He sighed--a sigh only half regretful, half contented, and seemed about to speak, but the spirit did not move him, and the profound silence continued.

For my part, I was so much absorbed in my reflections on the things I had seen that I had nothing to say, and the strange personality of the man made me wish to let him begin upon his own subject, if perchance I might gain some insight into his mind and mode of thought.

There are times when silence seems to be sacred, even unaccountably so.

A feeling is in us that to speak would be almost a sacrilege, though we are unable to account in any way for the pause.

At such moments every one seems instinctively to feel the same influence, and the first person who breaks the spell either experiences a sensation of awkwardness, and says something very foolish, or, conscious of the odds against him, delivers himself of a sentiment of ponderous severity and sententiousness.