and was pressing himself close against it, as if literally striving
to force his way into it. I approached the animal and spoke to it;
the poor brute was evidently beside itself with terror. It showed
all its teeth, the slaver dropping from its jaws, and would
certainly have bitten me if I had touched it. It did not seem to
recognize me. Whoever has seen at the Zoological Gardens a rabbit,
fascinated by a serpent, cowering in a corner, may form some idea
of the anguish which the dog exhibited. Finding all efforts to
soothe the animal in vain, and fearing that his bite might be as
venomous in that state as in the madness of hydrophobia, I left him
alone, placed my weapons on the table beside the fire, seated
myself, and recommenced my Macaulay.

Perhaps, in order not to appear seeking credit for a courage, or
rather a coolness, which the reader may conceive I exaggerate, I
may be pardoned if I pause to indulge in one or two egotistical
remarks.

As I hold presence of mind, or what is called courage, to be
precisely proportioned to familiarity with the circumstances that
lead to it, so I should say that I had been long sufficiently
familiar with all experiments that appertain to the marvelous. I
had witnessed many very extraordinary phenomena in various parts of
the world,--phenomena that would be either totally disbelieved if I
stated them, or ascribed to supernatural agencies. Now, my theory
is that the supernatural is the impossible, and that what is called
supernatural is only a something in the laws of Nature of which we
have been hitherto ignorant. Therefore, if a ghost rise before me,
I have not the right to say, "So, then, the supernatural is
possible;" but rather, "So, then, the apparition of a ghost is,