A friend of mine (says Mr. Lambert, in his Travels,) was once present at
the house of a French lady in Canada, when a violent thunder storm
commenced. The shutters were immediately closed, and the room darkened.
The lady of the house, not willing to leave the safety of herself and
company to chance, began to search her closets for the bottle of holy
water, which, by a sudden flash of lightning, she fortunately found. The
bottle was uncorked, and its contents immediately sprinkled over the
ladies and gentlemen. It was a most dreadful storm, and lasted a
considerable time; she therefore redoubled her sprinklings and
benedictions at every clap of thunder or flash of lightning. At length
the storm abated, and the party were providentially saved from its
effects; which the good lady attributed solely to the precious water.
But when the shutters were opened, and the light admitted, the company
found, to the destruction of their white gowns and muslin handkerchiefs;
their coats, waistcoats, and breeches, that instead of holy water, the
pious lady had sprinkled them with _ink_. W.P.
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