APDL Eductation Resources/APDL Eductation Resources.iso/text/authors/poe/premburial/PREMBURIAL

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                           1850

                  THE PREMATURE BURIAL

                    by Edgar Allan Poe


THERE are certain themes of which the interest is all-absorbing, but
which are too entirely horrible for the purposes of legitimate fiction.
These the mere romanticist must eschew, if he do not wish to offend or
to disgust. They are with propriety handled only when the severity and
majesty of Truth sanctify and sustain them. We thrill, for example, with
the most intense of "pleasurable pain" over the accounts of the Passage
of the Beresina, of the Earthquake at Lisbon, of the Plague at London,
of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, or of the stifling of the hundred
and twenty-three prisoners in the Black Hole at Calcutta. But in these
accounts it is the fact- it is the reality- it is the history which
excites. As inventions, we should regard them with simple abhorrence.

I have mentioned some few of the more prominent and august calamities on
record; but in these it is the extent, not less than the character of
the calamity, which so vividly impresses the fancy. I need not remind
the reader that, from the long and weird catalogue of human miseries, I
might have selected many individual instances more replete with
essential suffering than any of these vast generalities of disaster. The
true wretchedness, indeed- the ultimate woe- is particular, not diffuse.
That the ghastly extremes of agony are endured by man the unit, and
never by man the mass- for this let us thank a merciful God!

To be buried while alive is, beyond question, the most terrific of these
extremes which has ever fallen to the lot of mere mortality. That it has
frequently, very frequently, so fallen will scarcely be denied by those
who think. The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best
shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other
begins? We know that there are diseases in which occur total cessations
of all the apparent functions of vitality, and yet in which these
cessations are merely suspensions, properly so called. They are only
temporary pauses in the incomprehensible mechanism. A certain period
elapses, and some unseen mysterious principle again sets in motion the
magic pinions and the wizard wheels. The silver cord was not for ever
loosed, nor the golden bowl irreparably broken. But where, meantime, was
the soul?

Apart, however, from the inevitable conclusion, a priori that such
causes must produce such effects- that the well-known occurrence of such
cases of suspended animation must naturally give rise, now and then, to
premature interments- apart from this consideration, we have the direct
testimony of medical and ordinary experience to prove that a vast number
of such interments have actually taken place. I might refer at once, if
necessary to a hundred well authenticated instances. One of very
remarkable character, and of which the circumstances may be fresh in the
memory of some of my readers, occurred, not very long ago, in the
neighboring city of Baltimore, where it occasioned a painful, intense,
and widely-extended excitement. The wife of one of the most respectable
citizens-a lawyer of eminence and a member of Congress- was seized with
a sudden and unaccountable illness, which completely baffled the skill
of her physicians. After much suffering she died, or was supposed to
die. No one suspected, indeed, or had reason to suspect, that she was
not actually dead. She presented all the ordinary appearances of death.
The face assumed the usual pinched and sunken outline. The lips were of
the usual marble pallor. The eyes were lustreless. There was no warmth.
Pulsation had ceased. For three days the body was preserved unburied,
during which it had acquired a stony rigidity. The funeral, in short,
was hastened, on account of the rapid advance of what was supposed to be
decomposition.

The lady was deposited in her family vault, which, for three subsequent
years, was undisturbed. At the expiration of this term it was opened for
the reception of a sarcophagus;- but, alas! how fearful a shock awaited
the husband, who, personally, threw open the door! As its portals swung
outwardly back, some white-apparelled object fell rattling within his
arms. It was the skeleton of his wife in her yet unmoulded shroud.

A careful investigation rendered it evident that she had revived within
two days after her entombment; that her struggles within the coffin had
caused it to fall from a ledge, or shelf to the floor, where it was so
broken as to permit her escape. A lamp which had been accidentally left,
full of oil, within the tomb, was found empty; it might have been
exhausted, however, by evaporation. On the uttermost of the steps which
led down into the dread chamber was a large fragment of the coffin, with
which, it seemed, that she had endeavored to arrest attention by
striking the iron door. While thus occupied, she probably swooned, or
possibly died, through sheer terror; and, in failing, her shroud became
entangled in some iron- work which projected interiorly. Thus she
remained, and thus she rotted, erect.

