{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_39485/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_39485","id":"gutenberg_39485","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39485","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Folklore -- Great Britain","Ghosts -- Great Britain","Legends -- Great Britain"],"text":"E-text prepared by Delphine Lettau, Mary Meehan, and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Canada Team (http://www.pgdpcanada.net)\n\n\n\nGHOSTS AND FAMILY LEGENDS.\n\nA Volume for Christmas.\n\nby\n\nMRS. CROWE,\n\nAuthoress of \"Night Side of Nature,\" &c.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLondon:\nThomas Cautley Newby, Publisher,\nWelbeck Street, Cavendish Square.\n1859.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n                                                           _page_\n\n    FIRST PART.\n\n      PREFACE                                                   v\n\n    ROUND THE FIRE.\n\n      FIRST EVENING                                             1\n        THE LOVER'S FAREWELL.\n        _The Appointment Kept_.\n\n      SECOND EVENING                                           19\n        THE WHITE CAT.\n        PASSING SPIRITS.\n        THE GARDE CHASSE.\n\n      THIRD EVENING                                            43\n        THE CARRIER.\n\n      FOURTH EVENING                                           63\n        REHEARSALS, &C.\n        PROPHETIC DREAMS.\n\n      FIFTH EVENING                                            81\n        THE VIGIL.\n        THE STRANGE DOG.\n        THE SCOTCH MINISTER.\n\n      SIXTH EVENING                                            93\n        THE RADIANT BOY.\n        THE PREDICTION.\n        HAUNTED HOUSES.\n        THE JUSTIFICATION.\n\n      SEVENTH EVENING                                         111\n        THE GERMAN INN.\n        THE BENIGHTED TRAVELLER.\n\n      EIGHTH EVENING                                          135\n        MY OWN VISIT TO A HAUNTED HOUSE.\n        MR. G.'S ADVENTURE.\n        CONCLUSION TO FIRST PART.\n\n    APPENDIX                                                  149\n\n        AUTOGRAPH LETTERS COMMUNICATING\n        PERSONAL EXPERIENCES ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR.\n\n\n    SECOND PART.\n\n      LEGENDS OF THE EARTHBOUND.\n\n        THE ITALIAN'S STORY                                   173\n\n        THE DUTCH OFFICER'S STORY                             209\n\n        THE OLD FRENCHMAN'S STORY                             229\n\n        THE SWISS LADY'S STORY                                259\n\n        THE SHEEP FARMER'S STORY                              297\n\n        MY FRIEND'S STORY                                     327\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nIt happened that I spent the last winter in a large country mansion, in\nthe north of England, where we had a succession of visitors, and all\nmanner of amusements--dancing, music, cards, billiards, and other games.\n\nTowards the end of December, 1857, however, the gaiety of the house was\ntemporarily interrupted by a serious misfortune that occurred to one of\nthe party, which, in the evening, occasioned us to assemble with grave\nfaces round the drawing-room fire, where we fell to discussing the\nslight tenure by which we hold whatever blessings we enjoy, and the sad\nuncertainty of human life, as it affects us in its most mournful\naspect--the lives of those we love.\n\nFrom this theme, the conversation branched out into various speculations\nregarding the great mysteries of the here and hereafter; the reunion of\nfriends, and the possible interests of them that have past away in the\nwell-being of those they have left behind; till it fell, naturally, into\nthe relation of certain experiences which almost everybody has had, more\nor less; and which were adduced to fortify the arguments of those who\nregard the future as less disjoined from the present than it is\nconsidered to be by Theologians generally.\n\nIn short, we began to tell ghost stories; and although some of the party\nprofessed an utter disbelief in apparitions, they proved to be as\nfertile as the believers in their contributions--relating something that\nhad happened to themselves or their friends, as having undoubtedly\noccurred, or to all appearance, occurred--only, with the reservation,\nthat it must certainly have been a dream.\n\nThe substance of these conversations fills the following pages, and I\nhave told the stories as nearly as possible in the words of the original\nnarrators. Of course, I am not permitted to give their names; nobody\nchooses to confess, in print, that he or anybody belonging to him, has\nseen a ghost, or believes that he has seen one. There is a sort of\nodium attached to the imputation, that scarcely anyone seems equal to\nencounter; and no wonder, when _wise_ people listen to the avowal with\nsuch strange incredulity, and pronounce you at the best a superstitious\nfool, or a patient afflicted with spectral illusions.\n\nUnder these circumstances, whether I have ever seen a ghost, myself, I\nmust decline confiding to the public; but I take almost as courageous a\nstep in avowing my entire and continued belief in the fact that others\ndo occasionally see these things; and I assert, that most of those who\nrelated the events contained in the ensuing pages of this work,\nconfessed to me their absolute conviction that they or their friends had\nactually seen and heard what they said they did.\n\nSome of the company related curious traditions and legends connected\nwith their family annals; and these form the second part of this little\nbook, which I hope may prove a not uninteresting companion for a\nChristmas fireside.\n\nCATHERINE CROWE.\n\n15th _October_, 1858.\n\n\n\n\nGHOST STORIES\n\nAND\n\nFAMILY LEGENDS.\n\n\n\n\nROUND THE FIRE.\n\nFIRST EVENING.\n\n\n\"But there are no ghosts now,\" objected Mr. R.\n\n\"Quite the contrary,\" said I; \"I have no doubt there is nobody in this\ncircle who has not either had some experience of the sort in his own\nperson, or been made a confidant of such experiences by friends whose\nword on any other subject he would feel it impossible to doubt.\"\n\nAfter some discussion on the existence of ghosts and cognate subjects,\nit was agreed that each should relate a story, restricting himself to\ncircumstances that had either happened to himself or had been told him\nby somebody fully entitled to confidence, who had undergone the\nexperience.\n\nWe followed the order in which we were sitting, and Miss P. began as\nfollows:--\n\n\"I was some years ago engaged to be married to an officer in the ----\nregiment. Circumstances connected with our families prevented the union\ntaking place as early as we had expected; and in the mean while Captain\nS., whose regiment was in the West Indies, was ordered to join. I need\nnot say that this separation distressed us a good deal, but we consoled\neach other as well as we could by maintaining a constant correspondence;\nthough there were no steam packets in those days, and letters were much\nlonger on their way and less certain in their arrival than they are now.\nStill I heard pretty regularly, and had no reason for the least\nuneasiness.\n\n\"One day that I had been out shopping, and had returned rather tired, I\ntold my mother that I should go and lie down for an hour, for we were\ngoing out in the evening, and I was afraid I might have a head-ache, to\nwhich I am rather subject; so I went up to my room, took down a book and\nthrew myself on the bed to read or sleep as it might happen. I had read\na page or two, and feeling drowsy had laid down the volume in order to\ncompose myself to sleep, when I was aroused by a knock at my chamber\ndoor.\n\n\"'Come in,' I said, without turning my head, for I thought it was the\nmaid come to fetch the dress I was going to wear in the evening.\n\n\"I heard the door open and a person enter, but the foot was not her's;\nand then I looked round and saw that it was Captain S. What came over me\nthen I can't tell you. I knew little of mesmerism at that period, but I\nhave since thought that when a spirit appears, it must have some power\nof mesmerising the spectator; for I have heard other people who had been\nin similar situations describe very much what I experienced myself. I\nwas perfectly calm, not in the least frightened or surprised, but\ntransfixed. Of course, had I remained in my normal state, I should\neither have been amazed at seeing Captain S. so unexpectedly, especially\nin my chamber; or if I believed it an apparition, I should have been\ndreadfully distressed and alarmed; but I was neither; and I can't say\nwhether I thought it himself or his ghost. I was passive, and my mind\naccepted the phenomenon without question of how such at thing could be.\n\n\"Captain S. approached the bedside, and spoke to me exactly as he was\nin the habit of doing, and I answered him in the same manner. After the\nfirst greeting, he crossed the room to fetch a chair that stood by the\ndressing table. He wore his uniform, and when his back was turned, I\nremember distinctly seeing the seams of his coat behind. He brought the\nchair, and having seated himself by the bed side, he conversed with me\nfor about half-an-hour; he then rose and looking at his watch, said his\ntime had expired and he must go; he bade me good bye and went out by the\nsame door he had entered at.\n\n\"The moment it closed on him, I knew what had happened; if my hypothesis\nbe correct, his power over me ceased when he disappeared and I returned\nto my normal state. I screamed, and seized the bell rope which I rang\nwith such violence that I broke it. My mother, who was in the room\nunderneath, rushed up stairs, followed by the servants. They found me on\nthe floor in a fainting state, and for some time I was unable to\ncommunicate the cause of my agitation. At length, being somewhat calmed,\nI desired the servants might leave the room, and then I told my mother\nwhat had happened. Of course, she thought it was a dream; in vain I\nassured her it was not, and pointed to the chair which, wonderful to\nsay, had been actually brought to the bedside by the spirit--there it\nstood exactly as it had been placed by him; luckily nobody had moved it.\nI said, you know where that chair usually stands; when you were up here\na little while ago it was in its usual place--so it was when I lay\ndown--I never moved it; it was placed there by Captain S.\n\n\"My mother was greatly perplexed; she found me so confident and clear;\nyet, the thing appeared to her impossible.\n\n\"From that time, I only thought of Captain S. as one departed from this\nlife; suspense and its agonies were spared me. I was certain.\nAccordingly, about a month afterwards, when one morning Major B. of the\n---- regiment sent in his card, I said to my mother, 'Now you'll see; he\ncomes to tell me of Henry's death.'\n\n\"It was so. Captain S. had died of fever on the day he paid me that\nmysterious visit.\"\n\nWe asked Miss P. if any similar circumstance had ever occurred to her\nbefore or since.\n\n\"Never,\" she answered; \"I never saw anything of the sort but on that\noccasion.\"\n\n\"I have no experience of my own to relate,\" said Dr. W., \"but in the\ncourse of my late tour in Scotland, I went amongst other places to Skye,\nand I found the whole island talking of an event that had just happened\nthere, which may perhaps interest you. There was a tradesman in Portree\nof the name of Robertson; I believe he was a sort of general dealer, as\nshopkeepers frequently are in those remote localities. Whatever his\nbusiness was, however, it frequently took him to the other islands or\nthe mainland to make purchases. He had arranged to go on one of these\nexpeditious, I think to Raasa, when a friend called to inform him that a\nmeeting of the inhabitants was to be held on some public question in\nwhich he, Robertson, was much interested.\"\n\n\"'You had better defer going till after Friday,' said Mr. Brown; 'we\ncan't do without you, and its very possible you may not get back in\ntime.'\n\n\"'Oh, yes, I can do all my business, and be back very well on Thursday,'\nsaid Mr. Robertson; objecting that if he waited over Friday it would be\nno use going till Monday. Brown tried to persuade him to alter his\nplans, but in vain; 'however,' said he, 'you may rely on seeing me on\nThursday, if you'll look in, in the evening; as I would not miss the\nmeeting on any account.'\n\n\"This conversation took place at an early hour on Tuesday morning.\nImmediately afterwards Mr. Robertson bade his wife and children\ngood-bye, and proceeded to the boat which left at eleven o'clock, having\non board, besides himself, two other passengers, and two boatmen.\n\n\"On Thursday evening, Mr. Brown, who had been busying himself in\nfortifying and encouraging their adherents against the next day, and had\ntaken upon himself to answer for his friend Robertson's presence, as\nsoon as he had finished business, set off to keep his appointment with\nthe latter, anxious to ascertain that he was arrived.\n\n\"His anxiety was soon relieved, for on his way he met him.\n\n\"'Well, here you are,' said he, holding out his hand.\n\n\"'Yes,' answered Robertson, not appearing to notice the hand, 'I have\nkept my promise.'\n\n\"Upon that Mr. Brown introduced the subject of the meeting, and\nmentioned the hopes he had of carrying the question, with which\nRobertson seemed satisfied; but as soon as possible turning the\nconversation into another direction, he began talking to his friend\nabout his wife and children, and certain arrangements he had wished to\nbe made respecting his property.\n\n\"His mind seemed so much more engrossed with these matters than the\nmeeting, that little was said upon the latter subject, and Mr. Brown,\nhaving parted with him in the street, rather wondered why he chose such\na moment to discuss his private affairs.\n\n\"The next morning, at the appointed hour, the principal inhabitants of\nthe place assembled in a public room at the Tun. Brown, who wanted to\nsay a word to Robertson, lingered at the door; but as he did not come,\nhe thought he must have arrived before himself, and went up stairs.\n\n\"'Is Robertson here?' said he, on entering the room.\n\n\"'No,' said one, 'I'm afraid he's not come back from Raasa.'\n\n\"'Oh, yes,' said Brown, 'he'll be here; I saw him yesterday evening.'\n\n\"They then discoursed about the matter in hand for some time, till\nfinding the chairman was about to proceed to business, Robertson's\nabsence was again reverted to.\n\n\"'I know he's come back,' said one, 'for I saw him standing at his own\ndoor as I passed last night.'\n\n\"'He can't have forgotten it,' said another.\n\n\"'Certainly not, for we spoke of it last night,' said Brown.\n\n\"'Perhaps he's ill,' suggested somebody.\n\n\"'Just send your man to Mr. Robertson's, and say we are waiting for\nhim,' said Brown to the landlord.\n\n\"The landlord left the room to do so; and, in the meantime, they\nproceeded to business.\n\n\"Presently, the landlord re-entered the room, saying, that Mrs.\nRobertson answered that her husband had not returned from Raasa, and\nthat she did not much expect he would be back till night.\n\n\"'Nonsense,' cried Brown, 'Why, I saw the man yesterday according to\nappointment, and had a long conversation with him.'\n\n\"'I am sure he's come back,' said one who had spoke before. 'I was\ncoming down the street on the other side of the way, and I saw him\nstanding at the door with his apron on. I should have crossed over to\nspeak to him, but I was in a hurry.'\n\n\"'It's extraordinary,' said the landlord: 'Mrs. Robertson declares he's\nnot come.'\n\n\"Some jokes were then passed about the apparent defection of Robertson\nfrom his spouse, and the meeting concluded their business without him,\nhis party being exceedingly annoyed at his absence, which they thought\nnot fair to the cause.\n\n\"'He should have given us his support.'\n\n\"'I suppose he has altered his opinions.'\n\n\"'Then he had better have said so.'\n\n\"'It struck me, certainly, that he was rather lukewarm on the subject\nwhen I talked to him last night; but on Tuesday I saw him just before he\nstarted, and he said he would not miss the meeting on any account. I'll\ngo and look after him and know what he means.'\n\n\"Accordingly, Brown proceeded to his friend's house, and found Mrs.\nRobertson and her children at dinner.\n\n\"'Weel,\" Mr. Brown,' she said, 'so your meeting's over.'\n\n\"'Aye,' said he, 'but where's Robertson? Why didn't he keep his word\nwith us?'\n\n\"'Why, you see, I dare say he meant to be back--indeed, I know he did:\nbut business won't be neglected, and I suppose he could not manage it.'\n\n\"'Do you mean to say he's not come back!' said Brown.\n\n\"'Sure, I do,' answered Mrs. R. 'Of course, he'd have been at the\nmeeting if he had.'\n\n\"'But people saw him last night, standing at his own door,' answered the\ncautious Brown.\n\n\"'Na, na, Mr. Brown, don't you believe that,' said Mrs. R., laughing;\nthey that say that had too much whiskey in their een.'\n\n\"The children laughed at the idea of anybody seeing their father when he\nwas at Raasa, and on the whole it was evident, that if John Robertson\nhad returned, it was unknown to his family. But what could be his reason\nfor so strange a proceeding, and why, if he wanted to evade the meeting,\nhad he needlessly shown himself at all? Why not really stay away from\nPortree?\n\n\"However, Robertson did not appear; and later in the day the landlord of\nthe Tun said to Brown, as he was passing the door, 'You must have been\nmistaken about seeing Mr. Robertson; the boat from Raasa is not come\nin.'\n\n\"'Then he must have come over by some other, for I not only saw him but\nwalked and talked with him. I can't think what he can mean by playing\nat Hide and Seek in this way?'\n\n\"'It's very extraordinary,' said the landlord, 'for I am expecting a\nhamper from Raasa; and so, hearing from you that Mr. Robertson was come,\nI went down to inquire about it; but they declare no boat of any sort\nhas come in these two days; the wind's right against them.'\n\n\"'I know the boat from Raasa is not come back,' said the porter; 'for I\nsaw Jenny McGill just now, and she says her husband is not returned.'\n\n\"'Really you'll persuade me that I'm not in my right senses,' said the\nperplexed Brown. 'If ever I saw Robertson in my life I saw him last\nnight; I was going to call upon him, as he had asked me to do so before\nhe went away; but I met him, not far from my own house; and what is\nmore, he told me of a thing I did not know before, regarding a purchase\nhe had made, and spoke of what he intended to do with it.'\n\n\"'It's most extraordinary,' said the landlord.\n\n\"'Eh, sirs,' said an old fishwife, who was standing by, 'I wish it may\nnot be John Robertson's ghaist that ye saw, for the wind's sair agin\nthem, and I'd a bad dream about Jamie McGill last night.'\n\n\"They all laughed; but this was the first suggestion of the sort that\nhad been made; and though he would not confess it, Brown began to feel\nrather uncomfortable; the more so as several things were recalled to his\nmemory that had not struck him at the time. He remembered that Robertson\nhad avoided shaking hands with him, either on meeting or parting, as was\nhis wont; he had even then been struck with the grave tone of his\nconversation, and with his choosing that particular moment for pressing\non his friend's attention what did not appear to have any urgent\ninterest at present. Then it occurred to him that he looked ill and\nsad--he had attributed this to fatigue; but now, putting everything\ntogether, he could not help feeling a considerable degree of uneasiness.\nHe kept hovering about Robertson's house, and from that to the shore all\nday; went to bed at night quite nervous; and by the next afternoon the\nalarm had spread and become universal. It was not without cause.\n\n\"John Robertson never came back; the boat had been lost--how, was not\nknown, as all on board had perished. However, Mr. Brown took upon\nhimself to be the friend and guardian of the bereaved family; and the\ninformation he received in that melancholy interview he was enabled to\nturn much to the advantage of their circumstances.\"\n\n\"A very remarkable story,\" said I.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Dr. W. \"very remarkable indeed, if true.\"\n\n\"And is it not true,\" I said, \"remember, we are upon honour; I should\nthink it a very ill compliment if any one attempted to mystify us with\nan invented story.\"\n\n\"I did not invent it, I assure you,\" replied Dr. W.; \"I give it you as\nit was given to me on the spot. If you ask me if I believe it, I can't\nsay I do.\"\n\n\"Do you think the people who told you believed it?\"\n\n\"They certainly appeared to do so.\"\n\n\"And did it seem generally believed?\"\n\n\"I can't say but it did; but of course, one must have wonderfully strong\nevidence before one could believe such a thing as that.\"\n\n\"Granted; but unless you had seen the thing yourself, you cannot have\nstronger evidence of a phenomenon of that description, than that it was\nbelieved by those who had good reason to know the grounds of their\nbelief. They were able to judge how far Mr. Brown was worthy of credit;\nand they had the advantage of having witnessed his demeanour at the\npublic meeting, when he asserted that he had walked and talked with\nRobertson, at a time he could not possibly know if he was telling a lie,\nthat the man would not sooner or later return to confute him. Besides,\nas far as we see, it would have been a useless and wicked lie, inasmuch\nas it was calculated to make the man's family very uneasy. His\nsubsequent conduct does not at all countenance the persuasion that he\nwas capable of such a proceeding.'\n\n\"Certainly not; but you know the Scotch are very superstitious.\"\n\n\"I can't agree with you; the higher and lower classes of the towns are\nexactly similar in that respect to the same classes of England. In all\ncountries the lower classes are more disposed to put faith in these\nthings, because they believe in their traditions and adhere to the axiom\nthat seeing is believing. The higher classes, on the other hand, are\ncarefully educated not to believe in such traditions and to reject the\naxiom that seeing is believing, if the thing seen is a ghost. Now I\nfreely admit, that our senses often deceive us, and that we think we see\nwhat we do not; every body with the slightest intelligence has, I\nsuppose, learnt to distrust his own senses to a certain extent; but why\non one particular point we should reject their evidence altogether, I\nnever could understand.\"\n\n\"You have heard, I suppose of spectral illusions?\" said the Doctor.\n\n\"Of course I have, and admit their existence; but we have so many cases\non our side, that doctrine will not cover, and it is so impossible for\nyou to prove that any particular case of ghost seeing falls under that\nhead, that it is no use discussing the subject. It complicates the\ndifficulty I confess, but can never decide the question. I was going to\nsay, however, that the shopkeepers and middle classes of Scotland are\nanything but what you mean by superstitious--the class to whom Brown and\nRobertson belong, is the most hardheaded, argumentative, and matter of\nfact in the kingdom; and their religion, which is eminently\nunimaginative, so far from inducing a belief in ghosts, would have a\nprecisely opposite tendency, because ghosts do not form an article of\nbelief in either the longer or shorter catechism. In the remoter\ndistricts of the Highlands, the people are said to have more of what you\nwould call superstition; but the same peculiarity is remarked in all\nmountainous regions; and as it has never been satisfactorily accounted\nfor, we will not enter into the discussion now.\"\n\n\n\n\nROUND THE FIRE.\n\nSECOND EVENING.\n\n\n\"After the doctor's story, I fear mine will appear too trifling,\" said\nMrs. M., \"but as it is the only circumstance of the kind that ever\nhappened to myself, I prefer giving it you to any of the many stories I\nhave heard.\n\n\"About fifteen years ago, I was staying with some friends at a\nmagnificent old seat in Yorkshire, and our host being very much crippled\nwith the gout, was in the habit of driving about the park and\nneighbourhood in a low pony phaeton, on which occasions, I often\naccompanied him. One of our favourite excursions was to the ruins of an\nold abbey just beyond the park, and we generally returned by a\nremarkably pretty rural lane leading to the village, or rather, small\ntown of C.\n\n\"One fine summer's evening we had just entered this lane, when seeing\nthe hedges full of wild flowers, I asked my friend to let me alight and\ngather some; I walked on before the carriage picking honeysuckles and\nroses as I went along, till I came to a gate that led into a field. It\nwas a common country gate, with a post on each side, and on one of these\nposts sat a large white cat, the finest animal of the kind I had ever\nseen; and as I have a weakness for cats, I stopt to admire this sleek,\nfat puss, looking so wonderfully comfortable in a very uncomfortable\nposition; the top of the post on which it was sitting, with its feet\ndoubled up under it, being out of all proportion to its body, for no\nAngola ever rivalled it in size.\n\n\"'Come on, gently,' I called to my friend, 'here's such a magnificent\ncat!' for I feared the approach of the phaeton would startle it away\nbefore he had seen it.\n\n\"'Where?' said he, pulling up his horse opposite the gate.\n\n\"'There,' said I, pointing to the post, 'Isn't it a beauty; I wonder if\nit would let me stroke it!'\n\n\"'I see no cat,' said he.\n\n\"'There on the post,' said I, but he declared he saw nothing, though\npuss sat there in perfect composure during this colloquy.\n\n\"'Don't you see the cat, James,' said I, in great perplexity to the\ngroom.\n\n\"'Yes, ma'am; a large white cat on that post.'\n\n\"I thought my friend must be joking, or else losing his eye-sight, and I\napproached the cat, intending to take it in my arms, and carry it to the\ncarriage; but as I drew near, she jumped off the post, which was natural\nenough--but to my surprise she jumped into nothing--as she jumped she\ndisappeared! no cat in the field--none in the lane--none in the ditch!\n\n\"'Where did she go, James?'\n\n\"'I don't know, ma'am, I can't see her,' said the groom, standing up in\nhis seat, and looking all round.\n\n\"I was quite bewildered; but still I had no glimmering of the truth; and\nwhen I got into the carriage again, my friend said he thought I and\nJames were dreaming, and I retorted that I thought he must be going\nblind.\n\n\"I had a commission to execute as we passed through the town, and I\nalighted for that purpose at the little haberdasher's; and while they\nwere serving me, I mentioned that I had seen a remarkably beautiful cat\nsitting on a gate in the lane; and asked if they could tell me who it\nbelonged to, adding, it was the largest cat I ever saw.\n\n\"The owners of the shop, and two women who were making purchases,\nsuspended their proceedings, looked at each other, and then looked at\nme, evidently very much surprised.\n\n\"'Was it a white cat, ma'am?' said the mistress.\n\n\"'Yes, a white cat; a beautiful creature and--'\n\n\"'Bless me!' cried two or three, 'the lady's seen the _White Cat of C._\nIt hasn't been seen these twenty years.'\n\n\"'Master wishes to know if you'll soon be done, ma'am? The pony is\ngetting restless,' said James.\n\n\"Of course, I hurried out, and got into the carriage, telling my friend\nthat the cat was well known to the people at C., and that it was twenty\nyears old.\n\n\"In those days, I believe, I never thought of ghosts, and least of all\nshould I have thought of the ghost of a cat; but two evenings\nafterwards, as we were driving down the lane, I again saw the cat in the\nsame position, and again my companion could not see it, though the groom\ndid. I alighted immediately, and went up to it. As I approached, it\nturned its head, and looked full towards me with its soft, mild eyes,\nand a kindly expression, like that of a loving dog; and then, without\nmoving from the post, it began to fade gradually away, as if it were a\nvapour, till it had quite disappeared. All this the groom saw as well as\nmyself; and now there could be no mistake as to what it was. A third\ntime, I saw it in broad daylight, and my curiosity greatly awakened, I\nresolved to make further inquiries amongst the inhabitants of C., but\nbefore I had an opportunity of doing so, I was summoned away by the\ndeath of my eldest child, and I have never been in that part of the\nworld since. However, I once mentioned the circumstance to a lady who\nwas acquainted with that neighbourhood, and she said she had heard of\nthe White Cat of C., but had never seen it.\n\n\"But as you may not think this story very interesting since it only\nrelates to a cat, I will, if you please, tell you another, in which I\nwas concerned, although I saw nothing myself.\"\n\n\"We shall be very happy,\" I said, \"but I am far from thinking your story\nwanting in interest, in fact, to me it has a very peculiar interest.\nThere are few friends so sincere as the animals who have loved us, and\nnone that I, for my part, more earnestly desire to see again. I have had\ntwo dogs, in my life, who contributed much to my happiness while they\nlived, and never caused me a sorrow till they died. Besides, there is a\ndeep mystery in the being of these creatures, which proud man never\nseeks to unravel, or condescends to speculate on. What is their relation\nto the human race? Why are these spiritual germs embodied in those forms\nand made subject to man, that hard and cruel master! who assumes to be\ntheir superior, because he is endowed with some higher faculties, the\nmost of which he grossly misuses. How beautiful are their characters\nwhen studied? how wonderful their intelligence when cultivated? how\nwilling they are to serve us when kindly treated? But man, by his\ncruelty, ignorance, laziness, and want of judgment, spoils their temper,\nblunts their intelligence, deteriorates their nature, and then punishes\nthem for being what he himself has made them. Well might Chalmers\nexclaim, 'All nature groans beneath the cruelty of man.' Why are these\ncreatures, sinless, as far as we see, placed here as the subjects of\nthis barbarous, unthinking tyrant? That has always appeared to me a\nsolemn question.\"\n\nAfter this little digression, Mrs. M. continued as follows:--\n\n\"I had been travelling on the continent, and was staying at Brussels on\nmy way home. The bedroom I occupied was within another, in which slept\nmy faithful maid, Rachel, and one of my children. I had been in bed\nsometime, and had not been to sleep, when I heard Rachel's voice, saying\nsomething which I did not distinctly hear, and before I could ask what\nit was, she uttered a cry that immediately brought me to her bedside. I\nfound her in a state of violent agitation, and as soon as she was\ncomposed enough to speak, she told me that she had not been long in bed\nwhen she heard a voice call her, which she supposed to be mine, and\nimmediately afterwards, in the glass which was opposite the foot of the\nbed, she saw a figure in white, enter and proceed to the other end of\nthe room. She concluded it was me in my night dress, and that I had only\nmentioned her name to ascertain if she was awake, fearing to disturb the\nchild, who was restless, she lay still, and did not answer. The figure\nwent back through the door, but presently returned again, and seemed to\nbe looking about for something, whereupon she half sat up in bed; when\nit approached, and laid its hand heavily on her knee, there was\nsomething painful in the pressure, and she exclaimed, 'Oh, don't do that\nma'am!' but she had scarcely uttered the words when she discerned the\nfeatures, and saw it was her sister. The phantom looked sadly at her,\nand then retreating to the opposite corner, disappeared. This\ncircumstance, in spite of my arguments and suggestions that it was a\ndream, made a very painful impression on her; she felt sure some\nmisfortune had happened, and so it proved; her sister had died on that\nnight, leaving a family of young children, about whom, in her last\nmoments, she was very anxious.\"\n\n\"Cases of that sort are very numerous,\" said Lady A., \"I know of two\nwhich I can give upon perfectly good authority. A friend of mine was\nsitting a few years since in the drawing room at her country seat; there\nwas a door at each end, leading to other rooms, both of which were open.\nA slight rustle caused her to raise her eyes from her work, when she saw\nher nephew enter at one door, walk straight through, and out at the\nother. The young man was at college, and she had no reason to expect\nhim then, but concluding some unforeseen business had brought him, and\nthat he was in search of her, she called--'Arthur, here I am,' and\npursued him into the adjoining room, and then into the hall. Receiving\nno answer, and not being able to find him in any direction, she rang for\nthe servants, and inquired where he was; but they did not know; they had\nseen nothing of him. She insisted he had arrived, and he was sought for\nall over the house and grounds in vain. The thing remained perfectly\nincomprehensible, till the post brought a letter, announcing that the\nyoung man had been drowned on that day.\n\n\"Another instance, equally well established, is that of Dr. C., of\nDublin. He resided with his family some few miles from the city, I\nbelieve, at or near Howth, and when he returned in the evening after\nvisiting his patients, he frequently, to save time, took a short cut\nacross some sands, which in certain states of the tide were not always\nsafe. Mrs. C. had often entreated him to relinquish this practice, and\ntake the more circuitous way; but he thought he was too well acquainted\nwith the place to run any danger. One evening that they were expecting\nhim, as usual, to dinner, his brother, who was standing at the window,\nsaw him arrive; he rode a white horse, and was therefore a conspicuous\nobject. When the dinner hour came, as he had not appeared in the drawing\nroom, his brother and Mrs. C., to whom the latter had mentioned having\nseen him, desired the servants to seek him in his dressing room, and ask\nif he was ready. He was not in his room, nor was he any where to be\nfound; neither had any of the servants seen him, nor was his horse in\nthe stable. Mr. C., however, confident of his arrival, suggested that he\nmight be gone to visit some sick person in the neighbourhood; so they\nwaited. But in vain; news presently arrived that horse and man had been\ndrowned that evening in crossing the sands.\"\n\nThere was scarcely any one present unacquainted with examples of this\nkind of appearance amongst their family or friends, but Captain L.\nrelated to us a case still more curious and unaccountable that had\nhappened to himself in India when he was in the Himalaya.\n\n\"I was just finishing my breakfast one morning,\" said he, \"when my\nservant entered and announced a visitor. It was Captain P. B. of ours,\nwho came to invite me to a game of billiards. Our billiard-room was\nsituated about a mile beyond my quarter, and Captain B., who lived at\nthe other extremity, had to pass my residence to go to it.\n\n\"'Are you going up there now?' I said.