“If this be so,” I cried in despair, “then I am burdened beyond endurance, and immortality becomes a curse. If I must remain with this throng of tormentors, reminding me continually of early follies, then extinction is preferable.” What shall I do with this miscreant crowd, deformed and rude? I can not take them home to my companions. If these are embodiments of my earthly thoughts, how they would scorn me. If this is to be my retinue, then I must seek a new home where I am unknown. I must cast aside the companionship of this company. My punishment is terrible. I threw myself down in a paroxysm of grief and remorse. An angel came by, and pausing said: “Would you escape from your thraldom?” “Escape!” I cried. “Can I escape?” “Do you not see that the most repulsive of these spectres are fashioned of the thoughts which are of yourself, recording your former vanity, pride, uncharity, selfishness and forgetfulness of others? See you that lovely being representing a deed of self-sacrifice?” “Oh! that they were all like her!” I cried. “Then listen. You must act in such a manner that the good will eclipse these shadows, when they will disappear.” Saying this he vanished, and I, reflecting, said that I would at once free myself from the dreadful following. Opportunely there came a spirit moaning past me. Her brother on earth was contemplating a horrible crime. He had determined to take the life of his mother in order to become possessed of her estate. The sister had vainly attempted to give a warning or to influence him, and in despair at her failure she had left them to their fate. I said to her: “Come. I will go with you, and perhaps together we can prevent this crime.” She fervently expressed her gratitude as she conducted me to her mother’s house. It was midnight when we arrived, as I saw in the dim lamplight by the tall clock, and the mother was sleeping. “We can only watch,” said my companion, “and if he should come, we can do nothing to save her.” “Do you not know that sometimes sleep unlocks the avenues of the spirit, and we can approach much nearer than in waking hours? When we thus come, people say they have dreamed.” I bent over the mother, her white locks fell from beneath her cap over the pillow, and there was something in the expression of her lips and cheeks reminding me of my own. I tested her sensitiveness and found that her mind responded. Then I willed these words: “Edward intends to kill you with a knife. He will come into your room, and you must awake and charge him with the crime, and say to him that his sister came from heaven to tell you!” She started as if by a blow, and with a horrified expression, she sprang upright. “Who is here?” she cried. “Who spoke to me? I have had a fearful dream, so vivid that I thought it reality.”