of ourselves, it was another figure, an actual being, though not of this world, that now sate opposite to us.
Thou believest not perhaps in spirits, reader—thou believest not that the departed dead may escape from the cerements of the sepulchre, and in their bodily forms revisit the warm world again! And yet why not? The persuasion that such things be, seems almost instinctive in our nature; our earliest recollections are those of mystic fears, and the very reason upon which in after life we rely for their subjugation, cannot withstand the mass of evidence to the fact of apparitions having been witnessed in every age of the world. Are there not moments when the least imaginative mind, the most sceptical bosom, shudders with the apprehension of a forced communion with beings of the other world? And what, unless the prompting of some viewless spirit, that with chilling influence hovers near—what is this dim dread, this mystic fear, this vague belief that such things are, but the whispering of the soul to the senses of suggestions that come to it from heaven itself? Banish then, thinking reader, that sneer of doubt from thy features. We know that there is much to stagger thy faith in what we are now revealing; but may we entirely forfeit thy confidence in our truth, if what we have just related be not as veritable a part of our narrative as any that hath preceded it. We pray thee, reader, withdraw not yet thy confidence, but list while we proceed in this singular disclosure.
Well, there sat the phantom; and here sat we, with only the breadth of the table between us. Its position was much the same as ours, and when it first assumed a determined shape to our sight—that of a little old man clad in ancient apparel—it was gazing intently upon some loose sheets before it. It was then that a complete though cursory examination of its features, dispelled at once our rising horror at thus confronting an apparition. Benevolence was their predominant expression, and though a few satirical lines about the mouth a little disputed its ascendency, yet their effect was wholly lost upon us when the phantom, slowly raising its head, gave an opportunity for its mild blue eyes and placid brow to produce their full impression. There was, too, something so re-assuring, so almost parental, in the manner of this venerable being, when first addressing us, that, colored as it was by a certain jocoseness, our mind became collected at once, and we listened, nay, replied to the words of the spectre with a composure, for which, now that the singular scene has passed, we
