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The Familiar

Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu



PROLOGUE

UT of about two hundred and thirty cases more or less nearly a

that I have entitled "Green Tea," I select the following which I c

he Familiar."

o this MS., Doctor Hesselius has, after his wont, attached som

eets of letter-paper, on which are written, in his hand nearly

mpact as print, his own remarks upon the case. He says:

point of conscience, no more unexceptionable narrator than t

nerable Irish Clergyman who has given me this paper, on M

arton's case, could have been chosen. The statement is, howevedically imperfect. The report of an intelligent physician, who h

arked its progress, and attended the patient, from its earlier stag

its close, would have supplied what is wanting to enable me

onounce with confidence. I should have been acquainted with M

arton's probable hereditary predispositions; I should have know

ssibly by very early indicators, something of a remoter origin of tsease than can now be ascertained.

a rough way, we may reduce all similar cases to three distin

asses. They are founded on the primary distinction between t

bjective and the objective. Of those whose senses are alleged

subject to supernatural impressions--some are simply visionarie

d propagate the illusions of which they complain from diseas

ain or nerves. Others are, unquestionably, infested by, as we ter

em, spiritual agencies, exterior to themselves. Others, again, ow

eir sufferings to a mixed condition. The interior sense, it is true,

ened; but it has been and continues open by the action of diseas

is form of disease may, in one sense, be compared to the loss

e scarf-skin, and a consequent exposure of surfaces for whocessive sensitiveness nature has provided a muffling. The loss



s covering is attended by an habitual impassibility, by influenc

ainst which we were intended to be guarded. But in the case of t

ain, and the nerves immediately connected with its functions and

nsuous impressions, the cerebral circulation undergo

riodically that vibratory disturbance which, I believe, I ha

tisfactorily examined and demonstrated in my MS. Essay, A. 1

is vibratory disturbance differs, as I there prove, essentially froe congestive disturbance, the phenomena of which are examined

19. It is, when excessive, invariably accompanied by illusions.

ad I seen Mr. Barton, and examined him upon the points in h

se which need elucidation, I should have without difficulty referr

ose phenomena to their proper disease. My diagnosis is nocessarily, conjectural."

us writes Doctor Hesselius; and adds a great deal which is

erest only to a scientific physician.

e Narrative of the Rev. Thomas Herbert, which furnishes all that

own of the case will be found in the chapters that follow.

I. FOOTSTEPS

WAS a young man at the time, and intimately acquainted with som

the actors in this strange tale; the impression which its inciden

ade on me, therefore, were deep and lasting. I shall nodeavour, with precision, to relate them all, combining, of course,

e narrative, whatever I have learned from various sources, tendin

wever imperfectly, to illuminate the darkness which involves

ogress and termination.

omewhere about the year 1794, the younger brother of a certa

ronet, whom I shall call Sir James Barton, returned to Dublin. Hd served in the navy with some distinction, having commanded o



His Majesty's frigates during the greater part of the American wa

aptain Barton was apparently some two or three-and-forty years

e. He was an intelligent and agreeable companion when

eased it, though generally reserved, and occasionally even mood

society, however, he deported himself as a man of the world, and

ntleman. He had not contracted any of the noisy brusquenemetimes acquired at sea; on the contrary, his manners we

markably easy, quiet, and even polished. He was in person abo

e middle size, and somewhat strongly formed--his countenan

as marked with the lines of thought, and on the whole wore

pression of gravity and melancholy. Being, however, as I have sa

man of perfect breeding, as well as of good family and in affluecumstances, he had, of course, ready access to the best society

ublin without the necessity of any other credentials.

his personal habits Mr. Barton was unexpensive. He occupi

dgings in one of the then fashionable streets in the south side of t

wn--kept but one horse and one servant--and though a reput

e-thinker, yet lived an orderly and moral life--indulging neither ming, drinking, nor any other vicious pursuit--living very much

mself, without forming intimacies, or choosing any companion

d appearing to mix in gay society rather for the sake of its bus

d distraction, than for any opportunities it offered of interchangi

ought or feeling with its votaries.

arton was, therefore, pronounced a saving, prudent, unsocial sortlow, who bid fair to maintain his celibacy alike against stratage

d assault, and was likely to live to a good old age, die rich, a

ave his money to an hospital.

was now apparent, however, that the nature of Mr. Barton's pla

d been totally misconceived. A young lady, whom I shall call Misontague, was at this time introduced into the gay world by her au



e Dowager Lady L---. Miss Montague was decidedly pretty a

complished, and having some natural cleverness and a great de

gaiety, became for a while a reigning toast.

er popularity, however, gained her for a time nothing more than th

substantial admiration which, however pleasant as an incense

nity, is by no means necessarily antecedent to matrimony--fohappily for the young lady in question, it was an understood thi

at, beyond her personal attractions, she had no kind of eart

ovision. Such being the state of affairs, it will readily be believ

at no little surprise was consequent upon the appearance

aptain Barton as the avowed lover of the penniless Miss Montagu

s suit prospered, as might have been expected, and in a short timwas communicated by old Lady L--- to each of her hundred-and-f

rticular friends in succession, that Captain Barton had actua

ndered proposals of marriage, with her approbation, to her niec

ss Montague, who had, moreover, accepted the offer of his han

nditionally upon the consent of her father, who was then upon h

meward voyage from India, and expected in two or three weekse furthest.

bout this consent there could be no doubt--the delay, therefore, w

e merely of form--they were looked upon as absolutely engage

d Lady L---, with a rigour of old-fashioned decorum with which h

ece would, no doubt, gladly have dispensed, withdrew h

enceforward from all further participation in the gaieties of the tow

aptain Barton was a constant visitor, as well as a frequent guest

e house, and was permitted all the privileges of intimacy which

trothed suitor is usually accorded. Such was the relation of partie

hen the mysterious circumstances which darken this narrative fi

gan to unfold themselves.dy L--- resided in a handsome mansion at the north side of Dub



d Captain Barton's lodgings, as we have already said, we

uated at the south. The distance intervening was considerable, a

was Captain Barton's habit generally to walk home without

endant, as often as he passed the evening with the old lady a

r fair charge.

s shortest way in such nocturnal walks lay, for a considerabace, through a line of street which had as yet merely been laid o

d little more than the foundations of the houses constructed.

ne night, shortly after his engagement with Miss Montague h

mmenced, he happened to remain unusually late, in company w

r and Lady L---. The conversation had turned upon the evidenc

revelation, which he had disputed with the callous scepticism onfirmed infidel. What were called "French principles" had in tho

ys found their way a good deal into fashionable society, especia

at portion of it which professed allegiance to Whiggism, and neith

e old lady nor her charge was so perfectly free from the taint as

ok upon Mr. Barton's views as any serious objection to t

oposed union.

e discussion had degenerated into one upon the supernatural a

e marvellous, in which he had pursued precisely the same line

gument and ridicule. In all this, it is but truth to state, Captain Bart

as guilty of no affectation--the doctrines upon which he insiste

ere, in reality, but too truly the basis of his own fixed belief, if so

ght be called; and perhaps not the least strange of the maange circumstances connected with my narrative was the fact th

e subject of the fearful influences I am about to describe w

mself, from the deliberate conviction of years, an utter disbeliever

hat are usually termed preternatural agencies.

was considerably past midnight when Mr. Barton took his leave at out upon his solitary walk homeward. He had now reached t



nely road, with its unfinished dwarf walls tracing the foundations

e projected row of houses on either side--the moon was shini

stily, and its imperfect light made the road he trod but additiona

eary--that utter silence which has in it something indefina

citing reigned there and made the sound of his steps, which alo

oke it, unnaturally loud and distinct.

e had proceeded thus some way, when he, on a sudden, hea

her footfalls, pattering at a measured pace, and, as it seeme

out two score steps behind him.

e suspicion of being dogged is at all times unpleasant: it

wever, especially so in a spot so lonely: and this suspici

came so strong in the mind of Captain Barton, that he abruprned about to confront his pursuer, but, though there was qu

fficient moonlight to disclose any object upon the road he h

versed, no form of any kind was visible there.