\n\n\"'Yes,' said he; 'will you come?'\n\n\"'Why, I can't come directly,' I answered; 'for I have a letter to write\nfirst; but if you'll go on, I'll join you presently.'\n\n\"He left me, and as soon as I had written my letter, I started for the\nbilliard-room. When I entered it, Captain P. B. was not there, nor,\nindeed, anybody but the marker--which was not surprising, as it was\nearlier than we usually went there.\n\n\"'Where's Captain B?' I said.\n\n\"'Don't know, sir; he has not been here yet.'\n\n\"'Not been here?'\n\n\"'No, sir, not to-day.'\n\n\"Thinking, that as I was not ready, he had filled up the interval by\ngoing somewhere else, I began knocking about the balls; every now and\nthen looking out of the window, expecting to see him approach; but when\nthis had lasted upwards of two hours, I began to be rather impatient,\nand was just thinking of going away, when I saw him approaching with his\nwife in an open carriage from an opposite direction.\n\n\"'A pretty fellow you are, to keep me kicking my heels here waiting for\nyou,' said I, as he entered the room.\n\n\"'Keep you waiting!' he said; 'I have not kept you waiting.'\n\n\"'Why, I've been here these two hours and more.'\n\n\"'How was I to know that; I did not know you were coming up here.'\n\n\"'Why, I told you I'd come as soon as I had finished my letter.'\n\n\"'My dear fellow, what are you talking about?' exclaimed my friend, in\nevident surprise; 'when did you tell me so? I don't recollect making any\nappointment to meet you to-day.'\n\n\"'What! not this morning, as you were passing my quarter?' said I,\namazed in my turn. 'Didn't you ask me to come and play a game at\nbilliards; and didn't I tell you I'd come as soon as I had finished my\nletter? and I did.'\n\n\"P. B. looked at me as if he thought I'd suddenly become insane; but as\nI suppose my countenance did not confirm that impression, he said,\n'Here's some mistake; when do you suppose I made this appointment with\nyou?'\n\n\"'Suppose!' I answered, rather indignant; 'what do you mean by\n_suppose_? Didn't you come into my quarter about three hours ago, just\nas I was finishing breakfast, and ask me to come up here and play a game\nat billiards with you?'\n\n\"'No; it must have been somebody else. Who gave you the message?'\n\n\"'Message! there was no message,' I answered, quite bewildered. 'You\ncame in yourself--you know you did. What's the use of trying to hoax\none?'\n\n\"'I don't know whether you are trying to hoax _me_,' replied P. B.; 'but\nupon my soul I have not been in your quarter to-day; nor have I seen you\nat all, till I entered this room. Moreover, I went with my wife at an\nearly hour to breakfast with Captain D., and we are now returning\nthence; and I told the coachman to set me down here as he passed.'\n\n\"This was most confounding; and as we were both equally positive in what\nwe asserted, we left the billiard-room together, and proceeded to take\nthe testimony of my servant. On being asked who he had introduced when I\nwas finishing breakfast, he unhesitatingly answered, Captain B. His\naccount, in short, coincided entirely with mine.\n\n\"'Now then,' said Captain B., 'as you have your witness, you must hear\nmine,' and we went on to his quarter, where I received the most\nsatisfactory and unimpeachable evidence, that what he said was correct.\nHe had left home with Mrs. B. at six o'clock, and gone by appointment to\nbreakfast with Captain D., who lived quite in a different direction to\nmy quarter; and Captain D. afterwards testified to his never having left\nhis house till he stept into the carriage with his wife.\n\n\"This event created a great sensation at the time; and people\nendeavoured by every means to explain it away, but nobody ever could.\nCaptain B. did not like it at all; and his wife and family were very\nmuch alarmed, but nothing ensued, and I believe he is alive and well at\nthis moment.\"\n\nWe next turned to Madame Von B., who said she knew so many cases of\nspiritual appearances, and occurrences of that nature, that she was\nrather perplexed by the abundance of her recollections. Amongst these\nshe selected the following on account of its singularity:--\n\n\"We resided a great deal on the continent before I was married, and my\nmother had a favourite maid, called Francoise, who lived with her many\nyears--a most trustworthy, excellent creature, in whom she had the\ngreatest confidence; insomuch, that when I married, being very young and\nvery inexperienced, as she was obliged to separate from me herself, she\ntransferred Francoise to my service, considering her better able to take\ncare of me than anybody else.\n\n\"I was living in Paris then, where Francoise, who was a native of Metz,\nhad some relations settled in business, whom she often used to visit.\nShe was generally very chatty when she returned from these people; for I\nknew all her affairs, and through her, all their affairs; and I took an\ninterest in whatever concerned her or hers.\n\n\"One Sunday evening, after she had been spending the afternoon with this\nfamily, observing that she was unusually silent, I said to her, while\nshe was undressing me, 'Well, Francoise, haven't you anything to tell\nme? How are your friends? Has Madame Pelletier got rid of her\n_grippe_?'\n\n\"Francoise started as if I had awakened her out of a reverie, and said,\n'Oh! oui, Madame; oui, merce; elle se porte bien aujourd'hui.'\n\n\"'And Monsieur Pelletier and the children, are they well?'\n\n\"'Oui, Madame, merci; ils se portent bien.'\n\n\"These curt answers were so unlike those she generally gave me, that I\nwas sure her mind was pre-occupied, and that something had happened\nsince we parted in the morning; so I turned round to look her in the\nface, saying '_Mais, qu'avez vous donc, Francoise? Qu'est ce qu'il y\na?_'\n\n\"Then I saw what I had not observed before, that she was very pale, and\nthat her cheeks had a glazed look, which showed that she had been\ncrying.\n\n\"'Mais, ma bonne Francoise,' I said; 'vous avez quelque chose--est il\narrive quelque malheur a Metz?'\n\n\"'C'est cela, Madame,' answered Francoise, who had a brother there whom\nshe had not seen for several years, but to whom she still continued\naffectionately attached. His name was Benoit, and he was in a good\nservice as garde forestier to a nobleman who possessed very extensive\nestates, _pres de chez nous_, as Francoise said. He had a wife and\nchildren; and some time before the period I am referring to, Francoise\nhad told me, with great satisfaction, that in order to make him more\ncomfortable, the Prince de M---- had given Benoit the privilege of\ngathering up all the dead wood in the forest to sell for firewood,\nwhich, as the estate was very large, rendered his situation extremely\nprofitable. When she said 'c'est cela, Madame,' Francoise, who had just\nencased me in my dressing gown, sunk into a chair, and having declared\nthat she was _bete, tres bete_, she gave way to a hearty good cry, after\nwhich, being somewhat relieved, she told me the following strange\nstory:--\n\n\"'You remember,' she said, 'that the prince was so good as to give\nBenoit all the dead wood of the forest--and a great thing it was for him\nand his family, as you will think, when I tell you it was worth upwards\nof two thousand francs a-year to him. In short, he was growing rich, and\nperhaps he was getting to think too much of his money and too little of\nthe _bon Dieu_--at all events, this privilege which the prince gave him\nto make him comfortable, and which made him a great man amongst the\nforesters, has been the cause of a dreadful calamity.'\n\n\"'How?' said I.\n\n\"'We never heard anything of what had happened,' said she, till\nyesterday, when Mons. Pelletier received a letter from Benoit's wife,\nand another from a cousin of ours, relating what I am going to tell you,\nand saying that both he and his family had wished to keep it secret; but\nthat was no longer possible.'\n\n\"'Well, and what has happened?'\n\n\"'La chose la plus incroyable! Eh bien, Madame; it appears that one day\nlast autumn, Benoit went out in the forest to gather the dead-wood. He\nhad his cart with him, and as he gathered it he bound it into faggots\nand threw it in the cart. He had extended his search this day to a\nremote part of the forest, and found himself in a spot he did not\nremember to have visited before; indeed, it was evident to him that he\nhad not, or he could not have escaped seeing an old wooden cross which\nwas lying on the ground, and had apparently fallen into that recumbent\nposition from old age. It was such a cross as is usually set up where a\nlife has been lost, whether by murder or suicide; or sometimes when\npoor wanderers are frozen to death or lost in the deep winter snows. He\nlooked about for the grave, but saw no indication of one; and he tried\nto remember if any catastrophe had happened there in his time, but could\nrecall none. He took up the cross and examined it. He saw that the wood\nwas decayed, and it bore such marks of antiquity, that he had no doubt\nthe person whose grave it had marked had died before he was born--it\nlooked as if it might be a hundred years old.\n\n\"'Eh bien,' said Francoise, wiping her eyes, into which the tears kept\nstarting, 'of course you will think that Benoit, or anybody in the world\nwho had the fear of God before his eyes, as he could not find the grave\nto replace it as it should be, would have laid it reverently down where\nhe had found it, saying a prayer for the soul of the deceased; but,\nalas! the demon of avarice tempted him, and he had not the heart to\nforego that poor cross, but bound it up into a faggot with the rest of\nthe dead wood he found there, and threw it into his cart!'\n\n\"'Well, Francoise,' said I, 'you know I am not a Catholic, but I respect\nthe custom of erecting these crosses, and I do think your brother was\nvery wrong; I suppose he has lost the prince's favour by such impious\ngreediness.'\n\n\"'Pire que ca! worse than that,' she replied. 'It appears that while he\nwas committing this wicked action, he felt an extraordinary chill come\nover him, which made him think that, though it had been a mild day, the\nevening must have suddenly turned very cold, and hastily throwing the\nfaggot into his cart, he directed his steps homeward. But walk as he\nwould, he still felt this chill down his back, so that he turned his\nhead to look where the wind blew from, when he saw, with some dismay, a\nmysterious-looking figure following close upon his footsteps. It moved\nnoiselessly on, and was covered with a sort of black mantle that\nprevented his discerning the features. Not liking its appearance, he\njumped into the cart and drove home as fast as he could, without looking\nbehind him; and when he got into his own farmyard he felt quite\nrelieved, particularly, as when he alighted he saw no more of this\nunpleasant-looking stranger. So he began unloading his cart, taking out\nthe faggots, one by one, and throwing them upon the ground; but when he\nthrew down the one that contained the cross, he received a blow upon\nhis face, so sharp that made him stagger and involuntarily shout aloud.\nHis wife and children were close by, but there was no one else to be\nseen; and they would have disbelieved him and fancied he had\naccidentally hit himself with the faggot, but that they saw the distinct\nmark on his cheek of a blow given with an open hand. However, he went\ninto supper perplexed and uncomfortable; but when he went to bed this\nfearful phantom stood by his side, silent and terrible, visible to him,\nbut invisible to others. In short, madame, this awful figure haunted him\ntill, in spite of his shame, he resolved to consult our cousin Jerome\nabout it.'\n\n\"But Jerome laughed, and said it was all fancy and superstition. 'You\ngot frightened at having brought away this poor devil's cross, and then\nyou fancy he's haunting you,' said he.\n\n\"But Benoit declared that he had thought nothing about the cross, except\nthat it would make fire wood, and that he had no more believed in ghosts\nthan Jerome; 'but now,' said he, 'something must be done. I can get no\nsleep and am losing my health; if you can't help me, I must go to the\npriest and consult him.'\n\n\"'Why don't you take back the cross and put it where you found it,' said\nJerome.\n\n\"'Because I am afraid to touch it and dare not go to that part of the\nforest.'\n\n\"'So Jerome who did not believe a word about the ghost, offered to go\nwith him and replace the cross. Benoit gladly accepted, more especially,\nas he said he saw the apparition standing even then beside him,\napparently, listening to the conversation. Jerome laughed at the idea;\nhowever, Benoit lifted the cross reverently into the cart and away they\nwent into the forest. When they reached the spot, Benoit pointed out the\ntree under which he had found it; and as he was shaking and trembling,\nJerome took up the cross and laid it on the ground, but as he did so he\nreceived a violent blow from an invisible hand, and at the same moment\nsaw Benoit fall to the ground. He thought he had been struck too, but it\nafterwards appeared that he had fainted from having seen the phantom\nwith its upraised hand striking his cousin. However, they left the cross\nand came away; but there was an end to Jerome's laughter, and he was\nafraid the apparition would now haunt him. Nothing of the sort happened;\nbut poor Benoit's health has been so shaken by this frightful\noccurrence that he cannot get the better of it; his friends have advised\nchange of scene, and he is coming to Paris next week.'\n\n\"This was the story Francoise told me, and in a few days I heard he had\narrived and was staying with Mons. Pelletier; but the shock had been too\ngreat for his nerves, and he died shortly after. They assured me that\nprevious to that fatal expedition into the forest, he had been a hale,\nhearty man, totally exempt from superstitious fancies of any sort; and\nin short, wholly devoted to advancing his worldly prosperity and getting\nmoney.\"\n\n\n\n\nROUND THE FIRE.\n\nTHIRD EVENING.\n\n\n\"I don't know that I could tell you anything interesting in the way of\nGhost Stories; I have never attended to them, though I have heard a\ngreat many,\" said Colonel C.; \"but I can tell you an extraordinary\ncircumstance which may, perhaps, be considered of a spiritual nature,\nand which I can myself vouch for the truth of.\n\n\"My father, when I was young, resided in the South of England--I shall\nnot give the name of the place, nor of the people immediately concerned,\nif these stories are to be published; because, for anything I know, some\npersons may survive to whom the publication might give pain; I lived\nthere with him and my mother and sisters. Our house was on the road\nbetween two large towns, situated about eight miles distant from each\nother; and though we had a little ground and a short avenue in front, we\nwere not more than half a quarter of a mile from the highway. When all\nwas still, we could distinctly hear the carts and carriages as they\npassed, and even distinguish by the sound of the wheels what kind of\nvehicle it was. There was a carrier that plied between these two towns,\nwhom I will call Healy, and as everything we used we had from B., he was\ngenerally at our house three or four times a week; in short, he did our\nmarketings, in a great degree; my mother giving him an order, as he\npassed, for what he was to bring back; and many a time Healy has\nsmuggled a novel from the circulating library for my sisters, or done\nlittle commissions for me that I could not so well manage for myself.\nAll this made him a popular character with us, for he was very obliging;\nbut for all that, he did not bear the best of characters. It was his\ninterest to be well with us, and the gentry in general, who were his\ncustomers; and he understood that too well to incur our ill-will; but by\nhis equals and inferiors he was looked upon with a less favourable eye.\nThey had nothing very positive to allege against him; but they thought\nhim a hard, griping, greedy man, who was honest in his dealings with us\nbecause the slightest suspicion would have ruined his trade, but who\nwould take an advantage when he thought no possible damage to himself\ncould accrue from it. He was about forty years of age; tall, with a long\nface, prominent nose, and dark complexion; his shoulders were round, but\nhis frame was wiry, and he was reputed very strong.\n\n\"One evening, between thirty and forty years ago, towards the beginning\nof winter, we were expecting Healy--my mother was solicitous about some\nprovisions she had ordered for an approaching dinner-party; and I was\nvery anxious for the arrival of a cricket-bat that I wanted for use the\nday after the next. Of course, long before the time he usually arrived,\nI was looking out for him, and fancying him late; I said, 'I wondered\nHealy was not come!' Upon which my father looked at his watch, and found\nthat it wanted full half-an-hour of his time, which was nine o'clock;\nsometimes, indeed, later, but never earlier. It was then exactly\nhalf-past eight; and before my father had returned his watch into his\npocket, one of my sisters exclaimed, 'Here he is!' and we heard the\nwheels coming up the avenue--we should have heard him before, but two\nof my sisters were practising a duet, which was to be produced at the\napproaching festivity, and drowned the sound.\n\n\"Thereupon, I and my mother left the room, and went towards the back\ndoor, where Healy had just alighted, and was bringing sundry packages\ninto the kitchen.\n\n\"'Have you got my bat, Healy?' said I.\n\n\"'No, sir,' he replied; 'there wasn't one in the whole town the size you\nwanted; but I'll bring you one from S. as I pass to-morrow. I know\nthey've got 'em there. I believe that's all, Ma'am?' he added,\naddressing my mother.\n\n\"She said she believed it was, and was going to pay him his week's\naccount, which she had asked for, but he hurried out, saying, 'Another\ntime, if you please, Ma'am; I'm rather late to-night;' and he was in his\ncart and away before I had time to give him some directions in regard to\nthe bat.\n\n\"'What a hurry he's in!' I said; 'and it wants almost twenty minutes to\nnine now.'\n\n\"'I suppose he has a great many places to stop at,' said my mother; 'if\nhe don't get all his parcels delivered before people are gone to bed, he\ngets into trouble sometimes. He's a very punctual fellow certainly.'\n\n\"We returned to the drawing-room, and resumed our occupations; and about\nhalf-an-hour afterwards--happening to be all silent at the moment, we\nheard a pair of light wheels and a brisk trotting horse passing in the\nroad.\n\n\"'That's farmer Gould's mare, I'm sure,' said I. 'What a famous trotter\nshe is!'\n\n\"'Yes,' said my father; 'I wish he'd part with her. I made him an offer\nthe other day. I should like her for my buggy.'\n\n\"'And what did he say? Won't he sell her?'\n\n\"'He said nothing--he only laughed, and shook his fat sides.'\n\n\"'Money is no object to him,' said my mother, 'he won't part with her\nunless he gets another he likes better.'\n\n\"We breakfasted at nine o'clock, and I was getting up, and about half\ndressed, when one of my sisters burst into my room, crying, 'La! Fred.,\nsuch a shocking thing has happened! poor Farmer Gould was found dead in\nthe road this morning; they think his horse ran away, for it's not to\nbe found; and the chaise was upset and lying on its side. How lucky,\npapa did not get the mare!'\n\n\"'Who says so?' said I.\n\n\"'The postman;' she answered, 'he saw some labourers standing round\nsomething in the road; and when he came up to them, he found it was the\nchaise, and poor farmer Gould quite dead beside it!'\n\n\"When I got down stairs I found the whole house occupied with the\nsubject of this sad accident, all lamenting the good man, who was a\ngeneral favourite, and agreeing that, for so heavy a person, a\ntwo-wheeled carriage was very dangerous, as a fall was almost sure to be\nfatal.\n\n\"My father said when he had finished his letters and papers he would\nwalk up to the farm, and see if he could be of any use to poor Mrs.\nGould; I, with the curiosity of fifteen, begged to go with him; and my\nmother improved the occasion by giving the governor a serious lecture\nabout his love for high-trotting horses and buggies.\n\n\"I expected Healy with my bat about eleven o'clock, as he had nothing\nelse to bring, I knew he wouldn't come up the avenue, but leave it at a\ncottage near our gate; and wishing to learn if he'd heard any\nparticulars about the accident, I walked down to meet him when the hour\napproached. Presently, I saw him coming, sitting in front of his cart.\n\n\"'Well, Healy,' I said, 'isn't this a shocking thing about poor Farmer\nGould? You've heard he was found dead in the road this morning?'\n\n\"'Yes, Sir, the mare ran away, and pitched him out upon his head; I\ncan't say as ever I liked her myself; but I've got your bat, Master\nFrederick; a nice un too; I wouldn't come away this morning till I'd got\nit.'\n\n\"I thanked him, and he drove on, as if he had no time to lose in gossip,\nwhile I was untying the string of my parcel.\n\n\"By the time my father and I reached Gould's farm, the doctor had\narrived from B., and we heard he was examining the body in the parlour,\nwhere it had been laid by the labourers who found it. The chaise, too,\nwas standing near the door, just as it had been wheeled up, and the\nmare, they told us, had been found in a neighbouring field, with the\nharness hanging about her, and unhurt, except on the forehead, where\nshe appeared to have had a violent blow. The farm men, standing about,\nsaid, that she had no doubt taken her head, and ran foul of something,\nand so pitched out Mr. Gould, and overturned the chaise; which seemed\nlikely enough.\n\n\"My father said, he should like to see Mr. Wills, the surgeon; so we\nstood about outside till he came. When he did, he looked very grave, as,\nindeed, befitted the occasion; but in answer to my father's inquiries,\nhe said, that he could give no decided opinion of the cause of death\ntill he had investigated the case further; and then he proceeded to\nexamine the chaise, and next the horse. He then walked with us down to\nthe spot where the thing had happened, and narrowly surveyed the ground;\nbut he was very uncommunicative, which, as we knew him well, rather\nsurprised us. He hurried away, saying, that he must prepare for the\ninquest on the following day.\n\n\"My father went to the inquest; and I should have liked to go, too, but\nI was engaged to play a match at cricket with a few of my young\nneighbours. However, I was home first, for the inquest lasted a long\ntime, and took a very unexpected turn.\n\n\"It appeared that Mr. Wills, who was by marriage a connexion of Gould's\nwife, had suspected on the first examination of the body that the farmer\nhad not come fairly by his end. It so happened that Gould had dined with\nhim the last day he was at B., and had mentioned to him that he had 'at\nlast got that seventy pounds that he was afraid he should never see;'\nalluding to some money that had been long owing to him; and as he spoke,\nhe drew from his pocket a bundle of notes, some of which appeared to be\nof the Bank of England, and some of country banks. As soon, therefore,\nas Wills had arrived at certain conclusions, he inquired of Mrs. Gould\nif she had found his money safe.\n\n\"In her grief and surprise it had not occurred to her to search--and\nindeed she was not aware of his having any sum of importance about him.\nThey proceeded immediately to examine his pockets, but no notes were\nthere; a few shillings, a silver watch, and some unconsidered trifles,\nwere all that was found about him. Mr. Wills made inquiries at the\nbanker's and others, at B., and by the time the inquest sat he was\nprepared to say, that there was every reason to think that Mr. Gould had\nhad this money in his waistcoat pocket, where he had seen him deposit\nit, at the time he left to return home.\n\n\"This presented quite a new view of the case to the coroner, who had\ncome there without the slightest suspicion of anything beyond an\naccident. The labourers were examined as to the attitude in which they\nhad discovered the body, which, they all agreed, was lying on its face;\nand indeed there were some stains from the dirt of the road, which\ntestified to this being the case; yet, according to Mr. Wills, death had\nbeen occasioned by a terrible blow on the back of the head which had\nfractured the skull; and which, in his opinion, was inflicted by a heavy\nbludgeon. The man's hair was very thick behind; but on dividing it a\nwound was visible, from which a small quantity of blood had oozed and\ndried up.\n\n\"After a long investigation, the inquest was adjourned for a few days in\norder that further evidence might be collected. We were all much excited\nabout this affair; it formed the staple of conversation at our dinner\nparty, and various were the conjectures formed as to who was the\ncriminal, if criminal there were; for some thought it possible that\nGould had fallen on his back in the first instance, and then got upon\nhis legs, and fallen a second time on his face; but Mr. Wills was\nconfident the death wound was not the result of a fall; and besides,\nwhere was the money? Then all agreed, that if he had been robbed, it was\nby no ordinary thief; it must have been by some one who knew the sum he\nhad in his pocket, and who did not care for the loose silver and the\nwatch.\n\n\"'No doubt,' said my father, 'they will find out if anybody was present\nwhen the money was paid to him, or he may have told somebody of it, as\nhe told Wills.'\n\n\"We had so many things provided for the party, that for two or three\ndays we wanted nothing of Healy and did not see him; but the servants\nhaving mentioned that they wanted soap for the next week's washing, my\nmother sent a note to the cottage, where he always stopt to enquire for\norders, desiring him to bring some on his return, and also a barrel of\nbeer for the use of the kitchen.\n\n\"When I heard the cart coming up the avenue, I went to the back door, to\nhave a little gossip.\n\n\"'Well Healy,' said I, as he rolled in the barrel of beer; have you\nheard any news?'\n\n\"'No sir,' said he.\n\n\"'Nothing about farmer Gould?' I asked.\n\n\"'No sir, nothing. Shall I put the beer in the cellar?' he enquired.\n\n\"This question being answered, I said, 'Did you meet anybody on the road\nthat night?'\n\n\"'Lord, sir, I meet loads of people as I never take any notice of. I've\nenough to do to mind my own business.'\n\n\"'You couldn't have been far off when he was attacked--for you know Mr.\nWills says he's been killed by a blow on the back of the head, don't\nyou?'\n\n\"'Well, sir, I've heard so; but how should he know? He wasn't there, I\nsuppose. Anything else wanted, sir?'\n\n\"'I believe not, Healy,' I said; and he got into his cart and drove away\nwhile I went back to the drawing-room.\n\n\"'What does Healy say?' asked my father. 'Has he heard anything new\nabout this affair?'\n\n\"'No, he says he hasn't, but he said very little and seemed rather\nsulky, I thought.'\n\n\"'By the bye, he couldn't have been far off when the thing happened; for\nhe had only been gone half-an-hour when we recognized the step of poor\nGould's mare I recollect, and she'd soon overtake him.'\n\n\"'So I told him; and I asked him if he had met anybody on the road that\nnight, but he said he'd plenty to do to mind his own business.'\n\n\"My father who was reading the paper at the time, looked up at me over\nhis spectacles; and then fell into a reverie that lasted some minutes,\nbut he said nothing; my mother observed that she thought Healy ought to\nbe summoned as a witness; and my father rejoined, that no doubt he'd be\nexamined.\n\n\"On the following day the inquest was resumed; my father went early and\nhad some private conversation with Mr. Wills and I waited outside\namongst the assembled crowd, listening to their speculations and\nconjectures. Presently, the coroner arrived, and I went in with him and\nheard the whole of the evidence. That of Mr. Wills, and the labourers\nwho found the body was the same as before. Then, as my father had\nconjectured, Healy was called; his face was familiar to everybody in the\nroom, and there was not one I should think who was not struck with the\nsingularly sulky, dogged expression his features had assumed. There was\nno manifest reason for it, for he was only summoned like other\nwitnesses, and no breath of suspicion had been cast upon him; at least,\nas far as we had heard. But he evidently came in a spirit of resistance\nand wound up for self-defence. He declared that he had not overtaken Mr.\nGould on the night in question, and did not know he was on the road; nor\ndid he hear anything of what had happened till the next morning. He\nbelieved he had met some tramps on the road that night--two men and a\nwoman--but he had not particularly noticed them, and he did not\nrecollect meeting anybody else. He had first heard of the accident at a\nshop where he had gone to buy a bat for Master C. When he said this, he\nlooked up at me and our eyes met. I have often thought of that look\nsince.\n\n\"The next witness was Mr. F., who had paid Gould the seventy pounds in\nnotes; and then a Mr. H. B., a solicitor, came forward and volunteered\nthe following evidence, which, he said, he should have given before, but\nthat he had left home on the afternoon preceding this unfortunate\nbusiness, and had only returned yesterday. He was acquainted with Gould;\nand had met him at the door of the bank at B----, as he himself was on\nhis way to the coach that was starting for E. Gould spoke to him, and\nsaid he had just got that seventy pounds; and when he said so, he clapt\nhis hand on his pocket, implying it was there. He said, 'I came to pay\nit in here, but I see they're shut, and it does not signify; I shall\nhave to pay away a good deal of it next week;' this was all that passed,\nas I told him I must be off for I should lose the coach. Upon this, he\nwas asked if anybody else had been present when Gould made this\ncommunication. He answered, that people had been passing to and fro, but\nhe could not say whether they heard it. There was one person who he\nthought might, though he could not affirm that he did; and that was\nHealy, the carrier, who was standing at the door of the tanner's shop,\nwhich is next to the bank, and examining some cricket bats that he had\nin his hand. Gould had spoken loud, as was his wont.\n\n\"I saw Mr. Wills and my father exchange looks when this evidence was\ngiven, and then for the first time the question occurred to me, could\nHealy be the murderer? I could hardly entertain the suspicion--it is so\ndifficult to believe such a thing of a person one is having constant\nintercourse with. Healy was recalled and asked if he remembered seeing\nMr. Gould and the lawyer together on that day. He declared he did not.\n\n\"The harness was afterwards produced; and it appeared that the traces\nhad been cut, which was a strong confirmation of the worst suspicions.\n\n\"The inquest was once more adjourned; and Healy plied his trade as usual\nfor the next two days, though everybody had a strange feeling towards\nhim; and he retained his dogged, sulky look; on the third night we\nmissed him. We had expected a parcel from B----, but he did not come;\nand the next day we heard he had been arrested on suspicion of being the\nmurderer of Mr. Gould. A gentleman's servant, who had been out without\nleave to some festivity at B----, and had come home and got in at the\npantry window without being discovered, at last came forward, and said,\nthat as he was going to the rendezvous, he had seen a cart, which he\nbelieved to be Healy's, though it was very dark, drawn right across the\nroad; the horse was out of the shafts and tied to a gate, for he nearly\nran against him; he did not see any person with the cart, but the driver\nmight be behind it. It was just where there are some large trees\nover-hanging the road, which made it darker than in other parts; and a\nperson driving would not see the obstruction till he was on it. He\nhimself, thinking it was Healy, slipt quietly by, for he did not want to\nbe recognised, as the carrier often came to his master's, and might have\nbetrayed him. He met a one-horse carriage about a couple of miles\nfurther on; the horse was trotting pretty fast. He thought it was Mr.\nGould, but he could not positively say, as the night was so dark.\n\n\"The spot described was precisely where Mr. Gould's body was found; and\nthe man added, that it struck him when he met the gig, that if the cart\nhad not moved out of the way, there would be an accident, and he should\nhave warned the driver to look out, if he had not been upon a lark\nhimself.\n\n\"You may imagine the sensation created by this allegation in the\nneighbourhood, where the carrier was so well known. Till the spring\nassizes at E----, where he was to be tried, it furnished the staple of\nconversation, and every fresh bit of evidence, for or against him, was\neagerly repeated and canvassed. My father was summoned as a witness to\nthe hour at which Healy had been at our house that night, and also to\nthe recognising the foot of Mr. Gould's mare. The evidence was entirely\ncircumstantial, as nobody had witnessed the murder, though murder there\ncertainly had been; nor was there anybody else to whom suspicion could\nattach. As for the tramps Healy said he had met, no trace of them could\nbe found, nor did anyone appear to have seen such a party.\n\n\"When all the evidence had been heard, my father said he felt\nconsiderable doubt what the verdict would be, and he really believed the\njury were greatly perplexed; but when Healy stood up, and in the most\nsolemn manner said, 'I am innocent, my Lord! I call God to witness, I am\ninnocent! May this right arm wither if I murdered the man!' So great an\nimpression was made on the court, that, added to the prisoner's previous\ngood character, every body saw he would be acquitted.\n\n\"He was; Healy went forth a free man, and we were all too glad to\nbelieve in his innocence, to dispute the justice of the verdict; but lo!\nthe hand of the Lord was on him. He had called upon God to bear witness\nto his words; and he did. In three days from that time, Richard Healy's\nstalwart right arm was withered! The muscles shrunk; the skin dried up;\nand it looked like the limb of a mummy!\n\n\"Though a voice from Heaven testified against him, he could not be\narraigned again for the same crime, and he remained at liberty. He\nattempted for a short time to carry on his business, but people ceased\nto employ him; and his feeble arm could no longer lift the boxes and\nhampers with which his cart was wont to be loaded. He went about,\navoided by every one but his own immediate connexions. I often met him,\nbut he never looked me in the face; indeed, he rarely, if ever, raised\nhis eyes; his round shoulders grew rounder, till he came to stoop like\nan old man. He seemed to move under a heavy burthen that weighed him to\nthe earth.\n\n\"After an interval, however, he bought some property; and in his old\nage--for he survived his trial several years--he was in prosperous\ncircumstances. But everybody said, 'Where did he get the money?'\n\n\"We were all deeply interested in this singular story; and in reference\nto the withered arm, Colonel C. said, that he should certainly not have\nbelieved it had he not seen it himself.