In the year 1810, a case of living inhumation happened in France,
attended with circumstances which go far to warrant the assertion that
truth is, indeed, stranger than fiction. The heroine of the story was a
Mademoiselle Victorine Lafourcade, a young girl of illustrious family,
of wealth, and of great personal beauty. Among her numerous suitors was
Julien Bossuet, a poor litterateur, or journalist of Paris. His talents
and general amiability had recommended him to the notice of the heiress,
by whom he seems to have been truly beloved; but her pride of birth
decided her, finally, to reject him, and to wed a Monsieur Renelle, a
banker and a diplomatist of some eminence. After marriage, however, this
gentleman neglected, and, perhaps, even more positively ill-treated her.
Having passed with him some wretched years, she died,- at least her
condition so closely resembled death as to deceive every one who saw
her. She was buried- not in a vault, but in an ordinary grave in the
village of her nativity. Filled with despair, and still inflamed by the
memory of a profound attachment, the lover journeys from the capital to
the remote province in which the village lies, with the romantic purpose
of disinterring the corpse, and possessing himself of its luxuriant
tresses. He reaches the grave. At midnight he unearths the coffin, opens
it, and is in the act of detaching the hair, when he is arrested by the
unclosing of the beloved eyes. In fact, the lady had been buried alive.
Vitality had not altogether departed, and she was aroused by the
caresses of her lover from the lethargy which had been mistaken for
death. He bore her frantically to his lodgings in the village. He
employed certain powerful restoratives suggested by no little medical
learning. In fine, she revived. She recognized her preserver. She
remained with him until, by slow degrees, she fully recovered her
original health. Her woman's heart was not adamant, and this last lesson
of love sufficed to soften it. She bestowed it upon Bossuet. She
returned no more to her husband, but, concealing from him her
resurrection, fled with her lover to America. Twenty years afterward,
the two returned to France, in the persuasion that time had so greatly
altered the lady's appearance that her friends would be unable to
recognize her. They were mistaken, however, for, at the first meeting,
Monsieur Renelle did actually recognize and make claim to his wife. This
claim she resisted, and a judicial tribunal sustained her in her
resistance, deciding that the peculiar circumstances, with the long
lapse of years, had extinguished, not only equitably, but legally, the
authority of the husband.

The "Chirurgical Journal" of Leipsic- a periodical of high authority and
merit, which some American bookseller would do well to translate and
republish, records in a late number a very distressing event of the
character in question.

An officer of artillery, a man of gigantic stature and of robust health,
being thrown from an unmanageable horse, received a very severe
contusion upon the head, which rendered him insensible at once; the
skull was slightly fractured, but no immediate danger was apprehended.
Trepanning was accomplished successfully. He was bled, and many other of
the ordinary means of relief were adopted. Gradually, however, he fell
into a more and more hopeless state of stupor, and, finally, it was
thought that he died.

The weather was warm, and he was buried with indecent haste in one of
the public cemeteries. His funeral took place on Thursday. On the Sunday
following, the grounds of the cemetery were, as usual, much thronged
with visiters, and about noon an intense excitement was created by the
declaration of a peasant that, while sitting upon the grave of the
officer, he had distinctly felt a commotion of the earth, as if
occasioned by some one struggling beneath. At first little attention was
paid to the man's asseveration; but his evident terror, and the dogged
obstinacy with which he persisted in his story, had at length their
natural effect upon the crowd. Spades were hurriedly procured, and the
grave, which was shamefully shallow, was in a few minutes so far thrown
open that the head of its occupant appeared. He was then seemingly dead;
but he sat nearly erect within his coffin, the lid of which, in his
furious struggles, he had partially uplifted.

He was forthwith conveyed to the nearest hospital, and there pronounced
to be still living, although in an asphytic condition. After some hours
he revived, recognized individuals of his acquaintance, and, in broken
sentences spoke of his agonies in the grave.

From what he related, it was clear that he must have been conscious of
life for more than an hour, while inhumed, before lapsing into
insensibility. The grave was carelessly and loosely filled with an
exceedingly porous soil; and thus some air was necessarily admitted. He
heard the footsteps of the crowd overhead, and endeavored to make
himself heard in turn. It was the tumult within the grounds of the
cemetery, he said, which appeared to awaken him from a deep sleep, but
no sooner was he awake than he became fully aware of the awful horrors
of his position.

This patient, it is recorded, was doing well and seemed to be in a fair
way of ultimate recovery, but fell a victim to the quackeries of medical
experiment. The galvanic battery was applied, and he suddenly expired in
one of those ecstatic paroxysms which, occasionally, it superinduces.

The mention of the galvanic battery, nevertheless, recalls to my memory
a well known and very extraordinary case in point, where its action
proved the means of restoring to animation a young attorney of London,
who had been interred for two days. This occurred in 1831, and created,
at the time, a very profound sensation wherever it was made the subject
of converse.

