spirits. And I remain, with much respect, &c.' Take example by this
officer of enquiring mind. As it happens his name occurs to me at this
moment. He was an ensign in the Prince Alexander regiment, Sigismund
Alexander Friedrich von Kottwitz. The military mind seems to have been
considerably exercised on the subject of vampirism about that time.
Magister Ranft quotes in his book an official declaration made by an
army surgeon before two of his brother officers concerning the
detection and destruction of a vampire. This declaration contains,
_inter alia_, the following passage: 'Inasmuch as they perceived, from
the aforesaid circumstances, that this was unmistakably a vampire, they
drove a stake through its heart, upon which it gave vent to a distinct
gasp, emitting a considerable quantity of blood.' Is that not both
interesting and instructive?"

"All this of Magister Ranft's," said Sylvester, "may, no doubt, be
sufficiently absurd and even rather crack-brained; but, at the same
time, if we keep to the subject of vampirism itself, never minding in
what particular fashion it may be treated, it certainly is one of the
most horrible and terrible notions imaginable. I can conceive nothing
more ghastlily repulsive to the mind."

"Still," said Cyprian, "it is capable of providing a material, when
dealt with by a writer of imagination possessed of some poetical tact,
which has the power of stirring within us that profound sense of awe
which is innate in our hearts, and when touched by the electric impulse
from an unseen spirit world causes our soul to thrill, not altogether
unpleasantly after a fashion. A due amount of poetic tact on the
author's part will prevent the horror of the subject from going so far
as to be loathsome; for it generally has such an element of the absurd
about it that it does not impress us so deeply as if that were not the
case. Why should not a writer be permitted to make use of the levers of
fear, terror, and horror because some feeble soul here and there finds
it more than it can bear? Shall there be no strong meat at table
because there happen to be some guests there whose stomachs are weak,
or who have spoiled their own digestions?"

"My dear, fanciful Cyprian," Theodore said, "there was no occasion for
your vindication of the horrible. We all know how wonderfully great
writers have moved men's hearts to their very depths by means of that
lever. We have only to think of Shakespeare. Moreover, who