He summoned his servant, and being informed that the night had passed well with Mrs. De Lancaster, he desired the child might be brought to him: his wish was speedily obeyed. He stood for some time intently gazing on the countenance of his grandchild, and at length pronounced it to be a perfect model of infantine beauty, open and ingenuous, every thing in short that his warmest wishes could have pictured. I perceive, cried he, and can decypher the hand-writing of nature in the expressive lineaments of this lovely babe: if God, who gave him life, shall in his mercy give him length of days, he will be an honour to his name and an ornament to his country. He is a sweet pretty puppet, said the nurse. Pooh! cried the prophet, I am not speaking of what he is, I am telling what he will be. I prognosticate that he will be brave, benevolent, and virtuous-- And handsome and tall and well-shaped, re-echoed the loquacious dame; only look what fine straight limbs he has, pretty fellow! Take yourself away with him! cried De Lancaster in displeasure. You have interrupted me with your chatter, and the continuity of those thoughts, which spontaneously presented themselves, is no more to be resumed. The nurse departed, dancing the child in her arms, and prattling to it in her way, unconscious of the offence she had committed, whilst De Lancaster, pacing up and down his room, in vain attempted to find that place in the book of fate, from which her untimely gabble had caused him to break off--It is lost, said he to himself; I can only discern bright gleams of virtuous happiness, but not unclouded, not without those darkening shadows, that denounce misfortune.--Heaven forbid my father’s fate should be this infant’s portion with my father’s name! He ceased; sate down, and, whilst the tear hung on his cheek, silently put up an unpremeditated prayer.