I make no doubt she has made the best of her way back to
the hospitable Hall of Sir Watkyn Williams Wynne; and may very
possibly, at this present writing, be pluming her wings among the
breezy bowers of Wynnstay.
ST. MARK'S EVE.
O 't is a fearful thing to be no more.
Or if to be, to wander after death!
To walk as spirits do, in brakes all day,
And, when the darkness comes, to glide in paths
That lead to graves; and in the silent vault,
Where lies your own pale shroud, to hover o'er it,
Striving to enter your forbidden corpse.
--DRYDEN.
The conversation this evening at the supper-table took a curious turn,
on the subject of a superstition, formerly very prevalent in this part
of the country, relative to the present night of the year, which is
the Eve of St. Mark's. It was believed, the parson informed us, that
if any one would watch in the church porch on this eve, for three
successive years, from eleven to one o'clock at night, he would see,
on the third year, the shades of those of the parish who were to die
in the course of the year, pass by him into church, clad in their
usual apparel.
Dismal as such a sight would be, he assured us that it was formerly a
frequent thing for persons to make the necessary vigils.
Pages:
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153