The patient, Mr. Edward Stapleton, had died, apparently of typhus fever,
accompanied with some anomalous symptoms which had excited the curiosity
of his medical attendants. Upon his seeming decease, his friends were
requested to sanction a post-mortem examination, but declined to permit
it. As often happens, when such refusals are made, the practitioners
resolved to disinter the body and dissect it at leisure, in private.
Arrangements were easily effected with some of the numerous corps of
body-snatchers, with which London abounds; and, upon the third night
after the funeral, the supposed corpse was unearthed from a grave eight
feet deep, and deposited in the opening chamber of one of the private
hospitals.

An incision of some extent had been actually made in the abdomen, when
the fresh and undecayed appearance of the subject suggested an
application of the battery. One experiment succeeded another, and the
customary effects supervened, with nothing to characterize them in any
respect, except, upon one or two occasions, a more than ordinary degree
of life-likeness in the convulsive action.

It grew late. The day was about to dawn; and it was thought expedient,
at length, to proceed at once to the dissection. A student, however, was
especially desirous of testing a theory of his own, and insisted upon
applying the battery to one of the pectoral muscles. A rough gash was
made, and a wire hastily brought in contact, when the patient, with a
hurried but quite unconvulsive movement, arose from the table, stepped
into the middle of the floor, gazed about him uneasily for a few
seconds, and then- spoke. What he said was unintelligible, but words
were uttered; the syllabification was distinct. Having spoken, he fell
heavily to the floor.

For some moments all were paralyzed with awe- but the urgency of the
case soon restored them their presence of mind. It was seen that Mr.
Stapleton was alive, although in a swoon. Upon exhibition of ether he
revived and was rapidly restored to health, and to the society of his
friends- from whom, however, all knowledge of his resuscitation was
withheld, until a relapse was no longer to be apprehended. Their wonder-
their rapturous astonishment- may be conceived.

The most thrilling peculiarity of this incident, nevertheless, is
involved in what Mr. S. himself asserts. He declares that at no period
was he altogether insensible- that, dully and confusedly, he was aware
of everything which happened to him, from the moment in which he was
pronounced dead by his physicians, to that in which he fell swooning to
the floor of the hospital. "I am alive," were the uncomprehended words
which, upon recognizing the locality of the dissecting-room, he had
endeavored, in his extremity, to utter.

It were an easy matter to multiply such histories as these- but I
forbear- for, indeed, we have no need of such to establish the fact that
premature interments occur. When we reflect how very rarely, from the
nature of the case, we have it in our power to detect them, we must
admit that they may frequently occur without our cognizance. Scarcely,
in truth, is a graveyard ever encroached upon, for any purpose, to any
great extent, that skeletons are not found in postures which suggest the
most fearful of suspicions.

Fearful indeed the suspicion- but more fearful the doom! It may be
asserted, without hesitation, that no event is so terribly well adapted
to inspire the supremeness of bodily and of mental distress, as is
burial before death. The unendurable oppression of the lungs- the
stifling fumes from the damp earth- the clinging to the death garments-
the rigid embrace of the narrow house- the blackness of the absolute
Night- the silence like a sea that overwhelms- the unseen but palpable
presence of the Conqueror Worm- these things, with the thoughts of the
air and grass above, with memory of dear friends who would fly to save
us if but informed of our fate, and with consciousness that of this fate
they can never be informed- that our hopeless portion is that of the
really dead- these considerations, I say, carry into the heart, which
still palpitates, a degree of appalling and intolerable horror from
which the most daring imagination must recoil. We know of nothing so
agonizing upon Earth- we can dream of nothing half so hideous in the
realms of the nethermost Hell. And thus all narratives upon this topic
have an interest profound; an interest, nevertheless, which, through the
sacred awe of the topic itself, very properly and very peculiarly
depends upon our conviction of the truth of the matter narrated. What I
have now to tell is of my own actual knowledge- of my own positive and
personal experience.

