“Kiss me, kiss me,” were the first words he uttered; but the tones were unknown, and seemed those of a young fiend. With a loud shriek he prepared to dart upon her face. She started from her seat, and threw him on the floor, and there the little monster rolled--gnashing his teeth, and tearing with his hands, in frantic fury. His eyes were of a glassy brightness, and coldness; and foam was on his little black lips. His struggles soon became fainter, and he lay motionless, and apparently lifeless. He then regained his own beauty, but was pale and trembling, as if from an infant dream of evil. His eyes were raised to his mother, and again they were affectionate, as of old. “Mamma! mamma!” he cried, “take me to your arms, cover me up in your bosom; you wont kill me, mamma? Oh! leave me not here to die!” There was a mournful upbraiding in the boy’s accents, and his mother burst into tears, and rushed forward to raise him, when, all at once, he sprang from the ground. Again he was changed; his hair stood erect, his mouth was stretched to an unnatural width, and he ran to her, howling like a dog. In a moment the servant struck him down. Bitterly did the mother weep to see her child bleeding on the floor, and yet, she dared not touch him. “He is possessed!” she exclaimed, “aye, that is the fate which the witch foretold!” “My lady,” said Roger, “pardon me for what I am about to mention. He has been bewitched into a disease which must be fatal to himself, and to all whom he bites. Your security, and that of my master, lies only in his destruction.” “Never!” was the indignant, but sorrowful reply. The boy once more regained his own appearance, and called piteously for his mother. He put his little hands to his mouth, and when he gazed upon them, they were all suffused with blood! He burst into tears. “Mamma, kiss the blood away from my lips. Wipe this love ringlet, or papa wont play with it. Oh! cool my lips. Take the fire out of them. Mamma, mamma! must I die? Who took me out of your bosom, to lie here?” Every word fell, like a child’s curse, upon the ear of Emily. “Oh Roger! good Roger,” implored the lady,--“what can be done?” The boy attempted to rise, but his strength seemed gone, and his head dashed itself violently upon the floor. His mother fell down senseless. Roger rushed from the room, to bring water to sprinkle upon her face. In a moment he returned,--and there a scene was presented to his eyes, which nothing in after-life could curtain from his mind. Both lay lifeless. The countenance of the mother was mangled and bloody, and her boy’s teeth were in her cheek. As soon as she had fallen, the boy had crept to her, under the same infernal influence as before, and, fortunately, she never awoke from insensibility.