gown and uppin, which things were pleasing to her highness; and to grace his lordship the more, she for herself took from him a salt spoon, and fork of fair agate." During her reign, she visited Secretary Cecil at Theobald's twelves times; each of these royal favours cost him from £2,000 to £3,000; nor did she hesitate to remain a month or six weeks, receiving strangers and ambassadors, and entertained as bountifully as if she had been in one of her own places. SUPERSTITIOUS CREDULITY. ELIZABETH'S PROGRESSES. Raleigh's magnificence in dress was carried to excess probably as much to gratify Elizabeth, who had a passion for finery, and loved to be surrounded by a brilliant court, as from predilection. He wore a suit of silver armour at the tourneys, his sword hilt and belt were studded with diamonds, pearls, and rubies, his court dress on occasions of state was said to be covered with jewels to the value of £60,000, and even his shoes glittered with precious stones. It was in this splendid apparel that he waited on his royal mistress as captain of her guard during those visits to the houses of her nobility, known by the name of the Progresses. It has been alleged against the Queen that such excursions impoverished the peerage; and under the pretence of conferring an envied distinction, were really intended to check the overgrown wealth of aristocracy, whilst they enriched the royal household. But this is considering the matter too deeply. Her object was, in the first instance, to become acquainted with her kingdom, to confirm and increase her popularity by travelling amongst her people, exhibiting her glory to them, accepting with condescension and delight their homage, and repaying it with offices of trust and emolument. When Cecil entertained her at Theobald's in 159, it was in expectation of being promoted to the secretaryship, though he was only gratified with the honor of knighthood. When Earl Hertford received his royal mistress at Elvethom, the magnificence he displayed was not thought by him too high a price to regain her favour, which had been long withdrawn. It was the age of solemn pageantry and splendid devices. Masques, triumphs, and dramatic exhibitions, in which there was a singular combination of Pagan imagery and mythology, with Gothic romances, were the chief anusements of the period. The business, as Bishop Hurd has well described it, was to welcome the The supper being bespoken and the sideboard set out Queen to the palaces of her nobles, and at the same to the best advantage, she thought that her own plate, time to celebrate the glory of her government; and worth about £400, did not make so elegant an ap what more elegant way of complimenting a great pearance as might be wished; and therefore sent to prince than through the veil of fiction, or how could her brother, a counsellor in Parliament of Paris, to they better entertain a learned one than by having re- borrow all his plate. The maid however was charged course to the old practical story? Nor are masque-not to disclose the occasion; but only to say that she makers to be lightly censured for intermixing classi- had company to supper, and would be obliged to him A widow lady at Paris, aged 63, who lodged on a two pair of stairs floor, in the Rue de la Ferroniere, with only a maid servant, was accustomed to spend several hours every day before the altar dedicated to St. Paul, in a neigboring church. Some villains op serving her extreine bigotry, resolved, as she was known to be very rich, to share her wealth. One of them accordingly took the opportunity to conceal himself behind the carved work of the altar, and when no person but the old lady was there, in the dusk of the evening, he contrived to throw a letter just before her. She took it up, and not perceiving any one near, supposed it came by a miracle. In this she was the more confirmed when she saw it signed Paul the Apostle, expressing the satisfaction he received by her prayers addressed to him, when so many newly canonized saints engrossed the attention of the world, and robbed the primitive saints of their adoration; and to show his regard for the devotee, he promised to come from heaven, with the angel Gabriel, and sup with her at eight in the evening. It seemed scarcely credible that any one could be deceived by so gross a fraud; yet to what length of credulity will not superstition carry a weak mind! The infatuated lady believed the whole, and rose from her knee in transport to prepare an entertainment for her heavenly guests. |