Sublime

The frantic conception that my brother was within, that the resistance made to my design was exerted by him, had rooted itself in my mind.

I could not deny that the event was miraculous, and yet I was invincibly averse to that method of solution.

Of such a letter, Death himself might well have been the post-boy.

I could not but admit their validity, but they shewed, in a new light, the depth of that misfortune in which my brother was plunged.

My life was in danger, and my brother's hand was about to be embrued in my blood. I firmly believed that Carwin's was the instigation.

I am at a loss to describe the sensations that affected me. I am not fearful of shadows. The tales of apparitions and enchantments did not possess that power over my belief which could even render them interesting. I saw nothing in them but ignorance and folly, and was a stranger even to that terror which is pleasing. But this incident was differen

"All!" replied he: "he spared NOT ONE!" Allow me, my friends, to close my eyes upon the after-scene. Why should I protract a tale which I already begin to feel is too long? Over this scene at least let me pass lightly. Here, indeed, my narrative would be imperfect. All was tempestuous commotion in my heart and in my brain. I hav

But its effect upon my brother's imagination was of chief moment. All that was desirable was, that it should be regarded by him with indifference. The worst effect that could flow, was not indeed very formidable. Yet I could not bear to think that his senses should be the victims of such delusion. It argued a diseased condition of his frame, which

No other conclusion, therefore, was left me, but that I had mistaken the sounds, and that my imagination had transformed some casual noise into the voice of a human creature.