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A NEW-ENGLAND TALE.

Bet had not spoken since they began their walk; she now stopped, and turning abruptly to Jane, "Do you know," said she, "who are the worshippers that meet in this temple? the spirits that were 'sometime disobedient,' but since He went and preached to them, they come out from their prison house, and worship in the open air, and under the light of the blessed heavens."

"It is a beautiful spot," said Jane; "I should think all obedient spirits would worship in this sanctuary of nature."

"Say you so;—then worship with me." The maniac fell on her knees—Jane knelt beside her: she had caught a spark of her companion's enthusiasm. The singularity of her situation, the beauty of the night, the novelty of the place, on which the moon now riding high in the heavens poured a flood of silver light, all conspired to give a high tone to her feelings. It is not strange she should have thought she never heard any thing so sublime as the prayer of her crazed conductor—who raised her arms and poured out her soul in passages of scripture the most sublime and striking, woven together by her own glowing language. She concluded suddenly, and springing on her feet, said to Jane, "Now follow me: fear not, and falter not; for you know what awaits the fearful and unbelieving."

Jane assured her she bad no fear but that of being too late. "You need not think of that: the spirit never flits till I come."

They now turned into the wood by a narrow