e steps he had heard could not have been the reverberation of h

wn, for he stamped his foot upon the ground, and walked briskly d down, in the vain attempt to awake an echo; though by no mea

fanciful person, therefore, he was at last fain to charge the soun

on his imagination, and treat them as an illusion. Thus satisfyi

mself he resumed his walk, and before he had proceeded a doz

ces the mysterious footfall was again audible from behind, and th

me, as if with the special design of showing that the sounds we

t the responses of an echo, the steps sometimes slackened neaa halt, and sometimes hurried for six or eight strides to a run, a

ain abated to a walk.

aptain Barton, as before, turned suddenly round, and with the sam

sult--no object was visible above the deserted level of the road. H

alked back over the same ground, determined that, whatever migve been the cause of the sounds which had so disconcerted him



ould not escape his search--the endeavour, however, w

rewarded.

spite of all his scepticism he felt something like a superstitious fe

ealing fast upon him, and with these unwonted and uncomfortab

nsations he once more turned and pursued his way. There was

petition of these haunting sounds until he had reached the pohere he had last stopped to retrace his steps--here they we

sumed--and with sudden starts of running which threatened to bri

e unseen pursuer up to the alarmed pedestrian.

aptain Barton arrested his course as formerly--the unaccountab

ture of the occurrence filled him with vague and disagreeab

nsations--and yielding to the excitement that was gaining upm, he shouted sternly, "Who goes there?" The sound of one's ow

ice, thus exerted, in utter solitude, and followed by total silence, h

it something unpleasantly dismaying, and he felt a degree

rvousness which, perhaps, from no cause had he ever know

fore.

o the very end of this solitary street the steps pursued him--and

quired a strong effort of stubborn pride on his part to resist t

pulse that prompted him every moment to run for safety at the t

his speed. It was not until he had reached his lodgings, and sate

s own fireside, that he felt sufficiently reassured to rearrange a

consider in his own mind the occurrences which had

scomposed him. So little a matter, after all, is sufficient to upset tde of scepticism and vindicate the old simple laws of nature with

.

II. THE WATCHER

R. BARTON was next morning sitting at a late breakfast, reflecti

on the incidents of the previous night, with more of inquisitivene



ve just detailed. Trifling as they might appear, they had in real

ost disagreeably affected his imagination, and he cared not

sclose, even to the young lady in question, what she might possi

ok upon as evidences of weakness. The letter might very well

t a hoax, and the mysterious footfall but a delusion or a trick. B

hough he affected to treat the whole affair as unworthy of a thoug

yet haunted him pertinaciously, tormenting him with perplexiubts and depressing him with undefined apprehensions. Certain

that for a considerable time afterwards he carefully avoided t

reet indicated in the letter as the scene of danger.

was not until about a week after the receipt of the letter which I ha

nscribed, that anything further occurred to remind Captain Bartits contents, or to counteract the gradual disappearance from h

nd of the disagreeable impressions then received.

e was returning one night, after the interval I have stated, from t

eatre, which was then situated in Crow Street, and having the

en Miss Montague and Lady L--- into their carriage he loitered

me time with two or three acquaintances.

th these, however, he parted close to the college, and pursued h

ay alone. It was now fully one o'clock, and the streets were qu

serted. During the whole of his walk with the companions fro

hom he had just parted he had been at times painfully aware of t

und of steps, as it seemed, dogging them on their way.

nce or twice he had looked back, in the uneasy anticipation that

as again about to experience the same mysterious annoyanc

hich had so disconcerted him a week before, and earnestly hopi

at he might see some form to account naturally for the sounds. B

e street was deserted--no one was visible.

oceeding now quite alone upon his homeward way he grew rearvous and uncomfortable, as he became sensible, with increas



stinctness, of the well-known and now absolutely dreaded sounds

y the side of the dead wall which bounded the college park, t

unds followed, recommencing almost simultaneously with his ow

eps. The same unequal pace--sometimes slow, sometimes for

ore yards or so, quickened almost to a run--was audible fro

hind him. Again and again he turned; quickly and stealthily anced over his shoulder--almost at every half-dozen steps; but

e was visible.

e irritation of this intangible and unseen pursuit became gradua

but intolerable; and when at last he reached his home his nerv

ere strung to such a pitch of excitement that he could not rest, a

d not attempt even to lie down until after the daylight had broken.

e was awakened by a knock at his chamber-door, and his serva

tering, handed him several letters which had just been received

e penny post. One among them instantly arrested his attention

ngle glance at the direction aroused him thoroughly. He at on

cognized its character, and read as follows:ou may as well think, Captain Barton, to escape from your ow

adow as from me; do what you may, I will see you as often I pleas

d you shall see me, for I do not want to hide myself, as you fanc

o not let it trouble your rest, Captain Barton; for, with a goo

nscience, what need you fear from the eye of THE WATCHER."

s scarcely necessary to dwell upon the feelings that accompani

perusal of this strange communication. Captain Barton w

served to be unusually absent and out of spirits for several da

erwards.... But no one divined the cause.

hatever he might think as to the phantom steps which followed hi

ere could be no possible illusion about the letters he had received, to say the least, their immediate sequence upon the mysterio



rsecution, of which he was already the anxious victim. A new and

ry different one was about to be presented.

III. AN ADVERTISEMENT

F the new series of impressions which were afterwards graduallyork out his destiny, I that evening witnessed the fact; and but for

ation to the train of events which followed, the incident wou

arcely have been now remembered by me.

s we were walking in at the passage from College Green a man,

hom I remember only that he was short in stature, looked like

reigner, and wore a kind of fur travelling-cap, walked very rapidd, as if under fierce excitement, directly towards us, muttering

mself fast and vehemently the while.

is odd-looking person walked straight toward Barton, who w

remost of the three, and halted, regarding him for a moment or tw

th a look of maniacal menace and fury; and then turning about

ruptly he walked before us at the same agitated pace a

sappeared at a side passage. I do distinctly remember being

od deal shocked at the countenance and bearing of this ma

hich indeed irresistibly impressed me with an undefined sense

nger, such as I have never felt before or since from the presence

ything human; but these sensations were, on my part, far fro

mounting to anything so disconcerting as to flurry or excite me--I hen only a singularly evil countenance, agitated, as it seemed, w

e excitement of madness.

was absolutely astonished, however, at the effect of this appariti

on Captain Barton. I knew him to be a man of proud courage a

olness in real danger--a circumstance which made his conduon this occasion the more conspicuousl odd. He recoiled a st



two as the stranger advanced, and clutched my arm in silence, w

hat seemed to be a spasm of agony or terror! And then, as t

ure disappeared, shoving me roughly back, he followed it for a fe

ces, stopped in great disorder, and sat down upon a form. I nev

held a countenance more ghastly and haggard.

or God's sake, Barton, what is the matter?" said---, our companioally alarmed at his appearance. "You're not hurt, are you?--

well? What is it?"

What did he say?--I did not hear it--what was it?" asked Barto

holly disregarding the question.

onsense," said---, greatly surprised, "who cares what the felloid? You are unwell, Barton, decidedly unwell; let me call a coach.

nwell! No--not unwell," he said, evidently making an effort

cover his self-possession; "but, to say the truth, I am fatigued-

e over-worked--and perhaps over-anxious. You know I have be

Chancery, and the winding-up of a suit is always a nervous affai

ve felt uncomfortable all this evening; but I am better now. Comme--shall we go on?"

o, no. Take my advice, Barton, and go home; you really do nee

st; you are looking quite ill. I really do insist on your allowing me

e you home," replied his friend.

econded---'s advice, the more readily as it was obvious that Bartas not himself disinclined to be persuaded. He left us, declining o

fered escort. I was not sufficiently intimate with---to discuss t

ene we had both just witnessed. I was, however, convinced fro

s manner in the few common-place comments and regrets w

changed, that he was just as little satisfied as I with the extempo

ea of illness with which he had accounted for the strange exhibitiod that we were both agreed in suspecting some lurking mystery



e matter.

alled next day at Barton's lodgings to inquire for him, and learn

m the servant that he had not left his room since his return the nig

fore; but that he was not seriously indisposed, and hoped to be o

a few days. That evening he sent for Dr. R---, then in large a

shionable practice in Dublin, and their interview was, it is said, d one.

