clean,

'There were the curate's gentle maids, and

some

From all the neighbouring villages would

come;

There, as

that all

With some degree of reverence recall.
George then reverted to the days of old,
When his heart fainted, and his hope was
cold;

When by the power of fancy he was sway'd,
And every impulse of the mind obey'd.

'Then, my dear Richard,' said the 'Squire, 'my case

Was call'd consumptive-I must seek a place And soil salubrious, thither must repair, And live on asses' milk and milder air. 'My uncle bought a farm, and on the land

The fine old mansion yet was left to stand, Not in this state, but old and much decay'd; Of this a part was habitable made;

The rest-who doubts?-was by the spirits seized,

Ghosts of all kinds, who used it as they

pleased.

The worthy farmer tenant yet remain'd, Of good report-he had a fortune gain'd; And his three daughters at their school acquired

The air and manner that their swains

admired;

The mother-gossip and these daughters three Talk'd of genteel and social company,

A poor young creature, who, they say, is cross'd

In love, and has in part his senses lost;
His health for certain, and he comes to spend
His time with us; we hope our air will mend
A frame so weaken'd, for the learned tribe
A change of air for stubborn ills prescribe;
And doing nothing often has prevail'd
When ten physicians have prescribed and
fail'd ;

Not that for air or change there 's much to say,
But nature then has time to take her way;
And so we hope our village will restore
This man to health that he possess'd before.
He loves the garden avenues, the gloom
Of the old chambers, of the tap'stried room,
And we no notice take, we let him go and
come."

'So spake a gay young damsel; but she

And ivy'd walls around, for many an hour
I walk'd alone, and felt their witching power;
So others felt ;-the young of either sex
Would in these walks their timid minds

perplex

By meeting terrors, and the old appear'd, Their fears upbraiding, like the young who fear'd;

Among them all some sad discourse at night
Was sure to breed a terrified delight:
Some luckless one of the attentive dames
Had figures seen like those within the frames,
Figures of lords who once the land possess'd,
And who could never in their coffins rest;
Unhappy spirits! who could not abide
The loss of all their consequence and pride,
'Twas death in all his power, their very names
had died.

'These tales of terror views terrific bred, And sent the hearers trembling to their bed.'

'In an autumnal evening, cool and still, The sun just dropp'd beneath a distant hill, The children gazing on the quiet scene, Then rose in glory Night's majestic queen; And pleasant was the chequer'd light and shade

Her golden beams and maple shadows made; An ancient tree that in the garden grew, And that fair picture on the gravel threw. 'Then all was silent, save the sounds that make

Silence more awful, while they faintly break; The frighten'd bat's low shriek, the beetle's hum,

A fire of brushwood on the irons laid
All the dull room in fitful views display'd,
And with its own wild light in fearful forms
array'd.

In this old Hall, in this departing day, Assembled friends and neighbours, grave and gay,

When one good lady at a picture threw
A glance that caused inquiry-"Tell us who?"
"That was a famous warrior; one, they said,
That by a spirit was awhile obey'd;
In all his dreadful battles he would say,
Or win or lose, I shall escape to-day;
And though the shot as thick as hail came
round,

On no occasion he received a wound;
He stood in safety, free from all alarm,
Protected, heaven forgive him, by his charm:
But he forgot the date, till came the hour
When he no more had the protecting power;
And then he bade his friends around farewell!
'I fall!' he cried, and in the instant fell.

""Behold those infants in the frame beneath!
A witch offended wrought their early death;
She form'd an image, made as wax to melt,
And each the wasting of the figure felt;
The hag confess'd it when she came to die,
And no one living can the truth deny.

""But see a beauty in King William's days, With that long waist, and those enormous stays;

She had three lovers, and no creature knew The one preferr'd, or the discarded two; None could the secret of her bosom see; Loving, poor maid, th' attention of the three, She kept such equal weight in either scale,

they come.

'Such was the evening; and that ancient seat The scene where then some neighbours chanced to meet;

Up to the door led broken steps of stone, Whose dewy surface in the moonlight shone; On vegetation, that with progress slow Where man forbears to fix his foot, will grow ; The window's depth and dust repell'd the ray Of the moon's light and of the setting day; Pictures there were, and each display'd a face And form that gave their sadness to the place; The frame and canvas show'd that worms unseen,

Save in their works, for years had working been;

CR.

