movement alarmed the Secretary, who started back a few steps, and perceived Saalburg. "We are betrayed!" cried he, and fired his pistol at the Baron. Saalburg felt himself wounded, but without hesitating an instant, returned the fire. With a loud groan, the Secretary dropped, and a large quantity of gold pieces was scattered on the floor. Overcome by loss of blood, and the agitation of his feelings, the Baron also sunk senseless on the ground.

He came to himself in a short time. Schirm wald's lamp was burning by his side. His first glance was in search of Eleonora, who still lay immoveable on the ground. He raised her in his arms, without bestowing a thought on Schirm wald, and taking the lantern in his hand, he carried her to her chamber. The door was open. Her maids were fortunately still asleep. She soon recovered her senses. Saalburg would willingly have declined answering the questions she was disposed to put to him at that time.

66

"For Heaven's sake, Baron Saalburg," cried she, one word only! Where is Schirmwald? What has happened to him ?” "He fell by my hand," answered the Baron, reluctantly. Impossible! it cannot be! you are mistaken! Did you not see the spectre that met us at the entrance of the tapestry door?" "I saw nobody." "The figure which drove me to a side, and as your ball whistled past my ear, seized on Schirmwald, dashed him down, and -" "My dear Eleonora, nothing of all this have I seen. Your overheated imagination has deceived you. Your pulse beats like lightning,your senses wander. Be calm, I beseech you." 'Saalburg, say then at once, what do you know of the unfortunate Schirmwald ?" "Only that he is a villain-an accomplished villain, whom I will unmask tomorrow."

cuted immediately. "Ask no questions, my dear Neideck," cried the Baron to the old man; "my wound is nothing; time is precious, follow me quick. John, light us to the chamber in the second story. I will tell you all as we go.”

The astonishment of the Baron, when he heard of Eleonora's preservation, and the Secretary's villany, was inexpressible. They came to the spot, but Schirmwald was gone. No traces of blood appeared, notwithstanding the dangerous wound, which, from his groans, Saalburg concluded he had received. Nothing was to be seen but Eleonora's casket, which lay on the ground, and the gold which was scattered about the room. The door they could not find. Saalburg knew not what to think of the matter. One thing, however, was clear, that he had not to answer for the Secretary's death.

Early next morning, Heubach the woodman appeared to claim his reward. He received the stipulated sum, after confessing, in the presence of the Baron and old John, the whole of his connection with the Secretary.

On looking over the forest-accounts, the sum which had been found scattered about the room the night before was ascertained to be wanting.

Neideck went to his daughter's apartment, determined for once to tell her, without hesitation or disguise, the extent of her error; but he found it unnecessary. Full of shame and repentance, she threw herself at her father's feet, and begged that he would allow her to retire into a convent. Neideck endeavoured to calm the enthusiast, and then proceed to acquaint her with Heubach's disclosures, from which Schirm wald appeared in his true colours. Her confusion and remorse were indescribable. With tears of the deepest anguish, she threw herself on her father's neck, who thanked God that his daughter was now again restored to him. Saalburg's wound, and the delicacy which had induced him for some time to leave the castle, affected her deeply.

About three months afterwards, she requested her father to summon Saalburg to the castle. He flew thi ther immediately, on the wings of

hope. Eleonora had laid aside all her affectation. 66 Saalburg," said she, with a gentle blush, as he entered, "you know that I have loved; but I have expelled from my heart the traitor who robbed me of those feelings which ought to have been yours. If my heart has still any

value in your eyes, take it with this hand, and with it my warmest esteem-my tenderest affection!"

Saalburg kissed the offered hand with delight. "Eleonora," said he, "Fortune has lowered on me once now I can bid defiance to her frowns." And he pressed her to his heart.