For several years I had been subject to attacks of the singular disorder
which physicians have agreed to term catalepsy, in default of a more
definitive title. Although both the immediate and the predisposing
causes, and even the actual diagnosis, of this disease are still
mysterious, its obvious and apparent character is sufficiently well
understood. Its variations seem to be chiefly of degree. Sometimes the
patient lies, for a day only, or even for a shorter period, in a species
of exaggerated lethargy. He is senseless and externally motionless; but
the pulsation of the heart is still faintly perceptible; some traces of
warmth remain; a slight color lingers within the centre of the cheek;
and, upon application of a mirror to the lips, we can detect a torpid,
unequal, and vacillating action of the lungs. Then again the duration of
the trance is for weeks- even for months; while the closest scrutiny,
and the most rigorous medical tests, fail to establish any material
distinction between the state of the sufferer and what we conceive of
absolute death. Very usually he is saved from premature interment solely
by the knowledge of his friends that he has been previously subject to
catalepsy, by the consequent suspicion excited, and, above all, by the
non-appearance of decay. The advances of the malady are, luckily,
gradual. The first manifestations, although marked, are unequivocal. The
fits grow successively more and more distinctive, and endure each for a
longer term than the preceding. In this lies the principal security from
inhumation. The unfortunate whose first attack should be of the extreme
character which is occasionally seen, would almost inevitably be
consigned alive to the tomb.

My own case differed in no important particular from those mentioned in
medical books. Sometimes, without any apparent cause, I sank, little by
little, into a condition of hemi-syncope, or half swoon; and, in this
condition, without pain, without ability to stir, or, strictly speaking,
to think, but with a dull lethargic consciousness of life and of the
presence of those who surrounded my bed, I remained, until the crisis of
the disease restored me, suddenly, to perfect sensation. At other times
I was quickly and impetuously smitten. I grew sick, and numb, and
chilly, and dizzy, and so fell prostrate at once. Then, for weeks, all
was void, and black, and silent, and Nothing became the universe. Total
annihilation could be no more. From these latter attacks I awoke,
however, with a gradation slow in proportion to the suddenness of the
seizure. Just as the day dawns to the friendless and houseless beggar
who roams the streets throughout the long desolate winter night- just so
tardily- just so wearily- just so cheerily came back the light of the
Soul to me.

Apart from the tendency to trance, however, my general health appeared
to be good; nor could I perceive that it was at all affected by the one
prevalent malady- unless, indeed, an idiosyncrasy in my ordinary sleep
may be looked upon as superinduced. Upon awaking from slumber, I could
never gain, at once, thorough possession of my senses, and always
remained, for many minutes, in much bewilderment and perplexity;- the
mental faculties in general, but the memory in especial, being in a
condition of absolute abeyance.

In all that I endured there was no physical suffering but of moral
distress an infinitude. My fancy grew charnel, I talked "of worms, of
tombs, and epitaphs." I was lost in reveries of death, and the idea of
premature burial held continual possession of my brain. The ghastly
Danger to which I was subjected haunted me day and night. In the former,
the torture of meditation was excessive- in the latter, supreme. When
the grim Darkness overspread the Earth, then, with every horror of
thought, I shook- shook as the quivering plumes upon the hearse. When
Nature could endure wakefulness no longer, it was with a struggle that I
consented to sleep- for I shuddered to reflect that, upon awaking, I
might find myself the tenant of a grave. And when, finally, I sank into
slumber, it was only to rush at once into a world of phantasms, above
which, with vast, sable, overshadowing wing, hovered, predominant, the
one sepulchral Idea.

From the innumerable images of gloom which thus oppressed me in dreams,
I select for record but a solitary vision. Methought I was immersed in a
cataleptic trance of more than usual duration and profundity. Suddenly
there came an icy hand upon my forehead, and an impatient, gibbering
voice whispered the word "Arise!" within my ear.

I sat erect. The darkness was total. I could not see the figure of him
who had aroused me. I could call to mind neither the period at which I
had fallen into the trance, nor the locality in which I then lay. While
I remained motionless, and busied in endeavors to collect my thought,
the cold hand grasped me fiercely by the wrist, shaking it petulantly,
while the gibbering voice said again:

"Arise! did I not bid thee arise?"

"And who," I demanded, "art thou?"

"I have no name in the regions which I inhabit," replied the voice,
mournfully; "I was mortal, but am fiend. I was merciless, but am
pitiful. Thou dost feel that I shudder.- My teeth chatter as I speak,
yet it is not with the chilliness of the night- of the night without
end. But this hideousness is insufferable. How canst thou tranquilly
sleep? I cannot rest for the cry of these great agonies. These sights
are more than I can bear. Get thee up! Come with me into the outer
Night, and let me unfold to thee the graves. Is not this a spectacle of
woe?- Behold!"