e entered into a detail of his own symptoms in an abstracted a

sultory way, which seemed to argue a strange want of interest

s own cure, and, at all events, make it manifest that there was som

pic engaging his mind of more engrossing importance than h

esent ailment. He complained of occasional palpitations aadache.

octor R---asked him, among other questions, whether there w

y irritating circumstance or anxiety then occupying his though

is he denied quickly and almost peevishly; and the physici

ereupon declared his opinion that there was nothing amiss exceme slight derangement of the digestion, for which he according

ote a prescription, and was about to withdraw when Mr. Barto

th the air of a man who recollects a topic which had nearly escap

m, recalled him.

beg your pardon, Doctor, but I really almost forgot; will you perm

e to ask you two or three medical questions--rather odd onerhaps, but a wager depends upon their solution; you will, I hop

cuse my unreasonableness?"

e physician readily undertook to satisfy the inquirer.

arton seemed to have some difficulty about opening the propos

errogatories, for he was silent for a minute, then walked to hok-case, and returned as he had gone; at last he sat down, a



id:

ou'll think them very childish questions, but I can't recover my wag

thout a decision; so I must put them. I want to know first abo

ckjaw. If a man actually has had that complaint, and appears

ve died of it--so much so, that a physician of average s

onounces him actually dead--may he, after all, recover?"

e physician smiled, and shook his head.

ut--but a blunder may be made," resumed Barton. "Suppose

norant pretender to medical skill; may he be so deceived by a

age of the complaint, as to mistake what is only a part of t

ogress of the disease, for death itself?"

o one who had ever seen death," answered he, "could mistake it

case of lockjaw."

arton mused for a few minutes. "I am going to ask you a questio

rhaps, still more childish; but first, tell me, are the regulations

reign hospitals, such as that of, let us say, Naples, very lax angling. May not all kinds of blunders and slips occur in their entri

names, and so forth?"

octor R---professed his incompetence to answer that query.

Well, then, Doctor, here is the last of my questions. You w

obably, laugh at it; but it must out nevertheless. Is there asease, in all the range of human maladies, which would have t

fect of perceptibly contracting the stature and the whole fram

using the man to shrink in all his proportions, and yet to preser

s exact resemblance to himself in every particular--with the o

ception, his height and bulk; any disease, mark--no matter ho

re--how little believed in, generally--which could possibly result

oducing such an effect?"



e physician replied with a smile, and a very decided negative.

ell me, then," said Barton, abruptly, "if a man be in reasonable fe

assault from a lunatic who is at large, can he not procure a warra

r his arrest and detention?"

eally, that is more a lawyer's question than one in my way," replie

octor R---; "but I believe, on applying to a magistrate, such a cour

ould be directed."

e physician then took his leave; but, just as he reached the ha

or, remembered that he had left his cane upstairs, and returne

s reappearance was awkward, for a piece of paper, which

cognized as his own prescription, was slowly burning upon the fid Barton sitting close by with an expression of settled gloom a

smay.

octor R---had too much tact to observe what presented itself; but

d seen quite enough to assure him that the mind, and not the bod

Captain Barton was in reality the seat of suffering.

few days afterwards, the following advertisement appeared in t

ublin newspapers:

Sylvester Yelland, formerly a foremast man on board His Majesty

gate 'Dolphin,' or his nearest of kin, will apply to Mr. Hubert Smi

orney, at his office, Dame Street, he or they may hear of somethi

eatly to his or their advantage. Admission may be had at any hoto twelve o'clock at night, should parties desire to avo

servation; and the strictest secrecy, as to all communicatio

ended to be confidential, shall be honourably observed."

e "Dolphin," as I have mentioned, was the vessel which Capta

arton had commanded; and this circumstance, connected with t

traordinary exertions made by the circulation of hand-bills, etc.,

ell as b re eated advertisements to secure for this stran e noti



e utmost possible publicity, suggested to Dr. R---the idea th

aptain Barton's extreme uneasiness was somehow connected w

e individual to whom the advertisement was addressed, and

mself the author of it.

is, however, it is needless to add, was no more than a conjectu

o information, whatsoever, as to the real purpose of tvertisement was divulged by the agent, nor yet any hint as to w

s employer might be.

IV. HE TALKS WITH A CLERGYMAN

R. BARTON, although he had latterly begun to earn for himself taracter of an hypochondriac, was yet very far from deserving

ough by no means lively, he had yet, naturally, what are terme

ven spirits," and was not subject to undue depressions.

e soon, therefore, began to return to his former habits; and one

e earnest symptoms of this healthier tone of spirits was h

pearing at a grand dinner of the Freemasons, of which wort

ternity he was himself a brother. Barton, who had been at fi

oomy and abstracted, drank much more freely than was his won

ssibly with the purpose of dispelling his own secret anxieties--a

der the influence of good wine and pleasant company, becam

adually (unlike himself) talkative, and even noisy.

was under this unwonted excitement that he left his company

out half-past ten o'clock; and, as conviviality is a strong incentive

llantry, it occurred to him to proceed forthwith to Lady L---'s, a

ss the remainder of the evening with her and his destined bride.

ccordingly, he was soon at----Street and chatting gaily with t

dies. It is not to be supposed that Captain Barton had exceede limits which propriety prescribes to good fellowship--he h



erely taken enough wine to raise his spirits, without, however, in t

ast degree unsteadying his mind or affecting his manners.

th this undue elevation of spirits had supervened an entire oblivi

contempt of those undefined apprehensions which had for so lo

eighed upon his mind, and to a certain extent estranged him fro

ciety; but as the night wore away, and his artificial gaiety began g, these painful feelings gradually intruded themselves again, a

grew abstracted and anxious as heretofore.

e took his leave at length, with an unpleasant foreboding of som

ming mischief, and with a mind haunted with a thousa

ysterious apprehensions, such as, even while he acutely felt th

essure, he, nevertheless, inwardly strove or affected to contemn.

was this proud defiance of what he regarded as his own weaknes

hich prompted him upon the present occasion to that course wh

ought about the adventure I am now about to relate.

r. Barton might have easily called a coach, but he was conscio

at his strong inclination to do so proceeded from no cause othan what he desperately persisted in representing to himself to

s own superstitious tremors.

e might also have returned home by a route different from th

ainst which he had been warned by his mysterious corresponde

t for the same reason he dismissed this idea also, and withgged and half desperate resolution to force matters to a crisis

me kind, if there were any reality in the causes of his form

ffering, and if not, satisfactorily to bring their delusiveness to t

oof, he determined to follow precisely the course which he h

dden upon the night so painfully memorable in his own mind

at on which his strange persecution commenced. Though, sooth

y, the pilot who for the first time steers his vessel under the muzzla hostile battery, never felt his resolution more severely taske



an did Captain Barton, as he breathlessly pursued this solita

th--a path which, spite of every effort of scepticism and reason,

t to be infested by some (as respected him) malignant being.

e pursued his way steadily and rapidly, scarcely breathing fro

ensity of suspense; he, however, was troubled by no renewal of t

eaded footsteps, and was beginning to feel a return of confiden, more than three-fourths of the way being accomplished w

punity, he approached the long line of twinkling oil lamps whi

dicated the frequented streets.

is feeling of self-congratulation was, however, but momentary. T

port of a musket at some hundred yards behind him, and t

histle of a bullet close to his head, disagreeably and startlingspelled it. His first impulse was to retrace his steps in pursuit of t

sassin; but the road on either side was, as we have sa

mbarrassed by the foundations of a street, beyond which extend

aste fields, full of rubbish and neglected lime and brick-kilns, and

w as utterly silent as though no sound had ever disturbed their da

d unsightly solitude. The futility of, single-handed, attempting, undch circumstances, a search for the murderer, was appare

pecially as no sound, either of retreating steps or any other kin

as audible to direct his pursuit.

th the tumultuous sensations of one whose life has just be

posed to a murderous attempt, and whose escape has been t

rrowest possible, Captain Barton turned again; and withowever, quickening his pace actually to a run, hurriedly pursued h

ay.

e had turned, as I have said, after a pause of a few seconds, a

d just commenced his rapid retreat, when on a sudden he met t

ell- remembered little man in the fur cap. The encounter was bomentary. The figure was walking at the same exaggerated pac



d with the same strange air of menace as before; and as it pass

m he thought he heard it say, in a furious whisper, "Still alive, s

ve!"

