“Those well scene natives in grave Nature’s hests, All close designs conceal in their deep brests.” Morrell. It would be highly improper any longer to keep our readers in ignorance of the cause of our heroine’s apparent aberration from the line of strict propriety. After her conversation with Everell, in which we must infer, from its effect on his mind, that she manifested less art than zeal in her friend’s cause, she was retiring to her own apartment, when, on passing through the hall, she saw an Indian woman standing there, requesting the servant who had admitted her “to ask the young ladies of the house if they would look at some rare moccasins.”…
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