Ir was one evening in the latter end of October 1810, that I was left about an hour before midnight, almost alone, in one of the public rooms of the principal hotel in Mantua. The apartment was spacious, and its size seemed augmented, by the scarcity of inmates. A man of apparently spare habits, habited in somewhat rusty garments, and whose general appearance was much below that of the company accustomed to frequent the house, was my only companion. The fire was low, and the candles glimmered dimly in the extent of the room. I had looked in turns over the Gazettes, which were scattered on the tables, and began to think of retiring. I endeavoured to gaze out of the window, but the night was pitchy-dark, and no object was discernible, except where the lainps, attached to the public buildings in the street, made half visible the ill-defined masses of buildings. I sunk back to my seat by the dying coals, and perplexed myself with weighing the comparative advantages of departing to my lodgings, or remaining at the hotel for the night. The clock struck, and I found it was within a quarter of the witching hour. The stranger had not yet spoken, nor was I inclined to break the silence; at length my companion spoke.

"I think, Sir," said he, "that in the debate which took place this evening, you inclined to the opinion maintained by the Signor Ripari?" There was something in his manner and the tone of his voice much superior to what I should have expect ed from his appearance.

I answered him in the affirmative. "Your reasonings, then, do not induce you to believe in the possibility of the appearance on earth of a departed spirit, or at least in the

VOL. XV.

power of such a being to make its presence perceptible to human creatures such as ourselves."

"I certainly am not guilty," I replied, " of presuming to assert that such a revisitation is beyond the limits of possibility; probability I own the opinion in question appears to be devoid of."

"True; argument is against the hypothesis."

"I know but one in favour of it the general assent of all ages and nations to the re-appearance of the dead."

"I do not think," said he, "that much strength is to be acquired from that argument, considering the state of the earthly inhabitants of the world; their confined reasonings and mental investigation-their consequent wonder and astonishment at many of the operations of Nature, which, though now familiar, were to them inexplicable, may account for the use of a notion, which, when once conceived, would be eagerly embraced, and widely disseminated. Argument, therefore, I may repeat, is entirely against the credibility of the opinion."

"In that case," I replied, "the question must be considered as settled, for by what means, except argument, are such inquiries to be prosecuted?"

"You do not, of course, consider arguments, or the conviction arising from them, as the only sources of belief?"

"Certainly not: belief may originate from numerous causes-for instance, from the retention of what has been shewn to us by experience."

"It is upon that very cause that I ground my belief in the re-appearance of the forms of the dead.'

"Then you are a believer? But do you think that the testimony of 4 D

another's experience can overcome the improbability of the alleged instances-especially since the pretended beholders of apparitions are generally weak and ignorant persons, and likely to be the subjects of delusion ?"

"Passing over," answered my opponent, "the incorrectness of your statement, and the sophism of the argument you would insinuate, your observation is founded on an assumption unauthorized by any expression of mine."

"But where-how?

"When I spoke of experience, I said nothing to confine it to the experience of others, consequently testimony is not of the question."

"You do not, surely," I answered, "proceed upon your own experience?

There was a half sort of smile on

terwards. I know that I felt no doubt of the truth of what my companion had asserted; on the contrary, I did not even revolve it as a thing whose reality was to be established, but thought and acted upon it as a settled truth. Yet I had only his bare word for so wonderful, and apparently incredible a tale. He was a stranger to me, and our connection arose from one of the most commonplace casualties of life-the meeting in a coffee-room. So it was, however-I believed implicitly in what I had heard.

I retired to bed-sleep I had none, unless a disturbed and feverish dozing can be so called; the image of my new acquaintance was constantly before my eyes, and phantom-like shapes seemed to float around me. I tossed about unrefreshed, and full of anxiety-I strained my eyes in

I started with surprise. "You have been favoured, then, with a communication with the world of spirits ?"

"I have."

"When-where-how?"

"The narration would be tedious," he replied; "if your inclination lead you, you shall yourself know as much as I do."

"That is to say, you possess the power of calling these mysterious existences to the sight of yourself and others?"

"Come and see," was his reply; and leaving his chair, he seemed about to depart. He lingered, as if waiting for me to accompany him.

I feigned a laugh, and said, "that my faith in his power was not so firm as to induce me to leave the house at so late an hour."