e state of Mr. Barton's spirits began now to work a correspondi

eration in his health and looks, and to such a degree that it w

possible that the change should escape general remark.

or some reasons, known but to himself, he took no ste

hatsoever to bring the attempt upon his life, which he had

rrowly escaped, under the notice of the authorities; on the contra

kept it jealously to himself; and it was not for many weeks after t

currence that he mentioned it, and then in strict confidence, to

ntleman, whom the torments of his mind at last compelled him nsult.

spite of his blue devils, however, poor Barton, having

tisfactory reason to render to the public for any undue remissne

the attentions exacted by the relation existing between him a

ss Montague, was obliged to exert himself, and present to torld a confident and cheerful bearing.

e true source of his sufferings, and every circumstance connect

th him, he guarded with a reserve so jealous, that it seem

ctated by at least a suspicion that the origin of his stran

rsecution was known to himself, and that it was of a nature whic

on his own account, he could not or dared not disclose.

e mind thus turned in upon itself, and constantly occupied with

unting anxiety which it dared not reveal or confide to any hum

east, became daily more excited, and, of course, more vivid

pressible, by a system of attack which operated through t

rvous system; and in this state he was destined to sustain, w

creasing frequency, the stealthy visitations of that apparition whicom the first, had seemed to possess so terrible a hold upon h



agination.

was about this time that Captain Barton called upon the th

lebrated preacher, Dr.---, with whom he had a slight acquaintanc

d an extraordinary conversation ensued.

e divine was seated in his chambers in college, surrounded w

orks upon his favourite pursuit, and deep in theology, when Bart

as announced.

ere was something at once embarrassed and excited in h

anner, which, along with his wan and haggard countenanc

pressed the student with the unpleasant consciousness that h

sitor must have recently suffered terribly indeed, to account for eration so striking--almost shocking.

ter the usual interchange of polite greeting, and a few commo

ace remarks, Captain Barton, who obviously perceived the surpri

hich his visit had excited, and which Doctor--- was unable wholly

nceal, interrupted a brief pause by remarking:

his is a strange call, Doctor---, perhaps scarcely warranted by

quaintance so slight as mine with you. I should not under ordina

cumstances have ventured to disturb you; but my visit is neither

e nor impertinent intrusion. I am sure you will not so account

hen I tell you how afflicted I am."

octor--- interrupted him with assurances such as good breediggested, and Barton resumed.

am come to task your patience by asking your advice. When I s

ur patience, I might, indeed, say more; I might have said yo

manity--your compassion; for I have been and am a great suffere

My dear sir," replied the churchman, "it will, indeed, afford me infinatification if I can give you comfort in any distress of mind! but--y



ow--"

know what you would say," resumed Barton, quickly; "I am

believer, and, therefore, incapable of deriving help from religio

t don't take that for granted. At least you must not assume th

wever unsettled my convictions may be, I do not feel a deep--a ve

ep--interest in the subject. Circumstances have lately forcedon my attention in such a way as to compel me to review the who

estion in a more candid and teachable spirit, I believe, than I ev

udied it in before."

our difficulties, I take it for granted, refer to the evidences

velation," suggested the clergyman.

Why--no--not altogether; in fact, I am ashamed to say I have n

nsidered even my objections sufficiently to state them connected

t--but there is one subject on which I feel a peculiar interest."

e paused again, and Doctor pressed him to proceed.

he fact is," said Barton, "whatever may be my uncertainty as to tthenticity of what we are taught to call revelation, of one fact I a

eply and horribly convinced, that there does exist beyond this

iritual world--a system whose workings are generally in mer

dden from us--a system which may be, and which is sometime

rtially and terribly revealed. I am sure--I know," continued Barto

th increasing excitement, "that there is a God--a dreadful God--aat retribution follows guilt, in ways the most mysterious a

upendous--by agencies the most inexplicable and terrific;--there

spiritual system--great God, how I have been convinced!--a syste

alignant, and implacable, and omnipotent, under who

rsecutions I am, and have been, suffering the torments of t

mned!--yes, sir-- yes--the fires and frenzy of hell!"

s Barton spoke, his agitation became so vehement that the Divi



as shocked, and even alarmed. The wild and excited rapidity w

hich he spoke, and, above all, the indefinable horror that stamp

s features, afforded a contrast to his ordinary cool a

impassioned self-possession striking and painful in the la

gree.

V. MR. BARTON STATES HIS CASE

Y dear sir," said Doctor---, after a brief pause, "I fear you ha

en very unhappy, indeed; but I venture to predict that t

pression under which you labour will be found to originate in pure

ysical causes, and that with a change of air, and the aid of a fe

nics, your spirits will return, and the tone of your mind be once mo

eerful and tranquil as heretofore. There was, after all, more tru

an we are quite willing to admit in the classic theories wh

signed the undue predominance of any one affection of the mind

e undue action or torpidity of one or other of our bodily organ

elieve me, that a little attention to diet, exercise, and the oth

sentials of health, under competent direction, will make you uch yourself as you can wish."

octor---," said Barton, with something like a shudder, "I cann

lude myself with such a hope. I have no hope to cling to but on

d that is, that by some other spiritual agency more potent than th

hich tortures me, it may be combated, and I delivered. If this m

t be, I am lost--now and for ever lost."

ut, Mr. Barton, you must remember," urged his companion, "th

hers have suffered as you have done, and--"

o, no, no," interrupted he, with irritability--"no, sir, I am not

edulous--far from a superstitious man. I have been, perhaps, t

uch the reverse--too sceptical, too slow of belief; but unless I we

e whom no amount of evidence could convince, unless I were



ntemn the repeated, the perpetual evidence of my own senses

m now--now at last constrained to believe--I have no escape fro

e conviction--the overwhelming certainty--that I am haunted a

gged, go where I may, by--by a DEMON!"

ere was a preternatural energy of horror in Barton's face, as, w

damp and death-like lineaments turned towards his companiothus delivered himself.

od help you, my poor friend," said Dr.---, much shocked, "God he

u; for, indeed, you are a sufferer, however your sufferings may hav

en caused."

y, ay, God help me," echoed Barton, sternly; "but will He help mel He help me?"

ray to Him--pray in an humble and trusting spirit," said he.

ray, pray," echoed he again; "I can't pray--I could as easily move

ountain by an effort of my will. I have not belief enough to pray; the

something within me that will not pray. You prescripossibilities--literal impossibilities."

ou will not find it so, if you will but try," said Doctor---.

ry! I have tried, and the attempt only fills me with confusion: an

metimes, terror: I have tried in vain, and more than in vain. T

wful, unutterable idea of eternity and infinity oppresses aaddens my brain whenever my mind approaches the contemplati

the Creator: I recoil from the effort scared. I tell you, Doctor---,

m to be saved, it must be by other means. The idea of an etern

eator is to me intolerable--my mind cannot support it."

ay, then, my dear sir," urged he, "say how you would have m

rve you--what you would learn of me--what I can do or say to relieu?"



sten to me first," replied Captain Barton; with a subdued air, a

effort to suppress his excitement, "listen to me while I detail t

cumstances of the persecution under which my life has become

t intolerable--a persecution which has made me fear death and t

orld beyond the grave as much as I have grown to hate existence.

arton then proceeded to relate the circumstances which I ha

eady detailed, and then continued:

his has now become habitual--an accustomed thing. I do not me

e actual seeing him in the flesh--thank God, that at least is n

rmitted daily. Thank God, from the ineffable horrors of th

sitation I have been mercifully allowed intervals of repose, thoune of security; but from the consciousness that a malignant spirit

lowing and watching me wherever I go, I have never, for a sing

stant, a temporary respite. I am pursued with blasphemies, cries

spair, and appalling hatred. I hear those dreadful sounds calle

er me as I turn the corners of the streets; they come in the nig

me, while I sit in my chamber alone; they haunt me everywhe

arging me with hideous crimes, and--great God!--threatening m

th coming vengeance and eternal misery. Hush! do you hear that

cried, with a horrible smile of triumph; "there--there, will th

nvince you?"

e clergyman felt a chill of horror steal over him, while, during t

ail of a sudden gust of wind, he heard, or fancied he heard, the haticulate sounds of rage and derision mingling in the sough.

