ard the story in terror, and put little faith in the theory of
explanation.

"But," said my uncle Richard, himself a good deal amazed at the
narrative, "did anything happen afterwards, to account for what you have
told us?"

"Nothing whatever," replied our friend.

"Did you ever sleep in that chamber again?"

"Yes, some years afterwards. It so happened that during several weeks in
the summer, our whole family except myself, was away. My mother was in
close attendance upon sick members of my sister's family. My brothers
were at sea, and even our ordinary servant was dismissed for the
occasion. When the time for rest arrived, it was my habit to let myself
into the house, to proceed to the same chamber, usually without a light,
and go to bed. One night, putting my hand upon the pillow, I felt
something soft and started back, but again reaching forward, the object
proved to be a dove that had flown into the open window, and securing it
without difficulty I gave that symbol of innocence immediate release.
Perhaps, it was my former visitant in a less forbidding form. But this,
as well as the other, passed into the course of ordinary events."

I need not say, that we had listened to this extraordinary narrative with
rapt attention and in breathless silence. Our friend had told his story
with emotion, certainly, but still with serious deliberation, and
exhibiting no undue signs of excitement. No one seemed disposed to make
any observation upon it, and indeed most of the company were utterly
incapable of the effort of speech. In a few moments, he remarked that he
would quote to us a brief passage from Dante's great poem which was
applicable to the subject, and did so as follows:--

... "Now, O reader! mark,
And if my tale thou slowly shalt receive,
Thy doubt will cause in me no great surprise,
For I, who saw it, scarcely can believe."[12]

"But, Uncle Richard," was now the cry, "you said you had once seen an
apparition, or something like one; please tell us all about it."

"I certainly saw something strange," said he, "on more than one occasion,
which has never yet been accounted for; and I suppose it is now too late
to expect it. If it was really a matter of concert and collusion, the
motive for it has never been discovered. You remember the open space in
town, in front of the Reverend Mr. ----'s meeting-house. Your house, as
you know, Jemmie," addressing me, "looks directly