"True," answered the stranger; "it grows late-'tis past midnightyou are doubtless remaining here, and I will therefore bid you farewell;" and bowing with great politeness, he was gone before I could speak to detain him.

A strange and fretting discontent seized me; I was vexed that I had let him depart, and lamented that I had lost such an opportunity of extending my knowledge beyond the limits of the visible world. It may appear singular-it did so to me af

after a lapse of, as it appeared, of many hours, I caught a glimmering of the sky, I sprung from my restless couch, dressed myself, and rousing the servants to let me out, rushed into the street.

Why I did so I cannot tell; and this reflection immediately struck me, that I had but small chance of discovering a man whose name, situation, and place of residence, I was wholly ignorant of, by running through the streets before day-light, and when scarce a soul was abroad, save some whose rencounter might prove neither desirable nor safe.

The sun rose, and cast a pale and sickly glare through the vapour which covered the city, and hung in dim masses around the buildings. The air was exceeding raw and cold, the pavement was wet, and covered with filth of every description. The houses, all shut up, looked dismal and repelling. Every thing seemed squalid, meagre, and ungainly, and I felt forcibly that execrable sensation arising from-But my readers know the feeling, doubtless, better than I can describe it.

I counted the lingering minutes, till my ears were at length relieved by the welcome of artisans and labourers preparing for their daily occupation; countrymen from the adjoining su burbs made their appearance with their asses laden with fruit and ve

getables. A city-like din began to arise, and the depression of my spirits began to disappear, or at least to diminish, as the stir and bustle increased.

Of

I paced round the city with eager steps, examining every countenance I met, and searching, though in vain, for the stranger of the preceding night. I blamed my own carelessness in not ascertaining his name, and hastened back to the hotel, to inquire from the waiters who he was. this, however, they knew as little as myself-they only remembered having occasionally seen him, but with his name, or any other particulars which could guide me in my search, they were unacquainted. I hastily dispatched my breakfast, and again commenced my wanderings.

At length, when the eagerness of my researches had wearied and irritated me, as I was crossing, in great haste, one of the squares, I ran against some one, and upon turning round to apologise, found my labours at an end.

"You are not the first," said the stranger, half-laughing, and seeming fully aware that he was the object of my pursuit, "who has looked diligently for a something that lay just before him at the time."

I felt, I know not why, halfashamed of acknowledging the cause for which I had sought him. I recounted to him the history of my rambles, and we talked on different subjects.

66

"And so," said he at length, upon a pause occurring in the conversation, you have risen before day, and run about till noon, to find a man with whom, when found, you have no business but to tell him how diligently you have looked for him."

I blushed and hesitated; he smiled as he spoke, and this increased my confusion.

"Excuse me," I said; " I have other business.'

"Indeed! Pardon my freedom; but had we not better despatch it without delay? You will allow me to inquire the nature of it?"

"To tell the truth," I replied, "I have been thinking, since I saw you last, of the subject which then formed the ground of our discourse."

"Oh! I remember it was of the

re-appearance of the dead,-of ghosts, -'of those subtle intelligences which accommodate themselves to shapes,unite with sounds,-present themselves in odours,-infuse themselves in savours,-deceive the senses, and the very understanding.' Was it not so? What think you of St. Austin's description? Is not the holy father a strong authority for our side of the question?"

"The fathers of the church were men, and not infallible. But our talk was of the existences you speak of."

"I made an offer to you at the time, which you rejected," said he. "Is it too late to avail myself of it even now?-cannot the error be retrieved?"

"On one condition."
"Name it."

66

"That when you have seen what I have to exhibit, you will ask no questions concerning my search. I demand this," he added, more for your own sake, than to gratify any disposition of my own. I wish not to conceal knowledge, where the promulgation of it can benefit the world; that which I peculiarly possess is a curse rather than a blessing."

The manner in which this was said disposed me to think favourably of the speaker. I felt convinced he was sincere. I made the promise required of me, and taking his arm, I walked with him to the house where he informed me he lodged.

