Turn your face aside from me; a reproving look, an incredulous smile, chill--oh, you cannot guess how they chill me, when I would approach that which to me is so serious and so solemnly strange." I turned my face away, and her voice grew firmer as, after a brief pause, she resumed,-- "As far back as I can remember in my infancy, there have been moments when there seems to fall a soft hazy veil between my sight and the things around it, thickening and deepening till it has the likeness of one of those white fleecy clouds which gather on the verge of the horizon when the air is yet still, but the winds are about to rise; and then this vapour or veil will suddenly open, as clouds open, and let in the blue sky." "Go on," I said gently, for here she came to a stop.

She continued, speaking somewhat more hurriedly,-- "Then, in that opening, strange appearances present them selves to me, as in a vision.

In my childhood these were chiefly landscapes of wonderful beauty.

I could but faintly describe them then; I could not attempt to describe them now, for they are almost gone from my memory.
My dear mother chid me for telling her what I saw, so I did not impress it on my mind by repeating it.

As I grew up, this kind of vision--if I may so call it--became much less frequent, or much less distinct; I still saw the soft veil fall, the pale cloud form and open, but often what may then have appeared was entirely forgotten when I recovered myself, waking as from a sleep.