ance can be likened. Not to the dissolution
of a rainbow, because the colours of the rainbow fade gradually till they
are lost; not to the flash of cannon, or to lightning, for these things
are gone as so on as they are come, and it is known that the instant of
their appearance must be that of their departure; not to a bubble upon
the water, for you see it burst; not to the sudden extinction of a light,
for that is either succeeded by darkness or leaves a different hue upon
the surrounding objects. In the same indivisible point of time when I
beheld the distinct, individual, and, to all sense of sight, substantial
form--the living, moving, reasonable image--in that self-same instant it
was gone, as if exemplifying the difference between to _be_ and _not_ to
_be_. It was no dream, of this I was well assured; realities are never
mistaken for dreams, though dreams may be mistaken for realities.
Moreover I had long been accustomed in sleep to question my perceptions
with a wakeful faculty of reason, and to detect their fallacy. But, as
well may be supposed, my thoughts that night, sleeping as well as waking,
were filled with this extraordinary interview; and when I arose the next
morning it was not till I had called to mind every circumstance of time
and place that I was convinced the apparition was real, and that I might
again expect it.

COLLOQUY II.--THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE WORLD.

On the following evening when my spiritual visitor entered the room, that
volume of Dr. Wordsworth's ecclesiastical biography which contains his
life was lying on the table beside me. "I perceive," said he, glancing
at the book, "you have been gathering all you can concerning me from my
good gossiping chronicler, who tells you that I loved milk and fruit and
eggs, preferred beef to young meats, and brown bread to white; was fond
of seeing strange birds and beasts, and kept an ape, a fox, a weasel, and
a ferret."

"I am not one of those fastidious readers," I replied, "who quarrel with
a writer for telling them too much. But these things were worth telling:
they show that you retained a youthful palate as well as a youthful
heart; and I like you the better both for your diet and your menagerie.
The old biographer, indeed, with the best intentions, has been far from
understanding the character which he desired to honour. He seems,
however, to have been a faithful reporter, and has done as well as his
capacity permitted. I observ