on the contrary, she smiles deliciously upon her dear Tommy, there is an example of the spiritual kind, depending on ideas of a very subtle order.

In short there are two dialects, one of body, and the other of soul.

It will sometimes happen that the language of body will say one thing, while the language of soul says another. Thus, when my enemy, Iago, pressing my hand, and fixing his eyes upon mine with a look of perfect friendship, talks with me in the language of a generous amity, I perceive that the whole is of the body, and signifies nothing. We understand each other: the touch of his hand is like the touch of a viper's skin; and through that touch the devil that is in him sends me a spirit ual intimation of his presence.

When Verax, on the contrary, shakes hands with me, or when he merely en

ters the room, and I hear his step at a distance, a conviction of his sincerity rushes over me, and my spirit converses with his in the most delightful and affectionate terms.

Farther, it is necessary to observe that while the words of the bodily or physical language signify particulars, those of the spiritual convey only generals. When the spirit of Iago converses with my spirit, we talk together in a rapid and universal manner, and our conversations are surprisingly brief and fiery; the mere general notions of evil, of wrong, and of antagonism fly rapidly from our spiritual lips; but in my conversation with Verax, there is a play of the most harmonious and elegant ideas, nor do I believe that any angel could converse more nobly than does the spirit of my friend with

mine.

**

So far had I gone, most patient reader, whose friendly or whose critical judgment has followed the tortuosities, and sounded the depths, of this great argument of my life, by which I mean forever to establish and confirm upon the throne of reason, the heaven-born idea of the great Slawkenberg, when, as I was patiently revolving a new shape of meditation that should as far exceed the former in brightness and force as the newly risen sun, glancing his golden arrows against the hills of morning, doth surpass and exceed the pale dissolving moon that shrinks before him to her hiding in the west; when by the course of my evil fortune, or my good-for who can distinguish the good from the evil?-I fell into one of those periodic fits of dullness and melancholy to which I have been subject from my youth upwards; my ears rung, my head became vertiginous, my strength failed, and a subtle thrill diffused itself through the left side of my body. Dashing my pen upon the floor in a passion of disappointment, I rose hastily, and taking my hat and cane, strolled off through the great wood that reaches from the distant hills, even to the rear of my garden. As it was still morning, and the heavens clear and mild-a fair sky of September-I resolved to make a day of it; and taking an umbrageous pathway, known only to myself and to

the herdsboy, who daily urges his charge from the grassy hill slopes, which they, lowing, leave gladly for the more equal plain, I soon buried myself in the forest and paced solemnly in the slow waving shadows of the trees.

After wandering for I know not how long time through the mazes of the wood, enjoying the presence of those objects which my soul delights to contemplate; the pale flowers of the forest, the mosses of hollow banks, the brown waters of rivulets that slide quickly over sparkling sands, glassy rocks, and beds of velvet moss, I came unexpectedly to the cleft of a high rock which towered up like a wall above the highest foliage. Entering the cleft, with the intention of tracing to their very source the waters that flowed from it, I ascended by a kind of natural stair composed of fallen blocks, to a broad platform of smooth stone, just level with the surface of the moving sea of leaves in whose shades I had been so long immersed. How shall I describe to you the beauty of the view which now offered itself to my sense? In the course of the day I had insensibly ascended to the foot of a stony ridge, a birth-place of many streams. In the west stood white peaks of mountains, misty, but clearly defined against the clouds of evening. A body of cloud lay piled along the horizon, mounting nearly to the zenith. It was

now broken away before the sun, leaving a hollow like the mouth of an enormous furnace, glowing with a hot and fumy incandescence. The shadows of the vales and bills between me and the west wrought out the breadth of a kingdom under the pencil of the all-powerful sun, whose yellow beam, the soul of purity and warmth, touched boldly the features of the heights, and veiled their slopes with a vapor of gold.

