deposed to meeting the apparitions of persons
who had been murdered rising and walking on
the surface of the waters. Sense of deep
responsibility has affected a sensitive and nervous
temperament: the accoucheur on whom the
duty devolved of attending the Princess
Charlotte of Wales in her fatal confinement, fancied,
while he hurried to his royal patient, that her
figure in white preceded his carriage as it passed
through the streets; a sad presage of the calamity
that awaited "the fair-haired daughter of the
Isles." Two young friends in France—mentioned
by Saint Pierre—Bezuel and De Fontaines, the
eldest, Bezuel, only fifteen years of age, bound
themselves by a solemn compact which, to
render more sacred, they signed with their
blood that whoever should die first would
visit the survivor. Two years afterwards, one
of them was drowned in the river at Caen, and
such was the influence of nervous emotion on
his friend Bezuel, who suffered from fainting-
fits, that he accurately described their interview
on the following day. The phantom minutely
detailed the particulars of his death, as well as
the efforts made to save him, and although his
spiritual companion was visible only to Bezuel
himself, his friends heard him speaking in the
manner of one who was asking and answering
questions. If the fainting-fits were epileptic,
celestial sights are constant attendants of that
infirmity, and even syncope has been known to
give rise to spectral appearances. The spirit
was described as bareheaded, with his natural
fine light hair, but only a half length or kitcat
size was visible, seemingly a frequent failing
with ghosts. We read of two elderly ladies,
who resided in distinct mansions at some
distance from each other, and that on a formal visit
paid by one of the sybils, she observed to her
acquaintance, "I constantly perceive the bust
of a man in my room distinctly visible down to
the waist." "I," replied the other, "have the
rest of him in my chamber, and I could not
until this moment imagine how the head and
shoulders were disposed of." We presume that
the division was explained to the satisfaction of
both!

A definition of dreams has long been a
philosophical puzzle, but we accept that expressed
in the nervous couplets of Dryden:

Dreams are the interludes which fancy makes;
When monarch reason sleeps, this mimic wakes,
Compounds a medley of disjointed things,
A court of cobblers, or a mob of kings.

A belief in their prophetic power was universal
amongst the ancients, and still to a great extent
prevails, but the phantasies that pass for
predictions are merely imperfect and fading
recollections of previous thoughts, either hopeful or
apprehensive, floating on the brain. A singular
instance is recorded of a dream having been
made evidence of reality on a criminal trial. A
small innkeeper had dreamed that he met two
men at a particular green spot on a neighbouring
mountain, and that one of them murdered
the other. The circumstances were so distinct
that he was affected by them, and he related
the particulars next morning to his wife and to
several of his neighbours. On the following
day he was startled to see two strangers enter
his house, one of them a small delicate person,
the other strong and robust, perfect resemblances
of those he had seen in his dream. Believing
that the smaller man had money, and fearing
that some fatality might await him, he endeavoured
to dissuade him from accompanying his
fellow-traveller, but the other declared that as
they had long travelled together, they would
not part. In the lonely spot which had appeared
in the dream the delicate man was, on the same
day, found dead, and his companion was at the
ensuing assizes tried for the murder. The
innkeeper proved that the two men had been
together at his house, and he accurately described
the dress of both. The prisoner, in cross-
examination, shrewdly asked from the dock
whether it was not strange that he who kept
a public-house, frequented by many wayfaring
people, should take such minute notice of
two accidental strangers? The witness replied
that he had a particular reason, which he was
ashamed to mention. The court having required
him to disclose it, he gave a circumstantial
narrative of the dream, and the other persons,
who before the event had heard the story from
his lips, having corroborated him, the prisoner
was convicted and executed.

The raising of ghosts was a favourite exploit
of the necromancers of old; the fame of Torralva,
the Spanish magician, has been immortalised in
Don Quixote. The demons that the celebrated
Italian artist, Benvenuto Cellini, describes as
having seen when he got within the conjuror's
circle, and which amazement magnified into
several legions, are now believed to have been
merely figures produced by a magic lantern; and
their appearing in an atmosphere of perfumes is
accounted for by the burning of odoriferous
woods, in order to dim the vision of the
spectators. When the Emperor Charles the Fourth
was married to the Bavarian Princess Sophia, in
the city of Prague, the father of the bride
brought with him a waggon-load of magicians
to assist in the festivities. Two of the chief
proficients in the art—Zytho the Bohemian
sorcerer, and Guion the Bavarian—appeared as
rivals in an extraordinary trial of skill before an
exalted assembly. After superhuman efforts to
astonish, Zytho opened his jaws from ear to ear
and swallowed his competitor until his teeth
touched his shoes, which he spat out, because,
he said, they had not been cleaned. The
admiration of the audience was succeeded by
feelings of horror, but Zytho calmed their
apprehensions by restoring the abashed Guion in
his perfect corporeal proportions to life—a
triumph of art inexplicable except perhaps to
those who have seen the Haunted Man at the
Polytechnic.

We are indebted to Mr. Dircks for the
modern introduction of well-dressed and well-
bred ghosts, who create no alarm amongst old or
young maids, so that the name will henceforth