1829.] a Candle-light Story. 625 



•wind. I heard them, not as we hear in dreams, or when, under the in- 

 fluence of imagination, but with that unequivocal distinctness which 

 attends the things that come under the immediate cognizance of the 

 outward senses. The sound approached, and my heart sickened as that 

 mysterious feeling came over it which announces in the dark, Heaven 

 knows by what process, or by what agency, that some object is near. 

 The next moment a light fell upon my face, which stunned me by its 

 sudden though instantaneous glare ; and on looking up (for I had shut 

 my eyes during the moment of its continuance,) I saw, dimly, it is true, 

 but with sufficient distinctness to produce an absolute conviction of its 

 reality, the appearance of a tall dark figure passing slowly along the 

 path. 



I would be fully and clearly understood. This was not an illusion. 

 So far from my mind being predisposed to grant belief to what might 

 seem to favour its superstitious fancies, it had been almost preterna- 

 turally vigilant and active during the whole evening. INIy terrors had 

 been the effect of early associations working on an ill-regulated mind, 

 and a feeble nervous system. During their very continuance I knew 

 this to be the case. I had been able to distinguish, with philosophical 

 accuracy, between illusions and realities ; and the pain which the former 

 gave me, only served to produce a jealous excitement, which effectually 

 guarded against imposition. 



After a sound sleep, produced no doubt by the exti-aordinary fatigue 

 which both my mental and corporeal faculties had undergone, I arose 

 early next morning, in better health than I had enjoyed for some years. 

 The day was fine, and the air bracing ; and as I sauntered out, after 

 breakfast to wile away the time till dinner — for meals are the only land- 

 marks in the life of an idle man — I was astonished to find myself leaping 

 over the stiles like a greyhound, or wasting my superabundant vigour in 

 tearing down the branches of the trees. The adventure of the preceding 

 night was not forgotten ; but it partook much more of the amusing than 

 of the horrible ; it was, in short, an adventure — something to think of 

 — something to keep the mind in activity. I was ashamed of my terrors, 

 which I set down to the account of ill-health, and only wished for the 

 approach of night, that I might prove even to myself the indispensable 

 connexion between moral courage and animal spirits. 



The night, however, would only come in its usual way, by degrees ; 

 and I had time to prepare myself for the adventure, to recal the circum- 

 stances of the preceding evening, and to determine my line of conduct 

 for the present. 



The affair, indeed, as the twilight began to approach, assumed a more 

 interestinn and less amusing appearance. My speculations on the cha- 

 racter of the dark figure became more abstruse. Who was this wanderer 

 of the night, who passed so slowly and sternly through the gloom? 

 Why did not his gigantic figure, swerve, at least, for a moment, from his 

 onward march, at the rencontre with another pilgrim like himself.^* 

 Above all, whence, in the name of mystery, came the beam which 

 flashed so suddenly in my face, revealing, no doubt, to the stranger, 

 with the clearness of day, the workings of awe and teiTor which convulsed 

 my features, while, with a singular disregard to the common laws of 

 light, it kept his own buried in impervious gloom ? As the evening 

 gradually darkened in, I became restless and anxious. No fear, hov/- 

 ever, mingled with my anxiety ; no misgivings gave pause to my reso- 



M.M. New Series.— Vol. VIII. No. 48. 4 L 