While I stood absorbed in contemplation of the scene, a gaunt figure of a man approached from the right, and coming to the verge of the rock on which I was sitting, took his place at a little distance, in the same attitude. For a considerable time we paid no regard to each other, nor do I now remember which of us broke the silence; but I soon began to be aware that the stranger felt like my self, and with an equal sentiment, the splendor of the view, and trusting to this point of sympathy, I ventured to ask him if, in any other part of the world, (for I thought he had a travelled air,) he had beheld an evening of equal magnificence. "In Mount Lebanon," replied the stranger," wonderful views of the heavens at this hour may be had; at Venice, and from the bay of Naples, it is conceded, the air has a delicacy and variety of color not to be equalled. All these I have seen, and often; but I confess to you the changes of this sky surpass all that I have ever seen."

The clouds were now arranged in layers over a sky of an olive green color; of the layers I counted at least four, the inner and nearer composed of light woolly flocks touched with azure and orange; the layer next consisted of waves edged with purple; the next of blue and golden bars; and the last of green and dusky bars, varied with lace-like fringes of bright purple.

Nothing could exceed the intricacy of their effect, for at various points the force of all entered the eye at once, the whole lying in a confused and fragmentary order, against a sky of pure olive, which showed green through the lower openings, and above changed into a tender violet; the sun was nowhere visible, only the power of his presence filled all with light. After a few moments the layers had lost their tints, and the peculiar and unrecoverable beauty of the evening was gone forever.

"There," said the stranger, "fades the most splendid sunset of the year, per

haps of the century, perhaps of all time; for that such an arrangement of four distinct layers of clear cloud, at such an instant, moving all differently, and broken in such a wonderfully intricate manner, like net-work upon lace-work, will soon again appear, is unlikely and not to be looked for."

“I should think," said I, noticing a certain sadness in the tone with which the stranger uttered these words, "that a reflection so melancholy proceeded from a man oppressed with some secret grief; but for myself, I am rather consoled with this thought: that the pleasure I have enjoyed in the beholding of so magnificent a vision, can never, though I were to live an immortality, be ravished from my fancy; I shall retain the impression of its beauties as the recollection of a happy and fortunate hour, when nature, the true mother of pleasure, kindly offered me the richest gift in her possession; impressing upon the very substance of my soul a finer image of glory even than this visible splendor. The pleasure in the mind which springs from the pleasure of the eye, is a gift more elegant than the richest jewels, for it can neither be lost, nor stolen, nor diminished by the effect of age and misery."

The stranger listened with great attention while I spoke. "It is true," said he, "that a melancholy feeling prompted me to the expression of regret, but if you will not think it an over hasty confidence, I will, with your permission, relate a history so singular, that though I have no real interest in the matter, you will, I think, allow that the mere witnessing of what I shall relate, might be a sufficient cause of sadness, even for the most buoyant of dispositions, though the history itself, far from being tragical, comes to a most happy conclusion."

This sudden burst of confidence on the part of the stranger struck me with a very natural suspicion of his judgment; but as I am myself not without the weakness of such natures as fall easily in love with a new person, and allow the kinder feelings of sociality to step over those bars by which ceremony and the wisdom of the world protect us from impertinence, I did not conceal an emotion of curiosity and interest in the stranger, from whose singularity, at least, there appeared to be some prospect of entertainment. "I suppose," said I, speaking in the most cordial manner possible," you are, like myself, a lover of solitude and

the picturesque, and that the same idle intention brought us both to this solitary place. But the night approaches, and 1 begin to feel the dampness of the dew. Go with me by the short road to my house, and there you may relate and I listen at ease to this history of yours, which I confess your manner has already made me curious to hear." The stranger offered no objection to this invitation; and, I leading the way, we took a short cut through the forest, and falling into a road made by sawyers who dragged their logs by it to the mill, we soon reached the borders of a narrow stream, on the opposite bank of which, in the midst of orchards and gardens, stands the cottage which I call mine. The stranger followed close behind me as we passed rapidly through the wood, and touched the foot bridge of the stream nearly at the same instant with myself. And here a singular accident happened, for, at the first step I made upon the bridge, which was no more than the body of a great chestnut, fallen across, and accommodated with a hand-rail, my feet, which were slippery with dew, slid from under me, and I should have fallen into the water, which was here a deep and rapid current rushing among rocks, had not the stranger reached out his arm, and with a strong effort lifted me to a foothold on the bridge.

