And wayward nature; one who never smiled
On imperfection. From my home of light
Unscathed, I see life's blackening billows piled,
Ready to sweep the daring soul from sight,
Sinking his name and memory in darkest night.

VI.

I rise again above the woes of earth,
Like unchained bird, seeking my native air.
Men seldom see their fellow-creatures' worth,
But blot sweet nature's page, however fair.
Away, my soul, and seek thy nobler state,
Where loving angels breathe their softest prayer,
Where sweetest seraphs for thy coming wait,
And ne'er suspicion's breath can pass the Golden Gate.

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.

_APPARITIONS_.

Returning one evening from a visit to a friend on earth, I was impelled
to take a route with which I was unfamiliar. It led me far beyond the
habitations of the city, into an open country whose surface was
diversified by sloping hills and broad valleys.

The sun was quite low in the horizon, and dark purple clouds, gathering
in the west, indicated an approaching storm. Anxious to reach my
spirit-home before such an event, I was nevertheless compelled to keep
within the earth's atmosphere.

The aspect of the country became more uneven as I advanced, and the
disappearing sun threw out the hills in cold blue relief against the
evening sky. One peak to the northward stood high and isolated from the
surrounding hills, and was crowned by a spacious dwelling house; the high
peaked roof and dark gloomy color of its exterior comported strangely
with the landscape.

To this building an unseen influence drew me. As I approached nearer I
discovered the figure of a man walking with restless step upon the piazza
which surrounded the dwelling. At times he would suspend his walk, and
crouch, shuddering as with fear, against the shadowed balustrade. His
face was of ashy paleness, and his hair, black as night, fell in
neglected masses around his head. His eyes were bright and glassy, and
their expression frightful to look upon.

Unconscious of my proximity, he arose from his crouching position, stood
for a moment irresolute, and then walked up to the heavy oaken, door and
knocked.

Presently the door was opened by a lady; she looked out, but could see no
one. "It must have been the wind," said she, shuddering slightly, and
drawing her shawl closely around her, was about to close the door. But
before she could accomplish her purpose the unseen guest had entered,
with myself f