ce which has
been mentioned elsewhere.

One history reached me, which gave a terrible picture of the
effect this power may produce; it was related to me by my
mantua-maker; a young woman highly estimable as a wife and
mother, and on whose veracity I perfectly rely. She told me that
her father was a widower, and lived with his family of three
daughters, at Philadelphia. A short time before she married, an
itinerant preacher came to the city, who contrived to obtain an
intimate footing in many respectable families. Her father's was
one of these, and his influence and authority were great with all
the sisters, but particularly with the youngest. The young
girl's feelings for him seem to have been a curious mixture of
spiritual awe and earthly affection. When she received a hint
from her sisters that she ought not to give him too much
encouragement till he spoke out, she showed as much holy
resentment as if they had told her not to say her prayers too
devoutly. At length the father remarked the sort of covert
passion that gleamed through the eyes of his godly visitor, and
he saw too, the pallid anxious look which had settled on the
young brow of his daughter; either this, or some rumours he had
heard abroad, or both together, led him to forbid this man his
house. The three girls were present when he did so, and all
uttered a deprecating "Oh father!" but the old man added stoutly.
If you show yourself here again, reverend sir, I will not only
teach you the way out of my house, but out of the city also. The
preacher withdrew, and was never heard of in Philadelphia
afterwards; but when a few months had passed, strange whispers
began to creep through the circle which had received and honoured
him, and, in due course of time, no less than seven unfortunate
girls produced living proofs of the wisdom of my informant's
worthy father. In defence of this dreadful story I can only make
the often repeated quotation, "I tell the tale as 'twas told to
me;" but, in all sincerity I must add, that I have no doubt of
its truth.

I was particularly requested to visit the market of Philadelphia,
at the hour when it presented the busiest scene; I did so, and
thought few cities had any thing to show better worth looking at;
it is, indeed, the very perfection of a market, the _beau ideal_
of a notable housewife, who would confide to no deputy the
important office of caterer. The neatness, freshness, and entire
absence of every