I looked; and the unseen figure, which still grasped me by the wrist,
had caused to be thrown open the graves of all mankind, and from each
issued the faint phosphoric radiance of decay, so that I could see into
the innermost recesses, and there view the shrouded bodies in their sad
and solemn slumbers with the worm. But alas! the real sleepers were
fewer, by many millions, than those who slumbered not at all; and there
was a feeble struggling; and there was a general sad unrest; and from
out the depths of the countless pits there came a melancholy rustling
from the garments of the buried. And of those who seemed tranquilly to
repose, I saw that a vast number had changed, in a greater or less
degree, the rigid and uneasy position in which they had originally been
entombed. And the voice again said to me as I gazed:

"Is it not- oh! is it not a pitiful sight?"- but, before I could find
words to reply, the figure had ceased to grasp my wrist, the phosphoric
lights expired, and the graves were closed with a sudden violence, while
from out them arose a tumult of despairing cries, saying again: "Is it
not- O, God, is it not a very pitiful sight?"

Phantasies such as these, presenting themselves at night, extended their
terrific influence far into my waking hours. My nerves became thoroughly
unstrung, and I fell a prey to perpetual horror. I hesitated to ride, or
to walk, or to indulge in any exercise that would carry me from home. In
fact, I no longer dared trust myself out of the immediate presence of
those who were aware of my proneness to catalepsy, lest, falling into
one of my usual fits, I should be buried before my real condition could
be ascertained. I doubted the care, the fidelity of my dearest friends.
I dreaded that, in some trance of more than customary duration, they
might be prevailed upon to regard me as irrecoverable. I even went so
far as to fear that, as I occasioned much trouble, they might be glad to
consider any very protracted attack as sufficient excuse for getting rid
of me altogether. It was in vain they endeavored to reassure me by the
most solemn promises. I exacted the most sacred oaths, that under no
circumstances they would bury me until decomposition had so materially
advanced as to render farther preservation impossible. And, even then,
my mortal terrors would listen to no reason- would accept no
consolation. I entered into a series of elaborate precautions. Among
other things, I had the family vault so remodelled as to admit of being
readily opened from within. The slightest pressure upon a long lever
that extended far into the tomb would cause the iron portal to fly back.
There were arrangements also for the free admission of air and light,
and convenient receptacles for food and water, within immediate reach of
the coffin intended for my reception. This coffin was warmly and softly
padded, and was provided with a lid, fashioned upon the principle of the
vault-door, with the addition of springs so contrived that the feeblest
movement of the body would be sufficient to set it at liberty. Besides
all this, there was suspended from the roof of the tomb, a large bell,
the rope of which, it was designed, should extend through a hole in the
coffin, and so be fastened to one of the hands of the corpse. But, alas?
what avails the vigilance against the Destiny of man? Not even these
well-contrived securities sufficed to save from the uttermost agonies of
living inhumation, a wretch to these agonies foredoomed!

There arrived an epoch- as often before there had arrived- in which I
found myself emerging from total unconsciousness into the first feeble
and indefinite sense of existence. Slowly- with a tortoise gradation-
approached the faint gray dawn of the psychal day. A torpid uneasiness.
An apathetic endurance of dull pain. No care- no hope- no effort. Then,
after a long interval, a ringing in the ears; then, after a lapse still
longer, a prickling or tingling sensation in the extremities; then a
seemingly eternal period of pleasurable quiescence, during which the
awakening feelings are struggling into thought; then a brief re-sinking
into non-entity; then a sudden recovery. At length the slight quivering
of an eyelid, and immediately thereupon, an electric shock of a terror,
deadly and indefinite, which sends the blood in torrents from the
temples to the heart. And now the first positive effort to think. And
now the first endeavor to remember. And now a partial and evanescent
success. And now the memory has so far regained its dominion, that, in
some measure, I am cognizant of my state. I feel that I am not awaking
from ordinary sleep. I recollect that I have been subject to catalepsy.
And now, at last, as if by the rush of an ocean, my shuddering spirit is
overwhelmed by the one grim Danger- by the one spectral and
ever-prevalent idea.

For some minutes after this fancy possessed me, I remained without
motion. And why? I could not summon courage to move. I dared not make
the effort which was to satisfy me of my fate- and yet there was
something at my heart which whispered me it was sure. Despair- such as
no other species of wretchedness ever calls into being- despair alone
urged me, after long irresolution, to uplift the heavy lids of my eyes.
I uplifted them. It was dark- all dark. I knew that the fit was over. I
knew that the crisis of my disorder had long passed. I knew that I had
now fully recovered the use of my visual faculties- and yet it was dark-
all dark- the intense and utter raylessness of the Night that endureth
for evermore.