\n\n\"I think, said I, that it was not so difficult to account for the\nphenomenon as at first appears. Had he been innocent, the solemn\nadjuration he uttered in court would have been justifiable in the eyes\nof God and man, and would have occasioned him no concern afterwards; but\nhe was guilty; he had called upon God to bear witness to a lie, and,\ndoubtless, the consciousness of this sacrilegious appeal filled him with\nhorror and alarm. He would tremble lest his prayer should be heard and\nthe curse fall upon him. These terrors would direct all his thoughts to\nhis arm, and produce the very thing he feared; for Sir Henry Holland\nasserts that the mind is capable of acting upon the body to such a\ndegree, as sometimes to create disease in a particular part on which the\nattention is too intently fixed.\"\n\n\n\n\nROUND THE FIRE.\n\nFOURTH EVENING.\n\n\n\"The circumstance I am going to mention,\" said Sir Charles L., \"will\nappear very insignificant after these interesting narratives, but as it\nhappened very lately, you'll perhaps think it worth hearing.\n\n\"I was living a few months ago in an hotel, the owner of which died\nwhile I was there. He had an apoplectic seizure, and expired shortly\nafterwards. A week before this happened, at a time he was supposed to be\nin perfect health, an acquaintance of the family called, and without\ngiving any reason, requested his daughter not to attend a ball she was\nengaged to go to. The young lady did not take her advice; but the\nvisitor confided to another person that she had a particular reason for\nher request, which reason was as follows:--\n\n\"The night before she called, she and her husband had retired to bed in\na somewhat anxious state of mind respecting a near relative of theirs,\nwho was very ill, and whom they had been visiting. The husband, however,\nsoon fell asleep, but the wife lay thinking of the sick person, and the\nconsequences that would ensue if she died, when her reflections were\ninterrupted by seeing a bright spot of light suddenly appear upon the\nwall--that is, upon the wainscoat of her room. She looked about to see\nwhence it proceeded; there was no light burning, nor could any be\nreflected from the window; as she looked it increased in size, till, at\nlast, it was as large as the frame of a picture; then there began to\nappear in the frame a form, gradually developed, till there was a\nperfect head and face, hair and all, distinctly visible.\n\n\"Whilst this development was proceeding, she lay, as it were,\ntransfixed; she wanted to wake her husband, but she could neither speak\nnor move; at length she seemed to burst the bonds, and cried to him to\nlook, but as she spoke, the vision faded, and by the time he was\nsufficiently aroused there was nothing to be seen.\n\n\"Both he and she interpreted this occurrence into a bad omen for their\nsick relative, and augured very ill of her case; but the next morning,\nas she was standing in her shop, she saw the hotel keeper pass to\nmarket, and he nodded to her, whereupon she turned to her husband, and\nexclaimed--'That's the face I saw last night! Sure nothing can be going\nto happen to him!'\n\n\"I heard these circumstances from my servant; and the unexpected seizure\nand death occurred within a few days.\"\n\n\"When I was at Weimar, about two years ago,\" said Mademoiselle G., \"an\naccident occurred that occupied the attention of the whole place, and\nwhich seems to belong to the same class of phenomena as the story just\nrelated. The palace, called the Chateau, in Weimar, is at one end of the\npark, and at the other end is another chateau, called the Belvedere;\nboth are ducal residences, and an avenue runs from the one palace to the\nother. Opposite this avenue is the Russian chapel or Greek church--the\npresent Dowager Duchess being a sister of the Emperor Nicholas--and in\nfront of this chapel a sentinel is always posted.\n\n\"The Grand Duke, Charles Frederick, father of the present sovereign,\nwas, at the period I allude to, residing at the Belvedere not well in\nhealth, but by no means alarmingly ill, for had that been the case he\nwould have been brought into Weimar, where etiquette requires that the\nsovereign should make his first and last appearance in this world--there\nhe must be born, and there die, if possible.\n\n\"One night the sentinel, who was standing at the entrance of the Russian\nchapel, was surprised to see, in the far distance, a long procession\nwinding its way down the avenue from the Belvedere. As there was no stir\nin the town, for the night was far advanced, and as he had not heard of\nany solemnity in preparation, the man stared at it in mute wonder, but\nhis amazement was redoubled when it approached near enough for him to\ndistinguish the individual objects to perceive that it was a State\nfuneral, accompanied by the royal mourners, and all the pomp usual at\nthese ceremonies; the velvet pall bore the initials and arms of the\nduke, and following the bier was his favourite and well known horse, led\nby one of his attendants. Slowly and mournfully the procession moved on\ntill it reached the chapel; the doors opened to admit the cortege; it\npassed in; and as the doors closed on this mysterious vision the soldier\nfell to the ground, where he was found in a state of insensibility when\nthe guard was relieved.\n\n\"Of course, nobody believed his story; he was placed under arrest,\nseverely punished, and had a nervous fever that brought him to the brink\nof the grave.\n\n\"I was there when this happened, said Mademoiselle G., and it was the\ntalk of the town; almost everybody laughed at him; but five days\nafterwards the Duke fell suddenly ill, and was found to be in so\ndangerous a state, that the physicians forbade his being removed into\nthe town. He finally died at the Belvedere, and was buried in the\nRussian chapel, exactly in the manner pourtrayed by the shadowy forms\nseen by the sentinel, and there buried.\"\n\nWe all agreed that these rehearsals, if we may so call them, are amongst\nthe most perplexing of these very perplexing phenomena; a very curious\ncase of this description will be found in one of the letters inserted in\nthe Appendix.\n\n\"My sister-in-law, Lady S.,\" said Lady R., \"Told me, the other day,\nthat during her late residence in St. Petersburg, she was intimately\nacquainted with a Prussian lady of high rank, to whom the following\nstrange events occurred, an account of which she herself gave to my\nsister. This Prussian lady was sitting one morning in her boudoir, when\nshe heard a rustling sound in the ante-room, which was divided by a\n_portiere_ from the boudoir. The sound continuing, she rose and drew\naside the curtain to ascertain the cause, when, to her surprise, she saw\na very pale man, in a Chasseur's uniform, standing in the middle of the\nroom. She was about to speak to him, and inquire what he was doing\nthere, when he retreated towards the window and vanished. Greatly\nalarmed, she sought her husband, and related what had occurred; but he\nlaughed at her, and desired her not to expose herself to ridicule by\ntalking of it. Some days afterwards, whilst in the boudoir, she heard\nthe same rustling noise near her, and on looking up, she saw the figure\nof the Chasseur suspended in the air between the ceiling and the floor,\nwith his legs dangling in the air. A scream brought her husband, who was\nin the adjoining room, and he saw the figure as well as herself.\nNevertheless, the fear of ridicule kept them silent; but some time\nafterwards, when they had a party, one of the company exclaimed, 'Good\nHeavens! This, I remember, is the very room that unfortunate Chasseurs\nhung himself in!' And then they learned that the house had been\npreviously occupied by the Danish minister, and that a Chasseur in his\nservice had, from some cause or other, committed suicide.\"\n\n\"I don't know whether dreams are admissible,\" said Miss M.; \"but the\nsort of occurrences just related appear to me to be little removed from\nwaking dreams. I know two cases of extraordinary dreaming, the\nauthenticity of which I can answer for, if you would like to hear them.\"\nWe accepted gladly, and the lady began as follows:--\n\n\"My father was intimate with Mr. S.--whose name, perhaps, is known to\nyou as the particular friend of Mr. Spencer Percival. This gentleman,\nMr. S., when he was a young man, had one night a remarkable dream, that\nhe could not in any way account for--the circumstances having no\nrelation to any previous event, train of thought, or conversation\nwhatever.\n\n\"He found himself, in his dream, on horseback, in a very extensive\nforest; he was alone, evening was drawing on, and he sought some place\nwhere he could pass the night. After riding a little farther, he espied\nan inn; he rode up to it and alighted, asking if they could give him\nlodging for the night, and stabling for his horse. They said 'yes,' and\nconducted him to an upper chamber. He ordered some refreshments, when it\noccurred to him that he should like to see how his horse was faring; and\nhe descended, in order to find his way to the stables; in doing so, he\ngot a glimpse of some very ill-looking men in a side chamber, who seemed\nin close conference; moreover, he thought he saw weapons lying on the\ntable, and there were other circumstances which I do not precisely\nremember, the effect of which was to create alarm, and lead him to\nsuspect he had fallen into a _repaire de voleurs_.\n\n\"He saw his horse rubbed down and fed, and then re-ascended to take his\nrefreshment; betraying no suspicion of evil, but secretly resolved on\nflight. After his supper, he went down again, stood at the door, and\npretended to stroll about. When he saw an opportunity, he went round to\nthe stable, saddled his horse, and cautiously rode away. But he had not\ngone far, when he heard the tramp of horses' feet behind him, and from\nthe pace they came, he felt sure he was pursued. He urged his horse\nforward, but the animal was not fresh--he had done his day's work\nalready, and the pursuers were gaining on him, when he saw he was\napproaching a spot where two roads met. Which of the two should he\nfollow? He had nothing to guide him in his choice, and his life probably\ndepended on his decision! Suddenly, a voice whispered in his ear, 'Take\nthe right!' He did so, and shortly reached a house where he obtained\nshelter and protection.\n\n\"When he awoke, the circumstances of his dream were so vividly impressed\non his mind, that he could hardly believe the thing had not actually\nhappened. He related it to his friends; and, for some days, thought a\ngood deal of it; but he was just entering into active life, and the\nimpression soon faded before the varied interests that absorbed him; and\nthe strange dream was entirely forgotten.\n\n\"Many years afterwards, when he had reached middle age, he was\ntravelling in Germany, and in the course of an excursion he was making\nto see the country, he had occasion to cross a part of the\nSchwarzwald--the Black Forest. He was on horseback and alone; he reached\nan inn, the aspect of which he fancied was familiar to him. Here he\nthought he might conveniently pass the night; so he alighted, ordered\nhis supper, and then went to see his horse fed. On further acquaintance\nwith the place, he did not like the look of it, and he saw\nsuspicious-looking men hanging about. He resolved to seek another\nresting-place; and leaving some money on the table to pay for what he\nhad had, he went down stairs, and after lounging about a little,\nstrolled to the stable, saddled his horse, and rode off as quietly as he\ncould. But he was missed and pursued, he heard the tramp of the horses\nas they gained upon him. At this critical moment, he saw he was\napproaching a place where the roads divided; his life depended on which\nof the two he should take; suddenly, and strange to say, though he had\nmisty recollections of the scene, now for the first time, the dream of\nhis youth clearly and vividly recurred to him. He remembered the voice\nthat whispered, 'Take the right!' He obeyed the hint, and his pursuers\nsoon gave up the chase. He found a chateau about half-a-mile from the\nturning; the owner of which hospitably received him. His host said there\nhad been for some time unpleasant suspicions with regard to the inn in\nquestion; and that, if he had taken the left hand road, he would have\nbeen quite at their mercy.\"\n\nThis very curious dream reminded us of that of Dr. W., which I have\nrelated in the \"Night Side of Nature;\" who in the same manner was saved\nfrom the attack of an infuriated bull, in his dream, having been shown\nwhere to fly for safety; but the case is less remarkable than that of\nMr. S., as the dream occurred only the night before the danger presented\nitself.\n\n\"The other dream I alluded to,\" said Miss M., \"is less curious on that\naccount. Some friends of mine, who reside in the country, had an old\nnurse who had lived in the family many years, and for whom they had a\ngreat regard. When her services ceased to be required, she was settled\nin a cottage on the estate, where she lived very comfortably with her\nonly daughter. The daughter, however, married a man who kept a turnpike\nsome miles distant; and one morning, just as the family were leaving\nhome on some expedition, the old woman arrived in considerable\nagitation, saying that she had had a frightful dream about her daughter,\nand that she was going off immediately to the place where she lived. The\nladies endeavoured to dissuade her from walking all that way, merely on\naccount of a dream. But she said she could not rest, and must go. They\neven promised that if she would wait till the following day they would\ndrive her there in the carriage, in which there was now no room; if\nthere had been they would have taken her, as their road lay not far from\nthe spot.\n\n\"With this offer they left her and went their way; but her anxiety would\nnot permit her to wait; and shortly afterwards she set off and walked\nall the distance to the turnpike. The moment she arrived she saw reason\nto rejoice in her determination; she found her daughter alone, her\nhusband having been called away on business; and, said the young woman,\nI am dreadfully alarmed, for there is a quantity of money in the house.\nThe farmers are accustomed to bring the money for their rent here twice\na year, as it save them several miles, and the agent always comes to\nfetch it on the same day. But a letter to my husband has just arrived\nfrom the agent to say, he can't come till to-morrow. Knowing his hand, I\nopened it; and I am terrified, for the custom of leaving the money here\nis no secret; and if it should get wind that it has not been fetched\naway, heaven knows what may happen.\n\n\"The old woman then told her daughter that she had dreamed on the\npreceding night that some thieves had broken into the turnpike house,\nand robbed and murdered the inhabitants.\n\n\"But what were these two helpless women to do, mutually confirmed in\ntheir apprehensions as they naturally were? It was already late in the\nday; there was no help near at hand, and besides they did not dare to\nseparate in search of any. They watched anxiously for a traveller,\nresolved to confide in the first respectable one that passed, and beg\nhim to send assistance. But none came that they thought it safe to\ntrust. Night approached; and it being a little frequented road, except\non market days, every moment their hope of help declined. So they did\nthe best they could in this extremity; they shut and barricaded the\nlower part of the house, stopping up the door and windows with every\npiece of furniture they had, and locked themselves up, with the money,\nin an upper chamber, put out the light, and with a chink of the window\nopen, they set themselves down to listen for the marauders whom they\nconfidently expected to arrive.\n\n\"Nor were they disappointed; about eleven o'clock their anxious ears\ndistinguished the sound of approaching footsteps. Presently, they heard\nvoices and the door was attempted; the men said they had lost their way,\nand on receiving no answer they attempted to force an entrance. Then,\nthe poor women knowing their poor defences would soon yield to violence,\nbegan to scream lustily from the window above; and luckily not in vain.\n\n\"It happened, that the family, who had gone on some expedition of\npleasure in the morning, was just then returning; their road lay within\na quarter of a mile of the turnpike; and in the silence of the night,\nthe women's shrill voice reached their ears. They immediately desired\nthe coachman to turn his horses heads in the direction the cries came\nfrom, and before the thieves had effected an entrance into the little\nfortification, they were scared by the sound of approaching wheels and\ntook to flight.\"\n\n\"A dream of a very singular nature occurred to a young friend of mine,\"\nsaid Mr. S. \"She was about fifteen at the time, and a schoolfellow who\nwas going to be married had promised her that she should be one of the\nbridesmaids. The intended wedding was near at hand; insomuch that the\ndresses and everything was prepared--in short, the fixing of the day was\nonly delayed by some small matter of business that was not completed. My\nyoung friend, to whom the whole thing was an exciting novelty, while\nimpatiently waiting for the affair to come off, dreamt, one night, that\na person in a very unusual costume, presented himself at her bedside and\ninformed her that he was Brutus; and that he would reveal to her\nanything that she particularly desired to know; whereupon she begged him\nto tell when Miss L. would be married. Brutus answered 'Paulo post\nGraecas Kalendas.' When she awoke in the morning, she perfectly\nremembered the words; but not having the most distant idea of their\nmeaning she ran to her brother to enquire if he could explain them. He\ntold her that they were equivalent to _never_. The prophecy was\nfulfilled; obstacles entirely unforseen arose, and the couple were never\nunited.\"\n\n\"Some years ago,\" said Dr. Forster, \"two young friends of mine were\nstaying at Naples, when one of them told the other that he had on the\npreceding night, seen in his sleep, the face of a beautiful woman; but\nthe features were disfigured by a horrible expression--and that it was,\nsomehow, impressed on his mind that he was in danger, and that he must\nbe on his guard against her. The conviction was so strong as to create\nconsiderable uneasiness, and he never went out without scrutinizing\nevery female face he saw; but some weeks past without any fulfilment of\nhis dream or vision, and gradually the impression faded. However, he was\none day on the Chiaja, surrounded by several people, who like himself,\nwere observing a gang of convicts going to the Castle of St. Elmo; when\nsomething occasioned him suddenly to turn his head, and there, close\nbehind him, he recognized the beautiful face of his dream. By an\ninstinctive impulse, he sprang aside, and at the same moment felt\nhimself wounded in the back. The woman was seized and did not attempt to\ndeny the act, but alleged that she had mistaken the young Englishman for\nanother person who had done her an irreparable injury, expressing great\nregret at having wounded an unoffending stranger, and also at having\nfailed in the revenge she sought. He told me that the dream saved his\nlife; for that, had he not sprung aside, the wound would in all\nprobability have been mortal.\"\n\n\n\n\nROUND THE FIRE.\n\nFIFTH EVENING.\n\n\n\"I have but one experience to relate,\" said Miss D., the next speaker.\n\"When I was a child, I and my elder sister slept in two beds, placed\nclose beside each other. We were in the country, and one night my\nfather, going to the door, perceived an unusual light in the sky, and\nlearnt on inquiry that there was a great fire a mile or two off. He said\nhe'd go to see it, and the night being fine, my mother accompanied him,\nhaving first seen us safe in bed. She locked the chamber door, and took\nthe key, thinking that every body would be out looking at the fire, and\nwe might take the opportunity of playing tricks, for we were quite young\nat the time--not more than six or seven years old.\n\n\"After they were gone, we lay chattering, as children do, about our own\nlittle concerns, when our voices were suddenly arrested by terror. At\nthe foot of my bed I perceived a figure, apparently kneeling, for I saw\nonly the head--but that I saw distinctly--it looked dark and sad, and\nthe eyes were intently fixed on me. I crept into my sister's bed, and\nneither of us dared to look up again till my mother returned, and came\nto see if we were asleep. We had not closed our eyes, and we told her\nwhat we had seen, agreeing perfectly in our account of it. The room was\nsearched, but nothing unusual found. The incident made a lasting\nimpression on my sister and myself, and we both remember the face as if\nwe had seen it but yesterday.\"\n\nOne of the ladies present mentioned a very similar circumstance\noccurring to herself, but as she was alone at the time, she had always\nendeavoured to believe it an illusion.\n\n\"The first part of the story I am going to relate to you,\" said Dr. S.,\n\"was told me by an eminent man in my own profession, who had every\nopportunity of testing the truth of it; the latter part I give you on my\nown word.\n\n\"Some years ago there was a house in the suburbs of Dublin that had\nremained a long time unoccupied, in consequence, it was said, of its\nevil reputation--the report was, that it was haunted. People who had\ntaken it got rid of it as soon as they could, and those who lived in the\nneighbourhood affirmed that they saw lights moving about the interior,\nand, sometimes, a lady in white standing at the window with a child in\nher arms, when they knew there was no living creature, except rats and\nmice, within the walls. The wise and learned laughed at these rumours;\nbut still the house remained empty, and was getting into a very\ndilapidated state.\n\n\"The former owner of the house was dead. He was a miser or a\nmisanthrope, or both; at all events, for several years he had lived in\nit utterly alone, and scarcely ever seen by any body. It was rumoured\nthat for a short time a young female had been occasionally observed by\nthe neighbours, but she disappeared as suddenly as she had appeared, and\nnobody knew whence she came, nor whither she was gone. His life was a\nmystery, and whether merely on this account, or whether there were\nbetter grounds for it, there had certainly existed a prejudice against\nhim. However, as I said, he had been dead some years, and the relative\nto whom the property had fallen on his decease was naturally very\nanxious to let the house, and offered it to any occupant at an extremely\nlow rent.\n\n\"At length, a gentleman who wanted to establish a manufactory, seeing\nthat it would answer his purpose--for the premises were extensive, and\nthere was some garden ground behind--took it, and erected buildings on\nthis waste ground for his workmen to inhabit. Between the new part and\nthe old there was a long vestibule, or covered passage, by which they\nmight pass from one to the other without exposing themselves to the\nweather. A large door, which was open by day and closed at night,\ndivided this passage in two, and on one side there was a small room or\noffice, where a clerk sat and kept the books and memoranda, of various\nsorts, incident to a considerable business.\n\n\"However, the thing was scarcely set going and established before it\nreached the ears of the master that the workmen objected to pass the\nnight on the premises; the reason alleged being that they were disturbed\nand alarmed by various sounds, especially footsteps, and the banging of\nthe heavy door in the vestibule which divided the sleeping places from\nthe workrooms. At first, the objection being thought absurd, was not\nattended to; next, it was supposed to be a trick of some of the workmen\nto frighten the others; but when it became serious, and they began to\nact upon it, and steady, respectable men declared they heard these\nthings, the master, still persuaded it was some practical jokers amongst\nthem mystifying the more simple, took measures, first, to ascertain if\nsuch sounds as they described were audible; and next, to discover who\nmade them. For this purpose he sat up himself, and his clerks sat up,\nand exactly as had been described, at one o'clock this clatter and\nbanging of doors commenced--that is, there was the sound; for the doors\nremained immovable, and though they heard footsteps they could see\nnobody.\n\n\"'Still,' said the manufacturer, who was not willing to be made the\nvictim of this mischievous conspiracy, 'we must discover who it is; and\nwe shall, when they are more off their guard,' and for this purpose it\nwas arranged that a relation of his own, a young man in whose discretion\nand courage he had great confidence should sleep in the office.\n\n\"Accordingly, a bed was prepared there; and he arranged himself for that\nnight or as many future nights as it might be necessary; determined not\nto relinquish the investigation till he had unravelled the mystery.\n\n\"At dawn of day, the next morning, there was a violent knocking at the\nouter door; an early passenger had found this young man in the street,\nwith nothing on but his night dress, and in a state of delirium. He was\ntaken home and Dr. W. was sent for. The result was a brain fever; but\nwhen he recovered, he said that he had gone to bed and to sleep, that he\nwas wakened by a loud noise, and that just as he was about to rise to\nascertain the cause, his door opened, and the apparition of a female\ndressed in white entered, and approached his bed side. He remembered no\nmore, but being seized with horror, supposed he had got out of the\nwindow into the street, where he was found.\n\n\"This was, certainly, very extraordinary and very serious; still the\npersuasion that it was some mystification prevailed; and Dr. W.'s offer\nto pass a night in the office himself, was gladly accepted. He had\ninformed me of the young man's illness and the cause of it; and when I\nheard of his intention, I requested leave to bear him company.\n\n\"The noise had not been interrupted by the catastrophe that had\noccurred, and nobody had slept in the office during the young man's\nconfinement. The bed had been removed, but we declined having it\nre-placed, for we wished our intention to remain a secret; besides, we\npreferred watching through the night. It was not till the workmen had\nall retired that we took up our position, accompanied by a sharp little\nterrier of mine, and each armed with a pistol. We took care to go over\nthe house, to make sure that nobody was concealed in it; and we examined\nevery door and window to ascertain that it was secure. We had provided\nourselves with refreshments also, to sustain our courage; and we entered\nupon our vigil with great hopes of detecting the imposition.\n\n\"Dr. W. is a most enlightened and agreeable companion, and we soon fell\ninto a lively discussion that carried us away so entirely, that, I\nbelieve, we had both ceased to think of the object of our watch, when we\nwere recalled to it by the clock in the vestibule striking one; and the\nloud bang that immediately followed, accompanied by the barking of our\nlittle dog, who had been aroused from a tranquil sleep by the uproar. W.\nand I seized our pistols, and rushed into the passage, followed by the\nterrier. We saw nothing to account for the noise; but we distinctly\nheard receding footsteps, which we hastened to pursue, at the same time\nurging on the dog; but instead of running forward, he slunk behind, with\nhis tail between his legs, and kept at our heels the whole way. On we\nwent, distinctly hearing the footsteps preceding us along the vestibule,\ndown some steps, and, finally, down some stairs that led to an unused\ncellar--in one corner of which lay a heap of rubbish. Here the sound\nceased. We removed the rubbish, and under it lay some bones, which we\nrecognised at once as parts of a human skeleton. On further examination,\nwe ascertained that they were the remains of a female and a new-born\ninfant.\n\n\"They were buried, and the men were no more disturbed with these\nmysterious noises. Who the woman was, was never ascertained; nor was any\nfurther light thrown upon these strange circumstances.\"\n\nSome remarks on the terror displayed by animals, on these occasions,\nelicited a curious story from Mrs. L. \"They not only seem to see\nsometimes,\" she said, \"what we do not; but occasionally to be gifted\nwith a singular foreknowledge.\n\n\"Many years ago,\" she continued, \"I and my husband went to pay a visit\nin the north. I am very fond of animals, and my attention was soon\nattracted by a dog that was not particularly handsome, but seemed gifted\nwith extraordinary intelligence.\n\n\"'I see,' said my hostess, 'you are struck with that dog. Well, he is\nthe most mysterious creature; he not only opens and shuts the door, and\nrings the bell, and does all sorts of wonderful things, but I am sure he\nunderstands every word we say, and that he knows as well what I am\nsaying now as you do. Moreover, we got him in a very unaccountable\nmanner.\n\n\"'One night, not long ago, we had been out to dinner; and on returning\nat a pretty late hour, we found the gentleman stretched out comfortably\non the dining-room rug. Where in the world did this dog come from? I\nsaid to the servants. They couldn't tell; they declared the doors had\nbeen long shut, and that they had never set eyes on him till that\nminute.'\n\n\"'Well,' I said, 'don't turn him out; he'll no doubt be claimed by some\none in the neighbourhood--for he had quite the manners and air of a dog\naccustomed to good society; and I liked his large, expressive eyes. He\nmade himself quite at home; and now we have discovered what a strangely\nintelligent creature he is, I hope no one will claim him, for I should\nbe very sorry to part with him. But,' added she, 'poor Mrs. X. can't\nendure him.' Mrs. X., I must mention, was a widow lady, also on a visit\nthere, with an only son.\n\n\"'Why?' said I.\n\n\"'It is rather singular, certainly,' said she; but whenever young X. is\nin the room, the dog never takes his eyes off his face--you see he has\npeculiar eyes--they're full of meaning; and out of doors he does the\nsame.'\n\n\"'Perhaps the dog has taken a fancy to him?' I suggested.\n\n\"'It does not seem to be that; no, I think he likes me and Mrs. C. and\nmy children a great deal better. I can't tell what it is; but if you\nwatch, you'll see it.'\n\n\"I did, and it was really remarkable, and evidently annoyed Mrs. X. very\nmuch. The young man affected to laugh at it, but I don't think he liked\nit altogether.\n\n\"Suddenly, one evening, Mrs. X.--whose visit was to have extended to\nsome weeks longer, announced that she should take her departure in a few\ndays. I suspected this move was occasioned by her desire to get away\nfrom the dog, and so did my hostess--and we both thought it absurd.\n\n\"Mr. L. being obliged to return to London, we took our leave the morning\nafter this announcement was made; but we had scarcely arrived there,\nwhen a letter from my friend followed, informing me that young Mr. X.\nhad been unfortunately drowned in the fish-pond, and that the dog had\nnever been seen since the accident, though they had made inquiries and\nsought for him in every direction. Whence he came, or whither he went,\nthey were never able to discover.\n\n\"But,\" said Mrs. L., \"as this is not a ghost story, I will tell you\nanother anecdote that belongs more legitimately to the subjects you are\ntreating of. Once, when we were travelling in the North, Mr. L. fell ill\nof a fever at Paisley. This detained us there, and the minister called\non us. When Mr. L. recovered, we returned his visit; and, in the course\nof conversation, some of the old customs of the Scotch fell under\ndiscussion; amongst others the _cutty stool_, which we had heard still\nsubsisted.\n\n\"'Why don't you abolish it?' said Mr. L. 'It would be much better to\namend people by other influences than exposure.'\n\n\"'Well, sir,' said the good man, 'that was my opinion also; and I had\ndetermined to do it. Before taking the step, however, I thought it\nadvisable to publish my reasons; and I was one day sitting at the table\nwriting on the subject, when I looked up, and beheld my father, who was\nminister here before me, and died in this manse, sitting on the opposite\nside of the table.'\n\n\"'Don't do any such thing, David,' said he; 'morality is loose enough;\ndon't make it looser.'\"\n\n\n\n\nROUND THE FIRE.\n\nSIXTH EVENING.\n\n\n\"The most interesting circumstance of the ghostly kind that I know, as\nreally authentic,\" said Madame S., \"is what happened to the late Lord\nC., when he was a young man--it is an old story, and you must have heard\nof the _Radiant Boy_; but as I had it from a member of the family,\nperhaps you will accept it as my contribution.\n\n\"Captain S., who was afterwards Lord C., when he was a young man,\nhappened to be quartered in Ireland. He was fond of sport; and one day\nthe pursuit of game carried him so far that he lost his way. The\nweather, too, had become very rough, and in this strait he presented\nhimself at the door of a gentleman's house, and sending in his card,\nrequested shelter for the night. The hospitality of the Irish country\ngentry is proverbial; the master of the house received him warmly, said\nhe feared he could not make him so comfortable as he could have wished,\nhis house being full of visitors already--added to which, some\nstrangers, driven by the inclemency of the night, had sought shelter\nbefore him, but that such accommodation as he could give he was heartily\nwelcome to; whereupon he called his butler, and committing his guest to\nhis good offices, told him he must put him up somewhere, and do the best\nhe could for him. There was no lady, the gentleman being a widower.\n\n\"Captain S. found the house crammed, and a very jolly party it was. His\nhost invited him to stay, and promised him good shooting if he would\nprolong his visit a few days; and, in fine, he thought himself extremely\nfortunate to have fallen into such pleasant quarters.\n\n\"At length, after an agreeable evening, they all retired to bed, and the\nbutler conducted him to a large room, almost divested of furniture, but\nwith a blazing peat fire in the grate, and a shake down on the floor,\ncomposed of cloaks and other heterogeneous materials.\n\n\"Nevertheless, to the tired limbs of Captain S., who had had a hard\nday's shooting, it looked very inviting; but before he lay down, he\nthought it advisable to take off some of the fire, which was blazing up\nthe chimney, in what he thought, an alarming manner. Having done this,\nhe stretched himself upon the couch, and soon fell asleep.