"Sir," said he, as soon as I had recovered myself, "when I first saw you I imagined, on the instant, that Heaven had appointed me to your safety, and I therefore followed closely in your steps, thinking the occasion might happen at any instant."

Thanking his care and happy foresight, I inquired, with some surprise, by what signs he had been led to such a thought.

"Believe me to be no impostor or enthusiast," said he, following heedfully over the bridge, with one hand upon my shoulder and the other holding firmly by the railing; "I judged you by the temperament of your body, which is sanguine and precipitate, and the position you had taken upon the edge of the rock -which was a particularly perilous one -to be a person always in the power of accident, and that persuasion brought me with you, for I thought it possible something might happen as it has. Does it not often occur, that, in descending a flight of steps, you seem ready, nay, almost impelled, to fall headlong?"

I confessed I had often experienced the feeling, and had been alarmed by the recurrence of it.

“1 judged so,” he replied, " from your physiognomy and manner."

Though the stranger was evidently a much younger man than myself, I could not but feel respect for one who seemed to have so sharp an insight into my nature.

As we entered the house, seeing a cat upon the mat within the door, he took the creature in his arms, and began vehemently caressing and patting it. Noticing my surprise, "I perceive," said he, "you have an aversion to cats; but, for my part, the touch of the fur is agreeable to me, and there is a something in the disposition of the species that attracts me."

"If I were superstitious," replied I, "you should be set down for a wizard or a mesmerist. By what marks did you guess my disposition toward the cat?"

By the expression of your face," he answered, " which is slightly cruel when your eyes rest upon the cat." Here was one of your physiognomists!

Leaving the stranger seated in an armchair which stood in the open door, I retired through the hall, under some trifling pretext, and turning to observe him, I caught a glimpse of his profile against a light background of foliage. A low, projecting forehead, a somewhat aquiline nose, and a small, delicate chin and mouth, with an expression of latent ferocity; these features, supported by black hair and brows, restless projecting eyes, a head cone-shaped and set low upon the slender, stooping shoulders, gave me the image of a man of perverse will and violent passions, but gifted with perceptions supernaturally acute, and a temper subtle, but rather ferocious than brave. His hands, perfectly formed, and moulded to a feminine delicacy; a body tall, slender, but, as I knew by experience, of great vigor; an air of suavity, verging upon insolence; a labored kindliness of voice, and a quiet, watchful manner; these qualities put me on my guard and repressed the rising admiration and grati itude. I felt for the singular service the stranger had rendered me on the occasion of my recent danger. Returning presently, I presented him with a cup of water, which he received graciously, but turned his face aside to drink. Then taking a seat opposite, I motioned him to begin his story, which he did, first letting go the cat, who had left some bloody fa

vors upon his hands, in her struggles to get free.

"You think it a childish inclination," said he, "which I betray; but if any thing has life, I desire to grasp and play with it. You have it in mind to say that as the cat delights in the mouse, so do I in the cat. But men are all cats and mice to each other by turns, the weakest uppermost. The pleasure is to compel the resisting, and cajole the discontented; the pain, to have been compelled or cajoled. You think it an inhuman sentiment, perhaps, but every man pictures the world as it seems on the instant." Then fixing his sparkling black eyes upon mine he paused a moment and seeing I had nothing. to offer in reply began as follows:

"Yesterday morning I rose early, intending to accompany a friend from the tavern where we lay last night, to a certain secret place among the hills, known only to adepts in the beautiful science of

minerals, of which I am an unworthy votary."

Pray, sir," said I, "have I the honor of conversing with the famous Steiner, of whose skill in many sciences the learned world knows so much, and the unlearned public so little?"

"I," said he, "am that Steiner, and if I be not mistaken you are Mr. Yorick." Astounded at my good fortune in meeting with so celebrated a character, I rose to embrace him. He returned my salutation with a cordial pressure, and after the passage of several compliments, we resumed our former positions.

"Pray," said I, "forgive me for interrupting you;" upon which he resumed as follows:

"After a long and tedious ramble, with very partial results, we came at evening to a tavern not far from the place where I found you, intending to lodge there for the night and make ready for another expedition on the morrow."