Well, what do you think of that?" at length Barton cried, drawing

ng breath through his teeth.

heard the wind," said Doctor---. "What should I think of it--what

ere remarkable about it?"

he prince of the powers of the air," muttered Barton, with



udder.

ut, tut! my dear sir," said the student, with an effort to reassu

mself; for though it was broad daylight there was neverthele

mething disagreeably contagious in the nervous excitement und

hich his visitor so miserably suffered. "You must not give way

ese wild fancies; you must resist these impulses of tagination."

y, ay; 'resist the devil and he will flee from thee,'" said Barton, in t

me tone; "but how resist him? ay, there it is--there is the rub. Wh

hat am I to do? what can I do?"

y dear sir, this is fancy," said the man of folios; "you are your owrmentor."

o, no, sir--fancy has no part in it," answered Barton, somewh

ernly. "Fancy! was it that made you, as well as me, hear, but th

oment, those accents of hell? Fancy, indeed! No, no."

ut you have seen this person frequently," said the ecclesiasthy have you not accosted or secured him? Is it not a lit

ecipitate, to say no more, to assume, as you have done, t

istence of preternatural agency; when, after all, everything may

sily accountable, if only proper means were taken to sift t

atter."

here are circumstances connected with this--this appearancid Barton, "which it is needless to disclose, but which to me a

oofs of its horrible nature. I know that the being that follows me

t human--I say I know this; I could prove it to your own convictio

e paused for a minute, and then added, "And as to accosting i

re not, I could not; when I see it I am powerless; I stand in the ga

death, in the triumphant presence of infernal power and maligniy strength, and faculties, and memory, all forsake me. O God, I fea



, you know not what you speak of. Mercy, mercy; heaven have p

me!"

e leaned his elbow on the table, and passed his hand across h

es, as if to exclude some image of horror, muttering the last wor

the sentence he had just concluded again and again.

octor---," he said, abruptly raising himself, and looking full upon t

ergyman with an imploring eye, "I know you will do for me whatev

ay be done. You know now fully the circumstances and the nature

y affliction. I tell you I cannot help myself; I cannot hope to escape

m utterly passive. I conjure you, then, to weigh my case well, and

ything may be done for me by vicarious supplication--by t

ercession of the good--or by any aid or influence whatsoeverplore of you, I adjure you in the name of the Most High, give me t

nefit of that influence--deliver me from the body of this death. Stri

r me, pity me; I know you will; you cannot refuse this; it is t

rpose and object of my visit. Send me away with some hop

wever little--some faint hope of ultimate deliverance, and I w

rve myself to endure, from hour to hour, the hideous dream inhich my existence has been transformed."

octor--- assured him that all he could do was to pray earnestly

m, and that so much he would not fail to do. They parted with

rried and melancholy valediction. Barton hastened to the carria

at awaited him at the door, drew down the blinds, and drove awa

hile Doctor--- returned to his chamber, to ruminate at leisure upe strange interview which had just interrupted his studies.

VI. SEEN AGAIN

was not to be expected that Captain Barton's changed a

centric habits should long escape remark and discussion. Vario

ere the theories suggested to account for it. Some attributed t



eration to the pressure of secret pecuniary embarrassmen

hers to a repugnance to fulfil an engagement into which he w

esumed to have too precipitately entered; and others, again, to t

pposed incipiency of mental disease, which latter, indeed, was t

ost plausible, as well as the most generally received, of t

potheses circulated in the gossip of the day.

om the very commencement of this change, at first so gradual in

vances, Miss Montague had of course been aware of it. T

imacy involved in their peculiar relation, as well as the near intere

hich it inspired, afforded, in her case, a like opportunity and moti

r the successful exercise of that keen and penetrating observati

culiar to her sex.s visits became, at length, so interrupted, and his manner, wh

ey lasted, so abstracted, strange, and agitated, that Lady L---, af

nting her anxiety and her suspicions more than once, at leng

stinctly stated her anxiety, and pressed for an explanation.

e explanation was given, and although its nature at first relieved torst solicitudes of the old lady and her niece, yet the circumstanc

hich attended it, and the really dreadful consequences which

viously indicated, as regarded the spirits, and indeed the reas

the now wretched man who made the strange declaration, we

ough, upon little reflection, to fill their minds with perturbation a

arm.

eneral Montague, the young lady's father, at length arrived. He h

mself slightly known Barton some ten or twelve years previou

d, being aware of his fortune and connexions, was disposed

gard him as an unexceptionable and indeed a most desirab

atch for his daughter. He laughed at the story of Barton

pernatural visitations, and lost no time in calling upon his intendn-in-law.



y dear Barton," he continued, gaily, after a little conversation, "m

ster tells me that you are a victim to blue devils, in quite a new a

ginal shape."

arton changed countenance, and sighed profoundly.

ome, come; I protest this will never do," continued the Gener

ou are more like a man on his way to the gallows than to the alta

ese devils have made quite a saint of you."

arton made an effort to change the conversation.

o, no, it won't do," said his visitor laughing; "I am resolved to s

hat I have to say upon this magnificent mock mystery of yours. Y

ust not be angry, but really it is too bad to see you at your time

e absolutely frightened into good behaviour, like a naughty child,

bugaboo, and as far as I can learn a very contemptible on

eriously, I have been a good deal annoyed at what they tell me; b

the same time thoroughly convinced that there is nothing in t

atter that may not be cleared up, with a little attention a

anagement, within a week at furthest."

h, General, you do not know--" he began.

es, but I do know quite enough to warrant my confidence

errupted the soldier; "don't I know that all your annoyance procee

om the occasional appearance of a certain little man in a cap a

eatcoat, with a red vest and a bad face, who follows you about, aps upon you at corners of lanes, and throws you into ague f

ow, my dear fellow, I'll make it my business to catch th

schievous little mountebank, and either beat him to a jelly with m

wn hands, or have him whipped through the town, at the cart's ta

fore a month passes."

you knew what I knew," said Barton, with gloomy agitation, "y

ould s eak ver differentl . Don't ima ine that I am so weak as



sume, without proof the most overwhelming, the conclusion

hich I have been forced--the proofs are here, locked up here." As

oke he tapped upon his breast, and with an anxious sigh continu

walk up and down the room.

Well, well, Barton," said his visitor, "I'll wager a rump and a doze

llar the ghost, and convince even you before many days are over

e was running on in the same strain when he was sudden

rested, and not a little shocked, by observing Barton, who h

proached the window, stagger slowly back, like one who h

ceived a stunning blow; his arm extended toward the street--h

ce and his very lips white as ashes--while he muttered, "There--

aven!--there--there!"

eneral Montague started mechanically to his feet, and from t

ndow of the drawing-room saw a figure corresponding, as well

s hurry would permit him to discern, with the description of t

rson whose appearance so persistently disturbed the repose

s friend.

e figure was just turning from the rails of the area upon which it h

en leaning, and, without waiting to see more, the old gentlem

atched his cane and hat, and rushed down the stairs and into t

eet, in the furious hope of securing the person, and punishing t

dacity of the mysterious stranger.

e looked round him, but in vain, for any trace of the person he h

mself distinctly seen. He ran breathlessly to the nearest corne

pecting to see from thence the retiring figure, but no such form w

sible. Back and forward, from crossing to crossing, he ran, at fau

d it was not until the curious gaze and laughing countenances

e passers-by reminded him of the absurdity of his pursuit, that

ecked his hurried pace, lowered his walking cane from t

enacing altitude which he had mechanicall given it, adjusted h



t, and walked composedly back again, inwardly vexed and flurrie

e found Barton pale and trembling in every joint; they both remain

ent, though under emotions very different. At last Barton whispere

ou saw it?"