\n\n\"He believed he had slept about a couple of hours when he awoke\nsuddenly, and was startled by such a vivid light in the room, that he\nthought it was on fire, but on turning to look at the grate he saw the\nfire was out, though it was from the chimney the light proceeded. He sat\nup in bed, trying to discover what it was, when he perceived, gradually\ndisclosing itself, the form of a beautiful naked boy, surrounded by a\ndazzling radiance. The boy looked at him earnestly, and then the vision\nfaded, and all was dark. Captain S., so far from supposing what he had\nseen to be of a spiritual nature, had no doubt that the host, or the\nvisitors, had been amusing themselves at his expense, and trying to\nfrighten him. Accordingly he felt indignant at the liberty; and on the\nfollowing morning, when he appeared at breakfast, he took care to evince\nhis displeasure by the reserve of his demeanour, and by announcing his\nintention to depart immediately. The host expostulated, reminding him\nof his promise to stay and shoot. Captain S. coldly excused himself and,\nat length, the gentleman seeing something was wrong, took him aside, and\npressed for an explanation; whereupon Captain S., without entering into\nparticulars, said that he had been made the victim of a sort of\npractical joking that he thought quite unwarrantable with a stranger.\n\n\"The gentleman considered this not impossible amongst a parcel of\nthoughtless young men, and appealed to them to make an apology; but one\nand all, on honour, denied the impeachment. Suddenly, a thought seemed\nto strike him; he clapt his hand to his forehead, uttered an\nexclamation, and rang the bell.\n\n\"'Hamilton,' said he to the butler, 'where did Captain S. sleep last\nnight?'\n\n\"'Well, Sir,' replied the man, in an apologetic tone,' 'you know every\nplace was full--the gentlemen were lying on the floor, three or four in\na room--so I gave him the _Boy's Room_; but I lit a blazing fire to keep\nhim from coming out.'\n\n\"'You were very wrong,' said the host, 'you know I have positively\nforbidden you to put any one there, and have taken the furniture out of\nthe room to ensure its not being occupied.' Then retiring with Captain\nS., he informed him very gravely of the nature of the phenomenon he had\nseen; and, at length, being pressed for further information, he\nconfessed that there existed a tradition in his family, that whoever the\n_Radiant Boy_ appeared to will rise to the summit of power; and when he\nhad reached the climax, will die a violent death, and I must say, he\nadded, that the records that have been kept of his appearance go to\nconfirm this persuasion.\n\n\"I need not remind you,\" said Madam S., \"what a remarkable confirmation\nwas afforded by the life and death of Lord C.\"\n\n\"I had never heard these particulars before; but I had heard the story\nof Lord C.'s _Radiant Boy_ alluded to, apropos of the case of the Rev.\nMr. A., who saw a very similar apparition some years ago at C. Castle. I\nhave related this case in the 'Night Side of Nature.' I received the\nparticulars from a relation of Mr. A.'s, who was himself surviving at\nthe time I published it.\"\n\n\"It is curious,\" observed Mrs. E., \"how many houses in the north of\nEngland where I have been lately residing have something of this sort\nattached to them. Some friends of mine not long ago heard of a very\npretty place to let, and finding the rent unusually moderate they took\nit. They were delighted with their new residence; and often wondered\nthat the proprietor, with whom they were slightly acquainted, did not\neither live there himself, or insist on more money for it.\n\n\"After they had been there some time, his brother, that is, the brother\nof the proprietor, who did not live very far off, called one morning to\nsee them; and asked them how they liked the place. They expressed their\nextreme satisfaction; adding, 'We wonder your brother does not live here\nhimself.'\n\n\"'There are reasons why it does not suit our family,' he answered.\n\n\"When he was going away, my friends proposed to walk through the grounds\nwith him; they had to cross a little brook not far from the house; and\nas they did so, a hare sprang past them and they all stopt and turned\nround to look at her, by which means they had a full view of the house.\n\n\"'Good Heavens!' exclaimed the visitor, 'there she is!'\n\n\"'Where?' enquired my friend, thinking he alluded to the hare.\n\n\"'Is any of your family ill?' asked the stranger.\n\n\"'No they answered;' and following the direction of his eyes, they\nobserved at one of the upper windows of the house, a female figure in\nwhite, and enveloped in what looked like grave clothes.\n\n\"The visitor appearing much agitated, my friend rushed back and ran up\nto the floor where the female had appeared; and not only was there no\none there, but he found that the window was that of a vestibule and much\ntoo high from the ground for any one to reach.\n\n\"On returning to their visitor, he said 'one of us will die before this\nyear has expired; it is an unfailing omen in our family, and caused us\nso much distress, that that is the real reason why we do not live here.\nBut it concerns nobody but ourselves; you will never be troubled by her\nvisitations.' The destiny fell on the seer himself this time; he was\ndead before the year had expired.\n\n\"There is another house in the same part of the county, where sometime\nago a young friend of mine, one of three sisters, went on a visit for a\nshort time. The first night, after she got into bed, she was startled by\nthe most terrific screams she ever heard, which appeared close to her\ndoor. She jumped up and opened it, but there was nobody there. The next\nday she mentioned the circumstance, but the old lady she was visiting,\nsaid her ears must have deceived her, and turned the conversation; but\nshe heard it again several times, and was quite sure there was no\nmistake. When she went home she told her sisters, who laughed at her;\nbut each of them went to visit subsequently at the same house and heard\nprecisely the same thing; but as it was evidently an unpleasant subject\nto their hostess, they could get no information on the subject.\"\n\n\"A near relation of mine,\" said Lord N., \"is living in a place at\npresent, where there is very much the same annoyance, and three families\nsuccessively, had left the house in consequence of it. The building is\nlarge, part of it very old, and it is surrounded by a fine park;\nnevertheless, it has been found difficult to get a tenant--or, at least,\nto keep one. My relation was warned of the inconvenience before he took\nit. It is said that a lady was murdered there by her husband; at all\nevents, there is one room--one of the best in the house, shut up, and\nnever allowed to be opened. Whoever sleeps in the room under this, is\nliable to be disturbed by extraordinary noises--footsteps and moving of\nfurniture, &c.; but the most strange thing is, that every now and then a\ndreadful piercing scream is heard through the house, that brings any\nstrangers who happen to be there, out of their rooms, in terror, to\nenquire what has occurred. The family who resided there before, met the\napparition of a lady occasionally, and left the place in consequence. My\nrelations have never seen anything; but everybody who stays there any\ntime hears the screams.\n\n\"Another relation of mine, a very religious person, and as she belongs\nto the free church of Scotland, most opposed to the belief in ghosts,\nwent some time since to pay a visit at an old place belonging to our\nfamily. On the morning after her arrival, she announced at breakfast\nthat she was going away. She gave no reason, but went, to the\nconsternation of her host. With much difficulty, he has since extracted\nfrom her, that in the night an apparition appeared at the foot of her\nbed--a man dressed in an old-fashioned brown suit. He spoke to her, and\nsome conversation passed--the subject of which she declares she will\nnever disclose; she says it was not a good spirit, and nothing would\ninduce her to visit the place again. This house has always been said to\nbe haunted, but this is the only instance I know of the family\nthemselves seeing anything of the sort; but no better evidence could be\nadduced of such a phenomenon than that of the lady in question. Nobody\never doubted her word, and a more confirmed disbeliever in ghosts never\nexisted.\n\n\"A rather curious thing happened to myself lately,\" continued Lord N. \"I\nwent to visit some friends at the Lakes. As they had no vacant rooms, I\nengaged apartments near them for myself and servant. The house was\nsmall, quite modern, and as un-ghostly as possible. I always dined with\nmy friends, and went to my lodgings about twelve o'clock, and I had been\nthere five or six nights without anything unusual occurring. On the\nfourth or fifth evening, I had returned home rather earlier than usual,\nand instead of going to bed, I sat down to write a letter. While so\nengaged, I heard what I thought was a boy cracking a whip close to the\ndrawing-room door. I paid no attention to it at first, though rather\nwondering at the hour chosen for the amusement. However, as it continued\nunintermittingly, and grew louder, I got up and opened the door, with\nthe intention of desiring the child to go away. There was no one there.\nIt then occurred to me that my ears must have deceived me, and that the\nsound might have proceeded from some explosive substance in my bedroom\nfire. The room was on the same floor, and the door shut; but when I\nopened it, I found the fire almost out--certainly not in a state to\nproduce the noises I had heard. I went forward to stir it, and while\ndoing so, the whip was cracked over my shoulder. I turned round quickly,\nbut could see nothing, and I returned to the drawing-room, and had just\nseated myself again, when I was amazed to see the table rise about a\nfoot perpendicularly into the air, and at the same moment, both the\ncandles that were on it went out, without being upset or even moved.\nThere was a fire, so that I was not quite in the dark, and I re-lighted\nthem; after which the whip began cracking again vigorously, and cracked\non till I went to bed and afterwards. I stayed in these apartments a\nfortnight or three weeks longer; and once, again, I heard the whip, but\nmuch fainter and for a shorter time; and one night there were distinct\nrappings on the mantel-piece, and afterwards on the dressing-table.\n\n\"I could make no discovery in regard to these phenomena; and I leave it\nto the company to decide whether they were of a spiritual nature or not.\nThe only other thing of the sort that ever happened to me was this:--I\nwas travelling on the Continent, and not being very well, was lying in\nbed, when I suddenly saw the door open, and two of my brothers walk\nthrough the room, dressed in deep mourning. I rang the bell furiously,\nand the people came, but could in no way explain what had happened. I\nshortly received letters, announcing that another brother had died at\nthat time.\n\n\"I will mention another instance that occurred in our family a few years\nsince. During my grandfather's last illness, all the family were\nassembled at K. Castle, except my brother John, with whom he was not on\ngood terms. While we were living there, waiting to see what turn the\nillness would take, John died very unexpectedly, but we resolved not to\nmention the circumstance to Lord A., as it might affect him injuriously;\nit was therefore kept a profound secret.\n\n\"One day, some little time afterwards, Lord A. had been asleep in his\narm-chair, and on waking, he suddenly exclaimed, 'I shall see John on\nThursday!' This was on a Monday, and he died on the Thursday following.\"\n\n\"A relation of mine,\" said Mrs. L., \"had a friend with whom a great\nintimacy had subsisted for many years, but a subject of difference arose\nthat embittered her feelings towards this lady to such a degree, that\nshe felt reconciliation impossible. They continued to live in the same\ntown, but all intercourse was at an end.\n\n\"One morning, lately, she was lying awake in her bed, when the door\nopened, and this lady came in; approaching the bed side, she spoke in a\nfriendly manner, and entered into explanations with regard to the\nmisunderstanding. My relation was not frightened during this interview;\nbut when it was over, and she was gone, she suspected the nature of the\nvisit. When her maid came to her room, she enquired if there had been\nany news of Miss ----. The servant answered, none; but presently\nafterwards, a person called to mention the lady's death, which had taken\nplace that morning.\"\n\n\"For my part,\" said Sir A. C., \"I am acquainted with a circumstance that\nhas settled entirely any doubts I might have entertained on the subject\nof ghosts. Not many miles from my place in S--shire, there is a seat\nbelonging to some connexions of my own. At the time I am about to refer\nto, an old lady was in possession, and it so happened, that a matter of\nbusiness arose regarding the heirs of the property, which made it\nnecessary to refer to the title deeds. To the surprise and dismay of the\nfamily they could not be found. A vigorous search was instituted, in\nvain; and the circumstance so preyed on my old relation's mind that she\nat length committed suicide, under the impression that some one else\nwould lay claim to the estate.\n\n\"After her death people complained that they could not live there--the\nplace they said was haunted by this old lady, who, with her grey hair\ndishevelled, and dressed exactly as she used to be in her life time,\nthey described as walking about the house, looking into drawers and\ncupboards, and incessantly searching for her deeds. We, of course, did\nnot believe in the story, and were not even altogether convinced when\nthe house, after being let to several strangers in succession, who all\ngave it up on the same plea, seemed destined to remain without an\ninhabitant.\n\n\"It had stood empty two or three years, though offered at a very low\nrent, when a lady and gentleman from the West Indies came into the\nneighbourhood to visit some acquaintance, and being in want of a\nresidence, and hearing this was to be had on very reasonable terms, they\nproposed to take it. Their friends told them of the objection made by\npreceding tenants, but they laughed with scorn at the idea of losing so\ngood a house on account of a ghost; so they closed the bargain, took\npossession of the place, and sent for their family to join them.\n\n\"The children, the youngest of whom was between three and four, and the\neldest about ten, were, as a temporary arrangement, placed on the first\nnight of their arrival to sleep in one room; but the next morning, when\ntheir mother went at a very early hour to see how they were, to her\nsurprise, she found them all wide awake. They were looking pale and\nweary, and began with one voice to complain that they had been kept\nawake all night by such a disagreeable old lady, who would keep coming\ninto the room, and looking for something in the drawers. 'I told her I\nwished she'd go away,' said the eldest, 'and then she did go; but she\ncame back; and we don't like her. Who is she, mamma? Is she to live with\nus?'\n\n\"They then, on being questioned, described her appearance, which exactly\ncoincided with the account given by the former tenants. I can vouch for\nthe truth of these circumstances; and since these children had,\ncertainly, never heard a word on the subject of the apparition, and had,\nindeed, no idea that it was one, 'I think the evidence,' said Sir A. C.,\n'is quite unexceptionable.'\n\n\"I should say so, too, if it referred to any other question,\" said Mr.\nE., a barrister, who happened to be present when the story was related;\n\"but on the subject of ghosts I cannot think any evidence sufficient.\"\n\n\"A state of mind by no means uncommon,\" I said, \"and which it is, of\ncourse, in vain to contend with. I can only wonder and admire the\nconfidence that can venture to prejudge so interesting and important a\nsubject of inquiry.\"\n\n\n\n\nROUND THE FIRE.\n\nSEVENTH EVENING.\n\n\n\"My story will be a very short one,\" said Mrs. M.; \"for I must tell you\nthat though, like every body else, I have heard a great many ghost\nstories, and have met people who assured me they had seen such things, I\ncannot, for my own part, bring myself to believe in them; but a\ncircumstance occurred when I was abroad, that you may perhaps consider\nof a ghostly nature, though I cannot.\n\n\"I was travelling through Germany, with no one but my maid--it was\nbefore the time of railways, and on my road from Leipsic to Dresden, I\nstopt at an inn that appeared to have been long ago part of an\naristocratic residence--a castle in short; for there was a stone wall\nand battlements, and a tower at one side; while the other was a\nprosaic-looking, square building that had evidently been added in\nmodern times. The inn stood at one end of a small village, in which some\nof the houses looked so antique that they might, I thought, be coeval\nwith the castle itself. There were a good many travellers, but the host\nsaid he could accommodate me; and when I asked to see my room, he led me\nup to the towers, and showed me a tolerably comfortable one. There were\nonly two apartments on each floor; so I asked him if I could have the\nother for my maid, and he said yes, if no other traveller arrived. None\ncame, and she slept there.\n\n\"I supped at the table d'hote, and retired to bed early, as I had an\nexcursion to make on the following day; and I was sufficiently tired\nwith my journey to fall asleep directly.\n\n\"I don't know how long I had slept--but I think some hours, when I awoke\nquite suddenly, almost with a start, and beheld near the foot of the\nbed, the most hideous, dreadful-looking old woman, in an antique dress,\nthat imagination can conceive. She seemed to be approaching me--not as\nif walking, but gliding, with her left arm and hand extended towards me.\n\n\"'Merciful God deliver me!' I exclaimed under my first impulse of\namazement; and as I said the words she disappeared.\"\n\n\"Then, though you don't believe in ghosts, you thought it was one when\nyou saw it,\" said I.\n\n\"I don't know what I thought--I admit I was a good deal frightened, and\nit was a long time before I fell asleep again.\n\n\"In the morning,\" continued Mrs. M., \"my maid knocked, and I told her to\ncome in; but the door was locked, and I had to get out of bed to admit\nher--I thought I might have forgotten to fasten it. As soon as I was up,\nI examined every part of the room, but I could find nothing to account\nfor this intrusion. There was neither trap or moving panell, or door\nthat I could see, except the one I had locked. However, I made up my\nmind not to speak of the circumstance, for I fancied I must have been\ndeceived in supposing myself awake, and that it was only a dream; more\nparticularly as there was no light in my room, and I could not\ncomprehend how I could have seen this woman.\n\n\"I went out early, and was away the greater part of the day. When I\nreturned I found more travellers had arrived, and that they had given\nthe room next mine to a German lady and her daughter, who were at the\ntable d'hote. I therefore had a bed made up in my room for my maid; and\nbefore I lay down, I searched thoroughly, that I might be sure nobody\nwas concealed there.\n\n\"In the middle of the night--I suppose about the same time I had been\ndisturbed on the preceding one--I and my maid were awakened by a\npiercing scream; and I heard the voice of the German girl in the\nadjoining room, exclaiming, 'Ach! meine mutter! meine mutter!'\n\n\"For some time afterwards I heard them talking, and then I fell\nasleep--wondering, I confess, whether they had had a visit from the\nfrightful old woman. They left me in no doubt the next morning. They\ncame down to breakfast greatly excited--told everybody the\ncause--described the old woman exactly as I had seen her, and departed\nfrom the house incontinently, declaring they would not stay there\nanother hour.\"\n\n\"What did the host say to it?\" we asked.\n\n\"Nothing; he said we must have dreamed it--and I suppose we did.\"\n\n\"Your story,\" said I, \"reminds me of a very interesting letter which I\nreceived soon after the publication of 'The Night side of Nature.' It\nwas from a clergyman who gave his name, and said he was chaplain to a\nnobleman. He related that in a house he inhabited, or had inhabited, a\nlady had one evening gone up stairs, and seen, to her amazement, in a\nroom, the door of which was open, a lady in an antique dress, standing\nbefore a chest of drawers, and apparently examining their contents. She\nstood still, wondering who this stranger could be, when the figure\nturned her face towards her, and, to her horror, she saw there were no\neyes. Other members of the family saw the same apparition also. I\nbelieve there were further particulars; but I unfortunately lost this\nletter, with some others, in the confusion of changing my residence.\n\n\"The absence of eyes I take to be emblematical of moral blindness; for\nin the world of spirits there is no deceiving each other by false\nseemings; as we are, so we appear.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Mrs. W. C., \"the apparition--if it was an apparition--that\ntwo of my servants saw lately, must be in a very degraded state.\n\n\"There is a road, and on one side of it a path, just beyond my garden\nwall. Not long ago two of my servants were in the dusk of the evening\nwalking up this path, when they saw a large, dark object coming towards\nthem. At first, they thought it was an animal; and when it got close,\none of them stretched out her hand to touch it; but she could feel\nnothing, and it passed on between her and the garden wall, although\nthere was _no space_, the path being only wide enough for two; and on\nlooking back, they saw it walking down the hill behind them. Three men\nwere coming up on the path; and as the thing approached, they jumped off\ninto the road.\n\n\"'Good heavens, what is that!' cried the women.\n\n\"'I don't know,' replied the men; 'I never saw such a thing as that\nbefore.'\n\n\"The women came home greatly agitated; and we have since heard there is\na tradition that the spot is haunted by the ghost of a man who was\nkilled in a quarry close by.\"\n\n\"I have travelled a great deal,\" said our next speaker, the Chevalier de\nLa C. G.; and, certainly, I have never been in any country where\ninstances of these spiritual appearances were not adduced on apparently\ncredible authority. I have heard numerous stories of the sort, but the\none that most readily occurs to me at present, was told to me not long\nago, in Paris, by Count P.--the nephew of the celebrated Count P. whose\nname occurs in the history of the remarkable incidents connected with\nthe death of the Emperor Paul.\n\n\"Count P., my authority for the following story, was attached to the\nRussian embassy; and he told me, one evening, when the conversation\nturned on the inconveniences of travelling in the East of Europe, that,\non one occasion, when in Poland, he found himself about seven o'clock in\nan autumn evening on a forest road, where there was no possibility of\nfinding a house of public entertainment within many miles. There was a\nfrightful storm; the road, not good at the best, was almost\nimpracticable from the weather, and his horses were completely knocked\nup. On consulting his people what was best to be done, they said, that\nto go back was as impossible as to go forward; but that by turning a\nlittle out of the main road, they should soon reach a castle where\npossibly shelter might be procured for the night. The count gladly\nconsented, and it was not long before they found themselves at the gate\nof what appeared a building on a very splendid scale. The courier\nquickly alighted and rang at the bell, and while waiting for admission,\nhe enquired who the castle belonged to, and was told that it was Count\nX's.\n\n\"It was some time before the bell was answered, but at length an elderly\nman appeared at a wicket, with a lantern, and peeped out. On perceiving\nthe equipage, he came forward and stept up to the carriage, holding the\nlight aloft to discover who was inside. Count P. handed him his card,\nand explained his distress.\n\n\"'There is no one here, my lord,' replied the man, 'but myself and my\nfamily; the castle is not inhabited.'\n\n\"'That's bad news,' said the count; 'but nevertheless, you can give me\nwhat I am most in need of, and that is--shelter for the night.'\n\n\"'Willingly,' said the man, 'if your lordship will put up with such\naccommodation as we can hastily prepare.'\n\n\"'So,' said the count, 'I alighted and walked in; and the old man\nunbarred the great gates to admit my carriages and people. We found\nourselves in an immense _couer_, with the castle _en face_, and stables\nand offices on each side. As we had a _fourgon_ with us, with provender\nfor the cattle and provisions for ourselves, we wanted nothing but beds\nand a good fire; and as the only one lighted was in the old man's\napartments, he first took us there. They consisted of a _suite_ of small\nrooms in the left wing, that had probably been formerly occupied by the\nupper servants. They were comfortably furnished, and he and his large\nfamily appeared to be very well lodged. Besides the wife, there were\nthree sons, with their wives and children, and two nieces; and in a part\nof the offices, where I saw a light, I was told there were labourers and\nwomen servants, for it was a valuable estate, with a fine forest, and\nthe sons acted as _gardes chasse_.\n\n\"'Is there much game in the forest?' I asked.\n\n\"'A great deal of all sorts,' they answered.\n\n\"'Then I suppose during the season the family live here?'\n\n\"'Never,' they replied. 'None of the family ever reside here.'\n\n\"'Indeed!' I said; how is that? It seems a very fine place.'\n\n\"'Superb,' answered the wife of the custodian; 'but the castle is\nhaunted.'\n\n\"She said this with a simple gravity that made me laugh; upon which they\nall stared at me with the most edifying amazement.\n\n\"'I beg your pardon,' I said; 'but you know, perhaps, in great cities,\nsuch as I usually inhabit, there are no ghosts.'\n\n\"'Indeed!' said they. 'No ghosts!'\n\n\"'At least,' I said, 'I never heard of any; and we don't believe in such\nthings.'\n\n\"They looked at each other with surprise, but said nothing; not\nappearing to have any desire to convince me. 'But do you mean to say,'\nsaid I, 'that that is the reason the family don't live here, and that\nthe castle is abandoned on that account?'\n\n\"'Yes,' they replied, 'that is the reason nobody has resided here for\nmany years.'\n\n\"'But how can you live here then?'\n\n\"'We are never troubled in this part of the building,' said she. 'We\nhear noises, but we are used to that.'\n\n\"'Well, if there is a ghost, I hope I shall see it,' said I.\n\n\"'God forbid!' said the woman, crossing herself. 'But we shall guard\nagainst that; your seigneurie will sleep not far from this, where you\nwill be quite safe.'\n\n\"'Oh! but,' said I, 'I am quite serious, if there is a ghost, I should\nparticularly like to see him, and I should be much obliged to you to put\nme in the apartments he most frequents.'\n\n\"They opposed this proposition earnestly, and begged me not to think of\nif; besides, they said if any thing was to happen to my lord, how should\nthey answer for it; but as I insisted, the women went to call the\nmembers of the family who were lighting fires and preparing beds in some\nrooms on the same floor as they occupied themselves. When they came they\nwere as earnest against the indulgence of my wishes as the women had\nbeen. Still I insisted.\n\n\"'Are you afraid,' I said, 'to go yourselves in the haunted chambers?'\n\n\"'No,' they answered. 'We are the custodians of the castle and have to\nkeep the rooms clean and well aired lest the furniture be spoiled--my\nlord talks always of removing it, but it has never been removed\nyet--but we would not sleep up there for all the world.'\n\n\"'Then it is the upper floors that are haunted?'\n\n\"'Yes, especially the long room, no one could pass a night there; the\nlast that did is in a lunatic asylum now at Warsaw,' said the custodian.\n\n\"'What happened to him?'\n\n\"'I don't know,' said the man; 'he was never able to tell.'\n\n\"'Who was he?' I asked.\n\n\"'He was a lawyer. My lord did business with him; and one day he was\nspeaking of this place, and saying that it was a pity he was not at\nliberty to pull it down and sell the materials; but he cannot, because\nit is family property and goes with the title; and the lawyer said he\nwished it was his, and that no ghost should keep him out of it. My lord\nsaid that it was easy for any one to say that who knew nothing about it,\nand that he must suppose the family had not abandoned such a fine place\nwithout good reasons. But the lawyer said it was some trick, and that it\nwas coiners, or robbers, who had got a footing in the castle, and\ncontrived to frighten people away that they might keep it to themselves;\nso my lord said if he could prove that he should be very much obliged to\nhim, and more than that, he would give him a great sum--I don't know how\nmuch. So the lawyer said, he would; and my lord wrote to me that he was\ncoming to inspect the property, and I was to let him do any thing he\nliked.\n\n\"'Well, he came, and with him his son, a fine young man and a soldier.\nThey asked me all sorts of questions, and went over the castle and\nexamined every part of it. From what they said, I could see that they\nthought the ghost was all nonsense, and that I and my family were in\ncollusion with the robbers or coiners. However, I did not care for that,\nmy lord knew that the castle had been haunted before I was born.\n\n\"'I had prepared rooms on this floor for them--the same I am preparing\nfor your lordship, and they slept there, keeping the keys of the upper\nrooms to themselves, so I did not interfere with them. But one morning,\nvery early, we were awakened by some one knocking at our bedroom door,\nand when we opened it, we saw Mr. Thaddeus--that was the lawyer's\nson--standing there half-drest and as pale as a ghost; and he said his\nfather was very ill and he begged us to go to him; to our surprise he\nled us up stairs to the haunted chamber, and there we found the poor\ngentleman speechless, and we thought they had gone up there early and\nthat he had had a stroke. But it was not so; Mr. Thaddeus said, that\nafter we were all in bed, they had gone up there to pass the night. I\nknow they thought that there was no ghost but us, and that's why they\nwould not let us know their intention. They laid down upon some sofas,\nwrapt up in their fur cloaks, and resolved to keep awake, and they did\nso for some time, but at last the young man was overcome by drowsiness,\nhe struggled against it, but could not conquer it, and the last thing he\nrecollects was his father shaking him and saying 'Thaddeus, Thaddeus,\nfor God's sake keep awake!' But he could not, and he knew no more till\nhe woke and saw that day was breaking, and found his father sitting in a\ncorner of the room speechless, and looking like a corpse; and there he\nwas when we went up. The young man thought he'd been taken ill or had a\nstroke, as we supposed at first; but when we found they had passed the\nnight in the haunted chambers, we had no doubt what had happened--he had\nseen some terrible sight and so lost his senses.'\n\n\"'He lost his senses, I should say, from terror when his son fell\nasleep,' said I, 'and he felt himself alone. He could have been a man of\nno nerve. At all events, what you tell me raises my curiosity. Will you\ntake me up stairs and shew me those rooms?'\n\n\"'Willingly,' said the man, and fetching a bunch of keys and a light,\nand calling one of his sons to follow him with another, he led the way\nup the great staircase to a suite of apartments on the first floor. The\nrooms were lofty and large, and the man said the furniture was very\nhandsome, but old. Being all covered with canvas cases, I could not\njudge of it. 'Which is the long room?' I said.\n\n\"Upon which he led me into a long narrow room that might rather have\nbeen called a gallery. There were sofas along each side, something like\na dais at the upper end; and several large pictures hanging on the\nwalls.\n\n\"I had with me a bull dog, of a very fine breed, that had been given me\nin England by Lord F. She had followed me up stairs--indeed, she\nfollowed me every where--and I watched her narrowly as she went smelling\nabout, but there were no indications of her perceiving any thing\nextraordinary. Beyond this gallery there was only a small octagon room,\nwith a door that led out upon another staircase. When I had examined it\nall thoroughly, I returned to the long room and told the man, as that\nwas the place especially frequented by the ghost, I should feel much\nobliged if he would allow me to pass the night there. I could take upon\nmyself to say that Count X., would have no objection.\n\n\"'It is not that,' replied the man; 'but the danger to your lordship,'\nand he conjured me not to insist on such a perilous experiment.\n\n\"When he found I was resolved, he gave way, but on condition that I\nsigned a paper, stating that in spite of his representations I had\ndetermined to sleep in the long room.\n\n\"I confess, the more anxious these people seemed to prevent my sleeping\nthere, the more curious I was; not that I believed in the ghost the\nleast in the world. I thought that the lawyer had been right in his\nconjecture, but that he hadn't nerve enough to investigate whatever he\nsaw or heard; and that they had succeeded in frightening him out of his\nsenses. I saw what an excellent place these people had got, and how much\nit was their interest to maintain the idea that the castle was\nuninhabitable. Now, I have pretty good nerves--I have been in situations\nthat have tried them severely--and I did not believe that any ghost, if\nthere was such a thing, or any jugglery by which a semblance of one\nmight be contrived, would shake them. As for any real danger, I did not\napprehend it; the people knew who I was, and any mischief happening to\nme would have led to consequences they well understood. So they lighted\nfires in both the grates of the gallery, and as they had abundance of\ndry wood, they soon blazed up. I was determined not to leave the room\nafter I was once in it, lest, if my suspicions were correct, they might\nhave time to make their arrangements; so I desired my people to bring up\nmy supper, and I ate it there.\n\n\"My courier said he had always heard the castle was haunted, but he\ndare say there was no ghost but the people below, who had a very\ncomfortable berth of it; and he offered to pass the night with me, but I\ndeclined any companion and preferred trusting to myself and my dog. My\nvalet, on the contrary, strongly advised me against the enterprize,\nassuring me that he had lived with a family in France whose chateau was\nhaunted, and had left his place in consequence.\n\n\"By the time I had finished my supper it was ten o'clock, and every\nthing was prepared for the night. My bed, though an impromptu, was very\ncomfortable, made of amply stuffed cushions and thick coverlets, placed\nin front of the fire. I was provided with light and plenty of wood; and\nI had my regimental cutlass, and a case of excellent pistols, which I\ncarefully primed and loaded in presence of the custodian, saying, you\nsee I am determined to fire at the ghost, so if he cannot stand a\nbullet, he had better not pay me a visit.\n\n\"The old man shook his head calmly, but made no answer. Having desired\nthe courier, who said he should not go to bed, to come up stairs\nimmediately if he heard the report of fire-arms, I dismissed my people\nand locked the doors, barricading each with a heavy ottoman besides.