ed beast might utter. There is a picture I have seen of Blake's,
showing the soul of a strong wicked man leaving his body at death. The
spirit is flying out through the window with awful staring eyes, aghast
at the desolation into which it is going. If in the agony of dissolution
such a lost soul could utter a cry, it would, I think, sound like the
wail which I heard from the violin that night.

Instantly all was in absolute stillness. The passages were silent and
ghostly in the faint light of my candle; but as I reached the bottom
of the stairs I heard the sound of other footsteps, and Mr. Gaskell met
me. He was fully dressed, and had evidently not been to bed. He took me
kindly by the hand and said, "I feared you might be alarmed by the sound
of music. John has been walking in his sleep; he had taken out his
violin and was playing on it in a trance. Just as I reached him
something in it gave way, and the discord caused by the slackened
strings roused him at once. He is awake now and has returned to bed.
Control your alarm for his sake and your own. It is better that he
should not know you have been awakened."

He pressed my hand and spoke a few more reassuring words, and I went
back to my room still much agitated, and yet feeling half ashamed for
having shown so much anxiety with so little reason.

That Christmas morning was one of the most beautiful that I ever
remember. It seemed as though summer was so loath to leave our sunny
Dorset coast that she came back on this day to bid us adieu before her
final departure. I had risen early and had partaken of the Sacrament
at our little church. Dr. Butler had recently introduced this early
service, and though any alteration of time-honoured customs in such
matters might not otherwise have met with my approval, I was glad to
avail myself of the privilege on this occasion, as I wished in any case
to spend the later morning with my brother. The singular beauty of the
early hours, and the tranquillising effect of the solemn service brought
back serenity to my mind, and effectually banished from it all memories
of the preceding night. Mr. Gaskell met me in the hall on my return, and
after greeting me kindly with the established compliments of the day,
inquired after my health, and hoped that the disturbance of my slumber
on the previous night had not affected me injuriously. He had good news
for me: John seemed decidedly better, was already dressed, and desired,
as it was Chri