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that city ere the pope died. The conclave metall the voices of the sacred college were in favour of the Spanish cardinal. Behold him therefore Pope.
Immediately after the ceremony of his exaltation, Don Torribio, admitted to a secret audience, wept with joy while he kissed the feet of his dear pupil. He modestly represented his long and faithful services; he reminded his holiness of those inviolable promises which he had renewed before he entered the conclave. He, instead of of demanding the vacant hat for Don Benjamin, finished with most exemplary moderation by renouncing every ambitious hope. He and his son, he said, would both esteem themselves too happy if his holiness would bestow on them, togetber with his benediction, the smallest temporal benefice; such as an annuity for life, suffieient for the few wants of an ecclesiastic and a philosopher.
During this harangue the sovereign pontiff considered within himself how to dispose of his preceptor. He reflected he was no longer necessary ; that he already knew as much of magic as was sufficient for a pope. After weighing every circumstance, his holiness concluded that Don Torribio was not only a useless but a troublesome pedant; and this point determined, he replied in the following words: “ We have learned, with concern, that under pretext of cultivating the occult sciences, you maintain a horrible intercourse with the spirit of darkness and deceit; we therefore exhort you, as a father, to expiate your crime by a repentance proportionable to its enormity. Moreoyer we enjoin you to depart from the territories of the church within three days, under penalty of being delivered over to the secular arm and its merciless flames."
Don Torribio, without being alarmed, immediately repeated the three mysterious words which no doubt the reader remembers, and going to a window, cried out with all his force," Jacintha, you need not spit but one partridge ; for my friend, the dean, will not sup here to-night.” This was a thunderbolt to the imaginary pope. He immediately recovered from the trance, into which he had been thrown by the mysterious words. He perceived that, instead of being in the Vatican, he was still at Toledo, in the closet of Don Torribio, and saw by the clock that it was not a complete hour since he entered that fatal cabinet, where he had been entertained by such pleasant dreams. In that short time he had imagined himself a magician, a bishop, a cardinal, and a pope; and he found at last that he was a dupe and a knave: all was illusion, except the proofs he had given of his deceitful and evil heart. He instantly departed, without speaking a single word, and finding his mule where he had left her, returned to Badajoz.
THE STORM SHIP. In the golden age of the province of the New Netherlands, when it was under the sway of Wouter Van Twiller, otherwise called the Doubter, the people of the Manhattoes were alarmed one sultry afternoon, just about the time of the summer solstice, by a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning. The rain descended in such torrents as absolutely to spatter up and smoke along the ground.
It seemed as if the thunder rattled and rolled over the very roofs of the houses; the lightning was seen to play about the church of St. Nicholas, and to strive three times, in vain, to strike its weathercock. Garret Van Horne's new chimney was split almost from top to bot. tom; and Doffue Mildeberger was struck speechless from his bald-faced mare, just as he was riding into town. In a word, it was one of those unparalleled storms, that only happen once within the memory of that venerable personage, known in all towns by the appellation of “ the oldest inbabitant."
Great was the terror of the good old women of the Manhattoes. They gathered their children together, and took refuge in the cellars; after having a shoe on the iron post of every bed post, lest it should attract the lightning. At lengthi the storm abated; the thunder sank into a growl, and the setting sun, breaking from under the fringed borders of the clouds, made the broad bosom of the bay to gleam like a sea of molten gold.
The word was given from the fort that a ship was standing up the bay. It passed from mouth to mouth, and from street to street, and soon put the little capital in a bustle. The arrival of a ship, in those early times of the settlement, was an event of vast importance to the inhabitants. It brought them news from the old world, from the land of their birth, from which they were so completely severed : to the yearly ship, too, they looked for their supply of luxuries, of finery, of comforts, and almost of necessaries. The good vrouw could not have her new cap nor new gown until the arrival of the ship; the artist waited for it with his tools, the burgomaster for his pipe and his supply of Hollands, the schoolboy for his top and marbles, and the lordly land holder for the bricks with which he was to build his new mansion. Thuş every one, rich and poor, great and small, looked out for the arrival of the ship. It was the great yearly event of the town of New Amsterdam; and from one end of the year to the other, the ship— the ship- the ship-was the continual topic of conversation.
The news from the fort, therefore, brought all the populace down to the battery, to behold the wished for sight. It was not exactly the time when she had been expected to arrive, and the circumstance was a matter of some speculation, Many were the groups were collected about the battery. Here and there might be seen a burgomaster, of slow and pompous gravity, giving his opinion with great confidence to a crowd of old women and idle boys. At another place was a knot of old weather-beaten fellows, who had been seamen or fishermen in their times; and were great authorities on such occasions; these gave different opinions, and caused great disputes among their several adherents : but the man most looked up to, and followed and watched by the crowd, was Hans Van Pelt, an old Dutch sea captain retired from service, the nautical oracle of the place. He reconnoitred the ship through an ancient telescope, covered with tarry
canvass, hummed a Dutch tune to himself, and said nothing. A hum, however, from Van Pelt had always more weight with the public than a speech from another man.
In the meantime the ship became more distinct to the naked eye: she was a stout, round, Dutch built vessel, with high bow and poop, and bearing Dutch colours. The evening sun gilded her bellying canvass, as she came riding over the long waving billows. The sentinel who had given notice of her approach, declared, that he first got sight of her when she was in the centre of the bay; and that she broke suddenly on his sight, just as if she had come out of the bosom of the black thunder cloud. The bystanders looked at Hans Van Pelt, to see what he would say to this report: Hans Van Pelt screwed his mouth closer together, and said nothing; upon which some shook their heads, and others shrugged their shoulders.
The ship was now repeatedly hailed, but made no reply, and passing by the fort, stood on up the Hudson. A gun was brought to bear on her, and, with some difficulty, loaded and fired by Hans Van Pelt, the garrison not being expert in artillery. The shot seemed absolutely to pass through the ship, and to skip along the water on the other side, but no notice was taken of it! What was strange, she had all her sails set, and sailed right against wind and tide, which were both down the river. Upon this Hans Van Pelt, who was likewise harbour master, ordered his boat, and set off to board her ; but after rowing two or three hours, he returned without success.