"But what confidence can one place in these dreams of your favourite Emanuel?" said Joe.
"Dreams!" retorted the mystic tailor, lowering his voice, and changing the expression of his countenance, until Joe wondered what was the matter with him.—"Dreams! no, no, he didn't dream, Joey. He was favoured with heavenly visions! The angels actually took him several times to heaven,—for he says so himself——"
"And Mahomet said the same," interjected Joe.
"Interrupt me not!" continued Toby, looking still more awfully mysterious:—"I tell thee, the angels took him to heaven, and unfolded to him hidden mysteries! And I tell thee, Joey, that I believe it is possible to attain unto such a pure state here, in this world, that we may converse with angels. I have fasted every day this week till sunset," concluded the poor honest old enthusiast, creeping close to Joe, and speaking almost in his ear,—"and I have faith to believe, that, in a little time, after much prayer, I, even I, shall be permitted to see the angelic world, yea, and to converse with it!"
One of Joe's fellow-apprentices here lifted up the latch, and informed him that Dame Deborah wished he would come home, for the hour was getting late. Pressing his old friend's hand, without looking him in the face, the youth wished him "Good-night!" not a little relieved by the summons of his mistress.
On the morrow, the neighbourhood was thrown into a state of alarm by a cottager having found poor Toby Lackpenny in a swoon upon his shop-board. Finding the experiment attended with such imminent hazard, the fervent enthusiast was persuaded the next night, by Joe, after two hours' indefatigable argumentation, to lay aside his attempt, by devout abstinence, at "purging the frame terrestrial till it could witness the vision celestial."
The occurrence of a very singular incident, however, and some effects that followed it, produced many a misgiving in poor Toby's mind that he had done wickedly in giving up the pursuit of this spiritual and exalted object. It was about the third night after Toby had yielded to Joe's prudent counsel,—and while they were sitting in quiet converse on one of their old themes,—that Toby's cottage door was suddenly burst open by a blow which resembled the stroke of a thunderbolt in the imagination of Joe and his ancient gossip,—and, on the centre of the floor, as suddenly stood Frank Friskit, Joe's younger fellow-apprentice, and the most mischievous scape-grace in the village. The face of the unexpected visitant was like the whitened wall; and his curly locks, as if in consternation at the unwonted pallor of his countenance, stood "nine ways of a Wednesday," as Toby phrased it. His trembling knees and torn dress made confession,—the trembler himself being tongueless with dread,—that Frank had been engaged in some fearful adventure. Joe hastened to support him,—for the lad swooned almost instantly. Toby hastened for cold water to aid his recovery;—and, in a few seconds, Noah Wallhead, Joe's other fellow-apprentice, also entered Toby's cottage, and manifested considerable solicitude about Frank's alarming condition. After a plentiful libation upon his temples, Frank began to come to his senses.
"What's the matter, Franky?" said Toby, gently, as soon as he thought the convalescent was able to bear the inquiry.
"I've—I've seen some'at!" replied Frank, hysterically.
"Seen!—well, but what have you seen, Frank?" asked Joe.