taunt in my ears?"

"Forbear!" exclaimed the Spectre in an awful voice. "Lay a hand on
Me, and die!"

He stopped midway, as if its words had paralysed him, and stood
looking on it. It had glided from him; it had its arm raised high
in warning; and a smile passed over its unearthly features, as it
reared its dark figure in triumph.

"If I could forget my sorrow and wrong, I would," the Ghost
repeated. "If I could forget my sorrow and my wrong, I would!"

"Evil spirit of myself," returned the haunted man, in a low,
trembling tone, "my life is darkened by that incessant whisper."

"It is an echo," said the Phantom.

"If it be an echo of my thoughts--as now, indeed, I know it is,"
rejoined the haunted man, "why should I, therefore, be tormented?
It is not a selfish thought. I suffer it to range beyond myself.
All men and women have their sorrows,--most of them their wrongs;
ingratitude, and sordid jealousy, and interest, besetting all
degrees of life. Who would not forget their sorrows and their
wrongs?"

"Who would not, truly, and be happier and better for it?" said the
Phantom.

"These revolutions of years, which we commemorate," proceeded