and as ſlender as the thread from their diſtaffs; but they were all idle inventions, and ſerved but to paſs the time. And, as for one perſon really poſſeſſed there are an hundred Lukinses, an hundred fanatics for one truly inſpired, and an hundred dreamers for one gifted with genuine ſecond ſight—ſo, for one authentic anecdote, there has ever gone about the neighbourhood of the Giant-mountains an hundred lying reports, among the vulgar, concerning Number-Nip. It was the Counteſs Cecilia, Voltaire’s contemporary and pupil, for whom the laſt interview with the ſpirit, in our days, was reſerved; it took place juſt before he dived, for the laſt time, into the world below.
This lady, charged with all the faſhionable aches and pains which the effeminate daughters of Teuto owe to the French kitchen and manners, was on a journey, with two healthy blooming daughters, to Carlſbad. The mother was ſo impatient to try the virtues of the ſpring, and the