\nThere was no arras or hangings of any sort behind which a door could be\nconcealed; and I went round the room, the walls of which were pannelled\nwith white and gold, knocking every part, but neither the sound, nor\nDido, the dog, gave any indications of there being anything unusual.\nThen I undressed and lay down with my sword and my pistols beside me;\nand Dido at the foot of my bed, where she always slept.\n\n\"I confess I was in a state of pleasing excitement; my curiosity and my\nlove of adventure were roused; and whether it was ghost, or robber, or\ncoiner, I was to have a visit from, the interview was likely to be\nequally interesting. It was half-past ten when I lay down; my\nexpectations were too vivid to admit of sleep; and after an attempt at a\nFrench novel, I was obliged to give it up; I could not fix my attention\nto it. Besides, my chief care was not to be surprised. I could not help\nthinking the custodian and his family had some secret way of getting\ninto the room, and I hoped to detect them in the fact; so I lay with my\neyes and ears open in a position that gave me a view of every part of\nit, till my travelling clock struck twelve, which being pre-eminently\nthe ghostly hour, I thought the critical moment was arrived. But no, no\nsound, no interruption of any sort to the silence and solitude of the\nnight occurred. When half-past twelve, and one struck, I pretty well\nmade up my mind that I should be disappointed in my expectations, and\nthat the ghost, whoever he was, knew better than to encounter Dido and a\nbrace of well charged pistols; but just as I arrived at this conclusion,\nan unaccountable _frisson_ came over me, and I saw Dido, who tired with\nher day's journey, had lain till now quietly curled up asleep, begin to\nmove, and slowly get upon her feet. I thought she was only going to\nturn, but, instead of lying down, she stood still with her ears erect\nand her head towards the dais, uttering a low growl.\n\n\"The dais, I should mention, was but the skeleton of a dais, for the\ndraperies were taken off. There was only remaining a canopy covered with\ncrimson velvet, and an arm chair covered with velvet too, but cased in\ncanvas like the rest of the furniture. I had examined this part of the\nroom thoroughly, and had moved the chair aside to ascertain that there\nwas nothing under it.\n\n\"Well, I sat up in bed and looked steadily in the same direction as the\ndog, but I could see nothing at first, though it appeared that she did;\nbut as I looked, I began to perceive something like a cloud in the\nchair, while at the same time a chill which seemed to pervade the very\nmarrow in my bones crept through me, yet the fire was good; and it was\nnot the chill of fear, for I cocked my pistols with perfect self\npossession and abstained from giving Dido the signal to advance, because\nI wished eagerly to see the denouement of the adventure.\n\n\"Gradually, this cloud took a form, and assumed the shape of a tall\nwhite figure that reached from the ceiling to the floor of the dais,\nwhich was raised by two steps. At him, Dido! At him! I said, and away\nshe dashed to the steps, but instantly turned and crept back completely\ncowed. As her courage was undoubted, I own this astonished me, and I\nshould have fired, but that I was perfectly satisfied that what I saw\nwas not a substantial human form, for I had seen it grow into its\npresent shape and height from the undefined cloud that first appeared\nin the chair. I laid my hand on the dog who had crept up to my side, and\nI felt her shaking in her skin. I was about to rise myself and approach\nthe figure, though I confess I was a good deal awe struck, when it\nstepped majestically from the dais, and seemed to be advancing. 'At\nhim!' I said, 'At him, Dido!' and I gave the dog every encouragement to\ngo forward; she made a sorry attempt, but returned when she had got half\nway and crouched beside me whining with terror. The figure advanced upon\nme; the cold became icy; the dog crouched and trembled; and I, as it\napproached, honestly confess, said Count P., that I hid my head under\nthe bed clothes and did not venture to look up till morning. I know not\nwhat it was--as it passed over me I felt a sensation of undefinable\nhorror, that no words can describe--and I can only say that nothing on\nearth would tempt me to pass another night in that room, and I am sure\nif Dido could speak, you'd find her of the same opinion.\n\n\"I had desired to be called at seven o'clock, and when the custodian,\nwho accompanied my valet, found me safe and in my perfect senses, I\nmust say the poor man appeared greatly relieved; and when I descended\nthe whole family seemed to look upon me as a hero. I thought it only\njust to them to admit that something had happened in the night that I\nfelt impossible to account for, and that I should not recommend any body\nwho was not very sure of their nerves to repeat the experiment.\"\n\nWhen the Chevalier had concluded this extraordinary story, I suggested\nthat the apparition of the castle very much resembled that mentioned by\nthe late professor Gregory, in his letters on mesmerism, as having\nappeared in the Tower of London some years ago, and from the alarm it\ncreated, having occasioned the death of a lady, the wife of an officer\nquartered there, and one of the sentries. Every one who had read that\nvery interesting publication was struck by the resemblance.\n\n\n\n\nROUND THE FIRE.\n\nEIGHTH EVENING.\n\n\n\"As this was our last evening, I was called upon for a story; but I\npleaded that I had told all mine in the 'Night Side of Nature,' and of\npersonal experience I had very little to tell; but I said I will give\nyou the history of a visit I made several years ago to a haunted house\nalthough it resulted in almost nothing.\n\n\"After the publication of the 'Night Side,' I received many valuable\ncommunications--I wish I had kept a note of them all, but I never\nexpected to publish again on the same subject. Amongst others, I\nreceived a letter from a gentleman called Mc. N., and as it contained\nseveral interesting particulars, I requested him to call on me. I\nremember, in the letter, he told me that a few years previously, he had\nbeen on an excursion from home, and that while stopping at an inn, one\nmorning, about five o'clock, the door opened and his father entered; he\ncame to the bedside, looked at him, and then went out again. The young\nman sprang from his bed, and followed him down stairs, where he lost\nsight of him. He returned home, and found his father had died on that\nmorning.\n\n\"He was in a lawyer's office, and, amongst other things, he mentioned to\nme that there was not very far off a house said to be haunted, of which\nthey had the charge, but that it was impossible to do anything with it.\n'We offer it at a mere nominal rent, but no one will stay there.'\n\n\"I was often absent from home at this time, but for the next two or\nthree years I sometimes met him and inquired about the house. The report\nwas always the same; till, at length, no one would go into it; it was\nshut up--the shutters were closed, and the boys of the neighbourhood\nthrew stones at the windows and broke the glass. Yet it was situated in\na street where every other house was inhabited, and which had not been\nbuilt many years.\n\n\"It was as much as six or seven years after I had first heard of this\nhouse, that I happened to mention the circumstance to some gentlemen of\nmy acquaintance--very eminent men, with honest, inquiring minds; truth\nseekers, who, if she were in the bottom of a well, would have thought it\nright to go after her. As they had humility enough to feel that they\ncould not pronounce upon a question that they had never studied or\ninvestigated, they expressed a wish to visit the house. Accordingly, I\napplied to Mr. Mc. N., who had the keys in his office, and he obligingly\nconsented to accompany us. Our expedition was to be kept a profound\nsecret; and it was so, till some time afterwards, when, like most other\nsecrets, it got wind and it spread abroad.\n\n\"We started in a carriage, between eleven and twelve o'clock at night,\ntaking with us a young girl who was easily mesmerised, and when in that\nstate a good clairvoyante. She was not told the object of our journey,\nand had no means whatever of learning it. We said we were going to look\nat a house, and that that was the most convenient time for the gentleman\nto show it us. We did not drive to the door, but Mr. Mc. N. met us in\nthe next street, where we alighted, lest we should attract observation.\nWe walked to our destination, and Mr. Mc. N. explained to the policeman\non duty who he was and where we were going, lest he should suspect\nmischief, and interrupt us. He then unlocked the door with the aid of\nthe policeman's lantern, for it was a dark winter's night; and on\nentering, we found ourselves in a narrow passage.\n\n\"It was a small house, in no respect different from the others in the\nstreet. They seemed all of the same description. A narrow frontage, with\none window and the door, on the ground floor; two windows above; two\nrooms on a floor, three stories in height, and a kitchen, scullery, and\ncellars underground.\n\n\"As soon as the door closed on us, we were in utter darkness, but we had\nprovided ourselves with candles and matches, and when we had lighted\nthem, we entered the back parlour, which Mr. Mc. N. had heard from the\ndifferent inhabitants was the room in which they had met with most\nannoyance.\n\n\"The clairvoyante was then put to sleep, and asked if she liked the\nhouse, and would recommend us to take it. She shuddered and said 'No;\nthat two people had been murdered there, and we should be _troubled_.'\nWe asked in which room; she answered, 'it was before this house was\nbuilt--that another house stood there then--a very old house.' This was\nnot exactly on the same ground, but the room we were in was on part of\nit. She said that it was these murdered people who would trouble us. We\nasked if she could see them, and she answered 'no.'\n\n\"We then waited in silence to see if anything occurred; but nothing did,\nexcept a metallic sound at the door, which was ajar, like the striking\nof two pieces of iron. We all heard it, but could not say what\noccasioned it.\n\n\"After a little time, some one suggested that we should extinguish the\nlights. We did so, and were then in absolute darkness. There was but one\nwindow in the room, and that was coated with dust, and the shutter was\nshut; besides, as I have said, it was a very dark night, and this room,\nbeing at the back, looked into a yard, I believe; at all events, not\ninto a street.\n\n\"Presently, the clairvoyante started, and exclaimed, 'Look there!' We\nsaw nothing, and asked what it was.\n\n\"'There!' she said. 'There again! don't you see it?'\n\n\"'What?' we asked. 'The lights!' she said. 'There! Now!' These\nexclamations were made at intervals of two or three seconds.\n\n\"We all said we saw nothing whatever.\n\n\"'If Mrs. Crowe would take hold of my hand, I think she would see them,'\nshe suggested.\n\n\"I did so; and then at intervals of a few seconds, I saw thrown up,\napparently from the floor, waves of white light, faint, but perfectly\ndistinct and visible. In order that I might know whether our perceptions\nof this phenomenon were simultaneous, I desired her, without speaking,\nto press my hand each time she saw it, which she did; and each time I\ndistinctly saw the wave of white light. I saw it, at these intervals, as\nlong as I held her hand and we were in the dark. Nobody saw it but she\nand myself; and we did not follow up the experiment by the others taking\nher hand, which we should have done.\n\n\"During this interval, another light suddenly appeared in the middle of\nthe room, away from where we were standing, I saw a bright diamond of\nlight, like an extremely vivid spark--only not the colour of fire; it\nwas white, brilliant, and quiescent, but shed no rays. I did not mention\nthis, because I wished to learn if it was visible to any body else--but\nnobody spoke of it; not even the clairvoyante. Whether she saw it or\nnot, I cannot say. When the candles were re-lighted these lights were no\nlonger visible. I and one of the gentlemen went over the house above and\nbelow, but saw nothing but the dust and desolation of a long uninhabited\ndwelling.\n\n\"When we came away, and Mr. Mc. N. had locked the door, we walked to the\ncarriage. I said, 'then you none of you saw the waves of light.'\n\n\"'No,' said they.\n\n\"'Well,' said I, 'I certainly did, and I never saw anything like it\nbefore. Moreover, I saw another sort of light.'\n\n\"'Did you,' said Mr. Mc. N., interrupting me; 'was it a bright spark of\nlight like the oxy-hydrogen light.'\n\n\"'Exactly,' said I. 'I could not think what to compare it to; but that\nwas it.'\n\n\"I thus was certain that he had seen the same thing as myself; he had\nnot spoken of it from a similar motive; he waited to have his impression\nconfirmed by further testimony.\n\n\"You see our results were not great, but the visit was not wholly barren\nto me. Of course, many wise people will say, I did not see the lights,\nbut that they were the offspring of my excited imagination. But I beg to\nsay that my imagination was by no means excited. If I had been there\n_alone_, it would have been a different affair; for though I never saw a\nghost nor ever fancied I did, I am afraid I should have been very\nnervous. But I was in exceedingly good company, with two very clever\nmen, besides the lawyer, a lady, and the clairvoyante; so that my nerves\nwere perfectly composed, as I should not object to seeing any ghost in\nsuch agreeable society. Moreover, I did not _expect_ any result;\nbecause, there is very seldom any on these occasions, as ghosts appear\nwe know not why; but certainly not because people wish to see them. They\ngenerally come when least expected and least thought of.\n\n\"Mr. Mc. N., on inquiry, learnt that unaccountable lights were amongst\nthe things complained of. What occasioned them and the other phenomena,\nit had certainly been the proprietor's interest for many years to\ndiscover; it had also been the interest of numerous tenants, who having\ntaken the house for a term, found themselves obliged to leave it at a\nsacrifice. Yet, for all those years, no explanation could be found for\nthe annonyances but that the house was haunted. No tradition seems\nextant to account for its evil reputation. If what the clairvoyante said\nwas true, the murders must have occurred long ago.\n\n\"A gentleman, an inhabitant of the same city, once mentioned to me that\na friend of his, many years previously, when quite a young man, had one\nSunday evening been walking alone in the fields outside this town; and\nthat he met a young woman, a perfect stranger, who, on some pretence\nasked him to see her safe home. He did so; she led him to a lone farm\nhouse, and then inviting him to walk in, shewed him into a room and left\nhim. Whilst waiting for her return, idly looking about, he found hidden\nunder the table, which was covered with a cloth, a dead body. On this\ndiscovery, he rushed to the door; it was locked; but the window was not\nvery high from the ground, and by it he escaped; terrified to such a\ndegree, that he not only left the city that very evening, but hastened\nout of the country, apprehensive that he had been enticed to the house\nand shut up with the murdered man, for the purpose of throwing the guilt\non him; and as justice was not so clear sighted, and much more\ninexorable than in these days, he feared the circumstantial evidence\nmight go against him. He settled in a foreign country and finally died\nthere.\n\n\"Where this locality was, I don't know, except that it was in the\nenvirons of the city--environs which have since been covered with\nbuildings; what if the house that we visited should have been erected on\nthe site of that lone farm!\n\n\"It may be so; at all events, this story shews how possible it is that\nsome similar event might have occurred on the spot where the haunted\nhouse stands.\"\n\nIn conclusion, let me once more recall to my readers that one, whose\ninsight none will dispute, reminds us, in relation to this very subject,\nthat \"our philosophy,\" does not comprehend all wisdom and all truth.\nPhilosophy is a good guide when she opens her eyes, but where she\nobstinately shuts them to one class of facts because she has previously\nmade up her mind they cannot be genuine, she is a bad one.\n\nProfessor A. told me that when he was at Goettingen, as a great favour,\nand through the interest of an influential professor there, he was\nallowed to see a book that had belonged to Faust, or Faustus, as we call\nhim. It was a large volume, and the leaves were stiff and hard like\nwood. They contained his magic rites and formulas, but on the last page\nwas inscribed a solemn injunction to all men, as they loved their own\nsouls, not to follow in his path or practice the teaching that volume\ncontained.\n\nThere appears to be a mystery out of the domain--I mean the present\ndomain of science; within the region of the hyper-psychical, regarding\nour relations, while in this world, with those who have past the gates,\na belief in which is, I think, innate in human nature. This belief, in\ncertain periods and places, grows rank and mischievous; at others, it is\nalmost extinguished by reaction and education; but it never wholly dies;\nbecause, every where and in all times, circumstances have occurred to\nkeep it alive, amongst individuals, which never reach the public ear.\nNow, the truth is always worth ascertaining on any subject; even this\ndespised subject of ghosts, and those who have an inherent conviction\nthat they themselves are spirits, temporarily clothed in flesh, feel\nthat they have an especial interest in the question. We are fully aware\nthat the investigation presents all sorts of difficulties, and that the\nbelief is opposed to all sorts of accepted opinions; but we desire to\nascertain the grounds of a persuasion, so nearly concerning ourselves\nwhich in all ages and all countries has prevailed in a greater or less\ndegree, and which appears to be sustained by a vast amount of facts,\nwhich, however, we admit are not in a condition to be received as any\nthing beyond presumptive evidence. These facts are chiefly valuable, as\nfurnishing cumulative testimony of the frequent recurrence of phenomena\nexplicable by no known theory, and therefore as open to the spiritual\nhypothesis as any other. When a better is offered, supported by\nsomething more convincing than pointless ridicule and dogmatic\nassertion, I for one, shall be ready to entertain it. In the meanwhile,\nhoping that time may, at length, in some degree, rend the veil that\nencompasses this department of psychology, we record such experiences as\ncome under our observation and are content to await their\ninterpretation.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX.\n\n\nI have referred in the preceding pages to the loss of several letters,\nwhich I should have been glad to insert here.\n\nThe following very interesting ones I have fortunately retained. I give\nthem verbatim, only suppressing the names of the writers, as requested.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLETTER I.\n\n\n_Aug. 18, 1854._\n\nMADAM,\n\nI have received your kind favor of the 15th, and I really feel that I\nmust now apologize to you, for venturing so quickly to call in question\nthe accuracy of your details. Being unaware, however, of the marvellous\ncoincidence of the _two dreams_, I feel assured you at once appreciated\nthe motives which alone impelled me to write.\n\nAllow me, then, to attempt a narration of the particulars referred to in\nmy last, as having come under my own observation.\n\nTwo intimate friends of mine (clergymen of the Church of England) and\none of whom is unmarried, have for the last three years occupied a large\nold-fashioned house in the country. It is a very pretty place--stands\nwithin its own grounds--and is quite aloof from any other dwellings. It\nhas long had the reputation in the neighbourhood of being haunted, in\nconsequence, it is said, of a former proprietor having committed suicide\nthere. The story goes thus, he was _laid out_ in a chamber which is now\ncalled the spare room, and is the scene of what I am about to relate. I\nmay as well tell you that it was only on my last visit, some six weeks\nsince, that I became at all aware of the _character_ of the mansion, for\nmy friends felt so annoyed at what has taken place, that they purposely\navoided communicating to their visitors what they thought might make\nthem anything but comfortable.\n\nOn that occasion there happened to be on a visit to my friend's wife, a\nlady very nearly related to him. She had the spare room assigned to her\nas a chamber, and on the very first night of her arrival was so\nterrified by what took place that she would not again sleep there\nwithout company.\n\nShe stated that in the middle of the night she was alarmed by the most\nunearthly groanings and lamentations--the voice seemed close to her\nbedside. It was afterwards attended by a rustling noise, and she\ndistinctly felt the curtains at the foot of the bed removed. Now, as my\nknowledge of what was going on could not be disputed, my friends\nadmitted that it was not the _first_ time these noises had been heard,\nnay, that in two instances the apparition of a form in grave-clothes had\nbeen seen; the one occurring to a young gentleman of about twenty years\nof age, who happened to be visiting them, and the other to one of their\nown servants. In the former case, it appears that the young man was\nsitting rather late at night in the study reading--all the family being\nin bed--when the form emerged, apparently, from the wall dividing the\nstudy from the haunted chamber. It remained a short time only and then\nmelted away. So great was the young man's terror that he has never been\nnear the place since. The servant also described a similar appearance,\nand no one in the house who saw her terror could believe it acted.\nIndependently of all this, no less than four gentlemen, two of them from\nthe University, have experienced all the unearthly groanings and\nbe-wailings before mentioned, and in nearly every instance the parties\nwere, like myself, ignorant of the character attributed to the house.\nBut I now come to my own experience.\n\nI was on a visit to my friends about twelve months since, when I met a\ngentleman who had just left the army for the church. He appeared about\n21 years of age, and there was that indescribable _something_ in his\nmanner which charmed me immediately. Without any pretence to being set\nup--so to speak--in piety, there was yet _that_ in his sunny countenance\nand air of cheerfulness, which made you feel that he had been called to\na brighter path of usefulness. I certainly very much admired him, and I\nhave since learnt that he is a general favourite. On retiring to rest I\nfound that he was to occupy the next room--not the study side.\n\nFrom a variety of causes I could not sleep--but the imaginative powers\nwere not particularly aroused--my thoughts were of very prosy and\nworldly things. As near as I could recollect, about an hour after I had\nbeen in bed, I heard the most dreadful groans followed by exclamations\nof the most horrible kind. The voice certainly _seemed_ in the room, and\nwas continued for at _least two hours_, at intervals of about ten\nminutes. It was that of a man who had committed a deadly sin which could\nnever be pardoned! The agony seemed to me to be intense.\n\nWill you believe it, Madam, in spite of what I thought of my\nacquaintance of the next chamber, I ascribed it to him. I believed\nlittle in the supernatural, and concluded it to be some dreadful dream.\nIt is astonishing the thought never struck me that a _continuous_ dream\nof such a character was scarcely possible. It did not, however, and\ndespite of its unearthly character, and the apparent woe of the\nunfortunate one--the despair, as I said before, of a lost soul--I\ncontinued to associate it all with my neighbour next door, until the\nevents which occurred at my last visit entirely upset my conviction, and\nI became at once assured I had been doing him a great injustice.\n\nLike some of the cases in the \"Night Side of Nature,\" you will perceive\nhere a great difference in the manifestations--to some it was given to\n_hear_, to others to _see_. Are you still of opinion that this results\nfrom what you term comparative freedom of _rapport_! Do you not think\nthere _are_ times when the material may give place to the supernatural?\nI admit freely the truth of spectral illusions--I have myself\nexperienced one--but knew it to be nothing more. Still, notwithstanding\nthis, and my further belief in a _certain_ connection of mind and\nmatter, I cannot altogether cast from me the persuasion that the\nAlmighty One may _at times_ think fit to exercise a power independent of\nall rule, for the attainment of certain ends to us, perhaps, unknown.\n\nI cannot conclude without telling you that with regard to what I have\nmentioned above, nothing in the shape of _trick_ could possibly have\nbeen practised. Trusting I may not have trespassed too much on your\npatience, I will now remain, Madam, yours very respectfully,\n\nJ. H. H.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLETTER II.\n\n\n_Gloucestershire, June 10, 1854._\n\nMADAM,\n\nBeing not long ago on a visit of some days at the house of a friend, I\nhappened to meet with your work, entitled \"The Night side of Nature.\"\n\nThe title struck my imagination, and opening the book I was delighted to\nfind that it treated of subjects which had long engaged my serious\nthoughts. I was much pleased to see in you such an able and earnest\nprotester against the cold scepticism of the age in reference to truths\nof the highest order, and those too sustained by a body of evidence\nwhich in any other case would be esteemed irresistible. I must also say\nthat I never met with so great a number of well authenticated facts in\nany other work as you have given us, whilst the truly catholic spirit of\nyour theological reflections, was to me pecularly refreshing. I once had\na thought of making a similar collection, that design I have however\nabandoned, the state of my health not admitting of much literary labour.\nI could relate to you many things as remarkable as any you have\ndescribed, for the truth of which I can vouch. I will mention one of a\nmost singular nature, and should you be inclined to read anything more\nfrom me on these matters, I shall feel a pleasure in the communication.\nWriting letters I find to be a relief from a melancholy, induced some\ntwo years ago by a variety of heavy afflictions, and this must be my\napology for addressing you. But to my narrative:--\n\nShortly after I entered the ministry, I was introduced to a gentleman of\nvery superior mind who belonged to the same profession, and whom I had\nnever seen equalled for the genius and eloquence which his conversation\ndisplayed.\n\nI became at once attached to him, and for some reason or other he\nevinced a desire to cultivate my friendship. After some months of most\nagreeable intercourse had elapsed, he was taken seriously ill, and one\nevening I was hastily summoned to his house. On my entering his chamber\nhe requested that we might be left alone, and he then told me that it\nwas his impression that his disease was mortal--that many supernatural\noccurrances had marked his life, which he desired might be given to the\nworld when he was gone, and that he wished me to perform this office.\nHaving expressed my willingness to gratify him, he commenced the chapter\nof extraordinaries. Here is one event in his remarkable history. Prior\nto his becoming a minister and when in humble circumstances, he lodged\nat the house of a tradesman at a certain sea-port town in W--s. He was\nthen in perfect health. One night he retired to rest in peculiarly good\nspirits, and as his custom was (for it was then summer) he sat near the\nwindow and gazed for some time on the beauties of nature. He then amused\nhimself for a while by humming a tune, when presently on looking towards\nthe door, he saw the figure of a man enter--his dress was a blood red\nnight cap, flannel jacket, and breeches. The man approached the bed (his\ncountenance and walk indicating extreme illness), threw himself upon it,\ngave several groans and apparantly expired. My friend was so filled with\nhorror that he lost all power of speech and motion, and remained fixed\non his seat till morning, when he told his landlord the occurrence of\nthe night, and declared that unless they could find him other apartments\nhe would leave them that very day. The honest people were disinclined to\npart with him and agreed to accommodate him on the ground-floor. About\n_twelve months after this_, he went out on a market day for the purpose\nof purchasing some provisions, and when he returned, he heard that his\nold room was taken; but what was his surprise to find in the new lodger\nthe very form, with the very same dress that had so terrified him a year\nbefore!\n\nThe man was then very ill: he died in a few weeks, and the circumstances\nwere without _any exception_ the same as those which my friend had\nwitnessed. This is one of those cases in which it is extremely difficult\nto ascertain the design of the appearance.\n\nI should much like to know what conjecture you would form, as to the\n_modus_ and end of such a singular incident.\n\nOf the veracity of the narrator it was impossible for me to doubt. As\nthis minister is still _living_ I am not at liberty to mention his\nname.\n\nPray excuse the freedom of thus addressing you, and believe me to be\n\n    Madam, with every sentiment\n    of respect and esteem,\n    Yours, very truly,\n    Mrs. C. Crowe.      R. I. O.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLETTER III.\n\n\n_Gloucestershire, June 21, 1854._\n\nMADAM,\n\nAs I find that another communication will not be unacceptable, I proceed\nto detail a few cases. My first relates to the minister, a part of whose\nhistory I have given you, and belongs to the class of prophetic dreams.\nWhen he had resolved to study for the ministry and through the influence\nof friends, had obtained admission to a Dissenting College; as the day\naffixed for his departure drew near, he was filled with anxiety, from\nthe fact that he had not even money to pay his travelling expenses.\n\nHe did not like to borrow, and he had no reason to conclude that any\none suspected the miserable state of his finances. The evening before\nhis expected removal, he laid down to rest with a troubled heart. This\nwas in the very same seaport where the circumstance happened which I\nhave already told you. After some hours of great mental suffering sleep\ncame to his relief, and in his dream there seemed to approach him one of\na most pleasing form, who told him that he not only saw that he was in\ndistress, but that he well knew the cause of it, and that if he would\nwalk down on the beach to a certain place which he pointed out as in a\npicture, he would find under some loose stones enough for his present\nnecessities. In the morning, accordingly, almost as soon as it was light\nhe hastened to the indicated spot and to his great surprise and delight\nfound a sum amounting to a trifle more than was absolutely necessary for\nhis journey. I would just, in passing, remark that he said that on\nanother occasion, his father who died many years before appeared to him\nwith an angry countenance, and assured him that he would suffer much\nfrom something he had done in reference to his family, but as this was\nevidently an unpleasant and even painful topic I did not wish him to\nenlarge upon it. The other fact I shall mention, happened to my\ngrandfather who was also a minister. I am well aware that it is of such\na nature that the relation of it would in most companies excite a burst\nof laughter or at least a contemptuous and sceptical smile, but I know I\nam addressing one who has studied in a very different school of\nphilosophy. It was in the large town of B--m where my grandfather\nresided for many years, that the event took place. He himself my\ngrandfather, my aunts, and my mother used often to tell it to their\nfriends when the conversation turned on the supernatural. I have\nprobably heard it a hundred times and I am not ashamed to say that on\nthe testimony of such a man as my grandfather I cannot but yield to it\nmy belief.\n\nOne morning when _breakfast had just commenced_, my grandfather went\nfrom the table, at which my grandmother also was sitting, into the\npassage, for what purpose I have now forgotten, and there he found (for\nthe front door had been standing open,) a strange looking man in black,\nwith a shuffling gait and a club foot. He declared that he had an\ninstantaneous conviction that this was a supernatural appearance, and\nthat a spirit of evil stood before him. The man in black exclaimed,\nmoving towards the breakfast room, \"I am come to take breakfast with you\nthis morning.\" My grandfather convulsively seizing the handle of the\ndoor, said, with a stern look, \"you are too late sir,\" to which the\nother instantly replied, \"I am not too late for the remnant,\" and then\nrushed into the street. My grandfather followed, and to his amazement\nsaw this creature at the top of the street, which was of great length,\nand in a moment or two he vanished. My grandmother heard a loud talking,\nand when my grandfather returned to the table in considerable agitation,\nshe naturally wished to know what had occurred, but as she was near her\nconfinement he of course concealed the matter from her. The mysterious\nwords of the stranger followed him continually, and he puzzled himself\nin seeking to explain their meaning. In a few days my grandmother was\nconfined. The child was dead-born and her life for some time hung in\njeopardy. He now believed he had arrived at the solution of the\ndifficulty--the infant was the \"remnant\" referred to.\n\nI am not the subject of remarkable dreams. I had one, however, lately,\nand I give it you because it stands connected in my mind with the\nknowledge of a singular psychical fact which I am confident will greatly\ninterest you, if you have not yet fallen upon it in the course of your\nreading. About a fortnight ago I thought I saw in my sleep, a young man,\nwho is assistant to our principal surgeon, come into my room, looking\nexceedingly unwell. He laid himself on the other bed in my chamber, and\nI thought that he had come there to linger out his last illness, at\nwhich I felt not the least surprise or objection. He seemed to be\nperfectly resigned, and presently he began to converse with me, and\nafter we had talked for some time, whilst he was replying to something I\nhad said, I distinctly saw his spirit rise up out of his body. He gazed\nat the corpse with the deepest interest and pleasure. One moment he\nwould stand by the head and survey the face, and the next move to the\nfeet, and then gaze at the entire body. He called me to come and stand\nby his side and view this lifeless frame, which I did with as much\nplacidity as he seemed himself to possess, and without the slightest\nidea of their being anything absurd in what I saw. I could not,\nhowever, help saying \"O, that I could leave my body and have such a view\nof it as you have now of yours!