ed "of
an incident that took place at the old manse, in the first summer of our
marriage. One night, about eleven o'clock, before either my wife or
I had fallen asleep (we had been talking together just before), she
suddenly asked me why I had touched her shoulder? The next instant she
had a sense that the touch was not mine, but that of some third presence
in the chamber. She clung to me in great affright, but I got out of
bed and searched the chamber and adjacent entry, and, finding nothing,
concluded that the touch was a fancied one. My wife, however, has never
varied in her belief that the incident was supernatural and connected
with the apparition of old Dr. Harris, who used to show himself to
me daily in the reading-room of the Boston Athenaeum. I am still
incredulous both as to the doctor's identity and as to the reality of
the mysterious touch. That same summer of our honeymoon, too, George
Hillard and his wife were sitting with us in our parlor, when a rustling
as of a silken robe passed from corner to corner of the room, right
among my wife and the two guests, and was heard, I think, by all three.
Mrs. Hillard, I remember, was greatly startled. As for myself, I was
reclining on the sofa at a little distance, and neither heard the rustle
nor believed it."

Nevertheless, such things affect one in a degree. Here is a straw to
show which way the wind of doctrine was blowing with my father: We were
in Siena immediately after the date of our Florentine residence, and
he and I, leaving the rest of the family at our hotel, sallied forth in
quest of adventures. "We went to the cathedral," he writes, "and while
standing near the entrance, or about midway in the nave, we saw a female
figure approaching through the dimness and distance, far away in the
region of the high altar; as it drew nearer its air reminded me of Una,
whom we had left at home. Finally, it came close to us, and proved to
be Una herself; she had come, immediately after we left the hotel, with
Miss Shepard, and was looking for objects to sketch. It is an empty
thing to write down, but the surprise made the incident stand out very
vividly." Una was to pass near the gates of the next world a little
while later, and doubtless my father often during that dark period
pictured her to himself as a spirit. To make an end of this subject, I
will quote here my father's account of a story told him by Mrs. Story
when we were living in Rome for the second time. The