I endeavored to shriek-, and my lips and my parched tongue moved
convulsively together in the attempt- but no voice issued from the
cavernous lungs, which oppressed as if by the weight of some incumbent
mountain, gasped and palpitated, with the heart, at every elaborate and
struggling inspiration.

The movement of the jaws, in this effort to cry aloud, showed me that
they were bound up, as is usual with the dead. I felt, too, that I lay
upon some hard substance, and by something similar my sides were, also,
closely compressed. So far, I had not ventured to stir any of my limbs-
but now I violently threw up my arms, which had been lying at length,
with the wrists crossed. They struck a solid wooden substance, which
extended above my person at an elevation of not more than six inches
from my face. I could no longer doubt that I reposed within a coffin at
last.

And now, amid all my infinite miseries, came sweetly the cherub Hope-
for I thought of my precautions. I writhed, and made spasmodic exertions
to force open the lid: it would not move. I felt my wrists for the
bell-rope: it was not to be found. And now the Comforter fled for ever,
and a still sterner Despair reigned triumphant; for I could not help
perceiving the absence of the paddings which I had so carefully
prepared- and then, too, there came suddenly to my nostrils the strong
peculiar odor of moist earth. The conclusion was irresistible. I was not
within the vault. I had fallen into a trance while absent from
home-while among strangers- when, or how, I could not remember- and it
was they who had buried me as a dog- nailed up in some common coffin-
and thrust deep, deep, and for ever, into some ordinary and nameless
grave.

As this awful conviction forced itself, thus, into the innermost
chambers of my soul, I once again struggled to cry aloud. And in this
second endeavor I succeeded. A long, wild, and continuous shriek, or
yell of agony, resounded through the realms of the subterranean Night.

"Hillo! hillo, there!" said a gruff voice, in reply.

"What the devil's the matter now!" said a second.

"Get out o' that!" said a third.

"What do you mean by yowling in that ere kind of style, like a
cattymount?" said a fourth; and hereupon I was seized and shaken without
ceremony, for several minutes, by a junto of very rough-looking
individuals. They did not arouse me from my slumber- for I was wide
awake when I screamed- but they restored me to the full possession of my
memory.

This adventure occurred near Richmond, in Virginia. Accompanied by a
friend, I had proceeded, upon a gunning expedition, some miles down the
banks of the James River. Night approached, and we were overtaken by a
storm. The cabin of a small sloop lying at anchor in the stream, and
laden with garden mould, afforded us the only available shelter. We made
the best of it, and passed the night on board. I slept in one of the
only two berths in the vessel- and the berths of a sloop of sixty or
twenty tons need scarcely be described. That which I occupied had no
bedding of any kind. Its extreme width was eighteen inches. The distance
of its bottom from the deck overhead was precisely the same. I found it
a matter of exceeding difficulty to squeeze myself in. Nevertheless, I
slept soundly, and the whole of my vision- for it was no dream, and no
nightmare- arose naturally from the circumstances of my position- from
my ordinary bias of thought- and from the difficulty, to which I have
alluded, of collecting my senses, and especially of regaining my memory,
for a long time after awaking from slumber. The men who shook me were
the crew of the sloop, and some laborers engaged to unload it. From the
load itself came the earthly smell. The bandage about the jaws was a
silk handkerchief in which I had bound up my head, in default of my
customary nightcap.

The tortures endured, however, were indubitably quite equal for the
time, to those of actual sepulture. They were fearfully- they were
inconceivably hideous; but out of Evil proceeded Good; for their very
excess wrought in my spirit an inevitable revulsion. My soul acquired
tone- acquired temper. I went abroad. I took vigorous exercise. I
breathed the free air of Heaven. I thought upon other subjects than
Death. I discarded my medical books. "Buchan" I burned. I read no "Night
Thoughts"- no fustian about churchyards- no bugaboo tales- such as this.
In short, I became a new man, and lived a man's life. From that
memorable night, I dismissed forever my charnel apprehensions, and with
them vanished the cataleptic disorder, of which, perhaps, they had been
less the consequence than the cause.

There are moments when, even to the sober eye of Reason, the world of
our sad Humanity may assume the semblance of a Hell- but the imagination
of man is no Carathis, to explore with impunity its every cavern. Alas!
the grim legion of sepulchral terrors cannot be regarded as altogether
fanciful- but, like the Demons in whose company Afrasiab made his voyage
down the Oxus, they must sleep, or they will devour us- they must be
suffered to slumber, or we perish.



                          THE END