The body was removed into another room, and the departure of the Englishman was not noticed till the company returned to the hall.  They sat late together, conversing on this extraordinary circumstance, and finally agreed to remain in the house, lest the evil spirit (for they believed the Englishman no better) should take certain liberties with the corse by no means agreeable to a Catholic, particularly as he had manifestly died without the benefit of the last sacraments.  Just as this laudable resolution was formed, they were roused by cries of horror and agony from the bridal chamber, where the young pair had retired.

They hurried to the door, but the father was first.  They burst it open, and found the bride a corse in the arms of her husband.

. . . . .

He never recovered his reason; the family deserted the mansion rendered terrible by so many misfortunes.  One apartment is still tenanted by the unhappy maniac; his were the cries you heard as you traversed the deserted rooms.  He is for the most part silent during the day, but at midnight he always exclaims, in a voice frightfully piercing, and hardly human, “They are coming! they are coming!” and relapses into profound silence.

The funeral of Father Olavida was attended by an extraordinary circumstance.  He was interred in a neighboring convent; and the reputation of his sanctity, joined to the interest caused by his extraordinary death, collected vast numbers at the ceremony.  His funeral sermon was preached by a monk of distinguished eloquence, appointed for the purpose.  To render the effect of his discourse more powerful, the corse, extended on a bier, with its face uncovered, was placed in the aisle.  The monk took his text from one of the prophets,—­“Death is gone up into our palaces.”  He expatiated on mortality, whose approach, whether abrupt or lingering, is alike awful to man.—­He spoke of the vicisstudes of empires with much eloquence and learning, but his audience were not observed to be much affected.—­He cited various passages from the lives of the saints, descriptive of the glories of martyrdom, and the heroism of those who had bled and blazed for Christ and his blessed mother, but they appeared still waiting for something to touch them more deeply.  When he inveighed against the tyrants under whose bloody persecution those holy men suffered, his hearers were roused for a moment, for it is always easier to excite a passion than a moral feeling.  But when he spoke of the dead, and pointed with emphatic gesture to the corse, as it lay before them cold and motionless, every eye was fixed, and every ear became attentive.  Even the lovers, who, under pretense of dipping their fingers into the holy water, were contriving to exchange amorous billets, forbore for one moment this interesting intercourse, to listen to the preacher.  He dwelt with much energy on the virtues of the deceased, whom he declared