--him--some one--you mean--to be sure I did," replied Montagu

stily. "But where is the good or the harm of seeing him? The fellons like a lamplighter. I wanted to catch him, but he had stolen aw

fore I could reach the hall door. However, it is no great matter; ne

me, I dare say, I'll do better; and, egad, if I once come within rea

him, I'll introduce his shoulders to the weight of my cane."

otwithstanding General Montague's undertakings and exhortation

wever, Barton continued to suffer from the self-same unexplainuse; go how, when, or where he would, he was still constan

gged or confronted by the being who had established over him

rrible an influence.

owhere and at no time was he secure against the odio

pearance which haunted him with such diabolic perseverance.s depression, misery, and excitement became more settled a

arming every day, and the mental agonies that ceaselessly prey

on him began at last so sensibly to affect his health that Lady L

d General Montague succeeded, without, indeed, much difficulty

rsuading him to try a short tour on the Continent, in the hope that

tire change of scene would, at all events, have the effect eaking through the influences of local association, which the mo

eptical of his friends assumed to be by no means inoperative

ggesting and perpetuating what they conceived to be a mere fo

nervous illusion.

eneral Montague indeed was persuaded that the figure wh

unted his intended son-in-law was by no means the creation of hagination, but, on the contrary, a substantial form of flesh a



ood, animated by a resolution, perhaps with some murdero

ject in perspective, to watch and follow the unfortunate gentleman

ven this hypothesis was not a very pleasant one; yet it was plain th

Barton could ever be convinced that there was nothing preternatu

the phenomenon which he had hitherto regarded in that light, t

fair would lose all its terrors in his eyes, and wholly cease ercise upon his health and spirits the baleful influence which it h

herto done. He therefore reasoned, that if the annoyance we

tually escaped by mere locomotion and change of scene,

viously could not have originated in any supernatural agency.

VII. FLIGHT

ELDING to their persuasions, Barton left Dublin for Engla

companied by General Montague. They posted rapidly to Londo

d thence to Dover, whence they took the packet with a fair wind f

alais. The General's confidence in the result of the expedition

arton's spirits had risen day by day since their departure from tores of Ireland; for to the inexpressible relief and delight of t

ter, he had not since then so much as even once fancied

petition of those impressions which had, when at home, drawn h

adually down to the very depths of despair.

is exemption from what he had begun to regard as the inevitab

ndition of his existence, and the sense of security which began rvade his mind, were inexpressibly delightful; and in the exultati

what he considered his deliverance, he indulged in a thousa

ppy anticipations for a future into which so lately he had hard

red to look; and, in short, both he and his companion secre

ngratulated themselves upon the termination of that persecuti

hich had been to its immediate victim a source of suspeakable agony.



was a beautiful day, and a crowd of idlers stood upon the jetty

ceive the packet and enjoy the bustle of the new arrivals. Montag

alked a few paces in advance of his friend, and as he made his w

rough the crowd a little man touched his arm and said to him, in

oad provincial patois:

Monsieur is walking too fast; he will lose his sick comrade in tong, for, by my faith, the poor gentleman seems to be fainting."

ontague turned quickly, and observed that Barton did indeed lo

adly pale. He hastened to his side.

My dear fellow, are you ill?" he asked anxiously.

e question was unheeded, and twice repeated, ere Bart

ammered--

saw him--by--, I saw him!"

im!--the wretch--who--where now?--where is he?" cried Montagu

oking around him.

saw him--but he is gone," repeated Barton, faintly.

ut where--where? For God's sake speak," urged Montagu

hemently.

is but this moment--here," said he.

ut what did he look like--what had he on--what did he wear--quic

ick," urged his excited companion, ready to dart among the crow

d collar the delinquent on the spot.

e touched your arm--he spoke to you--he pointed to me. God

erciful to me, there is no escape," said Barton, in the low, subdue

nes of despair.



ontague had already bustled away in all the flurry of mingled ho

d rage; but though the singular personnel of the stranger who h

costed him was vividly impressed upon his recollection, he fail

discover among the crowd even the slightest resemblance to him

ter a fruitless search, in which he enlisted the services of several

e bystanders, who aided all the more zealously as they believed d been robbed, he at length, out of breath and baffled, gave ov

e attempt.

h, my friend, it won't do," said Barton, with the faint voice a

wildered, ghastly look of one who had been stunned by som

ortal shock; "there is no use in contending; whatever it is, t

eadful association between me and it is now established--I shver escape--never!"

onsense, nonsense, my dear Barton; don't talk so," sa

ontague, with something at once of irritation and dismay; "you mu

t, I say; we'll jockey the scoundrel yet; never mind, I say--nev

nd."was, however, but labour lost to endeavour henceforward to insp

arton with one ray of hope; he became desponding.

is intangible and, as it seemed, utterly inadequate influence w

st destroying his energies of intellect, character, and health. His fi

ject was now to return to Ireland, there, as he believed, and nomost hoped, speedily to die.

o Ireland accordingly he came, and one of the first faces he sa

on the shore was again that of his implacable and dread

endant. Barton seemed at last to have lost not only all enjoyme

d every hope in existence, but all independence of will besides. H

w submitted himself passively to the management of the frienost nearly interested in his welfare.



th the apathy of entire despair he implicitly assented to whatev

easures they suggested and advised; and as a last resource it w

termined to remove him to a house of Lady L---'s, in t

ighbourhood of Clontarf, where, with the advice of his medic

endant, who persisted in his opinion that the whole train

nsequences resulted merely from some nervous derangement

as resolved that he was to confine himself strictly to the house, a

ake use only of those apartments which commanded a view of

closed yard, the gates of which were to be kept jealously locked.

ose precautions would certainly secure him against the casu

pearance of any living form that his excited imagination mig

ssibly confound with the spectre which, as it was contended, hncy recognized in every figure that bore even a distant or gene

semblance to the peculiarities with which his fancy had at fi

vested it.

month or six weeks' absolute seclusion under these conditions

as hoped might, by interrupting the series of these terrib

pressions, gradually dispel the predisposing apprehensions, ae associations which had confirmed the supposed disease, a

ndered recovery hopeless.

heerful society and that of his friends was to be constantly supplie

d on the whole, very sanguine expectations were indulged in, th

der the treatment thus detailed the obstinate hypochondria of t

tient might at length give way.

ccompanied, therefore, by Lady L---, General Montague and h

ughter--his own affianced bride--poor Barton--himself never dari

cherish a hope of his ultimate emancipation from the horrors und

hich his life was literally wasting away--took possession of t

artments, whose situation protected him against the intrusiom which he shrank with such unutterable terror.



ter a little time, a steady persistence in this system began

anifest its results in a very marked though gradual improveme

ke in the health and spirits of the invalid. Not, indeed, that anythi

all approaching complete recovery was yet discernible. On t

ntrary, to those who had not seen him since the commencement

s strange sufferings, such an alteration would have been appare

might well have shocked them.

e improvement, however, such as it was, was welcomed w

atitude and delight, especially by the young lady, whom h

achment to him, as well as her now singularly painful positio

nsequent on his protracted illness, rendered an object scarce

e degree less to be commiserated than himself.week passed--a fortnight--a month--and yet there had been

currence of the hated visitation. The treatment had, so far for

en followed by complete success. The chain of associations w

oken. The constant pressure upon the over-tasked spirits had be

moved, and, under these comparatively favourable circumstance

e sense of social community with the world about him, amething of human interest, if not of enjoyment, began to reanima

m.

was about this time that Lady L---, who, like most old ladies of t

y, was deep in family receipts, and a great pretender to medic

ience, dispatched her own maid to the kitchen garden with a list

rbs, which were there to be carefully culled and brought back to h

usekeeper for the purpose stated. The handmaiden, howeve

turned with her task scarce half completed, and a good deal flurri

d alarmed. Her mode of accounting for her precipitate retreat a

ident agitation was odd and, to the old lady, startling.