\" I remember no more. In the morning I\nhad occasion to call on a friend, who has a large library containing\nmany rare books. Not being in the humour for close reading (for I spend\nmany hours at a time there) I took up from a centre table a volume of a\nlighter kind. It happened to be Mrs. Child's \"Letters from New York.\"\nTurning the leaves over carelessly, my eye lighted on a chapter headed\n\"The spirit surveying its own body!\" She there says that she was told by\na pious lady, that when once in a swoon, she felt that she left the body\nand was _standing by it_ during the whole time it lasted; that she\ndistinctly heard every word spoken by the doctor and her family, and saw\nevery movement of their countenances, and all that was done with her\nbody. I may observe that I have not heard that anything has occurred to\nthe young man I saw. If I have not already tired your patience you may\ndraw on my memory for something more. A line to that effect will oblige,\n\n    Yours very truly,\n    Mrs. Crowe,      R. I. O.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLETTER IV.\n\n\n_Edinburgh, Aug. 10th._\n\nMADAM,\n\nIn consequence of a long absence abroad, I never had, till recently, an\nopportunity of reading your agreeable work, \"The Night side of Nature,\"\nwhich contains a mass of evidence in favour of your theories, to which I\ntake the liberty of adding a few cases from my own experience.\n\nMany years ago I lived in a house in Edinburgh, which belonged to my\nmother's relatives, and in which my maternal grandfather had died,\nseveral years antecedent to my own birth. The room in which I slept was\nthat (but at the time unknown to me) in which my relative had expired.\nThere were two beds in the room--one a large four-poster and the other a\nsort of couch. The latter was next the door, and both lay between it and\nthe window, which was barred and bolted, and opposite to them was the\nfireplace, with rather a high mantlepiece. Being summer, the \"board\" was\non the chimney. It was about eleven o'clock at night; the rest of the\nfamily had retired to rest. As there were only about two inches of\ncandle left, I placed the candlestick on the mantlepiece, intending to\nallow it to burn out, and went to my bed, which was on the couch. I had\njust lain down, and was looking towards the candle, when, to my extreme\nhorror, I perceived a tall old man in his night dress, standing by the\nmantlepiece. His sight seemed impaired, for he put forth his hand _and\nfelt for something_, and then moved across the fireplace, in doing\nwhich, _he obscured the light on passing it_. My gaze was riveted on\nhim. He then turned towards the large bed on my left, and stretching out\nhis hands attempted with a feeble effort to lay himself down, and in\ndoing so I heard him _sigh_ distinctly. He disappeared almost at the\nsame moment. He did not appear to have noticed me. I immediately sprang\nout of bed and opening the door on my right hand, called out loudly, but\n_never left the doorway_, as I was resolved that if the figure were that\nof a living person there should be no means of egress. On the assembling\nof the family in my room, a search was made; but there was nothing to be\nseen, and there had been no possibility of a human being having been in\nthe room; the affair was put down to an _illusion_. Yet so strong an\nimpression did it leave on my mind, that a few years since (1851 or 52),\nwhen in India, I published in \"Saunder's Magazine,\" printed at the Delhi\nGazette press, an account of this apparition, in a narrative, which I\nwrote called \"Idone, or Incidents in the life of a dreamer,\" and which\nwith the exception of this introductory vision, was, in reality, a\nseries of actual dreams of which I had kept a record, and this I\nendeavoured to weave into a vague story, with the view of illustrating\nhow a person might live _two distinct lives_!\n\nSometime after the above were published, I read with much interest,\n\"Swedenborg's Theory of the Spiritual World;\" and lately when reading\nyour work, I was struck with some peculiar resemblances between my own\nexperience and the cases you cite.\n\nBut to return to the family and house in Edinburgh, of my grandfather.\nOther members of the family have seen unaccountable figures in the same\nhouse. An aunt of mine and a cousin, one night, met an old woman on the\nstairs with a large bunch of keys, and were in the greatest alarm. On\nanother occasion, on going to open a room which had been locked up for\nsome time, in order to prepare it for the reception of my eldest uncle,\nwho had just returned that night from abroad, two members of the family\nstarted back and locked the door again, for on entering they had both\nseen the _mattrass &c. violently heaved up_. On returning with the\nservants, nothing was visible of an unusual description. Again, two\nrelatives occupied the same room, and one night, as the fire was burning\nlow, after they had gone to bed (the door being locked) they were\nalarmed by a sound like wings, over their beds, and by a _dusky form_\nmoving about the room. It walked up to the fireplace and seemed\nrestless. When it had disappeared, they both rose and _unlocked_ the\ndoor, called for assistance, but, as usual, nothing of their visitor was\nto be seen. A still more remarkable incident occurred in the same house.\nAs two of my aunts were sitting opposite the window, at night, they were\nstartled by the apparition of an absent brother-in-law looking in, and\nwith a pen in his hand. A few days afterwards the intelligence of his\ndeath arrived. He had been _signing his will_ at the exact time they\nhad seen his apparation. My eldest uncle shortly after his return from\nabroad went to Musselburgh to visit an old school-master, and as he\nentered the yard he observed him limping into the school. He tried to\novertake him, and on reaching the door he met one of the tutors, who\ninformed him that the Dr. had been confined to his bed for some time\nwith a broken leg.\n\nThe same uncle, who was an officer in the army, dreamt that he had\nobtained his captaincy by the retirement of an officer of the name of\nPatterson (so far as I remember.) There was no such officer then in the\nregiment, and he mentioned it as strange that he should have dreamt of a\n_particular_ name. A few Gazettes afterwards my uncle obtained his\npromotion by an officer of _this_ name being _brought in from the\nhalf-pay to sell out in the same Gazette_.\n\nI have myself heard the most remarkable and unaccountable noises in my\ngrandfather's house. The servants were often in the greatest terror. I\nhave heard, seemingly, the whole of the furniture, in a particular room,\nthrown violently about, accompanied with the noise of something rolling\non the floor. At other times I have distinctly heard, as it were, a\nboy's marble falling step by step down the stairs and striking against\nmy door, which was at the foot of them, and yet this was at night, and\nthere were no children in the house. This annoyance, with that of steps\nheard round my bed, was so common as to cease to make any impression on\nme.\n\nI may mention that my grandfather was not happy in his family relations,\nand died in an uneasy frame of mind, on Christmas eve, 1820. Since my\nfamily sold his house, I have never heard that its new occupants were\ndisturbed.\n\nI have at different periods of my life had _groups_, as it were, of very\nremarkable allegorical dreams.\n\nIt is somewhat singular that involuntary efforts may be made during\nsleep, which are I believe beyond the bounds of possibility during\nwaking moments. Indeed the curious phenomena which you have so ably\ncriticised, are without limit.\n\nThough you do not approve of the concealment of names, I hope you will\nexcuse my asking you to do so in the present instance as many of the\nparties concerned might be displeased.\n\n    I have the honour to remain,\n    Madam,\n    Your obedient servant,\n\n    Mrs. Catherine Crowe.      H. A.\n\n\"P.S. I know two remarkable instances of prophetic denunciation or the\npower of will, under, of course, the control of Providence. In one\ninstance, the death of the party denounced, followed on the week\npredicted, although at the time he was well. Moreover, the denunciation\nwas never mentioned to him.\n\n\"In the other instance, the accomplishment of the denunciation was\naccomplished to the exact day, and under very remarkable circumstances.\nI believe this power to be _involuntary_, and more of the nature of\ninspiration.\"\n\n\n\n\nSECOND PART.\n\nLEGENDS OF THE EARTHBOUND.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ITALIAN'S STORY.\n\n\n\"How well your friend speaks English!\" I remarked one day to an\nacquaintance when I was abroad, alluding to a gentleman who had just\nquitted the room. \"What is his name?\"\n\n\"Count Francesco Ferraldi.\"\n\n\"I suppose he has been in England?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes; he was exiled and taught Italian there. His history is very\ncurious and would interest you, who like wonderful things.\"\n\n\"Can you tell it me.\"\n\n\"Not correctly, as I never heard it from himself. But I believe he has\nno objection to tell it--with the exception of the political\ntransactions in which he was concerned, and which caused his being sent\nout of the Austrian dominions; that part of it I believe he thinks it\nprudent not to allude to. We'll ask him to dinner, if you'll meet him,\nand perhaps we may persuade him to tell the story.\"\n\nAccordingly, the meeting took place; we dined _en petit comite_,--and\nthe Count very good-naturedly yielded to our request; \"but you must\nexcuse me,\" he said, \"beginning a long way back for my story commences\nthree hundred years ago.\n\n\"Our family claims to be of great antiquity, but we were not very\nwealthy till about the latter half of the 16th century, when Count\nJacopo Ferraldi made very considerable additions to the property; not\nonly by getting, but also by saving--he was in fact a miser. Before that\nperiod the Ferraldis had been warriors, and we could boast of many\ndistinguished deeds of arms recorded in our annals; but Jacopo, although\nby the death of his brother, he ultimately inherited the title and the\nestates, had begun life as a younger son, and being dissatisfied with\nhis portion, had resolved to increase it by commerce.\n\n\"Florence then was a very different city to what it is now; trade\nflourished, and its merchants had correspondence and large dealings with\nall the chief cities of Europe. My ancestor invested his little fortune\nso judiciously, or so fortunately, that he trebled it in his first\nventure; and as people grow rapidly rich who gain and don't spend, he\nsoon had wealth to his heart's content--but I am wrong in using that\nterm as applied to him--he was never content with his gains but still\nworked on to add to them, for he grew to love the money for itself, and\nnot for what it might purchase.\n\n\"At length, his two elder brothers died, and as they left no issue he\nsucceeded to their inheritance, and dwelt in the palace of his\nancestors; but instead of circulating his riches he hoarded them; and\nbeing too miserly to entertain his friends and neighbours, he lived like\nan anchorite in his splendid halls, exulting in his possessions but\nnever enjoying them. His great pleasure and chief occupation seems to\nhave been counting his money, which he kept either hidden in strange\nout-of-the-way places, or in strong iron chests, clamped to the floors\nand walls. But notwithstanding those precautions and that he guarded it\nlike a watch dog, to his great dismay he one day missed a sum of two\nthousand pounds which he had concealed in an ingeniously contrived\nreceptacle under the floor of his dining-room, the existence of which\nwas only known to the man who made it; at least, so he believed. Small\nas was this sum in proportion to what he possessed, the shock was\ntremendous; he rushed out of his house like a madman with the intention\nof dragging the criminal to justice, but when he arrived at the man's\nshop he found him in bed and at the point of death. His friends and the\ndoctor swore that he had not quitted it for a fortnight; in short,\naccording to their shewing, he was taken ill on his return from working\nat the Count's, the very day he finished the job.\n\n\"If this were true, he could not be the thief, as the money was not\ndeposited there till some days afterwards, and although the Count had\nhis doubts, it was not easy to disprove what everybody swore, more\nespecially as the man died on the following day, and was buried. Baffled\nand furious, he next fell foul of his two servants--he kept but two, for\nhe only inhabited a small part of the palace. There was not the smallest\nreason to suspect them, nor to suppose they knew anything of the hiding\nplace, for every precaution had been used to conceal it; moreover, he\nhad found it locked as he himself had locked it after depositing the\nmoney, and he was quite sure the key had never been absent from his own\nperson. Nevertheless, he discharged them and took no others. The thief,\nwhoever he was, had evinced so much ingenuity, that he trembled to think\nwhat such skill might compass with opportunity. So he resolved to afford\nnone; and henceforth to have his meals sent in from a neighbouring\neating-house, and to have a person once a week to sweep and clean his\nrooms, whom he could keep an eye on while it was doing. As he had no\nclue to the perpetrators of the robbery, and the man whom he had most\nreason to suspect was dead, he took no further steps in the business,\nbut kept it quiet lest he should draw too much attention towards his\nsecret hoards; nevertheless, though externally calm, the loss preyed\nupon his mind and caused him great anguish.\n\n\"Shortly after this occurrence, he received a letter from a sister of\nhis who had several years before married an Englishman, saying that her\nhusband was dead, and it being advisable that her dear and only son\nshould enter into commerce, that she was going to send him to Florence,\nfeeling assured that her brother would advise him for the best, and\nenable him to employ the funds he brought with him advantageously.\n\n\"This was not pleasing intelligence; he did not want to promote any\nbody's interest but his own, and he felt that the young man would be a\nspy on his actions, an intruder in his house, and no doubt an expectant\nand greedy heir, counting the hours till he died; for this sister and\nher family were his nearest of kin, and would inherit if he left no will\nto the contrary. However, his arrival could not be prevented; letters\ntravelled slowly in those days, and ere his could reach England his\nnephew would have quitted it, so he resolved to give him a cold\nreception and send him back as soon as he could.\n\n\"In the mean time, the young man had started on his journey, full of\nhope and confidence, and immediately on his arrival hastened to present\nhimself to this rich uncle who was to shew him the path he had himself\nfollowed to fortune. It was not for his own sake alone he coveted\nriches, but his mother and sister were but poorly provided for, and they\nhad collected the whole of their little fortune and risked it upon this\nventure, hoping, with the aid of their relative, to be amply repaid for\nthe present sacrifice.\n\n\"A fine open countenanced lad was Arthur Allen, just twenty years of\nage; such a face and figure had not beamed upon those old halls for many\na day. Well brought up and well instructed too; he spoke Italian as well\nas English, his mother having accustomed him to it from infancy.\n\n\"Though he had heard his uncle was a miser, he had no conception of the\namount to which the mania had arisen; and his joyous anticipations were\nsomewhat damped when he found himself so coldly received, and when he\nlooked into those hard grey eyes and contracted features that had never\nexpanded with a genial smile; so fearing the old man might be\napprehensive that he had come as an applicant for assistance to set him\nup in trade, he hastened to inform him of the true state of the case,\nsaying that they had got together two thousand pounds.\n\n\"'Of course, my mother,' he said, 'would not have entrusted my\ninexperience with such a sum; but she desired me to place it in your\nhands, and to act entirely under your direction.\n\n\"To use the miser's own expression--for we have learnt all these\nparticulars from a memoir left by himself--'When I heard these words the\ndevil entered into me, and I bade the youth bring the money and dine\nwith me on the following day.'\n\n\"I daresay you will think the devil had entered into him long before;\nhowever, now he recognized his presence, but that did not deter him from\nfollowing his counsel.\n\n\"Pleased that he had so far thawed his uncle's frigidity, Arthur arrived\nthe next day with his money bags at the appointed hour, and was received\nin an inner chamber; their contents were inspected and counted, and then\nplaced in one of the old man's iron chests. Soon afterwards the tinkle\nof a bell announced that the waiter from the neighbouring traiteur's had\nbrought the dinner, and the host left the room to see that all was\nready. Presently he re-entered, and led his guest to the table. The\nrepast was not sumptuous, but there was a bottle of old Lacryma Christi\nwhich he much recommended, and which the youth tasted with great\nsatisfaction. But strange! He had no sooner swallowed the first glass,\nthan his eyes began to stare--there was a gurgle in his throat--a\nconvulsion passed over his face--and his body stiffened.\n\n\"'I did not look up,' says the old man in his memoir, 'for I did not\nlike to see the face of the boy that had sat down so hearty to his\ndinner, so I kept on eating mine--but I heard the gurgle, and I knew\nwhat had happened; and presently lest the servant should come to fetch\nthe dinner things, I pushed the table aside and opened the receptacle\nfrom which my two thousand pounds had been stolen--curses on the thief!\nand I laid the body in it, and the wine therewith. I locked it and drove\nin two strong nails. Then I put back the table--moved away the lad's\nchair and plate, unlocked the door which was fast, and sat down to\nfinish my dinner. I could not help chuckling as I ate, to think how his\nhad been spoilt.\n\n\"'I closed up that apartment, as I thought there might be a smell that\nwould raise observation, and I selected one on the opposite side of the\ngallery for my dining-room. All went well till the following day. I\ncounted my two thousand pounds again and again, and I kept gloating\nover the recovery of it--for I felt as if it was my own money, and that\nI had a right to seize it where I could. I wrote also to my sister,\nsaying, that her son had not arrived; but that when he did, I would do\nmy best to forward his views. My heart was light that day--they say\nthat's a bad sign.\n\n\"'Yes, all was so far well; but the next day we were two of us at\ndinner! And yet I had invited no guest; and the next and the next, and\nso on always! As I was about to sit down, he entered and took a chair\nopposite me, an unbidden guest. I ceased dining at home, but it made no\ndifference; he came, dine where I would. This preyed upon me; I tried\nnot to mind, but I could not help it. Argument was vain. I lost my\nappetite, and was reduced nearly to death's door. At last, driven to\ndesperation, I consulted Fra Guiseppe. He had been a fast fellow in his\ntime, and it was said had been too impatient for his father's\nsuccession; howbeit, the old man died suddenly; Guiseppe spent the money\nand then took to religion. I thought he was a proper person to consult,\nso I told him my case. He recommended repentance and restitution. I\ntried, but I could not repent, for I had got the money; but I thought,\nperhaps, if I parted with it to another, I might be released; so I\nlooked about for an advantageous purchase, and hearing that Bartolomeo\nMalfi was in difficulties, I offered him two thousand pounds, money\ndown, for his land--I knew it was worth three times the sum. We signed\nthe agreement, and then I went home and opened the door of the room\nwhere it was; but lo! he sat there upon the chest where the money was\nfast locked, and I could not get it. I peeped in two or three times, but\nhe was always there; so I was obliged to expend other moneys in this\npurchase, which vexed me, albeit the bargain was a good one. Then I\nconsulted friend Guiseppe again, and he said nothing would do but\nrestitution--but that was hard, so I waited; and I said to myself, I'll\neat and care not whether he sit there or no. But woe be to him! he\nchilled the marrow of my bones, and I could not away with him; so I said\none day, \"What if I go to England with the money?\" and he bowed his\nhead.'\n\n\"The old man accordingly took the moneybags from the chest and started\nfor England. His sister and her daughter were still living in the house\nthey had inhabited during the husband's lifetime; in short, it was their\nown; and being attached to the place they hoped, if the young man\nsucceeded in his undertakings, to be able to keep it. It was a small\nhouse with a garden full of flowers, which the ladies cultivated\nthemselves. The village church was close at hand, and the churchyard\nadjoined the garden. The poor ladies had become very uneasy at not\nhearing of Arthur's arrival; and when the old man presented himself and\ndeclared he had never seen anything of him, great was their affliction\nand dismay; for it was clear that either some misfortune had happened to\nthe boy, or he had appropriated the money and gone off in some other\ndirection. They scarcely admitted the possibility of the last\ncontingency, although it was the one their little world universally\nadopted, in spite of his being a very well conducted and affectionate\nyouth; but people said it was too great a temptation for his years, and\nblamed his mother for entrusting him with so much money. Whichever it\nwas, the blow fell very heavy on them in all ways, for Arthur was their\nsole stay and support, and they loved him dearly.\n\n\"Since he had set out on this journey, the old man had been relieved\nfrom the company of his terrible guest, and was beginning to recover\nhimself a little, but it occasioned him a severe pang when he remembered\nthat this immunity was to be purchased with the sacrifice of two\nthousand pounds, and he set himself to think how he could jockey the\nghost. But while he was deliberating on this subject, an event happened\nthat alarmed him for the immediate safety of the money.\n\n\"He had found on the road, that the great weight of a certain chest he\nbrought with him, had excited observation whenever his luggage had to be\nmoved; on his arrival two labouring men had been called in to carry it\ninto the house, and he had overheard some remarks that induced him to\nthink they had drawn a right conclusion with regard to its contents.\nSubsequently, he saw these two men hovering about the house in a\nsuspicious manner, and he was afraid to leave it or to go to sleep at\nnight, lest he should be robbed.\n\n\"So far we learn from Jocopo Ferraldi himself; but there the memoir\nstops. Tradition says that he was found one morning murdered in his bed\nand his chest rifled. All the family, that is the mother and daughter\nand their one servant, were accused of the murder; and notwithstanding\ntheir protestation of innocence were declared guilty and executed.\n\n\"The memoir I have quoted was found on his dressing table, and he\nappears to have been writing it when he was surprised by the assassins;\nfor the last words were--'I think I've baulked them, and nobody will\nunderstand the--' then comes a large blot and a mark, as if the pen had\nfallen out of his hand. It seems wonderful that this man, so suspicious\nand secretive, should thus have entrusted to paper what it was needful\nhe should conceal; but the case is not singular; it has been remarked in\nsimilar instances, when some dark mystery is pressing on a human soul,\nthat there exists an irresistible desire to communicate it,\nnotwithstanding the peril of betrayal; and when no other confident can\nbe found, the miserable wretch has often had recourse to paper.\n\n\"The family of Arthur Allen being now extinct, a cousin of Jacopo's,\nwho was a penniless soldier, succeeded to the title and estate, and the\nmemoir, with a full account of what had happened, being forwarded to\nItaly, enquiries were made about the missing two thousand pounds; but it\nwas not forthcoming; and it was at first supposed that the ladies had\nhad some accomplice who had carried it off. Subsequently, however, one\nof the two men who had borne the money chest into the house, at the\nperiod of the old man's arrival, was detected in endeavouring to dispose\nof some Italian gold coin and a diamond ring, which Jacopo was in the\nhabit of wearing. This led to investigation, and he ultimately confessed\nto the murder committed by himself and his companion, thus exonerating\nthe unfortunate woman. He nevertheless declared that they had not rifled\nthe strong box, as they could not open it, and were disturbed by the\nbarking of a dog before they could search for the keys. The box itself\nthey were afraid to carry away, it being a remarkable one and liable to\nattract notice; and that therefore their only booty was some loose coin\nand some jewels that were found on the old man's person. But this was\nnot believed, especially as his accomplice was not to be found, and\nappeared, on enquiry, to have left that part of the country immediately\nafter the catastrophe.\n\n\"There the matter rested for nearly two centuries and a half. Nobody\nsorrowed for Jacopo Ferraldi, and the fate of the Allens was a matter of\nindifference to the public, who was glad to see the estate fall into the\nhands of his successor, who appears to have made a much better use of\nhis riches. The family in the long period that elapsed, had many\nvicissitudes; but at the period of my birth my father inhabited the same\nold palace, and we were in tolerably affluent circumstances. I was born\nthere, and I remember as a child the curiosity I used to feel about the\nroom with the secret receptacle under the floor where Jacopo had buried\nthe body of his guest. It had been found there and received Christian\nburial; but the receptacle still remained, and the room was shut up\nbeing said to be haunted. I never _saw_ anything extraordinary, but I\ncan bear witness to the frightful groans and moans that issued from it\nsometimes at night, when, if I could persuade anybody to accompany me, I\nused to stand in the gallery and listen with wonder and awe. But I\nnever passed the door alone, nor would any of the servants do so after\ndark. There had been an attempt made to exclude the sounds by walling up\nthe door; but so far from this succeeding they became twenty times\nworse, and as the wall was a disfigurement as well as a failure, the\nunquiet spirit was placated by taking it down again.\n\n\"The old man's memoir is always preserved amongst the family papers, and\nhis picture still hangs in the gallery. Many strangers who have heard\nsomething of this extraordinary story, have asked to see it. The palace\nis now inhabited by an Austrian nobleman,--whether the ghost continues\nto annoy the inmates by his lamentations I do not know.\n\n\"'I now,' said Count Francesco, 'come to my personal history. Political\nreasons a few years since obliged me to quit Italy with my family. I had\nno resources except a little ready money that I had brought with me, and\nI had resolved to utilise some musical talent which I had cultivated for\nmy amusement. I had not voice enough to sing in public, but I was\ncapable of giving lessons and was considered, when in Italy, a\nsuccessful amateur. I will not weary you with the sad details of my\nearly residence in England; you can imagine the difficulties that an\nunfortunate foreigner must encounter before he can establish a\nconnexion. Suffice it to say that my small means were wholly exhausted,\nand that very often I, and what was worse, my wife and child were in\nwant of bread, and indebted to one of my more prosperous countrymen for\nthe very necessaries of life. I was almost in despair, and I do not know\nwhat rash thing I might have done if I had been a single man; but I had\nmy family depending on me, and it was my duty not to sink under my\ndifficulties however great they were.\n\n\"One night I had been singing at the house of a nobleman, in St. James's\nSquare, and had received some flattering compliments from a young man\nwho appeared to be very fond of Italian music, and to understand it. My\ngetting to this party was a stroke of good luck in the first instance,\nfor I was quite unknown to the host, but Signor A. an acquaintance of\nmine, who had been engaged for the occasion, was taken ill at the last\nmoment, and had sent me with a note of introduction to supply his\nplace.\n\n\"I knew, of course, that I should be well paid for my services, but I\nwould have gladly accepted half the sum I expected if I could have had\nit that night, for our little treasury was wholly exhausted, and we had\nnot sixpence to purchase a breakfast for the following day. When the\ngreat hall door shut upon me, and I found myself upon the pavement, with\nall that luxury and splendour on one side, and I and my desolation on\nthe other, the contrast struck me cruelly, for I too had been rich, and\ndwelt in illuminated palaces, and had a train of liveried servants at my\ncommand, and sweet music had echoed through my halls. I felt desperate,\nand drawing my hat over my eyes I began pacing the square, forming wild\nplans for the relief or escape from my misery. No doubt I looked\nfrantic; for you know we Italians have such a habit of gesticulating,\nthat I believe my thoughts were accompanied by movements that must have\nexcited notice; but I was too much absorbed to observe anything, till I\nwas roused by a voice saying, 'Signor Ferraldi, still here this damp\nchilly night! Are you not afraid for your voice--it is worth taking care\nof.'\n\n\"'To what purpose,' I said savagely, 'It will not give me bread!'\n\n\"If the interruption had not been so sudden, I should not have made such\nan answer, but I was surprised into it before I knew who had addressed\nme. When I looked up I saw it was the young man I had met at Lord L.'s,\nwho had complimented me on my singing. I took off my hat and begged his\npardon, and was about to move away, when he took my arm.\n\n\"'Excuse me,' he said, 'let us walk together,' and then after a little\npause, he added, with an apology, 'I think you are an exile.'\n\n\"'I am,' I said.\n\n\"'And I think,' he continued, 'I have surprised you out of a secret that\nyou would not voluntarily have told me. I know well the hardships that\nbeset many of your countrymen--as good gentlemen as we are\nourselves--when you are obliged to leave your country; and I beg\ntherefore you will not think me impertinent or intrusive, if I beg you\nto be frank with me and tell me how you are situated!'\n\n\"This offer of sympathy was evidently so sincere, and it was so welcome,\nat such a moment, that I did not hesitate to comply with my new friend's\nrequest--I told him everything--adding that in time I hoped to get\nknown, and that then I did not fear being able to make my way; but that\nmeanwhile we were in danger of starving.\n\n\"During this conversation we were walking round and round the square,\nwhere in fact he lived. Before we parted at his own door, he had\npersuaded me to accept of a gift, I call it, for he had then no reason\nto suppose I should ever be able to repay him, but he called it an\nadvance of ten guineas upon some lessons I was to give him; the first\ninstalment of which was to be paid the following day.\n\n\"I went home with a comparitively light heart, and the next morning\nwaited on my friendly pupil, whom I found, as I expected, a very\npromising scholar. He told me with a charming frankness, that he had not\nmuch influence in fashionable society, for his family, though rich, was\n_parvenue_, but he said he had two sisters, as fond of music as himself,\nwho would be shortly in London, and would be delighted to take lessons,\nas I had just the voice they liked to sing with them.\n\n\"This was the first auspicious incident that had occurred to me, nor did\nthe omen fail in its fulfilment. I received great kindness from the\nfamily when they came to London. I gave them lessons, sung at their\nparties, and they took every opportunity of recommending me to their\nfriends.\n\n\"When the end of the season approached, however, I felt somewhat anxious\nabout the future--there would be no parties to sing at, and my pupils\nwould all be leaving town; but my new friends, whose name, by the way,\nwas Greathead, had a plan for me in their heads, which they strongly\nrecommended me to follow. They said they had a house in the country with\na large neighbourhood--in fact, near a large watering-place; and that if\nI went there during the summer months, they did not doubt my getting\nplenty of teaching; adding, 'We are much greater people there than we\nare here, you see; and our recommendation will go a great way.'\n\n\"I followed my friend's advice, and soon after they left London, I\njoined them at Salton, which was the name of their place. As I had left\nmy wife and children in town, with very little money, I was anxious that\nthey should join me as soon as possible; and therefore the morning after\nmy arrival, I proceeded to look for a lodging at S., and to take\nmeasures to make my object known to the residents and visitors there.\nMy business done, I sent my family directions for their journey, and\nthen returned to Salton to spend a few days, as I had promised my kind\npatrons.\n\n\"The house was modern, in fact it had been built by Mr. Greathead's\ngrandfather, who was the architect of their fortunes; the grounds were\nextensive, and the windows looked on a fine lawn, a picturesque ruin, a\nsparkling rivulet, and a charming flower-garden; there could not be a\nprettier view than that we enjoyed while sitting at breakfast. It was my\nfirst experience of the lovely and graceful English homes, and it fully\nrealised all my expectations, both within doors and without. After\nbreakfast Mr. Greathead and his son asked me to accompany them round the\ngrounds, as they were contemplating some alterations.\n\n\"'Among other things,' said Mr. G., 'we want to turn this rivulet; but\nmy wife has a particular fancy for that old hedge, which is exactly in\nthe way, and she won't let me root it up.'\n\n\"The hedge alluded to enclosed two sides of the flower-garden, but\nseemed rather out of place, I thought.\n\n\"'Why?' said I. 'What is Mrs. Greathead's attachment to the hedge?'\n\n\"'Why? it's very old; it formerly bordered the churchyard, for that old\nruin you see there, is all that remains of the parish church; and this\nflower-garden, I fancy, is all the more brilliant for the rich soil of\nthe burial-ground. But what is remarkable is, that the hedge and that\nside of the garden are full of Italian flowers, and always have been so\nas long as anybody can remember. Nobody knows how it happens, but they\nmust spring up from some old seeds that have been long in the ground.\nLook at this cyclamen growing wild in the hedge.'\n\n\"The subject of the alterations was renewed at dinner, and Mrs.