sometimes passes them upon the senses for reality."

"Yes," said Aunt Margaret, who is a well-read woman, "to those
who resemble the translator of Tasso,--

'Prevailing poet, whose undoubting mind
Believed the magic wonders which he sung.

It is not required for this purpose that you should be sensible
of the painful horrors which an actual belief in such prodigies
inflicts. Such a belief nowadays belongs only to fools and
children. It is not necessary that your ears should tingle and
your complexion change, like that of Theodore at the approach of
the spectral huntsman. All that is indispensable for the
enjoyment of the milder feeling of supernatural awe is, that you
should be susceptible of the slight shuddering which creeps over
you when you hear a tale of terror--that well-vouched tale which
the narrator, having first expressed his general disbelief of all
such legendary lore, selects and produces, as having something in
it which he has been always obliged to give up as inexplicable.
Another symptom is a momentary hesitation to look round you, when
the interest of the narrative is at the highest; and the third, a
desire to avoid looking into a mirror when you are alone in your
chamber for the evening. I mean such are signs which indicate
the crisis, when a female imagination is in due temperature to
enjoy a ghost story. I do not pretend to describe those which
express the same disposition in a gentleman."

"That last symptom, dear aunt, of shunning the mirror seems
likely to be a rare occurrence amongst the fair sex."