By two o'clock we had bagged eleven noble
birds, and returned to our encampment,
sufficiently tired to enjoy the refreshments
which the Khansamah (butler), who was a
great artist in his way, had prepared for us.
Our repast concluded, we had our camp
bedsteads brought into the open air, and threw
ourselves down on them.

Holding his cigar, between the thumb and
forefinger of his left hand, the Baron thus
went off:

"Who can explain the inscrutable
mystery of presentiments? Who can fathom
the secret inclinations of the human heart?
Who can lift the veil of sympathy? Who
can unravel the web of magnetic natures?
Who can fully comprehend that work which
unites the corporeal with the spiritual world?
Who can explain that terrible symbol which
pervades so many of our dreams? The sweet
anxiety that seizes us when listening to some
wonderful tale; the voluptuous shiver which
agitates our frame, the indefinite yearning
which fills the heart and the soul. All this
is a guarantee that some invisible chain links
our world with another. Let no one condemn
as idle nonsense that which our shallow
reason may refuse to accept. Can the most
acute understanding explain, or even
comprehend, its own growth; or, even the growth
and colouring of a mere flower? Is not
Nature herself a perfect mystery unto the
minds of thinking men?"

"What is the matter, Baron? " asked the
Frenchman. " Have you a nightmare in this
broad daylight?"

"No, no," returned the Baron, with good-
natured impetuosity. " It is not so. I wish
to tell you something—a little story, if you
will listen."

"Pray go on," we (his three companions)
cried out simultaneously.

"Some ten or twelve years ago," the
Baron proceeded, "I was travelling from
Munich to Berlin. Tired, by the continual
rumbling of my carriage, I resolved upon
taking a day's rest at Augsburg. It was
the day of All Souls. The autumnal sun
was shining brightly, and a large procession
went its way towards the cemetery,
a mile distant from the town. Wherefore,
I know not; but I was instinctively
led to join this procession. On arriving at
the cemetery we found it, comparatively,
crowded. All the graves were decked with
flowers, and sprigs of young cypress, and
near every stone there sat or knelt, at
least, one mourner. Tears of love and
regret wetted the sacred earth. In a
singularly agitated frame of mind, I wandered
through the cemetery. The recollection of
departed friends, and of dear ones far away,
made me sad, unhappy, miserable. And I
could not help thinking that if I had been
then entombed, no friendly hand would on
that day have deposited a wreath or a flower
upon my grave, no beloved eye shed a
tear of sorrow no faithful heart sent up to
Heaven a fervent prayer for the eternal
rest of my soul. Haunted by such gloomy
thoughts, I wandered on, and at last came
to a newly made grave. An hour
previously had been buried in that spot, a
young girl of seventeen years of age. The
parents and the lover of the girl stood
weeping near her grave, and her young
friends adorned the mound with freshly
gathered flowers. In a fit of profound
melancholy, I bent dawn, mechanically picked
up a half-opened rose-bud, and walked on.
Approaching the gate of the cemetery,
with the intention of returning to my hotel,
my eyes fell upon a tablet upon which was
engraved the following words: 'Respect
the property of the Dead. Flowers are the
property of the Dead.' These simple words
made a very great impression on my already
excited mind: and glancing, involuntarily,
at the rose-bud which I still held in my
hand, my heart smote me for having carried
it away from the girl's grave. I was on the
point of returning to re-deposit the flower,
when an indescribably false shame prevented
my doing so, and I left the cemetery with
the rose in my hand. On returning to my
hotel, I placed it in a glass of water, and stood
it on a small table near the head of my
bed, upon which I threw myself, and soon fell
into that state which all of you must have
experienced: a state in which the senses
hover between sleep and wakefulness, as
though undecided which to choose. Suddenly,
my apartment was filled by a bright, but
soft light, without my being able to perceive
whence it came. Be it known that I had
extinguished my candle. Ere long, the
door of my room was opened; and in glided,
noiselessly, a pale spectral figure, clad in
a white robe, and wearing a garland of
flowers. It was the figure of a young girl, and
the face was angelic. With motionless eyes
and outstretched hand, she approached my
couch; and, in plaintive voice, asked me:
' Why hast thou robbed the Dead? Why
hast thou taken that flower which a faithful
lover threw upon my last resting place on
earth? ' Seemingly my pulses ceased to
beat, and I could scarcely breathe. The
phantom then stretched forth the left hand,
and took the rose out of the glass; and with
the right hand she beckoned to me, saying:
' Come! Come, and give back the property
of the Dead. Respect the property of the
Dead. Come! Follow me! ' In vain I tried
to resist. I arose, and followed the figure
out of the room and into the deserted streets.
It was not dark; for the moon was at her
full and shining brightly. Onward stalked
the figure, I following her, towards the cemetery.
We arrived at the gate. She touched it.
It opened noiselessly. We entered. She led
me to the grave—the grave from which I had
taken the flower. With trembling hand I
received from hers the rose, and placed it on,