He led me into a small room, plainly, though not inelegantly, furnished. A moderate-sized bookcase, with shelves, well filled with antiquelooking volumes, formed the most prominent among its accommodations. There was nothing placed to be seen, no ostentation of science, nothing but what the apartment of any private man would have exhibited.

We so naturally associate the idea of darkness, and seasons of solitude and stillness, with that of the visions of the deceased, that I was astonished, when, after we had been seated a short time, my companion asked if I was prepared to name the person I most wished to see? I communicated my thoughts to him. He answered,

"All times are alike to me, and a

spiritual existent knows not the distinction of light or darkness. We will therefore postpone it; speak when you wish me to fulfil my promise; and, in the mean while, we will pass the time by looking over a few of my favourite authors;" and he unlocked, as he spoke, the glassdoors that sheltered his volumes. He spoke of the authors that we opened like a scholar and a man of feeling. I was delighted with his remarks, and had almost forgot the object which had led me there, when the deepening tinge of the sunbeams shining through the casement warned me of the approach of evening. I was ashamed of having so long delayed, fearful of the imputation of irresolution. I shut the book I held, and looked at my unknown acquaintance. A look was enough for him. "Be it so," said he; name the individual, and he shall appear." We were arrived at a crisis-a fearful one I felt it. The firmness, which a moment before I flattered myself that I possessed, vanished at the near approach of the moment which should place me in contact with a being of another nature, one, too, whom, of all the creatures of the earth, I had known, and loved, and cherished. I felt a fearful oppression of the heart, my limbs were chill and trembling, and the power of speech well nigh deserted me.

My conductor observed my confusion, and begged to defer the experiment, or to abandon it, if I wished, altogether. I refused to postpone it, and summoning all my strength, Í loosed the bonds that enchained my tongue, and spoke the name of the dead.

Oh God! I spoke her name, and she sat before me as when on earth -as beautiful, and those eyes so deeply dark, shining upon me with all the gentle fire, the fond affection that illumined them in her days of youth and earthly blessedness. I strove in vain to touch her hand, to feel if what I saw was indeed my― I dare not write the word,-or but a dream-a vision; and the face smiled a melancholy smile, and the eyes shone, and the lips moved,-she spoke felt that voice again; I shrieked her name-my eyes were blind-my limbs were nerveless, but

my ears still for a moment drank in the heaven of that sound, as I fell, void of sense and consciousness, to the earth.

I was still lying on the spot where I had dropped down, when I recovered, and found myself alone. Of the stranger who had conducted me there I could perceive no trace, and I endeavoured in vain to remember what part he had taken in the scene which had so strongly affected me. I had some recollection of his raising his hand to his eyes, and moving his lips like a man absorbed in deep meditation; but of the time or manner of his exit I could form no conjecture.

1 left the room, and descended into a garden by which the house was almost surrounded. The blush of the sky above me, deepening, as it neared to the skirts of the horizon, to a glow as of a burning furnace, that lent to every pale-leafed flower and wandering rivulet a tinge of its own rich hue,-the mellow song of lingering birds,-and the full, cool, exquisite freshness of the air, all spoke the eloquence of evening, and cast a veil of melancholy placidity over the troubled feelings with which I was agitated.

I leaned against a lime-tree, and looked round on the peacefulness of Nature. My thoughts were with other and happier times,-my meditations were sad, but not bitter,— there was one image had been painfully recalled to my memory, and a thousand fond associations started up and played around the recollection. I was startled from a reverie like this by the sound of an approaching footstep. It was a servant of the house, who delivered me a letter, which I read as follows:

"I have performed my undertaking; do you remember the obligation of my promise? It is near to impossible that we shall ever meet again. If it should happen otherwise, remember you are to make no inquiries. Speak no word of this to any one,-forget what has been, and be content. Your friend

33

I was dissatisfied and uneasy. I inquired after him, but could obtain no information of his name, occupation, or residence. The people with whom he lodged either knew or would discover nothing. He came