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you then live for ever?" And with these words, he shut the coffin. The thunder of that voice bereaved me of my senses.—When I again recovered them, I found the bier in motion.—After some time it stopped.—The coffin was again opened, and at the entry of this dungeon I found my son Francis, with that man who had brought me the bloody sword of my son Charles.—I fell at Francis' feet, embraced his knees—and wept, conjured him, supplicated.—The tears, the supplications of his father, never reach'd his iron heart.—"Throw down that carcase," said he, with a voice of thunder, "he has lived too long."—They threw me down into that dungeon, and my son Francis locked the iron door upon me.

Impossible! impossible!—Your memory or your senses play you false!

It may be so.—Hearken, but restrain yourself.——Thus I lay for twenty hours—and none knew of my sufferings. No foot of man e'er treads this solitary waste—for 'tis the common report that the ghosts of my forefathers haunt this dreadful tower, drag their chains among the ruins, and chant at