Thus you may think in either heart arose
A jealous anger, and the men were foes;
Each with himself concluded, two aside,
The third may make the lovely maid his
bride:

This caused their fate-It was on Thursday night

The deed was done, and bloody was the fight; Just as she went, poor thoughtless girl! to prayers,

Ran wild the maid with horror up the stairs;
Pale as a ghost, but not a word she said,
And then the lady utter'd, 'Coates is dead!'
""Then the poor damsel found her voice and

cried,

Nor when you die, as long as time endures; You have my torment been, and I'll be yours!'

That is the lady, and the man confess'd Her vengeful spirit would not let him rest." "But are there ghosts?" exclaim'd a timid maid;

"My father tells me not to be afraid; He cries When buried we are safe enough,' And calls such stories execrable stuff."

""Your father, child," the former lady cried, "Has learning much, but he has too much pride;

It is impossible for him to tell

What things in nature are impossible,
Or out of nature, or to prove to whom
Or for what purposes a ghost may come;
It may not be intelligence to bring,
But to keep up a notion of the thing;
And though from one such fact there may arise
An hundred wild improbabilities,
Yet had there never been the truth, I say,
The very lies themselves had died away."
""True," said a friend; "Heaven doubtless
may dispense

A kind of dark and clouded evidence;
God has not promised that he will not send
A spirit freed to either foe or friend;
He may such proof, and only such bestow,
Though we the certain truth can never know;
And therefore though such floating stories
bring

No strong or certain vouchers of the thing,
Still would I not, presuming, pass my word
That all such tales were groundless and
absurd."

"But you will grant," said one who sate beside,

"That all appear so when with judgment tried?"

"For that concession, madam, you may call, When we have sate in judgment upon all."

'An ancient lady, who with pensive smile Had heard the stories, and been mute the while,

Now said, "Our prudence had been better shown

By leaving uncontested things unknown;
Yet if our children must such stories hear,
Let us provide some antidotes to fear;
For all such errors in the minds of youth,
In any mind, the only cure is truth;
And truths collected may in time decide
Upon such facts, or prove, at least, a guide:
If then permitted I will fairly state
One fact, nor doubt the story I relate;
I for your perfect acquiescence call,
"Tis of myself I tell.”- "O! tell us all!"
Said every being there: then silent was the
Hall.

When all our loss a generous youth supplied;
And soon the time drew on when he could say,
'O! fix the happy, fix the early day!'
Nor meant I to oppose his wishes, or delay:
But then came fever, slight at first indeed,
Then hastening on and threatening in its
speed;

It mock'd the power of medicine; day by day
I saw those helpers sadly walk away;
So came the hand-like cloud, and with such
power

And with such speed, that brought the

mighty shower.

""Him nursed I dying, and we freely spoke Of what might follow the expected stroke; We talk'd of spirits, of their unknown powers, And dared to dwell on what the fate of ours; But the dread promise, to appear again, Could it be done, I sought not to obtain; But yet we were presuming-' Could it be,' He said, 'O Emma! I would come to thee!' "At his last hour his reason, late astray, Again return'd t' illuminate his way.

6

"In the last night my mother long had kept Unwearied watch, and now reclined and slept;

666

"The Dean, my uncle, with congenial gloom, Said, Will you share a melancholy home?' For he bewail'd a wife, as I deplored My fate, and bliss that could not be restored. "In his cathedral's gloom I pass'd my time, Much in devotion, much in thought sublime; There oft I paced the aisles, and watch'd the glow

Of the sun setting on the stones below,
And saw the failing light, that strove to pass
Through the dim coating of the storied glass,
Nor fell within, but till the day was gone
The red faint fire upon the window shone.

"I took the key, and oft-times chose to
stay

Till all was vanish'd of the tedious day,
Till I perceived no light, nor heard a sound,
That gave me notice of a world around.

"Then had I grief's proud thoughts, and
said, in tone

Of exultation,' World, I am alone!

I care not for thee, thou art vile and base, And I shall leave thee for a nobler place.'

