THE LAST DAY AT CHEE-flA. 235 



they are white, transparent, vapor-like unlike the 

 imps of darkness ! What are they ? What do they ? 

 "What do they want of me, that they thus stop and 

 gibber at me ? Avaimt there ! Why, that's strange ! 

 that's my own voice ! I'm not asleep ! I'm not 

 dreaming ! And yet, there stand those phantoms 

 scared by my voice huddled into a knot and writh- 

 ing in every posture of conceivable distortion ! 

 And see ! they dance and leap yet higher than be- 

 fore while their infernal music splits my ear-drum ! 

 Now, they waver, as they would fly then stop 

 and mock at me ! Avaunt, there ! My voice ! 

 yet not my sight ! Am I awake ? Am I an entity, 

 or something less ? a quiddity or what am I? Am 

 I myself, or somebody else ? Perhaps I'm dead ! 

 Perhaps I'm translated ! and, my sins being none 

 of the heaviest, I am sent to this Goblin Purgatory 

 by way of expurgation, and the malicious urchins 

 are dancing me a welcome to their diabolical fra- 

 ternity ! Begone ! I'll not consort with ye ! Be- 

 gone, ye miscreated implets, or I'll sweep away an 

 army of ye ! Begone, thou fragmentary legion ! 

 Begone, I say !" 



" Good gracious !" said G., with solemnity, " your 

 mind must have been deeply exercised. Did they 

 go?" 



" A ray of light," continued Venator, reading, 

 15 



