or perhaps that we have a superabundance of the circulating fluid, and might be benefited by the application of the lancet. Others may suspect that we are suffering from inflammation of the brain, or that from the free use of ardent spirits we are the victim of delirium tremens. But whatever others, may think we know right well our own state and are quite confident that we are neither superstitious nor mad.

As some apology for our belief in ghosts, an incident which occurred to the writer of this Paper may be briefly recorded.

About five or six years ago I determined, in conjunction with a friend, to visit the county of Monmouth, and to spend a week or two in rambling amidst its beauties. Reader! hast thou ever visited this charming district of thy native land? If not, I pity you. You may have luxuriated beneath the cloudless purity of an Italian sky; you may have stood awed in the presence of Swiss stupendousness; but, if you have not tracked the course of the Wye, and lingered entranced amidst the deli. cious richness of its banks, from my heart I pity you. I have, at this moment, the most vivid recollection of every spot, and could fill a volume with descriptions of the most enchanting scenery. I must not, however, be tempted from my ghost-story.

On a beautiful summer's eve, in the month of July, we reached the village of Tintern. It was rather too late for visiting the noble ruins of the Abbey for which the place is so justly celebrated, and we therefore determined to wait with as much patience as possible for the dawn of another day. We sought out a resting place for the night, and after spending a short time in talking over the adventures of the day, fatigue induced us to retire to our chambers. But, tired as I was, I felt no inclination to undress. I therefore drew aside the curtains, threw open my window, and found, much to my surprise and delight, that the Abbey was immediately before me. It was a lovely night. The grey vault of heaven was pure and cloudless. The moon was shining in her full-orbed splendour. The stars twinkled with a subdued lustre. Not a leaf stirred on the trees. It was the rest of nature. I stood and drank in the scene, as it lay before me, in all its placid beauty. The ruined walls of the Abbey especially arrested my attention. I had seen them as I entered the village, but how different did they now appear! I could not resist the temptation to go and, if possible, gain access to them at such a soul-subduing hour. I slipped quietly down stairs, and finding the rooms below entirely deserted, unbarred the door, and, by the aid of some little information which I had gathered in the course of the evening, went in search of the man who had charge of the ruins. He had retired to rest, and, as may well be imagined, was by no means pleased with so unseasonable a visit. He growled a surly denial to my request, and employed, in reference to me, some

epithets which, under other circumstances, I should have keenly resented. As it was, I bore them with astonishing meekness, and after waiting till the first burst of the storm had passed away, I endeavoured, by liberal promises of a handsome reward, to calm his ruffled temper, and to gain the object of my visit. The task was longer and more arduous than I had anticipated; but patience at length triumphed. The old man turned from his bed, and after submitting my patience to another trial while he partly dressed himself, he came forth, holding in his hand the key which was to admit me within the ballowed precincts of the ruined Abbey. After exacting from me a promise of strict secrecy, and after giving me one in return that he would leave the gate unlocked, so that I might retire at pleasure, he admitted me to a scene of such surpassing loveliness, that I stood for several minutes rivetted to the spot. I will not attempt to describe the feelings which absolutely weighed down my spirit. I scarcely dared to breathe, and it was long ere I ventured to take a single step in advance. Before me was extended a soft and verdant carpet, with that peculiar mellowed shade which the silvery light of the moon had given it. On either side rose pillars of lofty magnificence, covered with the creeping ivy, and here and there, connected above by a partly-ruined arch. At the extremity was a window gigantic in its dimensions, but in its architecture of exquisite lightness, through which the moon-beams were falling in pleasing softness.

At the foot of one of the pillars I found a stone, upon which I seated myself to enjoy the fairy scene into which I had been so unexpectedly introduced. I had not sat long when a cloud passed across the moon, and for a while obscured her brightness. At the same moment a strain of solemn music fell upon my ear, and in looking along one of the aisles I distinctly saw a figure dressed in white, gliding across to the opposite side of the ruins, now concealed from my view by some intervening pillar, and now emerging into the feeble light which the moon gave forth. At first, I thought that the old man was endeavouring to play some trick upon me, by way of revenge for my disturbing his repose. But, upon a nearer approach, the form appeared to be that of a lovely female, and judge, ye who can, of my surprise, when I discovered, in this mysterious visitant, the object of my heart's best affections, and whom I supposed to be miles distant from me. I rose to meet her, but she turned and glided away. I followed her, but still she fled. I called her by her name, but she only waved her hand and passed on. At length I stopped. My blood felt chilled. A cold sweat had settled on my brow. My heart seemed to have forgot to beat, and I sank at the foot of the pillar to which I had clung for support. It was some

time ere I again opened my eyes, and when I did so, the same figure was seated at the foot of a pillar exactly opposite to me. The moon now shone with her former brightness, and I could distinctly see the expression of my Ellen's noble features. They wore a melancholy smile, and there was a hectic flush upon her cheek. But as I gazed, the flush gave place to the most deathly paleness; the smile passed from her features; her eyes lost their soft expression; the ruby color of her lips faded away, and her limbs seemed to stiffen. With a desperate effort I stood upon my feet, but my limbs trembled under me. I staggered across the aisle, and as I went the moon again became obscured; strains of a more solemn character than those I heard before, fell upon my ear; the owl hooted above my head, and a bell, whose note sounded dismally among the ruins, tolled ten. I reached the form which now remained fixed to the spot. I seized the hand, but its icy chill which ran through every part of my frame, soon compelled me to relax my hold, and I fell senseless at her feet.

