at Shakspeare had
authenticated this costume, by telling how

"The sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the streets of Rome."*

* _Hamlet_, Act I, scene 1, lines 115-116

And, therefore, their all hitting upon this is a striking fact in
pneumatology, which we recommend to the attention of spiritual media
generally.

Be it as it may, we have private reasons for knowing that a tall figure
in a white sheet did walk, at the most approved ghostly hours,
around the Legree premises,--pass out the doors, glide about the
house,--disappear at intervals, and, reappearing, pass up the silent
stairway, into that fatal garret; and that, in the morning, the entry
doors were all found shut and locked as firm as ever.

Legree could not help overhearing this whispering; and it was all the
more exciting to him, from the pains that were taken to conceal it from
him. He drank more brandy than usual; held up his head briskly, and
swore louder than ever in the daytime; but he had bad dreams, and the
visions of his head on his bed were anything but agreeable. The night
after Tom's body had been carried away, he rode to the next town for a
carouse, and had a high one. Got home late and tired; locked his door,
took out the key, and went to bed.

After all, let a man take what pains he may to hush it down, a human
soul is an awful ghostly, unquiet possession, for a bad man to have.
Who knows the metes and bounds of it? Who knows all its awful
perhapses,--those shudderings and tremblings, which it can no more live
down than it can outlive its own eternity! What a fool is he who locks
his door to keep out spirits, who has in his own bosom a spirit he dares
not meet alone,--whose voice, smothered far down, and piled over with
mountains of earthliness, is yet like the forewarning trumpet of doom!

But Legree locked his door and set a chair against it; he set a
night-lamp at the head of his bed; and put his pistols there. He
examined the catches and fastenings of the windows, and then swore he
"didn't care for the devil and all his angels," and went to sleep.

Well, he slept, for he was tired,--slept soundly. But, finally, there
came over his sleep a shadow, a horror, an apprehension of something
dreadful hanging over him. It was his mother's shroud, he thought; but
Cassy had it, holding it up, and showing it to him. He heard a confused
noise of screams and groanings; and, with it all, he knew he was
asleep, and he struggle