* * * * *

In order to understand the following, I must inform you, F——­ had been telling the story of a love-distracted maid, somewhat similar to Sterne’s Maria.  You will suppose her lately to have put an end to her existence.—­

“We had not proceeded very far on our way, when we discovered a funeral procession advancing towards us, headed by the parson of the parish in which we were.  He was a little man, dressed in black, with a scarf hanging over his left shoulder.—­Upon inquiry, we found they were proceeding to a church about a league distant, where the corpse they attended was to be deposited.

“And to whom may this body belong?” said the indian physician, addressing the man who walked in the rear of the procession.

“It is the corpse of the unfortunate Marcia,’ replied the other, speaking low; ’she died suddenly, yesterday morning, and is now carrying to be interred in the vault of her ancestors.’  We were much affected at this intelligence, as we had hoped to hear of her recovery, instead of her decease.

“At the request of my friend, the man in the white linen coat, the Indian agreed to attend the funeral along with us, and accordingly we all three fell in among the followers, and travelled on with a slow pace till we came to the scene of interment.  The situation was wild and gloomy.  Naked rocks, dark cedars, the head of a small lake, and the venerable tombs of the dead, completed the scenery.

“It was pity,’ said I, ’to the singing clerk, who stood near me, ’that Fate has so ordered matters, that this young creature should depart the world in so very extravagant a condition of mind.  Though too many pass their whole lives in a state of insanity, it were to be wished, that, towards the evening, the clouds of phrensy might be dissipated, and the sun of reason set clear.’

“The singing clerk looked full in my face, opened his mouth wide, and was about to make some reply, when silence was ordered, that the clergyman might pronounce a speech over the body; but his reverence stumbled at the threshold:  he had unluckily forgot his pocket Bible, and could not recollect his text.

“Cannot he say something applicable to the melancholy occasion,’ whispered the Indian, ‘without the formality of taking a text?’

“Were you to give him three worlds, each as rich as a dozen of the Indies,’ replied the clerk, ’you could not get a word out of him on any other condition.’

“The sexton of the parish was then ordered to mount one of the horses, and make the best of the way to the good doctor’s house, to bring the Bible.

“After waiting a full and entire hour, he returned with the vexatious intelligence, that the Bible was not to be found—­it was stolen—­or, it was hid—­or it had been neglected—­or, it was mislaid—­or they knew not what had been done with it.—­’More is the pity!’ exclaimed the singing clerk.