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and Mr. John ordered out his old-fashioned chariot and rumbled home.
It was on the second night after that — that is to say, the fourth in the week — when I was awoke out of my sound sleep by Mr. James coming into my bedroom in his flannel-gown, with a lighted candle. He sat upon the side of my bed, and looking at me, said :
“ Wilhelm, I have reason to think I have got some strange illness upon me.”
I then perceived that there was a very unusual expression in his face.
“ Wilhelm," said he, “ I am not afraid or ashamed to tell you, what I might be afraid or ashamed to tell another man. You come from a sensible country, where mysterious things are inquired into, and are not settled to have been weighed and measured - or to have been unweighable and unmeasurable — or in either case to have been completely disposed of, for all time — ever so many years ago. I have just now seen the phantom of my brother.”
I confess (said the German courier) that it gave me a little tingling of the blood to hear it.
“I have just now seen,” Mr James repeated, looking full at me, that I might see how collected he was, “ the phantom of my brother John. I was sitting up in bed, unable to sleep, when it came into my room, in a white dress, and, regarding me earnestly, passed up to the end of the room, glanced at some papers on my writing-desk, turned, and, still looking earnestly at me as it passed the bed, went out at the door. Now, I am not in the least mad, and am not in the least disposed to invest that phantom with any external existence out of myself. I think it is a warning to me that I am ill; and I think I had better be bled.”
I got out of bed directly (said the German courier) and
began to get on my clothes, begging him not to be alarmed, and telling him that I would go myself to the doctor. I was just ready, when we heard a loud knocking and ringing at the street door. My room being an attic at the back, and Mr. James's being the second-floor room in the front, we went down to his room, and put up the window, to see what was the matter.
“Is that Mr. James ?” said a man below, falling back to the opposite side of the way to look up.
“ It is,” said Mr. James; “ and you are my brother's man, Robert."
“Yes, sir. I am sorry to say, sir, that Mr. John is ill. He is very bad, sir. It is even feared that he may be lying at the point of death. He wants to see you, sir. I have a chaise here. Pray come to him. Pray lose no time.”
Mr. James and I looked at one another. “Wilhelm," said he, “ this is strange. I wish you to come with me!” I helped him to dress, partly there and partly in the chaise; and no grass grew under the horses' iron shoes between Poland Street and the Forest.
Now, mind! (said the German courier.) I went with Mr. James into his brother's room, and I saw and heard myself what follows.
His brother lay upon his bed, at the upper end of a long bed-chamber. His old housekeeper was there, and others were there : I think three others were there, if not four, and they had been with him since early in the afternoon. He was in white, like the figure- necessarily so, because he had his nightdress on. He looked like the figure—necessarily so, because he looked earnestly at his brother when he saw him come into the room.
But, when his brother reached the bed-side, he slowly raised himself in bed, and looking full upon him, said these words :
“JAMES, YOU HAVE SEEN ME BEFORE, TO-NIGHT — AND YOU KNOW IT!”
And so died !
I waited, when the German courier ceased, to hear something said of this strange story. The silence was unbroken. I looked round, and the five couriers were gone: so noiselessly that the ghostly mountain might have absorbed them into its eternal snows. By this time, I was by no means in a mood to sit alone in that awful scene, with the chill air coming solemnly upon me — or, if I may tell the truth, to sit alone anywhere. So I went back into the convent-parlour, and, finding the American gentleman still disposed to relate the biography of the Honourable Ananias Dodger, heard it all out.
THE CREATION OF WOMAN.
BY NICHOLAS MICHELL.
Man walked in Eden; gorgeous, fair, and gay,
Earth like a mighty smile around him spread. Crime had not marred one hue, or dimmed one ray,
And fresh the bloom young Life on all things shed; The flowers ne'er died, the dews they bore were pearls,
Each streamlet seemed a harp; and high o’erhead The clouds, gold-tinged, hung rich as angels' curls ;
On nectar-plants the dainty breezes fed : Glory and light, and loveliness and grace, Beamed in glad Nature's new-created face !
Man stood within this wilderness of sweets,
A loveless, sad, and solitary thing;
The Cherub sitting by the silver spring,
Asked other friend to which the heart might cling, Returning love for love, and sigh for sigh,
Without whom no delight long day could bring : Tuneless went up sweet Nature's evening hymn, And Night's sky-gemming stars were cold and dim!
A flood of golden beams o’er Eden's bowers,
As if a new-formed sun that moment rose; A burst of incense from ten thousand flowers,
As all their souls had started from repose; A peal of music melting down the air,
As though Heaven's crystal portals did unclose, And seraph-lutes were softly ringing there
Strains that might soothe th' unblest amid their woes : And Woman, perfecting Creation's plan, Woke into life, the radiant mate of man!
Wondering he gazed, and saw, as in a glass,
All beauties in that face reflected clear; The bosom’s alabaster, hair's black mass,
Touching her heel, the dark eye's speechless tear, Attracted—won him ; but the soul and heart,
Gentle, and pure, and true, did more endear, And so he clasped her, never more to part
The sharer of his joys and sorrows here, Lightener of toil, the soother of his sigh, The angel-partner of eternity!