How long I remained in this state, it is impossible for me to say. When I recovered, I looked towards the spot on which I had left the corpse, but it was gone.

I rose feeble and perplexed. The moon was still shining through the broken arches above me, but its soft light soothed not my fevered spirit. I looked around me, but there was nothing to be seen save the dusky pillars, and here and there a fragment of stone that had fallen from the ruined walls. I listened, but not a sound was to be heard save a sad murmuring, which I supposed to come from the river that flowed hard by. I called to remembrance the scene I had lately witnessed, and the recollection maddened me. I felt that my beloved one was dead. I could not entertain the thought that I had seen merely an empty vision. No. She, who had been the light of my eyes and the joy of my heart, was no more. The thought was agony. I smote my burning temples and tried to weep, but the tears would not come, and yet my heart filled almost to bursting. I left the Abbey without attempting to explore its dark recesses, for there was something within which told me that all search would be useless. When I reached the road I stood uncertain what course to take. Unconsciously I turned along the road to the right and wandered on, careless whither I went. On and on I went. Rocks covered with the richest foilage rose on either side, and ever and anon I fancied I could descry a white robe fluttering amid the trees, but when I stopped to satisfy myself, it had disappeared. The cool breeze of the morning which now sprung up, cooled my burning head, and calm reflection, to some extent, returned. I determined to hurry on to the first town and secure some conveyance to bear me to the place, where I might either vent my grief over the

lifeless corpse of my loved one, or (which I hardly dared to hope) clasp her to my heart in all the loveliness of life and health. Upon reaching the town of I hired a chaise, and, by feeing the post-boy, secured the fleetest horses which the place could afford, and was soon proceeding, at a pace which even my impatient spirit acknowledged to be rapid, towards the only spot in the world which, for me, had ought of charm.

I will pass over the feelings and the events of this painful journey. At noon on the following day I arrived at its termination, and hurried with an unsteady step towards the residence of my Ellen's father. The very appearance of the house told me that some one at least was dead. I raised the knocker. It fell from my feeble grasp with a melancholy sound. A faithful old servant of the family opened the door. I rushed in. "What of Ellen," I eagerly exclaimed. The old man shook his head. "At what hour did she die!" I again demanded. "At ten o'clock last night." I heard no more. My eyes became dizzy-my head swam, and I sank senseless into his arms.

Some would-be philosopher who attempts to explain everything by natural causes, will, no doubt, say that I had fallen asleep and dreamed. The probability of this, let the reader decide.

WILHELM.

TO THE MOON.

AN ENTIRE IMITATION OF THE ENORMOUS SCHOOL.

Magnificent wand'rer of the azure sea,
Floating in pale sublimity of form,

And gorgeous robes of adamantine light,

I hail thee! Thou smoothest down the grim array
Of savage forms and blighted spheres sublime!
"Terrific mountains where the fire-floods dwell,"
And mighty chaos in his vast abyss,
Receive the odours of thy aerial joy.
Volcanos groan not, and the earthquake stops,
When, with the dazzling lustre of thy brow,
The earth imbibes the homage of thy wings.
Oh! thou Titanic dome! whose lustrous face
And beauteous glare bedeck th' enraptured sky;

Thy chrystal radiance on the awful hills,
And back reflected to the enormous sea,

So scares the soul with loveliness divine,
And awed prophetic majesty bedimm'd,
That sounds of bliss and echoes of the night
Can serve no more to wake the fancied harp
To dreams and glories of seraphic charm.

When in Oxonian halls I trimm'd my lamp,
Bright with a studious wick that faintly glared,
I used to rise and hail thy lonely light,
And mark thee writhing in th' etherial sea.
Thy glimm'ring loveliness would fill my eyes,
And inspiration's hallowed hues would come
To chace away grim phantoms of the clouds.
But thou must haste away! thy awful hills
"Dethroned, dissolved, melted and waned away,"
Shall pass like sunshine from the regal noon.
The universe shall stand aghast, all pale,
Blighted and blasted by the wailing flight,
When falling down with full chaotic rush,
The mighty main receives thy smoking train ;
When the sad billows with enormous hiss
Shall howl their "wolfish echoes," o'er the spheres,
And, with funeral groans and thunder knells,
Shall sound th' eternal dirge that nature rings,
When all the beauteous orders of the sky
Are crushed, engulphed in ruin's hideous womb.

GABRIEL.

PRINTED BY GEORGE RICHARDSON, 35, MILLER STREET.