Whatever it may be that ails the bitch, the ladies pass forward, and take off their shoes, and tread softly all the way upstairs, as Christabel observes that her father is a bad sleeper. At last, however, they do arrive at the bed-room, and comfort themselves with a dram of some homemade liquor, which proves to be very old; for it was made by Lady C.'s mother; and when her new friend asks if she thinks the old lady will take her part, she answers, that this is out of the question, in as much as she happened to die in childbed of her. The mention of the old lady, however, gives occasion to the following pathetic couplet.--Christabel says, 'O mother dear, that thou wert here! I would, said Geraldine, she were!' A very mysterious conversation next takes place between Lady Geraldine and the old gentlewoman's ghost, which proving extremely fatiguing to her, she again has recourse to the bottle--and with excellent effect, as appears by these lines. 'Again the wild-flower wine she drank; Her fair large eyes 'gan glitter bright, 'And from the floor whereon she sank, The lofty Lady stood upright: She was most beautiful to see, Like a Lady of a far countrée.' --From which, we may gather among other points, the exceeding great beauty of all women who live in a distant place, no matter where. The effects of the cordial speedily begin to appear; as no one, we imagine, will doubt, that to its influence must be ascribed the following speech-- 'And thus the lofty lady spake-- All they, who live in the upper sky, Do love you, holy Christabel! And you love them--and for their sake And for the good which me befel, Even I in my degree will try, Fair maiden, to requite you well.' Before going to bed, Lady G. kneels to pray, and desires her friend to undress, and lie down; which she does 'in her loveliness;' but being curious, she leans 'on her elbow,' and looks toward the fair devotee,--where she sees something which the poet does not think fit to tell us very explicitly. 'Her silken robe, and inner vest, Dropt to her feet, and full in view, Behold! her bosom and half her side-- A sight to dream of, not to tell! And she is to sleep by Christabel.' She soon rises, however, from her knees; and as it was not a double-bedded room, she turns in to Lady Christabel, taking only 'two paces and a stride.' She then clasps her tight in her arms, and mutters a very dark spell, which we apprehend the poet manufactured by shaking words together at random; for it is impossible to fancy that he can annex any meaning whatever to it. This is the end of it. 'But vainly thou warrest, For this is alone in Thy power to declare, That in the dim forest Thou heard'st a low moaning, And found'st a bright lady, surpassingly fair: And didst bring her home with thee in love and in charity, To shield her and shelter her from the damp air.'