wheel, the buzz of the spindles as the twisting yarn was teased by the
whirl of its point, then a step backwards, a pause, a step forward and
the running of the yarn upon the spindle, and again a backward step,
the drawing out of the roll and the droning and hum of the wheel, most
mournfully hopeless sound that ever fell on mortal ear. Since childhood
it has haunted me. All this time I wrote, and I could hear distinctly
the scratching of the pen upon the paper. But she stood behind me (why
I did not turn my head I never knew), pacing backward and forward by the
spinning-wheel, just as I had a hundred times seen her in childhood in
the old kitchen on drowsy summer afternoons. And I heard the step, the
buzz and whirl of the spindle, and the monotonous and dreary hum of the
mournful wheel. Whether her face was ashy pale and looked as if it might
crumble at the touch, and the border of her white cap trembled in the
June wind that blew, I cannot say, for I tell you I did NOT see her. But
I know she was there, spinning yarn that had been knit into hose years
and years ago by our fireside. For I was in full possession of my
faculties, and never copied more neatly and legibly any manuscript than
I did the one that night. And there the phantom (I use the word out
of deference to a public prejudice on this subject) most persistently
remained until my task was finished, and, closing the portfolio,
I abruptly rose. Did I see anything? That is a silly and ignorant
question. Could I see the wind which had now risen stronger, and drove
a few cloud-scuds across the sky, filling the night, somehow, with a
longing that was not altogether born of reminiscence?

In the winter following, in January, I made an effort to give up the
use of tobacco,--a habit in which I was confirmed, and of which I have
nothing more to say than this: that I should attribute to it almost all
the sin and misery in the world, did I not remember that the old Romans
attained a very considerable state of corruption without the assistance
of the Virginia plant.

On the night of the third day of my abstinence, rendered more nervous
and excitable than usual by the privation, I retired late, and later
still I fell into an uneasy sleep, and thus into a dream, vivid,
illuminated, more real than any event of my life. I was at home, and
fell sick. The illness developed into a fever, and then a delirium set
in, not an intellectual blank, but a misty and most delicious wand