"So I the world abused,-in fact, to me Urbane and civil as a world could be: Nor should romantic grievers thus complain, Although but little in the world they gain, But let them think if they have nothing done To make this odious world so sad a one, Or what their worth and virtue that should make

This graceless world so pleasant for their sake. ""But to my tale :-Behold me as I tread The silent mansions of the favour'd dead,

Who sleep in vaulted chambers, till their clay In quiet dissolution melts away

In this their bodies' home-The spirits, where are they?

And where his spirit ?-Doors and walls impede

The embodied spirit, not the spirit freed :'
And, saying this, I at the altar knelt,
And painful joys and rapturous anguish felt;
Till strong, bold hopes possess'd me, and I
cried,

Even at this instant is he at my side;' Yes, now, dear spirit! art thou by to prove That mine is lasting, mine the loyal love!

"Thus have I thought, returning to the

Dean,

As one who had some glorious vision seen: He ask'd no question, but would sit and

weep,

And cry, in doleful tone, 'I cannot sleep!'

""In dreams the chosen of my heart I view'd, And thus th' impression day by day renew'd ; I saw him always, always loved to see, For when alone he was my company : In company with him alone I seem'd, And, if not dreaming, was as one who dream'd. 'Thus, robb'd of sleep, I found, when evening came,

6.66

A pleasing torpor steal upon my frame;
But still the habit drew my languid feet
To the loved darkness of the favourite seat;
And there, by silence and by sadness press'd,
I felt a world my own, and was at rest.

"One night, when urged with more than
usual zeal,

And feeling all that such enthusiasts feel,
I paced the altar by, the pillars round,
And knew no terror in the sacred ground;
For mine were thoughts that banish'd all such
fear,-

I wish'd, I long'd to have that form appear;
And, as I paced the sacred aisles, I cried,
'Let not thy Emma's spirit be denied
The sight of thine; or, if I may not see,
Still by some token let her certain be!'

6.66

At length the anxious thoughts my
strength subdued,

And sleep o'erpower'd me in my solitude;
Then was I dreaming of unearthly race,
The glorious inmates of a blessed place;
Where lofty minds celestial views explore,
Heaven's bliss enjoy, and heaven's great
King adore;

Him there I sought whom I had loved so well-
For sure he dwelt where happy spirits dwell!
"While thus engaged, I started at a sound,
Of what I knew not, but I look'd around;
For I was borne on visionary wings,
And felt no dread of sublunary things;
But rising, walk'd-A distant window threw
A weak, soft light, that help'd me in my view;
Something with anxious heart I hoped to see,
And pray'd, 'O! God of all things, let it be!
For all are thine, were made by thee, and thou
Canst both the meeting and the means allow;
Thou canst make clear my sight, or thou canst
make

The just, the pure, do I on thee intrude?
Art thou not come my spirit to improve,
To form, instruct, and fit me for thy love,
And, as in love we parted, to restore
The blessing lost, and then to part no more?
Let me with thee in thy pure essence dwell,
Nor go to bid them of my house farewell,
But thine be ever! '--How shall I relate
Th' event that finish'd this ecstatic state?
Yet let me try. It turn'd, and I beheld
An hideous form, that hope and zeal expell'd :
In a dim light the horrid shape appear'd,

The gracious power around me could translate And make me pass to that immortal state: Thus shall I pay the debt that must be paid, And dying live, nor be by death delay'd; And when so changed, I should with joy sustain

The heavenly converse, and with him remain.
"Isaw the distantshade, and went with awe,
But not with terror, to the form I saw ;
Yet slowly went, for he I did believe
Would meet, and soul to soul his friend
receive;

So on I drew, concluding in my mind,
I cannot judge what laws may spirits bind;
Though I dissolve, and mingle with the blest,
I am a new and uninstructed guest,

'Twas told they buried with the corpse enough
To pay the hazard,—I have made the proof,
Nor gain'd a tester-What I tell is true;
But I'm no fool, to be betray'd by you,-
I'll hazard nothing, curse me if I do!'

"The light increased, and plainly now
appear'd

A knavish fool whom I had often fear'd, But hid the dread; and I resolved at least Not to expose it to the powerful beast. """Come, John,' I said, suppressing fear and doubt,

'Walk on before, and let a lady out!'