Delia started and trembled. Damon stood confessed. But
she scarcely recollected his features before he rushed away swifter than
the winged hawk, and was immediately out of sight.
Delia was too full of a thousand reflections upon this unexpected
rencounter to be able to utter a word. But Miss Fletcher immediately
began. "God bless us," cried she, "did you ever see the like? Why it is my
belief it is a ghost or a wizard. I never heard any thing so pretty--I
vow, I am terribly frightened."
Delia now caught hold of her arm. "For heaven's sake, let us quit the
grove. I do not know what is the matter--but I feel myself quite sick."
"Good God! good heavens! Well, I do not wonder you are all in a
tremble--But suppose now it should be nothing but Mr. Prattle--He is
always somewhere or other--And then he plays _God save the king_, and
_Darby and Joan_, like any thing." "Oh," said the lovely, trembling
nymph, "they were the sweetest notes!" "Ah," said her companion, "he is a
fine man. And then he is so modest--He will play at one and thirty, and
ride upon a stick with little Tommy all day long. But sure it could not be
Mr. Prattle--He always wears his hair in a queue you know--but the ghost
had a bag and solitaire." "Well," cried Delia, "let us think no more of
it. But did we hear anything?"--"Law, child, why he played the nicest
glee--and then he made such a speech, for all the world like Mr.
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