\nGreathead, still objecting to the removal of the hedge, her younger son,\nwhose name was Harry, said, 'It is very well for mamma to pretend it is\nfor the sake of the flowers, but I am quite sure that the real reason is\nthat she is afraid of offending the ghost.'\n\n\"'What nonsence, Harry,' she said. 'You must not believe him, Mr.\nFerraldi.'\n\n\"'Well mamma,' said the boy, 'you know you will never be convinced that\nthat was not a ghost you saw.'\n\n\"'Never mind what it was,' she said; 'I won't have the hedge removed.\nPresently,' she added, 'I suppose you would laugh at the idea of anybody\nbelieving in a ghost, Mr. Ferraldi.'\n\n\"'Quite the contrary,' I answered; 'I believe in them myself, and upon\nvery good grounds, for we have a celebrated ghost in our family.'\n\n\"'Well,' she said, 'Mr. Greathead and the boys laugh at me; but when I\ncame to live here, upon the death of Mr. Greathead's grandfather,--for\nhis father never inhabited the place, having died by an accident before\nthe old gentleman,--I had never heard a word of the place being haunted;\nand, perhaps, I should not have believed it if I had. But, one evening,\nwhen the younger children were gone to bed, and Mr. Greathead and George\nwere sitting with some friends in the dining-room, I, and my sister, who\nwas staying with me, strolled into the garden. It was in the month of\nAugust, and a bright starlight night. We were talking on a very\ninteresting matter, for my sister had that day, received an offer from\nthe gentleman she afterwards married. I mention that, to show you that\nwe were not thinking of anything supernatural, but, on the contrary,\nthat our minds were quite absorbed with the subject we were discussing.\nI was looking on the ground, as one often does, when listening intently\nto what another person is saying; my sister was speaking, when she\nsuddenly stopped, and laid her hand on my arm, saying, 'Who's that?'\n\n\"'I raised my eyes and saw, not many yards from us, an old man, withered\nand thin, dressed in a curious antique fashion, with a high peaked hat\non his head. I could not conceive who he could be, or what he could be\ndoing there, for it was close to the flower-garden; so we stood still to\nobserve him. I don't know whether you saw the remains of an old\ntombstone in a corner of the garden? It is said to be that of a former\nrector of the parish; the date, 1550, is still legible upon it. The old\nman walked from one side of the hedge to that stone, and seemed to be\ncounting his steps. He walked like a person pacing the ground, to\nmeasure it; then he stopped, and appeared to be noting the result of\nhis measurement with a pencil and paper he held in his hand; then he did\nthe same thing, the other side of the hedge, pacing up to the tombstone\nand back.\n\n\"'There was a talk, at that time, of removing the hedge, and digging up\nthe old tombstone; and it occurred to me, that my husband might have\nbeen speaking to somebody about it, and that this man might be concerned\nin the business, though, still, his dress and appearance puzzled me. It\nseemed odd, too, that he took no notice of us; and I might have\nremarked, that we heard no footsteps, though we were quite close enough\nto do so; but these circumstances did not strike me then. However, I was\njust going to advance, and ask him what he was doing? when I felt my\nsister's hand relax the hold she had of my arm, and she sank to the\nground; at the same instant I lost sight of the mysterious old man, who\nsuddenly disappeared.\n\n\"'My sister had not fainted; but she said her knees had bent under her,\nand she had slipt down, collapsed by terror. I did not feel very\ncomfortable myself, I assure you; but I lifted her up, and we hastened\nback to the house and told what we had seen. The gentlemen went out,\nand, of course, saw nothing, and laughed at us; but shortly afterwards,\nwhen Harry was born, I had a nurse from the village, and she asked me\none day, if I had ever happened to see \"the old gentleman that walks!\" I\nhad ceased to think of the circumstance, and inquired what old gentleman\nshe meant? and then she told me that, long ago, a foreign gentleman had\nbeen murdered here; that is, in the old house that Mr. Greathead's\ngrandfather pulled down when he built this; and that, ever since, the\nplace has been haunted, and that nobody will pass by the hedge, and the\nold tombstone after dark; for that is the spot to which the ghost\nconfines himself.'\n\n\"'But I should think,' said I, 'that so far from desiring to preserve\nthese objects, you would rather wish them removed, since the ghost\nwould, probably, cease to visit the spot at all.'\n\n\"'Quite the contrary,' answered Mrs. G. 'The people of the neighbourhood\nsay, that the former possessor of the place entertained the same idea,\nand had resolved to remove them; but that then, the old man became very\ntroublesome, and was even seen in the house; the nurse positively\nassured me, that her mother had told her, old Mr. Greathead had also\nintended to remove them; but that he quite suddenly counter-ordered the\ndirections he had given, and, though he did not confess to anything of\nthe sort, the people all believed that he had seen the ghost. Certain,\nit is, that this hedge has always been maintained by the proprietors of\nthe place.'\n\n\"The young men laughed and quizzed their mother for indulging in such\nsuperstitions; but the lady was quite firm in her opposition, alledging,\nthat independently of all considerations connected with the ghost, she\nliked the hedge on account of the wild Italian flowers; and she liked\nthe old tombstone on account of its antiquity.\n\n\"Consequently, some other plan was devised for Mr. Greathead's\nalterations, which led the course of the rivulet quite clear of the\nhedge and the tombstone.\n\n\"In a few days, my family arrived, and I established myself at S., for\nthe summer. The speculation answered very well, and through the\nrecommendations of Mr. and Mrs. Greathead, and their personal kindness\nto myself and my wife, we passed the time very pleasantly. When the\nperiod for our returning to London approached, they invited us to spend\na fortnight with them before our departure, and, accordingly, the day we\ngave up our lodgings, we removed to Salton.\n\n\"Preparations for turning the rivulet had then commenced; and soon after\nmy arrival, I walked out with Mr. Greathead to see the works. There was\na boy, about fourteen, amongst the labourers; and while we were standing\nclose to him, he picked up something, and handed it to Mr. G., saying,\n'Is this yours, sir?' which, on examination, proved to be a gold coin of\nthe sixteenth century,--the date on it was 1545. Presently, the boy who\nwas digging, picked up another, and then several more.\n\n\"'This becomes interesting,' said Mr. Greathead, 'I think we are coming\nupon some buried treasure;' and he whispered to me, that he had better\nnot leave the spot.\n\n\"Accordingly, he did stay, till it was time to dress for dinner; and,\nfeeling interested, I remained also. In the interval, many more coins\nwere found; and when he went in, he dismissed the workmen, and sent a\nservant to watch the place,--for he saw by their faces, that if he had\nnot happened to be present he would, probably, never have heard of the\ncircumstance. A few more turned up the following day, and then the store\nseemed exhausted. When the villagers heard of this money being\ndiscovered, they all looked upon it as the explanation of the old\ngentleman haunting that particular spot. No doubt he had buried the\nmoney, and it remained to be seen, whether now, that it was found, his\nspirit would be at rest.\n\n\"My two children were with me at Salton on this occasion. They slept in\na room on the third floor, and one morning, my wife having told me that\nthe younger of the two seemed unwell, I went up stairs to look at her.\nIt was a cheerful room, with two little white beds in it, and several\nold prints and samplers, and bits of work such as you see in nurseries,\nframed and hung against the wall. After I had spoken to the child, and\nwhile my wife was talking to the maid, I stood with my hands in my\npockets, idly looking at these things. Amongst them was one that\narrested my attention, because at first I could not understand it, nor\nsee why this discoloured parchment, with a few lines and dots on it,\nshould have been framed and glazed. There were some words here and there\nwhich I could not decipher; so I lifted the frame off the nail and\ncarried it to the window. Then I saw that the words were Italian,\nwritten in a crabbed, old-fashioned hand, and the whole seemed to be a\nplan, or sketch, rudely drawn, of what I at first thought was a\ncamp--but, on closer examination, I saw was part of a churchyard, with\ntomb stones, from one of which lines were drawn to various dots, and\nalong these lines were numbers, and here and there a word as _right_,\n_left_, &c. There were also two lines forming a right angle, which\nintersected the whole, and after contemplating the thing for some time,\nit struck me that it was a rude sort of map of the old churchyard and\nthe hedge, which had formed the subject of conversation some days\nbefore.\n\n\"At breakfast, I mentioned what I had observed to Mr. and Mrs.\nGreathead, and they said they believed it was; it had been found when\nthe old house was pulled down, and was kept on account of its\nantiquity.\n\n\"'Of what period is it,' I asked, 'and how happens it to have been made\nby an Italian?'\n\n\"'The last question I can't answer,' said Mr. Greathead; 'but the date\nis on it, I believe.'\n\n\"'No,' said I, 'I examined it particularly--there is no date.'\n\n\"'Oh, there is a date and name, I think--but I never examined it\nmyself;' and to settle the question he desired his son Harry to run up\nand fetch it, adding, 'you know Italian architects and designers of\nvarious kinds, were not rare in this country a few centuries ago.'\n\n\"Harry brought the frame, and we were confirmed in our conjectures of\nwhat it represented, but we could find no date or name.\n\n\"'And yet I think I've heard there was one,' said Mr. Greathead. 'Let us\ntake it out of the frame?'\n\n\"This was easily done, and we found the date and the name; the count\npaused, and then added, 'I dare say you can guess it?'\n\n\"'Jacopo Ferraldi?' I said.\n\n\"'It was,' he answered; and it immediately occurred to me that he had\nburied the money supposed to have been stolen on the night he was\nmurdered, and that this was a plan to guide him in finding it again. So\nI told Mr. Greathead the story I have now told you, and mentioned my\nreasons for supposing that if I was correct in my surmise, more gold\nwould be found.\n\n\"With the old man's map as our guide, we immediately set to work--the\nwhole family vigorously joining in the search; and, as I expected, we\nfound that the tombstone in the garden was the point from which all the\nlines were drawn, and that the dots indicated where the money lay. It\nwas in different heaps, and appeared to have been enclosed in bags,\nwhich had rotted away with time. We found the whole sum mentioned in the\nmemoir, and Mr. Greathead being lord of the manor, was generous enough\nto make it all over to me, as being the lawful heir, which, however, I\ncertainly was not, for it was the spoil of a murderer and a thief, and\nit properly belonged to the Allens. But that family had become extinct;\nat least, so we believed, when the two unfortunate ladies were executed,\nand I accepted the gift with much gratitude and a quiet conscience. It\nrelieved us from our pressing difficulties, and enabled me to wait for\nbetter times.\n\n\"'And,' said I, 'how of the ghost? was he pleased or otherwise, by the\n_denouement_?'\n\n\"'I cannot say,' replied the count; 'I have not heard of his being seen\nsince; I understand, however, that the villagers, who understand these\nthings better than we do, say, that they should not be surprised if he\nallowed the hedge and tombstone to be removed now without opposition;\nbut Mr. Greathead, on the contrary, wished to retain them as mementoes\nof these curious circumstances.'\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE DUTCH OFFICER'S STORY.\n\n\n\"Well, I think nothing can be so cowardly as to be afraid to own the\ntruth?\" said the pretty Madame de B., an Englishwoman, who had married a\nDutch officer of distinction.\n\n\"Are you really venturing to accuse the General of cowardice?\" said\nMadame L.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Madame de B., \"I want him to tell Mrs. Crowe a ghost\nstory--a thing that he saw himself--and he pooh, poohs it, though he\nowned it to me before we were married, and since too, saying that he\nnever could have believed such a thing if he had not seen it himself.\"\n\nWhile the wife was making this little _tirade_, the husband looked as if\nshe was accusing him of picking somebody's pocket--_il perdait\ncontenance_ quite. \"Now, look at him,\" she said, \"don't you see guilt in\nhis face, Mrs. Crowe?\"\n\n\"Decidedly,\" I answered; \"so experienced a seeker of ghost stories as\nmyself cannot fail to recognise the symptoms. I always find that when\nthe circumstances is mere hearsay, and happened to nobody knows who,\npeople are very ready to tell it; when it has happened to one of their\nown family, they are considerably less communicative, and will only tell\nit under protest; but when they are themselves the parties concerned, it\nis the most difficult thing imaginable to induce them to relate the\nthing seriously, and with its details; they say they have forgotten it,\nand don't believe it; and as an evidence of their incredulity, they\naffect to laugh at the whole affair. If the General will tell me the\nstory, I shall think it quite as decisive a proof of courage as he ever\ngave in the field.\"\n\nBetwixt bantering and persuasion, we succeeded in our object, and the\nGeneral began as follows:--\n\n\"You know the Belgian Rebellion (he always called it so) took place in\n1830. It broke out at Brussels on the 28th of August, and we immediately\nadvanced with a considerable force to attack that city; but as the\nPrince of Orange hoped to bring the people to reason, without bloodshed,\nwe encamped at Vilvorde, whilst he entered Brussels alone, to hold a\nconference with the armed people. I was a Lieutenant-Colonel then, and\ncommanded the 20th foot, to which regiment I had been lately appointed.\n\n\"We had been three or four days in cantonment, when I heard two of the\nmen, who were digging a little drain at the back of my tent, talking of\nJokel Falck, a private in my regiment, who was noted for his\nextraordinary disposition to somnolence, one of them remarked that he\nwould certainly have got into trouble for being asleep on his post the\nprevious night, if it had not been for Mungo. 'I don't know how many\ntimes he has saved him,' added he.\n\n\"To which the other answered, that Mungo was a very valuable friend, and\nhad saved many a man from punishment.\n\n\"This was the first time I had ever heard of Mungo, and I rather\nwondered who it was they alluded to; but the conversation slipt from my\nmind and I never thought of asking any body.\n\n\"Shortly after this I was going my rounds, being field-officer of the\nday, when I saw by the moonlight, the sentry at one of the outposts\nstretched upon the ground. I was some way off when I first perceived\nhim; and I only knew what the object was from the situation, and because\nI saw the glitter of his accoutrements; but almost at the same moment\nthat I discovered him, I observed a large black Newfoundland dog\ntrotting towards him. The man rose as the dog approached, and had got\nupon his legs before I reached the spot. This occupied the space of\nabout two minutes--perhaps, not so much.\n\n\"'You were asleep on your post,' I said; and turning to the mounted\norderly that attended me, I told him to go back and bring a file of the\nguard to take him prisoner, and to send a sentry to relieve him.\n\n\"'Non, mon colonel,' said he, and from the way he spoke I perceived he\nwas intoxicated, 'it's all the fault of that _damne_ Mungo. Il m'a\nmanque.'\n\n\"But I paid no attention to what he said and rode on, concluding _Mungo_\nwas some slang term of the men for drink.\n\n\"Some evenings after this, I was riding back from my brother's\nquarter--he was in the 15th, and was stationed about a mile from\nus--when I remarked the same dog I had seen before, trot up to a sentry\nwho, with his legs crossed, was leaning against a wall. The man started,\nand began walking backwards and forwards on his beat. I recognised the\ndog by a large white streak on his side--all the rest of his coat being\nblack.\n\n\"When I came up to the man, I saw it was Jokel Falck, and although I\ncould not have said he was asleep, I strongly suspected that that was\nthe fact.\n\n\"'You had better take care of yourself, my man,' said I. 'I have half a\nmind to have you relieved, and make a prisoner of you. I believe I\nshould have found you asleep on your post, if that dog had not roused\nyou.'\n\n\"Instead of looking penitent, as was usual on these occasions, I saw a\nhalf smile on the man's face, as he saluted me.\n\n\"'Whose dog is that?' I asked my servant, as I rode away.\n\n\"'Je ne sais pas mon, Colonel,' he answered, smiling too.\n\n\"On the same evening at mess, I heard one of the subalterns say to the\nofficer who sat next him, 'It's a fact, I assure you, and they call him\nMungo.'\n\n\"'That's a new name they've got for Schnapps, isn't it?' I said.\n\n\"'No, sir; it's the name of a dog,' replied the young man, laughing.\n\n\"'A black Newfoundland, with a large white streak on his flank?'\n\n\"'Yes, sir, I believe that is the description,' replied he, tittering\nstill.\n\n\"'I have seen that dog two or three times,' said I. 'I saw him this\nevening--who does he belong to?'\n\n\"'Well, sir, that is a difficult question,' answered the lad; and I\nheard his companion say, 'To Old Nick, I should think.'\n\n\"'Do you mean to say you've really seen Mungo?' said somebody at the\ntable.\n\n\"'If Mungo is a large Newfoundland--black, with a white streak on its\nside--I saw him just now. Who does he belong to?'\n\n\"By this time, the whole mess table was in a titter, with the exception\nof one old captain, a man who had been years in the regiment. He was of\nvery humble extraction, and had risen by merit to his present position.\n\n\"'I believe Captain T. is better acquainted with Mungo than anybody\npresent,' answered Major R., with a sneer. 'Perhaps he can tell you who\nhe belongs to.'\n\n\"The laughter increased, and I saw there was some joke, but not\nunderstanding what it meant, I said to Captain G., 'Does the dog belong\nto Jokel Falck?'\n\n\"'No, sir,' he replied, 'the dog belongs to nobody now. He once belonged\nto an officer called Joseph Atveld.'\n\n\"'Belonging to this regiment?'\n\n\"'Yes, sir.'\n\n\"'He is dead, I suppose?'\n\n\"'Yes, sir, he is.'\n\n\"'And the dog has attached himself to the regiment?'\n\n\"'Yes, sir.'\n\n\"During this conversation, the suppressed laughter continued, and every\neye was fixed on Captain T., who answered me shortly, but with the\nutmost gravity.\n\n\"'In fact,' said the major, contemptuously, 'according to Captain T.,\nMungo is the ghost of a deceased dog.'\n\n\"This announcement was received with shouts of laughter, in which I\nconfess I joined, whilst Captain T. still retained an unmoved gravity.\n\n\"'It is easier to laugh at such a thing than to believe it, sir,' said\nhe. '_I_ believe it, because I know it.'\n\n\"I smiled, and turned the conversation.\n\n\"If anybody at the table except Captain T. had made such an assertion as\nthis, I should have ridiculed them without mercy; but he was an old man,\nand from the circumstances I have mentioned regarding his origin, we\nwere careful not to offend him; so no more was said about Mungo, and in\nthe hurry of events that followed. I never thought of it again. We\nmarched on to Brussels the next day; and after that, had enough to do\ntill we went to Antwerp, where we were besieged by the French the\nfollowing year.\n\n\"During the siege, I sometimes heard the name of Mungo again; and, one\nnight, when I was visiting the guards and sentries as grand rounds, I\ncaught a glimpse of him, and I felt sure that the man he was approaching\nwhen I observed him, had been asleep; but he was screened by an angle of\nthe bastion, and by the time I turned the corner, he was moving about.\n\n\"This brought to my mind all I had heard about the dog; and as the\ncircumstance was curious, in any point of view, I mentioned what I had\nseen to Captain T. the next day, saying, 'I saw your friend Mungo, last\nnight.'\n\n\"'Did you, sir?' said he. 'It's a strange thing! No doubt, the man was\nasleep!'\n\n\"'But do you seriously mean to say, that you believe this to be a\nvisionary dog, and not a dog of flesh and blood?'\n\n\"'I do, sir; I have been quizzed enough about it; and, once or twice,\nhave nearly got into a quarrel, because people will persist in laughing\nat what they know nothing about; but as sure as that is a sword you hold\nin your hand, so sure is that dog a spectre, or ghost--if such a word is\napplicable to a fourfooted beast!'\n\n\"'But, it's impossible!' I said. 'What reason have you for such an\nextraordinary belief?'\n\n\"'Why, you know, sir, man-and-boy, I have been in the regiment all my\nlife. I was born in it. My father was pay-serjeant of No. 3 company,\nwhen he died; and I have seen Mungo myself, perhaps twenty times, and\nknown, positively, of others seeing him twice as many more.'\n\n\"'Very possibly; but that is no proof, that it is not some dog that has\nattached himself to the regiment.'\n\n\"'But I have seen and heard of the dog for fifty years, sir; and my\nfather before me, had seen and heard of him as long!'\n\n\"'Well, certainly, that is extraordinary,--if you are sure of it, and\nthat it's the same dog!'\n\n\"'It's a remarkable dog, sir. You won't see another like it with that\nlarge white streak on his flank. He won't let one of our sentries be\nfound asleep, if he can help; unless, indeed, the fellow is drunk. He\nseems to have less care of drunkards, but Mungo has saved many a man\nfrom punishment. I was once, not a little indebted to him myself. My\nsister was married out of the regiment, and we had had a bit of a\nfestivity, and drank rather too freely at the wedding, so that when I\nmounted guard that night--I wasn't to say, drunk, but my head was a\nlittle gone, or so; and I should have been caught nodding; but Mungo,\nknowing, I suppose, that I was not an habitual drunkard, woke me just\nin time.'\n\n\"'How did he wake you?' I asked.\n\n\"'I was roused by a short, sharp bark, that sounded close to my ears. I\nstarted up, and had just time to catch a glimpse of Mungo before he\nvanished!'\n\n\"'Is that the way he always wakes the men?'\n\n\"'So they say; and, as they wake, he disappears.'\n\n\"I recollected now, that on each occasion when I had observed the dog, I\nhad, somehow, lost sight of him in an instant; and, my curiosity being\nawakened, I asked Captain T., if ours were the only men he took charge\nof, or, whether he showed the same attention to those of other\nregiments?\n\n\"'Only the 20th, sir; the tradition is, that after the battle of\nFontenoy, a large black mastiff was found lying beside a dead officer.\nAlthough he had a dreadful wound from a sabre cut on his flank, and was\nmuch exhausted from loss of blood, he would not leave the body; and even\nafter we buried it, he could not be enticed from the spot. The men,\ninterested by the fidelity and attachment of the animal, bound up his\nwounds, and fed and tended him; and he became the dog of the regiment.\nIt is said, that they had taught him to go his rounds before the guards\nand sentries were visited, and to wake any men that slept. How this may\nbe, I cannot say; but he remained with the regiment till his death, and\nwas buried with all the respect they could show him. Since that, he has\nshown his gratitude in the way I tell you, and of which you have seen\nsome instances.'\n\n\"'I suppose the white streak is the mark of the sabre cut. I wonder you\nnever fired at him.'\n\n\"'God forbid sir, I should do such a thing,' said Captain T., looking\nsharp round at me. 'It's said that a man did so once, and that he never\nhad any luck afterwards; that may be a superstition, but I confess I\nwouldn't take a good deal to do it.'\n\n\"'If, as you believe, it's a spectre, it could not be hurt, you know; I\nimagine ghostly dogs are impervious to bullets.'\n\n\"'No doubt, sir; but I shouldn't like to try the experiment. Besides,\nit would be useless, as I am convinced already.'\n\n\"I pondered a good deal upon this conversation with the old captain. I\nhad never for a moment entertained the idea that such a thing was\npossible. I should have as much expected to meet the minotaur or a\nflying dragon as a ghost of any sort, especially the ghost of a dog; but\nthe evidence here was certainly startling. I had never observed anything\nlike weakness and credulity about T.; moreover, he was a man of known\ncourage, and very much respected in the regiment. In short, so much had\nhis earnestness on the subject staggered me, that I resolved whenever it\nwas my turn to visit the guards and sentries, that I would carry a\npistol with me ready primed and loaded, in order to settle the question.\nIf T. was right, there would be an interesting fact established, and no\nharm done; if, as I could not help suspecting, it was a cunning trick of\nthe men, who had trained this dog to wake them, while they kept up the\nfarce of the spectre, the animal would be well out of the way; since\ntheir reliance on him no doubt led them to give way to drowsiness when\nthey would otherwise have struggled against it; indeed, though none of\nour men had been detected--thanks, perhaps, to Mungo--there had been so\nmuch negligence lately in the garrison that the general had issued very\nsevere orders on the subject.\n\n\"However, I carried my pistol in vain; I did not happen to fall in with\nMungo; and some time afterwards, on hearing the thing alluded to at the\nmess-table, I mentioned what I had done, adding, 'Mungo is too knowing,\nI fancy, to run the risk of getting a bullet in him.'\n\n\"'Well,' said Major R., 'I should like to have a shot at him, I confess.\nIf I thought I had any chance of seeing him, I'd certainly try it; but\nI've never seen him at all.'\n\n\"'Your best chance,' said another, 'is when Jokel Falck is on duty. He\nis such a sleepy scoundrel, that the men say if it was not for Mungo\nhe'd pass half his time in the guard house.'\n\n\"'If I could catch him I'd put an ounce of lead into him; that he may\nrely on.'\n\n\"'Into Jokel Falck, sir?' said one of the subs, laughing.\n\n\"'No, sir,' replied Major R.; 'into Mungo--and I'll do it, too.'\n\n\"'Better not, sir,' said Captain T., gravely; provoking thereby a\ngeneral titter round the table.\n\n\"Shortly after this, as I was one night going to my quarter, I saw a\nmounted orderly ride in and call out a file of the guard to take a\nprisoner.\n\n\"'What's the matter?' I asked.\n\n\"'One of the sentries asleep on his post, sir; I believe it's Jokel\nFalck.'\n\n\"'It will be the last time, whoever it is,' I said; 'for the general is\ndetermined to shoot the next man that's caught.'\n\n\"'I should have thought Mungo had stood Jokel Falck's friend, so often\nthat he'd never have allowed him to be caught,' said the adjutant.\n'Mungo has neglected his duty.'\n\n\"'No, sir,' said the orderly, gravely. 'Mungo would have waked him, but\nMajor R. shot at him.'\n\n\"'And killed him,' I said.\n\n\"The man made no answer, but touched his cap and rode away.\n\n\"I heard no more of the affair that night; but the next morning, at a\nvery early hour, my servant woke me, saying that Major R. wished to\nspeak to me. I desired he should be admitted, and the moment he entered\nthe room, I saw by his countenance that something serious had occurred;\nof course, I thought the enemy had gained some unexpected advantage\nduring the night, and sat up in bed inquiring eagerly what had happened.\n\n\"To my surprise he pulled out his pocket-handkerchief and burst into\ntears. He had married a native of Antwerp, and his wife was in the city\nat this time. The first thing that occurred to me was, that she had met\nwith some accident, and I mentioned her name.\n\n\"'No, no,' he said; 'my son, my boy, my poor Fritz!'\n\n\"'You know that in our service, every officer first enters his regiment\nas a private soldier, and for a certain space of time does all the\nduties of that position. The major's son, Fritz, was thus in his\nnoviciate. I concluded he had been killed by a stray shot, and for a\nminute or two I remained in this persuasion, the major's speech being\nchoked by his sobs. The first words he uttered were--\n\n\"'Would to God I had taken Captain T.'s advice!'\n\n\"'About what?' I said. 'What has happened to Fritz?'\n\n\"'You know,' said he, 'yesterday I was field officer of the day; and\nwhen I was going my rounds last night, I happened to ask my orderly, who\nwas assisting to put on my sash, what men we had told off for the guard.\nAmongst others, he named Jokel Falck, and remembering the conversation\nthe other day at the mess table, I took one of my pistols out of the\nholster, and, after loading, put it in my pocket. I did not expect to\nsee the dog, for I had never seen him; but as I had no doubt that the\nstory of the spectre was some dodge of the men, I determined if ever I\ndid, to have a shot at him. As I was going through the Place de Meyer, I\nfell in with the general, who joined me, and we rode on together,\ntalking of the siege. I had forgotten all about the dog, but when we\ncame to the rampart, above the Bastion du Matte, I suddenly saw exactly\nsuch an animal as the one described, trotting beneath us. I knew there\nmust be a sentry immediately below where we rode, though I could not see\nhim, and I had no doubt that the animal was making towards him; so\nwithout saying a word, I drew out my pistol and fired, at the same\nmoment jumping off my horse, in order to look over the bastion, and get\na sight of the man. Without comprehending what I was about, the general\ndid the same, and there we saw the sentry lying on his face, fast\nasleep.'\n\n\"'And the body of the dog?' said I.\n\n\"'Nowhere to be seen,' he answered, 'and yet I must have hit him--I\nfired bang into him. The general says it must have been a delusion, for\nhe was looking exactly in the same direction, and saw no dog at all--but\nI am certain I saw him, so did the orderly.'\n\n\"'But Fritz?' I said.\n\n\"'It was Fritz--Fritz was the sentry,' said the major, with a fresh\nburst of grief. The court-martial sits this morning, and my boy will be\nshot, unless interest can be made with the general to grant him a\npardon.'\n\n\"I rose and drest myself immediately, but with little hope of success.\nPoor Fritz being the son of an officer, was against him rather than\notherwise--it would have been considered an act of favouritism to spare\nhim. He was shot; his poor mother died of a broken heart, and the major\nleft the service immediately after the surrender of the city.\"\n\n\"And have you ever seen Mungo again?\" said I.\n\n\"No,\" he replied; \"but I have heard of others seeing him.\"\n\n\"And are you convinced that it was a spectre, and not a dog of flesh and\nblood?\"\n\n\"I fancy I was then--but, of course, one can't believe--\"\n\n\"Oh, no;\" I rejoined; \"Oh, no; never mind facts, if they don't fit into\nour theories.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE OLD FRENCH GENTLEMAN'S STORY.\n\n\nI spent the summer of fifty-six at Dieppe--a charming watering-place for\nthose who can bear an exciting air, and are not very particular about\nwhat they eat. Dieppe, as travellers see it who are hurrying through to\nParis, has a most unpromising aspect, with its muddy basins and third\nand fourth rate inns on the quays, but if you are not hastening from the\npacket to the train, which the great proportion of people do; you have\nonly to pass up one of the short streets you will see _en face_, when\nyou issue from the Custom-house, into which you have been introduced on\nlanding, and you will find yourself on an esplanade of considerable\nextent, with a wide expanse of clear salt water before you, a fine\nterrace walk along the shore, and several newly erected hotels opposite\nthe sea. Of course, there is an _etablissement_ where the usual\namusements are provided; the bathing is excellent, and the company\nnumerous, for Dieppe is the favourite watering place of the fashionable\nworld of Paris. The beauty of the place is greatly increased by a\njudicious suggestion of the Emperor's. I was told that when he and the\nEmpress were there in '55, they complained of the absence of flowers on\nthe esplanade; it was objected that none would grow there; however, he\nrecommended them to try hollyhocks, china-asters, and poppies, the\nlatter are the finest I ever saw, and the brilliant and varied masses of\ncolour produce a very good effect. But they do not feed you well here;\n'_La Viande est longue a Dieppe_' as the Garcon of the Hotel Royal urged\nwhen I objected to the meat which, on application of the knife fell into\nstrips of pack-thread; the poultry is lean and bad; fish scarce, because\nit all goes to London or Paris, by contract, and everything dear.\nNevertheless, Dieppe is a very nice place and the surrounding country is\nexceedingly pretty and picturesque.\n\nSome members of the Jockey Club were in the Hotel Royal, living very\nfast indeed. They all bore very aristocratic names and titles, but not\nthe impress of high blood. How should they? Judging from what I saw,\nsuch a course of profligate self-indulgence, unredeemed, even by good\nbreeding, must have effaced the stamp, if it ever was there. They\ninhabited a pavilion in the cour, and the luxurious repasts that we\nconstantly saw served to them gave us an awful idea of the amount of\ntheir bill. They played at cards all day--the live long summer day! And\nonly suspended this amusement when the garcons appeared with their trays\nloaded with expensive wines and high-seasoned dishes. One other\namusement they had, which was no less an amusement to us--they had a\ndrag--a regular English four-in-hand. The cour of the hotel was divided\nfrom the road by iron rails, with a large gate at each extremity for\ncarriages, so that to an English whip, nothing would have been easier\nthan to drive in at one of these gates, and round the sweep, and out at\nthe other; but this the jockey club could never accomplish; when the\ngentlemen took the reins from the coachman, if they were in, they could\nnot get out; and if they were out, they could not get in; so after a few\nambitious attempts and ignominious failures, they submitted to the\ninglorious expediency of mounting and dismounting outside the gates.\nThe French have certainly a remarkable incapacity for riding or driving,\nwhich is strange, as they are active men and have generally light\nfigures. The Emperor is almost the only Frenchman I ever saw ride well;\nbut he rides like an English gentleman.\n\nThere were many elegantly drest women, of all nations, at Dieppe, but\nthere was one who particularly attracted my attention, and for whom,\nwhen I afterwards heard her story, I felt an extraordinary interest.