VIII. SOFTENED



appeared that she had repaired to the kitchen garden, pursuant

r mistress's directions, and had there begun to make the specifi

ection among the rank and neglected herbs which crowded o

rner of the enclosure; and while engaged in this pleasant labo

e carelessly sang a fragment of an old song, as she said, "to ke

rself company." She was, however, interrupted by an ill-nature

ugh; and, looking up, she saw through the old thorn hedge, wh

rrounded the garden, a singularly ill-looking little man, who

untenance wore the stamp of menace and malignity, standi

ose to her at the other side of the hawthorn screen.

he described herself as utterly unable to move or speak, while

arged her with a message for Captain Barton, the substance hich she distinctly remembered to have been to the effect that h

aptain Barton, must come abroad as usual, and show himself to h

ends out of doors, or else prepare for a visit in his own chamber.

n concluding this brief message, the stranger had, with

reatening air, got down into the outer ditch, and, seizing t

wthorn stems in his hands, seemed on the point of climbirough the fence--a feat which might have been accomplish

thout much difficulty.

thout, of course, awaiting this result, the girl--throwing down h

asures of thyme and rosemary--had turned and run, with t

wiftness of terror, to the house. Lady L---commanded her, on pain

stant dismissal, to observe an absolute silence respecting all th

ssed of the incident which related to Captain Barton; and, at t

me time, directed instant search to be made by her men in t

rden and the fields adjacent. This measure, however, was as usu

successful, and, filled with indefinable misgivings, Lady L

mmunicated the incident to her brother. The story, however, un

ng afterwards, went no further, and, of course, it was jealousarded from Barton, who continued to amend though slowly.



arton now began to walk occasionally in the court-yard which I ha

entioned, and which, being enclosed by a high wall, command

view beyond its own extent. Here he, therefore, consider

mself perfectly secure: and, but for a careless violation of orders

e of the grooms, he might have enjoyed, at least for some tim

nger, his much-prized immunity. Opening upon the public road, thrd was entered by a wooden gate, with a wicket in it, and w

rther defended by an iron gate upon the outside. Strict orders h

en given to keep both carefully locked; but, spite of these, it h

ppened that one day, as Barton was slowly pacing this narro

closure in his accustomed walk, and reaching the farther extrem

as turning to retrace his steps, he saw the boarded wicket ajar, a

e face of his tormentor immovably looking at him through the irrs. For a few seconds he stood riveted to the earth--breathless a

oodless--in the fascination of that dreaded gaze, and then f

lplessly insensible upon the pavement.

ere he was found a few minutes afterwards, and conveyed to h

om--the apartment which he was never afterwards to leave alivenceforward a marked and unaccountable change was observab

the tone of his mind. Captain Barton was now no longer the excit

d despairing man he had been before; a strange alteration h

ssed upon him--an unearthly tranquillity reigned in his mind--it w

e anticipated stillness of the grave.

ontague, my friend, this struggle is nearly ended now," he sanquilly, but with a look of fixed and fearful awe. "I have, at la

me comfort from that world of spirits from which my punishme

s come. I now know that my sufferings will soon be over."

ontague pressed him to speak on.

es," said he, in a softened voice, "my punishment is nearly endeom sorrow, perhaps, I shall never, in time or eternit , escape; b



y agony is almost over. Comfort has been revealed to me, and wh

mains of my allotted struggle I will bear with submission--even w

pe."

am glad to hear you speak so tranquilly, my dear Barton," sa

ontague; "peace and cheer of mind are all you need to make y

hat you were."

o, no--I never can be that," said he mournfully. "I am no longer fit f

e. I am soon to die. I am to see him but once again, and then al

ded."

e said so, then?" suggested Montague.

e?--No, no: good tidings could scarcely come through him; a

ese were good and welcome; and they came so solemnly a

weetly--with unutterable love and melancholy, such as I could no

thout saying more than is needful, or fitting, of other long pa

enes and persons--fully explain to you." As Barton said this

ed tears.

ome, come," said Montague, mistaking the source of h

motions, "you must not give way. What is it, after all, but a pack

eams and nonsense; or, at worst, the practices of a schemi

scal that enjoys his power of playing upon your nerves, and loves

ert it--a sneaking vagabond that owes you a grudge, and pays it

s way, not daring to try a more manly one."grudge, indeed, he owes me--you say rightly," said Barton, with

dden shudder; "a grudge as you call it. Oh, my God! when t

stice of Heaven permits the Evil one to carry out a scheme

ngeance-- when its execution is committed to the lost and terrib

ctim of sin, who owes his own ruin to the man, the very man, who

is commissioned to pursue--then, indeed, the torments and terrohell are anticipated on earth. But Heaven has dealt mercifully w



e-- hope has opened to me at last; and if death could come witho

e dreadful sight I am doomed to see, I would gladly close my ey

s moment upon the world. But though death is welcome, I shri

th an agony you cannot understand--an actual frenzy of terror--fro

e last encounter with that--that DEMON, who has drawn me thus

e verge of the chasm, and who is himself to plunge me down. I a

see him again--once more--but under circumstances unutteraore terrific than ever."

s Barton thus spoke, he trembled so violently that Montague w

ally alarmed at the extremity of his sudden agitation, and hasten

lead him back to the topic which had before seemed to exert

nquillizing an effect upon his mind.was not a dream," he said, after a time; "I was in a different state

t differently and strangely; and yet it was all as real, as clear a

vid, as what I now see and hear--it was a reality."

nd what did you see and hear?" urged his companion.

When I wakened from the swoon I fell into on seeing him," saarton, continuing as if he had not heard the question, "it was slow

ry slowly--I was lying by the margin of a broad lake, with misty h

round, and a soft, melancholy, rose-coloured light illuminated it a

was unusually sad and lonely, and yet more beautiful than a

rthly scene. My head was leaning on the lap of a girl, and she w

nging a song, that told, I know not how--whether by words rmonies--of all my life--all that is past, and all that is still to com

d with the song the old feelings that I thought had perished with

e came back, and tears flowed from my eyes-- partly for the so

d its mysterious beauty, and partly for the unearthly sweetness

r voice; and yet I knew the voice--oh! how well; and I w

ellbound as I listened and looked at the solitary scene, withorring, almost without breathing--and, alas! alas! without turning m



es towards the face that I knew was near me, so sweetly power

as the enchantment that held me. And so, slowly, the song an

ene grew fainter, and fainter, to my senses, till all was dark and s

ain. And then I awoke to this world, as you saw, comforted, fo

ew that I was forgiven much." Barton wept again long and bitterly

om this time, as we have said, the prevailing tone of his mind we of profound and tranquil melancholy. This, however, was n

thout its interruptions. He was thoroughly impressed with t

nviction that he was to experience another and a final visitatio

nscending in horror all he had before experienced. From th

ticipated and unknown agony he often shrank in such paroxysms

ject terror and distraction, as filled the whole household wsmay and superstitious panic. Even those among them w

fected to discredit the theory of preternatural agency, were often

eir secret souls visited during the silence of night with qualms a

prehensions, which they would not have readily confessed; a

ne of them attempted to dissuade Barton from the resolution

hich he now systematically acted, of shutting himself up in his ow

artment. The window-blinds of this room were kept jealously dowd his own man was seldom out of his presence, day or night, h

d being placed in the same chamber.

is man was an attached and respectable servant; and his duties,

dition to those ordinarily imposed upon valets, but which Barto

dependent habits generally dispensed with, were to attend carefuthe simple precautions by means of which his master hoped

clude the dreaded intrusion of the "Watcher." And, in addition

ending to whose arrangements, which amounted merely

arding against the possibility of his master's being, through a

screened window or open door, exposed to the dreaded influenc

e valet was never to suffer him to be alone--total solitude, even fo

nute, had become to him now almost as intolerable as the idea

ing abroad into the public ways--it was an instinctive anticipation



hat was coming.