"As we approached the tavern we saw a crowd of country people gathered about the door; some with pieces of crape tied upon their arms, and all very silent and sorrowful. They made way for us as we crossed the platform of the threshold, and my companion leading the way, we entered a room upon the right of the entrance, where was a coffin placed open upon a table in the middle of the room, about which at a little distance stood a number of persons, all wearing signs of mourning. A clergyman in clerical robes, and with a very reverential air, stood at the foot of the coffin, and at the head a young man was leaning over the corpse in the attitude of inconsolable grief. Uncovering our heads, we entered, and some person of authority, who seemed to act as master of the ceremonial, motioned us to approach and look upon the face of the dead. My companion did not instantly accept the invitation, being unwilling to disturb the mourner, who, with hands clasped convulsively over his forehead, stood leaning over the object of his grief. As he was opposite to the door he could not lift up his eyes without seeing the face of my companion, who stood waiting near the coffin. It may have

been a minute from the instant of his entrance before the mourner raised his head, though it seemed to me a much longer time. At length, muttering some passionate expression, he looked up, and, seeing my friend, said somewhat dully: Is it you? you came too late-you should have seen her alive; but you came too late.' Frank,' exclaimed the other, extending his hand to the young man, 'I did not know you; but what is this? I am afraid to ask if it beEgeria!' The other assented with a slight inclination of the head, and my companion, looking upon the dead, signed to me to draw near. I did so, and beheld the features of a beautiful young woman in the bloom of maidenhood, pallid, and wearing the fixed smile of dissolution, but not otherwise marked with those terrible features of decay which I had prefigured to myself as the attributes of death. After gazing for a moment we withdrew together into an adjoining room; and my companion gave way to a sudden burst of grief; but in me the strangeness of the scene overpowered all other emotions.

"My companion opened the conversation, By what accident did this happen, dear Frank?" said he, gathering up

his spirits, how came you to be here with Egeria? I heard nothing of her illness. But even as she is, I cannot wonder at your devotion or your grief. At this instant the door opened, and the master of ceremonies coming in, announced that the procession was about to move; a bell began tolling in the distance, and the young man, pressing the hand of my companion, bade him follow. The undertakers were placing the lids of the coffin in their places, and already the creaking of the screws gave warning that light should no more discover beauty in the face of the dead, when my companion, as if by a sudden impulse, went near, and wrenching aside the cover placed his hand upon the breast of the corpse. How long has this woman been dead,' said he in a low voice to the undertaker. Two days,' replied the man, answering in the same tone. By what signs do you judge her to be deceased continued my companion, still keeping his hand upon the corpse and closely scrutinizing the countenance. By the usual signs,' replied the other. What are they continued the questioner. Appearance of the countenance, coldness, absence of breath, and no pulse.' There is no apparent pulse,' replied my companion, but there is warmth about the region of the heart; nor do I see any film upon the eyes,' continued he, as with a trembling hand he raised one of their lids. Sir,' added he

in a louder tone, and addressing the clergyman, who had kept his station at the foot of the coffin, this lady is not dead; you can dismiss the company? At the instant I heard a cry and a heavy fall; the young man had dropped down in a swoon, and was carried out by the tavern-keeper and the master of ceremonial. When the company had retired, at the instance of the clerical person whom I have mentioned, and this reverend gentleman had himself bidden us adieu, the female attendants, by my friend's direction, took the body out of the coffin and conveyed it to a bed, that was presently made ready above. Then ordering a physician and nurse to be sent for, he directed that certain means should be used for the revival, if it were possible, of the apparently deceased person, and as soon as he saw his orders in process of being executed, which was on the instant, he went in search of the young man, and found him lying, amid a crowd of lookers on, in a half stupefied condition, upon the green sward in front of the tavern, whither he had been carried to recover from his swoon. A great quantity of water had been thrown upon his face and bosom, so that between the lankness of his hair, dripping with moisture, his linen clothes clinging to his skin, his pale face, and the disconsolate dumb sorrow of his look, he might have easily been taken for a man just recovered from drowning, in whom life has begun a little to revive.