 | The works of Washington Irving |  |
ST. MARK'S EVE.
Or if to be, to wander after death!
To walk, as spirits do, in brakes all day,
And, when the darkness comes, to glide in paths
That lead to graves; and in the silent vault,
Where lies your own pale shroud, to hover o'er it,
Striving to enter your forbidden corpse.
Dryden.
The conversation this evening at the
supper-table took a curious turn on the
subject of a superstition, formerly very
prevalent in this part of the country, relative
to the present night of the year, which
is the Eve of St. Mark. It was believed,
the parson informed us, that if any one
would watch in the church porch on this
eve, for three successive years, from
eleven to one o'clock at night, he would
see, on the third year, the shades of
those of the parish who were to die in
the course of the year, pass by him into
church, clad in their usual apparel.
Dismal as such a sight would be, he
assured us that it was formerly a frequent
thing for persons to make the
necessary vigils. He had known more
than one instance in his time. One old
woman, who pretended to have seen this
phantom procession, was an object