decipher them, expecting to find some of those common-place remarks, by which insignificant travellers vainly hope to commemorate themselves. But what was my astonishment when I read these words: “Was seen the 20th of July, 1589; was observed the 14th of May, 1610;” several others followed, the last of which was: “Appeared the 21st of January, 1793.”—I remained for a considerable time lost in wonder and meditation upon the singularity of the object before me, when the shades of evening, which were rapidly closing around me, hastened my departure. I withdrew, and closing the secret door behind me, I crossed the chapel, and re-entered the apartments. When I had proceeded for some minutes, I found myself in a spacious hall leading to what had evidently been the grand avenue of the garden; at its extremity appeared the village, dimly seen through the twilight. It now first occurred to me that I must have taken another direction on quitting the chapel; but thinking this the nearest way, I proceeded at a quick rate, impelled by the desire to embrace my venerable tutor. As the village lay before me, I easily, by clearing a few hedges and ditches, succeeded in reaching it. On my entrance I observed different groupes of villagers, who appeared to be earnestly engaged in some interesting subject: they were whispering to each other, and seemed pensive and afflicted. I approached an elderly man, who was standing alone, and inquired for the residence of the minister. The man was evidently labouring under deep afflictions; but he replied in a mild and collected manner, pointing out my nearest way, and then added, “If you walk on slowly, Sir, you will just see him returned from a burial—the burial of my poor niece.” The tone of suppressed grief, with which these last words were uttered, and the tear glistening in the old man’s eyes, greatly moved me: I made some inquiry after his niece and her death, and whilst the honest peasant replied to my questions, several others collected around us. The substance of his answer was, that Rosa, his niece, a lovely and lively girl of seventeen, had two days since cheerfully joined in the evening’s dance of the villagers under the trees; that she had quitted them for an instant, and stolen into the neighbouring thicket, in order to observe her lover secretly, when she was suddenly heard to utter a piercing shriek: they all ran to the spot, and found the poor girl stretched upon the ground, without any sign of life, and with her features dreadfully distorted by the marks of convulsive terror. “They say,” added the villager, “that the heat and the exertion of dancing had caused an apoplectic fit.”—”They may say what they please,” interrupted a young girl, “but I am convinced she was in perfect health. I have no doubt but she saw the WHITE.” “Don’t talk of that, my daughter, you must not, indeed,” said the old man, interrupting her. “Go, Lisette, conduct this gentleman to our good minister.”—I wished to have spoken somewhat longer with him, but it was clear he sought to break off the discourse. The other peasants seemed to hold him in great respect; they dispersed; he wished me a good night, and turned away. I followed my pretty conductress, who was waiting for me. I attempted to resume my questions about the death of her young friend, but was silenced by her naïve answer: “You heard, Sir, that my father commanded my silence on this subject, but whatever else I know, I will tell you with all my heart.” I inquired after my old
