No sooner had I made this proposition than the rest of the company, attracted by the singularity of the affair, came forward to lay down their money; and in a minute or two the fifty guineas were subscribed. The merchant appeared so sure of winning, that he placed all the stakes in the student’s hands, and prepared for his experiment. We selected for the purpose a small summer-house in the garden, perfectly isolated, and having no means of exit but a window and a door, which we carefully fastened, after placing the young man within. We put writing materials on a small table in the summer-house, and took away the candles. We remained outside, with the pedler amongst us. In a low, solemn voice he began to chant the following lines: “What riseth slow from the ocean caves And the stormy surf? The phantom pale sets his blackened foot On the fresh green turf.” Then raising his voice solemnly, he said: “You asked to see your friend, Francis Villiers, who was drowned, three years ago, off the coast of South America—what do you see?” “I see,” replied the student, “a white light arising near the window; but it has no form; it is like an uncertain cloud.” We—the spectators—remained profoundly silent. “Are you afraid?” asked the merchant, in a loud voice. “I am not,” replied the student, firmly. After a moment’s silence, the pedler stamped three times on the ground, and sang: “And the phantom white, whose clay-cold face Was once so fair, Dries with his shroud his clinging vest And his sea-tossed hair.” Once more the solemn question: “You, who would see revealed the mysteries of the tomb—what do you see now?” The student answered in a calm voice, but like that of a man describing things as they pass before him: “I see the cloud taking the form of a phantom; its head is covered with a long veil—it stands still!” “Are you afraid?” “I am not!” We looked at each other in horror-stricken silence, while the merchant, raising his arms above his head, chanted in a sepulchral voice: “And the phantom said, as he rose from the wave, He shall know me in sooth! I will go to my friend, gay, smiling and fond, As in our first youth!” “What do you see?” said he. “I see the phantom advance; he lifts his veil—’tis Francis Villiers! he approaches the table—he writes!—’tis his signature!” “Are you afraid?” A fearful moment of silence ensued; then the student replied, but in an altered voice: “I am not.” With strange and frantic gestures the merchant then sang: “And the phantom said to the mocking seer, I come from the South; Put thy hand on my hand—thy heart on my heart— Thy mouth on my mouth!” “What do you see?” “He comes—he approaches—he pursues me—he is stretching out his arms—he will have me! Help! help! Save me!”