down, for mortal eyes to read, still their essence flows from as airy a
ghost as ever basked in the pale starlight, at twelve o'clock. Judge
them not by the gross and heavy form in which they now appear. They may
be gross, indeed, with the earthly pollution contracted from the brain,
through which they pass; and heavy with the burden of mortal language,
that crushes all the finer intelligences of the soul. This is no fault
of mine. But should aught of ethereal spirit be perceptible, yet
scarcely so, glimmering along the dull train of words,--should a faint
perfume breathe from the mass of clay,--then, gentle reader, thank the
ghost, who thus embodies himself for your sake! Will you believe me, if
I say that all true and noble thoughts, and elevated imaginations, are
but partly the offspring of the intellect which seems to produce them?
Sprites, that were poets once, and are now all poetry, hover round the
dreaming bard, and become his inspiration; buried statesmen lend their
wisdom, gathered on earth and mellowed in the grave, to the historian;
and when the preacher rises nearest to the level of his mighty subject,
it is because the prophets of old days have communed with him. Who has
not been conscious of mysteries within his mind, mysteries of truth and
reality, which will not wear the chains of language? Mortal, then the
dead were with you! And thus shall the earth-dulled soul, whom I
inspire, be conscious of a misty brightness among his thoughts, and
strive to make it gleam upon the page,--but all in vain. Poor author!
How will he despise what he can grasp, for the sake of the dim glory
that eludes him!

So talk we of graves and goblins. But, what have ghosts to do with
graves? Mortal man, wearing the dust which shall require a sepulchre,
might deem it more a home and resting-place than a spirit can, whose
earthly clod has returned to earth. Thus philosophers have reasoned.
Yet wiser they who adhere to the ancient sentiment, that a phantom