IX. REQUIESCAT

is needless to say, that under these circumstances no steps we

ken toward the fulfilment of that engagement into which he htered. There was quite disparity enough in point of years, a

deed of habits, between the young lady and Captain Barton to ha

ecluded anything like very vehement or romantic attachment on h

rt. Though grieved and anxious, therefore, she was very far fro

ing heart-broken.

ss Montague, however, devoted much of her time to the patient bitless attempt to cheer the unhappy invalid. She read to him a

nversed with him; but it was apparent that whatever exertions

ade, the endeavour to escape from the one ever waking fear th

eyed upon him was utterly and miserably unavailing.

oung ladies are much given to the cultivation of pets; and amo

ose who shared the favour of Miss Montague was a fine old ow

hich the gardener, who caught him napping among the ivy of

ned stable, had dutifully presented to that young lady.

e caprice which regulates such preferences was manifested in t

travagant favour with which this grim and ill-favoured bird was

ce distinguished by his mistress; and, trifling as this whimsiccumstance may seem, I am forced to mention it, inasmuch as it

nnected, oddly enough, with the concluding scene of the story.

arton, so far from sharing in this liking for the new favouri

garded it from the first with an antipathy as violent as it was utte

accountable. Its very vicinity was unsupportable to him. He seem

hate and dread it with a vehemence absolutely laughable, ahich, to those who have never witnessed the exhibition



tipathies of this kind, would seem all but incredible.

th these few words of preliminary explanation, I shall proceed

ate the particulars of the last scene in this strange series

cidents. It was almost two o'clock one winter's night, and Bart

as, as usual at that hour, in his bed; the servant we have mention

cupied a smaller bed in the same room, and a light was burnine man was on a sudden aroused by his master, who said:

can't get it out of my head that that accursed bird has got o

mehow, and is lurking in some corner of the room. I have be

eaming about him. Get up, Smith, and look about; search for hi

uch hateful dreams!"

e servant rose and examined the chamber, and while engaged

doing he heard the well-known sound, more like a long-draw

sp than a hiss, with which these birds from their secret haun

fright the quiet of the night.

is ghostly indication of its proximity--for the sound proceeded fro

e passage upon which Barton's chamber-door openetermined the search of the servant, who, opening the do

oceeded a step or two forward for the purpose of driving the b

way. He had, however, hardly entered the lobby, when the do

hind him slowly swung to under the impulse, as it seemed, of som

ntle current of air; but as immediately over the door there was

nd of window, intended in the day-time to aid in lighting tssage, and through which at present the rays of the candle we

suing, the valet could see quite enough for his purpose.

s he advanced he heard his master--who, lying in a well-curtain

d, had not, as it seemed, perceived his exit from the room--call h

name, and direct him to place the candle on the table by his be

e servant, who was now some way in the long passage, and nng to raise his voice for the purpose of replying, lest he shou



artle the sleeping inmates of the house, began to walk hurriedly a

ftly back again, when, to his amazement, he heard a voice in t

erior of the chamber answering calmly, and actually saw, throug

e window which overtopped the door, that the light was slow

ifting, as if carried across the room in answer to his master's ca

alsied by a feeling akin to terror, yet not unmingled with curiosity, h

ood breathless and listening at the threshold, unable to summsolution to push open the door and enter. Then came a rustling

e curtains, and a sound like that of one who in a low voice hushes

ild to rest, in the midst of which he heard Barton say, in a tone

fled horror--"Oh, God--oh, my God!" and repeat the sam

clamation several times. Then ensued silence, which again w

oken by the same strange soothing sound; and at last there burth, in one swelling peal, a yell of agony so appalling and hideo

at, under some impulse of ungovernable horror, the man rushed

e door, and with his whole strength strove to force it open. Wheth

was that, in his agitation, he had himself but imperfectly turned t

ndle, or that the door was really secured upon the inside, he fail

effect an entrance; and as he tugged and pushed, yell after yng louder and wilder through the chamber, accompanied all t

hile by the same hushed sounds. Actually freezing with terror, an

arce knowing what he did, the man turned and ran down t

ssage, wringing his hands in the extremity of horror a

esolution. At the stair-head he was encountered by Gene

ontague, scared and eager, and just as they met the fearful soun

d ceased.

What is it? Who--where is your master?" said Montague, with t

coherence of extreme agitation. "Has anything--for God's sake

ything wrong?"

ord have mercy on us, it's all over," said the man, staring wild

wards his master's chamber. "He's dead, sir, I'm sure he's dead."



thout waiting for inquiry or explanation, Montague, closely follow

the servant, hurried to the chamber door, turned the handle, a

shed it open. As the door yielded to his pressure, the ill-omene

d of which the servant had been in search, uttering its spect

arning, started suddenly from the far side of the bed, and flyi

rough the doorway close over their heads, and extinguishing, in

ssage, the candle which Montague carried, crashed through tylight that overlooked the lobby and sailed away into the darkne

the outer space.

here it is, God bless us," whispered the man after a breathle

use.

urse that bird," muttered the General, startled by the suddennethe apparition, and unable to conceal his discomposure.

he candle is moved," said the man, after another breathless paus

inting to the candle that still burned in the room; "see, they put it

e bed."

raw the curtains, fellow, and don't stand gaping there," whisperontague, sternly.

e man hesitated.

old this, then," said Montague, impatiently thrusting the candlest

o the servant's hand, and himself advancing to the bedside,

ew the curtains apart. The light of the candle, which was still burnithe bedside, fell upon a figure huddled together, and half upright,

e head of the bed. It seemed as though it had slunk back as far

e solid panelling would allow, and the hands were still clutched

e bed-clothes.

arton, Barton, Barton!" cried the General, with a strange mixture

we and vehemence. He took the candle, and held it so that it sho

l u on the face. The features were fixed stern and white the a



as fallen; and the sightless eyes, still open, gazed vacantly forwa

ward the front of the bed. "God Almighty! he's dead," muttered t

eneral, as he looked upon this fearful spectacle. They bo

ntinued to gaze upon it in silence for a minute or more. "And co

o," whispered Montague, withdrawing his hand from that of t

ad man.

nd see, see--may I never have life, sir," added the man, aft

other pause, with a shudder, "but there was something else on t

d with him. Look there--look there--see that, sir."

s the man thus spoke he pointed to a deep indenture, as if caus

a heavy pressure, near the foot of the bed.

ontague was silent.

ome, sir, come away, for God's sake," whispered the ma

awing close up to him, and holding fast by his arm, while

anced fearfully round; "what good can be done here now--com

way, for God's sake!"

this moment they heard the steps of more than one approachin

d Montague, hastily desiring the servant to arrest their progres

deavoured to loose the rigid gripe with which the fingers of t

ad man were clutched in the bed-clothes, and drew, as well as

as able, the awful figure into a reclining posture; then closing t

rtains carefully upon it, he hastened himself to meet those persoat were approaching.

* * * * *

s needless to follow the personages so slightly connected with th

rrative into the events of their after-life; it is enough to say, that

ue to the solution of these mysterious occurrences was ever afscovered; and so long an interval having now passed since t



ent which I have just described concluded this strange history, it

arcely to be expected that time can throw any new lights upon

rk and inexplicable outline. Until the secrets of the earth shall be

nger hidden, therefore, these transactions must remain shrouded

eir original obscurity.

e only occurrence in Captain Barton's former life to whference was ever made, as having any possible connexion with t

fferings with which his existence closed, and which he hims

emed to regard as working out a retribution for some grievous s

his past life, was a circumstance which not for several years af

s death was brought to light. The nature of this disclosure w

inful to his relatives, and discreditable to his memory.appeared that some six years before Captain Barton's final retu

Dublin, he had formed, in the town of Plymouth, a guilty attachme

e object of which was the daughter of one of the ship's crew und

s command. The father had visited the frailty of his unhappy ch

th extreme harshness, and even brutality, and it was said that s

d died heart-broken. Presuming upon Barton's implication in hilt, this man had conducted himself toward him with mark

solence; and Barton retaliated this, and what he resented with s

ore exasperated bitterness--his treatment of the unfortunate girl--

systematic exercise of those terrible and arbitrary severities wh

e regulations of the navy placed at the command of those who a

sponsible for its discipline. The man had at length made hcape, while the vessel was in port at Naples, but died, as it w

id, in an hospital in that town, of the wounds inflicted in one of h

cent and sanguinary punishments.

hether these circumstances in reality bear, or not, upon t

currences of Barton's after-life, it is, of course, impossible to say

ems, however, more than probable that they were at least, in hwn mind, closely associated with them. But however the truth m



as to the origin and motives of this mysterious persecution, the

n be no doubt that, with respect to the agencies by which it w

complished, absolute and impenetrable mystery is like to prev

til the day of doom.

POSTSCRIPT BY THE EDITOR

e preceding narrative is given in the ipsissima verba of the go

d clergyman, under whose hand it was delivered to Doc

esselius. Notwithstanding the occasional stiffness and redundan

his sentences, I thought it better to reserve to myself the power

suring the reader, that in handing to the printer the MS. of

atement so marvellous, the Editor has not altered one letter of t

ginal text--[Ed. Papers of Dr. Hesselius].

HE END

the familiar - joseph le fanu

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