\nThis was the Countess Adeline de-Givry-Monjerac, at least so I will call\nher here. When I first saw her she was going down to bathe, attended by\nher maid, a grave elderly person, and I was so much struck by her\nappearance, that I took the first opportunity of enquiring her name. She\nwas tall and very pale, with fine, straight features, and an expression\nof countenance at once noble and melancholy. Her figure was so good, and\nher bearing at once so graceful and dignified, that her unusual height\ndid not strike you till you saw her standing beside other women. She was\nleaning on her maid's arm, and stooped a little, apparently from\nfeebleness. Her attire was a peignoir of grey taffetas, lined with\nblue, and on her head she wore a simple capote of the same. Her age, I\njudged to be about forty.\n\nShe lodged in the Hotel Royal, as I did also, but lived entirely in\nprivate; and we only saw her there as she went in and out. Later in the\nseason, the Duchesse de B., and other persons, arrived from Paris, with\nwhom she was acquainted, and I often observed her in conversation with\nthem on the promenade; but her countenance never lost its expression of\nmelancholy. However, I should have left Dieppe, ignorant of the singular\ncircumstances I am about to relate, but for an accident.\n\nThere was a verandah in the court of the hotel, in which many of us\npreferred to breakfast, rather than in the salon; and the verandah not\nbeing very extensive, and the candidates numerous, there was often a\nlittle difficulty in securing a table. One morning, I had just laid my\nparasol on the only one I saw vacant, when the garcon warned me that it\nwas already engaged by _ce monsieur_, indicating an old gentleman, who\nwas standing with his back to me, in conversation with one of a\nsisterhood called _Soeurs de la Providence_, who was soliciting him to\nbuy some of the lottery tickets she held in her hand; they were for the\n_Loterie de Bienfaisance_, the proceeds of which are devoted to\ncharitable purposes. There are innumerable lotteries of this sort in\nFrance, authorized by the government; and they seem to me to be the\nsubstitute for our magnificent private charities in England, for very\nlarge sums are collected. The tickets only cost a franc. I believe the\n_tirage_ is conducted with perfect fairness; and people thus subscribe a\nfranc for the poor, with the agreeable, but very remote, chance of being\nrepaid, _meme ici bas_, a hundred thousand-fold.\n\nThe old gentleman turned his head on hearing my conversation with the\nwaiter; and, begging I would not derange myself on his account, desired\nthat I might have the table. Grateful for such an unusual exertion of\npoliteness--for the politeness of the modern French gentleman does not\ninclude the smallest modicum of self-sacrifice--I modestly declined, and\nsaid, \"I would wait.\" He answered, \"by no means.\" And while we were\nengaged in this amicable contest, the waiter brought his breakfast, and\nplaced it on the table; seeing which, he proposed, that as he was denied\nthe pleasure of making way for me, I should have my coffee placed on the\nother side, and we should breakfast together; an offer which I gladly\naccepted.\n\nHe was a pleasant, garrulous, old gentleman. Monsieur de Vennacour was\nhis name, _proprietaire a Paris_, and he told me how he had lost his\nfortune by the revolutions, and how he lived now in a _petit apartment_\nin the _Rue des Ecuries d'Anjou_, and belonged to a coterie of old\nladies and gentlemen like himself, who had a _petit whisk_ every night\nduring the winter. While we were talking, the Countess passed us on her\nway to the bath; and, happening to catch her eye as she crossed the\ncourt, he bowed to her; whereupon I asked him if he knew her?\n\n\"A little,\" he said; \"but I knew her husband well; and her mother's\nhotel was next to that my family formerly inhabited. She was a beautiful\nwoman, Madame de Lignerolles.\"\n\n\"Then, she is dead?\" said I.\n\n\"No,\" he replied. \"She has retired from the world,--she is in a convent.\nC'est une histoire bien triste celle de Madame de Lignerolles et sa\nfille, et aussi bien etrange!\"\n\n\"If it is not a secret, perhaps you will tell it to me?\" said I; for I\nsaw that my new acquaintance desired nothing better. He was a famous\nraconteur; and I wish I could tell the story in English as well, and as\ndramatically, as he told it to me in French; however, I'll repeat it as\nfaithfully as I can.\n\n\"Madame de Lignerolles nee Hermione de Givry, was married early to the\nMarquis de Lignerolles, without any particular _penchant_ for or against\nthe union. The Marquis was a great deal older than herself, but it was\nconsidered a good match, for he was very rich, and his genealogy was\nunexceptionable. Not more so, however, than the young lady's; for the de\nGivry's heraldic tree had apparently sprung from an acorn floated to the\nwest by Deucalion himself. At the period of Hermione's marriage her\nfather, mother, and two brothers, older than herself, still lived. Her\nfather, the Comte de Givry had been a younger son, and had inherited the\nfortune on the death of his elder brother who was killed in a duel the\nday before he was to have been married to a woman he passionately\nloved. He died by the hand of one of his most intimate friends, with\nwhom he had never had a word of difference before, and the subject of\nquarrel was a peacock! But it was always remarked by the world, that the\neldest scions of the house of Givry were singularly unfortunate; they\nseldom prospered in their loves, and if they did, they were sure to die\nbefore their hopes were realised. People in general called it _a\ndestiny_; others whispered that it was a curse; but the family laughed\ncontemptuously if any one presumed to hint such a thing in their\npresence, and asserted that it was merely _le hazard_; and as the world\nin these days is very much disposed to believe in _le hazard_, few\npersons sought to penetrate further into the cause of these\nmisadventures. However, Hermione's elder brother, Etienne, did not\nescape his _mauvais destin_; the lady he was engaged to marry was seized\nwith the smallpox, and, from being a pretty person, became a very ugly\none. During her illness, he had sworn nothing should break his\nengagement, and accordingly, disfigured as she was, he married her; but\nhe had better, for both their sakes, have left it alone. He was\ndisgusted and she was jealous; they parted within a month after the\nwedding, and he was soon after killed by a fall from his horse in the\nBois de Boulogne, and died, leaving no issue. Upon his decease, the\nsecond son, Armande, now the heir, was recalled from Prussia, whither he\nhad gone with his regiment, but they were on the eve of a battle, and it\nwas not consistent with his honour to leave till it was over. He was the\nfirst officer that fell in the fight, and thus the hopes of the ancient\nfamily of Givry became centered in the offspring of Hermione. But,\nAdeline, the fair object of my admiration, was the sole fruit of the\nmarriage, and great were the lamentations of the old Count and Countess\nthat the continuation of this noble stock rested on so frail a tenure,\nfor the child was exceedingly delicate; she outgrew her strength, and\nfor some years was supposed to be _poitrinaire_. But, either, thanks to\nthe wonderful care that was bestowed upon her, or to an inherent good\nconstitution, she survived this trying period and grew up to\nmarriageable years, rewarding all the solicitude of her family by her\ncharms and amiability. She was not so beautiful as her mother had\nbeen--and even was still--but she was quite sufficiently handsome; and\nthere was so much grace in her movements and her manners, and she had\nsuch a noble and pure expression of countenance--a true indication of\nher character--that Adeline de Lignerolle's perfections were universally\nadmitted by the men, and scarcely denied by the women, insomuch, that\nthese attractions, added to her lineage and fortune, caused her to be\nlooked upon as one of the most desirable matches in the kingdom.\n\n\"Her father, the old Marquis de Lignerolles-Givry--for he was\nconstrained to adopt the latter name--had died previous to this period;\nand as her grandfather Monsieur de Givry undertook the affair of her\nmarriage, numerous were the propositions he privately received, and\nfrequent the closettings and consultations on the subject. In these\ncases, the more people have, the more they require; and as Adeline had\nbetter blood, and more money, than most people, the family exigence in\nthese respects was considerable, and the difficulties that lay in the\nway of procuring a suitable alliance, manifold.\n\n\"She had reached the age of seventeen, and this important point was\nstill unsettled, when she and her mother went to visit a relative of\nMadame de Lignerolles, who was united to a Portuguese nobleman. On her\nmarriage, she had followed her husband to his own country; but he was\nnow on a mission to the French court; and the Paris season being over,\nthey had taken a chateau on the Loire, for the summer months. There were\nother young people in the house, and all sorts of amusements going on,\nwhich no one seemed to enjoy, at first, more than Adeline de Givry; but,\nat the end of a fortnight, a change began to be observable in her\nspirits and demeanour, which did not escape the observation of her young\ncompanions; and by their means awakened the attention of Madame de\nSaldanha, their hostess; who hinted to her cousin, Madame de\nLignerolles, that Adeline was falling in love with the young Count de la\nCruz; at least, such was the opinion of her own daughter, Isabella;\nadding, that if so abnormal a circumstance, as a young lady choosing her\nown husband _was_ to happen, she could not have fixed on a more\ndesirable individual than Rodriguez de la Cruz,--a man unexceptionable\nin person, mind, and manners whose genealogy might vie with that of the\nDe Givry's themselves; and whose name was associated with distinguished\ndeeds of arms during the Holy Wars.\n\n\"But this indulgent view of the case was not shared by Madame de\nLignerolles. She seemed exceedingly surprised and incredulous; but when\nthe other insisted on the probability of such a result, since the two\nyoung people had been residing for six weeks under the same roof; and\npointed out to the lady that the assiduous attentions paid by De la Cruz\nto herself were, doubtless, not without an object, suggesting that that\nobject was to gain her interest in his favour, she evinced so much\ndispleasure and indignation, that Madame de Saldanha apologized and gave\nup the point, saying, she was very likely mistaken, and that it was a\nmere fancy of Isabella's.\n\n\"Nevertheless, these suspicions were perfectly well founded. De la Cruz\nwas waiting for his father's consent to make his proposals in form; and\nthis consent was only delayed till the old gentleman had time to come to\nParis and make the needful inquiries regarding fortune and family; about\nwhich, he considered himself entitled to be quite as particular as the\nDe Givry's.\n\n\"It was remarked that, from this time, Madame de Lignerolles observed\nher daughter with a jealous eye, and sought every means of keeping her\naway from the young Portuguese; added to which, as it afterwards\nappeared, she severely reproved Adeline for what she called the levity\nof her conduct.\n\n\"Moreover, she hastened her departure; and in a few days after the\nconversation with Madama de Saldanha, took her leave; alleging, that her\npresence was required by her father, in Paris. To Paris, however, she\ndid not immediately go. There was in Brittany an ancient chateau\nbelonging to the family, which, for some reason or other, they very\nrarely visited; it was supposed, because they possessed others more\nagreeable. At all events, whatever might be the cause, it was known that\nthe old count had a mortal aversion to this residence, insomuch, that\nhis daughter had never been there since her infancy; when something very\nunpleasant was reported to have happened to her mother's eldest brother\nshortly before his death. Thither, however, they now travelled with all\nspeed, accompanied only by two maids and a man.\n\n\"Madame de Lignerolles was a person, in whom the maternal instinct had\nnever been largely developed. She was even, still, at eight-and-thirty,\na beautiful woman; and it was generally suspected, that she did not feel\nat all delighted at having this tall, handsome daughter, to proclaim her\nage; and, perhaps shortly, make her a grandmother. But, her manner to\nAdeline--usually, more indifferent than harsh--now assumed a new\ncharacter; she seemed engrossed with her own thoughts; was cold and\nconstrained; spoke little; and when she did, it was with a gravity truly\nportentous.\n\n\"They were not unexpected at Chateau Noir--for such was the ominous name\nof the old castle, which frowned upon them in the gloom of a dusky\nNovember evening; but instead of the liveried servants, by whom they\nwere accustomed to be greeted, an elderly housekeeper, a concierge, and\na few rustic menials, appeared to be its only inhabitants. However, they\nhad done their best to make ready for this visit; fires were lighted,\nand dinner was prepared and served, accompanied by plenty of apologies\nfor its not being better.\n\n\"The evening passed in silence; they were tired, and went early to bed.\nThe next two days, Mdme. de Lignerolles kept her room, and Adeline\nstrolled about the neglected grounds, occupied with her own thoughts of\nthe future, not without wondering a little at her mother's mysterious\nbehaviour. On the third day, she was summoned to the presence of Mdme.\nde Lignerolles, who received and bade her be seated, with the same\nsignificant solemnity, and then proceeded to inform her that she had a\nmost painful secret to communicate--a secret that had long prest upon\nher conscience, but which she could never find resolution to disclose;\nthat lately, however, her confessor had so strongly urged her to perform\nthis act of duty, that, with the greatest reluctance, she had resolved\nto obey his injunctions--her doing so having become more imperative from\nthe fact of Adeline's having arrived at marriageable years, as in the\nevent of any alliance presenting itself, honour would constrain her to\nspeak. The dreadful secret was, that Adeline was not her child; that the\nnurse who had had the charge of her infancy, confessed on her\ndeath-bed, that she had substituted her own infant for the countess's,\nthat the latter had subsequently died, but that she could not leave the\nworld in peace without avowing her crime.\n\n\"'I did not believe her,' said Mdme. de Lignerolles, 'but she reminded\nme that my child had a mole under the left breast, which you, Adeline,\nhave not. This cruel change was effected during our absence from France.\nShortly after my confinement, I was ordered to spend the winter in\nItaly, and the child was left to the care of my father and mother, who\nby that time had nearly lost her eye-sight. To this circumstance, and\nthe little notice men usually take of infants, the woman trusted to\nescape detection. Of course, I could not discern the difference between\nthe child I had left and the one I found. I had no suspicion; and\nwhatever alterations I remarked, I attributed to the lapse of\ntime--though I must own that maternal instinct offered a strong\nconfirmation of the nurse's confession. While I believed you my own\noffspring, I had none of those tender yearnings which I have heard other\nwomen speak of, and I often reproached myself for the want of them.\nHowever, I endeavoured to do my duty by you, and no pains or expense\nwere spared on your education, which was already nearly completed, when\nI became acquainted with this dreadful secret, of which, when the nurse\ndied, I was the sole possessor. But, aware of the intense grief such a\ndisclosure would occasion my husband, who was then in exceedingly bad\nhealth, I determined during his lifetime to preserve silence. After his\ndeath, I ought to have exerted courage to speak; but my mother adored\nyou--it would have killed her. She is now gone, and there is only your\ngrandfather left. I well know the suffering it will cause him, and,\nbelieve me, I feel for _you_--but my duty is plain. You will be amply\nprovided for--' but ere the sentence could be finished, Adeline, who had\nsat like a statue, listening to this harangue, with wondering eyes and\nopen lips, suddenly rose and rushed out of the room. That she was not\nMdme. de Lignerolles' daughter caused her little grief, nor was she of\nan age very highly to appreciate the position and splendours she was\nlosing; but she thought of her grandfather, whom she really loved; she\nthought of De la Cruz, and her heart filled with anguish.\n\n\"She was not pursued to her retreat; the whole day she kept her chamber,\nand Mdme. de Lignerolles kept hers. On the following morning, a note was\nhanded to her from Mdme. de L., announcing that she was starting for\nParis to communicate this distressing intelligence to M. de Givry; and\ndesiring Adeline to remain where she was, under the care of Mdme.\nVertot, the housekeeper, till she received further directions; assuring\nher, at the same time, that everything should be done for her happiness\nand welfare, and, in due time, a suitable _parti_ be provided for her.\"\n\nJust as Monsieur de Venacour reached this point of his story, Madame de\nMontjerac returned from bathing, and if I looked at her with interest\nbefore, it may be well imagined how much more she inspired now.\n\n\"How extraordinary!\" I said, as my eyes rested on her noble countenance\nand majestic figure, \"that that distinguished-looking woman is really\nthe daughter of a good-for-nothing servant; and yet I should have said,\nif ever there was a person who bore the unmistakeable impress of\naristocracy, it is she.\"\n\nHe nodded his head, and significantly lifting his fore-finger to the\nside of his nose, said \"Ecoutez!\" and forthwith proceeded with his\nnarration as follows.\n\n\"On Madam de Lignerolle's arrival in Paris, she sent for her father,\nthrew herself at his feet, and with tears and lamentations, disclosed\nthis dreadful secret, which, she said, had been making the misery of her\nlife for the last two years; but whatever distress it occasioned her, it\nwas quite evident that that of Monsieur de Givry was much more severe.\nHe was wounded on all sides; his pride, his love of lineage, his\npersonal affection for Adeline, and his horror of the notoriety such an\nextraordinary event must naturally acquire. So powerful were the two\nlast sentiments, that for a moment he even entertained the idea of\naccepting Adeline as the heiress of Givry, and concealing the whole\naffair from her and every body else; but to this proposition his\ndaughter objected that the poor girl was already in possession of the\ntruth, and that it was impossible to make her a party to such a\ndeception.\n\n\"'Then,' said Monsieur de Givry, 'she must die! There is no other\nexpedient.'\n\n\"'Mais, non, mon pere!' cried Hermione, starting from her seat,\nevidently taken quite aback by this unexpected proposition.\n\n\"De Givry waved his hand with a melancholy smile; 'Enfant!' he said. 'Do\nyou think I intend to become an assassin? God forbid!' And then he\nexplained that he did not mean a real but a fictitious death, for which\npurpose she must be removed to a foreign country, under the pretence of\nthe re-appearance of pulmonary symptoms; that a husband must be found\nfor her who would bind himself to leave France for ever, and to keep\nthis secret, under pain of forfeiting the very handsome allowance he\nproposed to make them; for the safe conduct of which part of the\nbusiness, it would be necessary to confide their unhappy circumstances\nto the family physician and lawyer. In the meantime, as these\narrangements could not be made in a day, it was decided that Adeline\nshould remain where she was till all was ready for their completion.\n\n\"'I shall take her out of the country myself,' he said, 'and you must\naccompany us. Every consideration must be shown her; she is the victim,\nand not the criminal.'\n\n\"In the course of this conversation, as may be imagined, Monsieur de\nGivry more than once lamented the extinction of his race; his daughter,\nhowever, on that point, offered him some consolation, by suggesting that\nshe was still a young woman, and that for her father's sake, although\nshe had never intended to marry again, she would consent to do so\nprovided she could meet with an unobjectionable _parti_.\n\n\"Shortly after this melancholy disclosure, De la Cruz arrived with his\nfather in Paris; where they were so well received by Madame de\nLignerolles, that the old gentleman, fascinated by her beauty and\nmanners, expressed his surprise that his son had not fallen in love with\nthe mother, instead of the daughter. However, at his son's desire, he\nmade formal propositions for the young lady's hand; which, to the\nsurprise of the young man, Monsieur de Livry said, was already promised;\nadding, however, that his granddaughter's state of health would,\nprobably, retard the union; the physicians having discovered that the\nseeds of consumption were beginning to develope themselves in her\nconstitution, and, consequently, recommended her removal to a warmer\nclimate.\n\n\"In the meanwhile, the poor young girl was pining alone in the dreary,\nold chateau, with no companion but her own maid,--receiving no\nintelligence, and ignorant of her future fate. All she knew was, that\nshe never could be the wife of Rodriguez de la Cruz. She supposed, that\nwhen he made his proposals, he would be informed of the circumstances\nabove related, and that she should never hear more of him. But, in this,\nshe was mistaken. About three weeks after her mother had left her, a\nletter from him arrived, saying, that he had succeeded in discovering\nwhere she was, and that he had lost no time in writing to inform her of\nthe ill fortune that had attended his proposals; adding, that if her\nsentiments continued unchanged, he would come to Chateau Noir,\naccompanied by his own chaplain, who would unite them; after which, he\nhad no doubt, it would be easy to obtain her grandfather's forgiveness;\nhe, probably, having only refused his consent because he was trammelled\nby a prior engagement.\n\n\"But this letter was addressed to Mademoiselle de Lignerolles; and it\nwas evident, from the whole tenour of it, that the writer knew nothing\nof the change in her fortunes. Honour forbad her to take advantage of\nthis ignorance; but the struggle threw her into agonies of grief. She\npassed a miserable day, and retired early to bed; where she might\nindulge her tears, and avoid the curious eyes of her maid, who was\ngreatly perplexed at these unusual proceedings. Sleep was far from her\neyes, and her mind was busy, framing the answer she had to write on the\nfollowing day to De la Cruz, when she heard a knock at her chamber door.\n'Come in,' she said; not doubting that it was her maid, or Madame\nVertot. Immediately, she heard the handle turned, and she saw\nin a mirror that was opposite, the door open, and a miserable,\nhaggard-looking woman enter. She was attired in rags, and she led by the\nhand two naked children. They approached the foot of the bed, and the\nwoman held out a letter, as if she wished Adeline to take it, which she\nmade an effort to do; but a sudden horror seized her, and she uttered a\nscream which roused her maid who slept in the adjoining apartment. She\nwas found insensible; but the usual applications restored her; and,\nwithout telling what had happened, she requested the servant to pass the\nrest of the night in her room. The next day, she felt very poorly in\nconsequence of this horrid vision; but she wrote to De la Cruz such a\nletter, as she felt her altered circumstances demanded. She could not\nbring herself to avow that she was the daughter of Robertine Collet; but\nsent him, simply, a cold, haughty refusal, which precluded all\npossibility of any further advances. The next day, she changed her room,\nand she saw no more of the frightful apparition.\n\n\"She had done her duty to De la Cruz, but she was miserable; and when,\nshortly afterwards, her grandfather arrived, accompanied by Dr. Pecher,\nthe family physician, they found her exceedingly ill, and confined to\nher bed. This Dr. Pecher was a clever and worthy man; and having been\nnecessarily made the confidant of the painful secret, it had been\nprivately arranged between him and Monsieur de Givry, that he should\nmarry the girl; and that they should, thereupon, quit the\ncountry,--Monsieur de G. making ample provision for their future\nmaintenance.\n\n\"But the main thing needful, was to restore her to health; and in the\ncourse of his attendance on her, he learnt from her maid how she had\nbeen first attacked; and then elicited from herself, the cause of her\nalarm. Of course, he looked upon the vision as an illusion; in short,\nthe premonitory symptoms of her illness,--and mentioned it in that\nlight, to Monsieur de Givry. But to his surprise, Monsieur de G. took a\ndifferent view of the matter; and hastening to Adeline's room, he made\nher repeat to him the exact description of what she had seen; after\nwhich, he started immediately for Paris, without explaining the motive\nof this sudden departure.\n\n\"On his arrival, he presented himself before his daughter, and taxed her\nwith having deceived him; what her motive could be he was unable to\nimagine; he supposed it to be pecuniary, and that she did not wish to\npart with the large portion to be paid to Adeline on her marriage; but\nhe believed that the traditionary apparition of his family would not\nhave appeared to any one who was not a member of it; and that therefore\nthe girl, who had accurately described the appearance of these figures,\nof which the young people were always kept in entire ignorance, must be\nactually his granddaughter.\n\n\"Madame de Lignerolles persisted in her story, and all she could be\nbrought to own was, that it was possible, the woman, Collett, had\ndeceived her. Strong in his own opinion, Monsieur de Givry returned to\nChateau Noir, Dr. Pecher having recommended the young lady's removal;\nand after writing his daughter a very urgent and serious letter, he\nstarted on a tour of a few weeks, with Adeline, for the recovery of her\nhealth.\n\n\"No answer reached him for some time, but at the end of a month, he\nreceived one, acknowledging the cruel deception she had practiced,\nalleging as her excuse, an ardent passion for Rodriguez de la Cruz; and\nthe wish to detach him from Adeline, and marry him herself. But she had\nfailed, and he was on the point of marriage with a lady selected for him\nby his father. The letter concluded by the announcement, that she was\nabout to retire to a convent where she should, in due time, take the\nveil.\n\n\"Monseiur de Givry assumed this to be a mere ebullition of shame and\ndisappointment; but she kept her word. Mademoiselle de Lignerolles, some\nyears later, married the Baron de Montjerac, from whom, said Monsieur de\nVenacour, I heard the story. By him she had two sons; but the constant\napprehension that in the eldest will be fulfilled the _mauvais destin_\nentailed on the heirs of Givry, preys, it is said, on her mind and\nhealth, and is the cause of the expression of melancholy for which her\nfine countenance is so remarkable.\n\n\"Some centuries earlier, when power was irresponsible, Count Armand de\nGivry, a cruel and oppressive lord of the soil, who then inhabited\nChateau Noir, had put to death one of his serfs, and turned his wife and\ntwo children out of doors in inclement weather, forbidding any of his\ntenants to shelter or assist them. The children were without clothes,\nand the three poor creatures perished from cold and starvation, but\nleaving behind them a terrible retribution, in the form of a curse\npronounced by the wretched woman's lips in her dying agonies, which,\nstrange to say, seems to have been pretty literally fulfilled.\n\n\"When they were nearly at the last extremity, some good Christian had\nhad the courage to write a pathetic letter for her, which, however, it\nwas necessary she should deliver herself, as no one else durst do it.\nShe watched her opportunity; concealed herself in the park, and waylaid\nthe Count as he returned one day from shooting. But instead of taking\nthe letter, he set his dogs upon her, who would have torn her to pieces,\nbut for the courageous interference of one of his followers.\n\n\"The curse ran, that never should the heir of Givry prosper till one of\nthem took the letter; and that the last scion of the house should\n_Renier le croix et se vouer a l'Enfer_.\n\n\"Since that, it was said that, no eldest son or daughter of the house of\nGivry had lived and prospered, whilst the letter, in some way or other\nhad been offered to every one of them; but as the cadets of the family\nlived and married and prospered like other people, they did not choose\nto believe in the story; at least, whatever their secret thoughts on the\nsubject may have been, they publicly threw ridicule on the tradition,\nwhenever it was alluded to; but Monsieur de Givry had sufficient faith\nin it to believe, that if Adeline had been the daughter of Robertine\nCollet, she would never have been visited by the ghost of Madeleine\nDogue and her children.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE SWISS LADY'S STORY.\n\n\n\"It was not I,\" said Madame de Geirsteche; \"it was my mother who saw the\napparition you have heard of; but I can tell you all the particulars of\nthe story if you have patience to listen to it.\"\n\n\"You would be conferring a great favour,\" I said; \"from what I have\nheard of the circumstance, I am already much interested.\"\n\nWe were in the steamboat that plies between Vevay and Geneva when this\nconversation occurred, and as there could not be a more convenient\nopportunity of hearing the narration, we retired from the crowd of\ntravellers that thronged the deck, and Madame de G. began as follows.\n\n\"My husband's father, the elder Monsieur Geirsteche, was acquainted with\ntwo young men named Zwengler. He was at school and at college with them,\nand their intimacy continued after their education was finished. When\none was fourteen and the other ten, they had the misfortune to lose both\ntheir parents by an accident. They were crossing the Alps, when by the\nfall of an avalanche their carriage was overturned down a precipice, and\nthey and their servants perished.\n\n\"The Zwenglers were people of good family but small fortune; and as they\nhad always lived fully up to what they had, their property, when it came\nto be divided between their four children, for they had two daughters\nbesides the sons I have named, afforded but an inadequate portion to\neach; but this misfortune was mitigated by their rich relations--a\nwealthy uncle adopted the boys, and an equally wealthy aunt took the\ngirls. This was but just, for they had both been enriched by what ought\nto have been the inheritance of the other sister, the mother of these\nchildren, who, having married Monsieur Zwengler contrary to the wishes\nof her parents, was cut off with a shilling. This uncle and aunt had\nnever married, for their father objected to every match that was\nproposed, as not sufficiently advantageous; whilst the brother and\nsister, taking warning by the fate of Madame Zwengler, preferred living\nsingle to the risk of incurring the same penalty. The daughters having\ngood fortunes married early, and I believe did well enough; it is on the\nhistory of the sons that my story turns.\n\n\"As I mentioned, they were at the same school with my husband's father\nwhen the catastrophe happened to their parents, and he remembered\nafterwards the different manner in which the news had affected them;\nAlfred's grief was apparently stormy and violent; that of the other was\nless demonstrative, but more genuine. Alfred, in short, was secretly\nelated at the independence he expected would be the consequence of this\nsudden bereavement; and he lost no time in assuming over Louis the\nimportance and authority of an elder brother. Louis was an enthusiastic,\nwarm-hearted, and imaginative child, too young to appreciate his loss in\na worldly point of view, but mourning his parents--especially his\nmother--sincerely.\n\n\"Alfred's hopes of independence were considerably abated, when he found\nhimself under the guardianship of Mr. Altorf, his uncle, a proud,\npompous, tenacious, arbitrary man; on the other hand, he was somewhat\nconsoled by the expectation of becoming the heir to his large fortune,\nthe magnitude of which he had frequently heard descanted on by his\nparents. He soon discovered, too, that as the heir expectant he had\nacquired an importance that he had never enjoyed before; and in order to\nmake sure of these advantages, he neglected no means of recommending\nhimself to the old gentleman, insomuch, that Mr. Altorf, being very fond\nof the study of chemistry, Alfred affected great delight in the same\npursuit, sacrificing his own inclinations to shut himself up in his\nuncle's laboratory, with crucibles and chemicals that he often wished\nmight be consumed in the furnace they employed. Louis, the while,\npursued his studies, thoughtless of the future as young people usually\nare; but as he advanced in age, he began to exhibit symptoms of a\nfailing constitution, and as the law for which his uncle designed him\nrequired more study than was compatible with health, he was allowed to\nfollow his inclination and become a soldier. With this view, he was sent\nto Paris, and committed to the surveillance of a friend of his uncle\nthere, who was in the French service.\n\n\"No profession being proposed for Alfred, he lived on with his uncle,\nconfirmed in the belief that though his brother, if he survived, would\nbe remembered in the old man's will, he himself should inherit the bulk\nof the property. It was a weary life to him, shut up half the day in the\nlaboratory, that he detested, in constant association with an\nuncongenial companion. Moreover, up to the period of his being of age,\nhe was kept almost entirely without money, and was excluded from all the\npleasures suitable to his years. When he attained his majority, he\nbecame possessed of the small patrimony that devolved on him as the\neldest son of his father, and was enabled to make himself some amends\nfor the privations he had previously submitted to. Not that he threw off\nhis uncle's authority, or became openly less submissive and conformable;\nbut secretly he contrived to procure himself many relaxations and\nenjoyments, from which he had before been shut out; and in the attaining\nand purchasing these pleasures he freely squandered all the proceeds of\nhis inheritance, reckoning securely on the future being well provided\nfor.\n\n\"His uncle inhabited a villa outside of Geneva, on the road to Ferney,\nand seldom came into the town, except when he visited his banker. His\nchemicals and other articles, Alfred usually purchased, and he had made\nacquaintance with several young men, whose society and amusements he\navailed himself of these opportunities to enjoy. One frosty day in\nDecember, he was strolling arm in arm with some of these youths, when,\non turning a corner, he unexpectedly saw sailing down the street before\nthem, the massive figure of his uncle, attired in his best chocolate\nsuit, his hair powdered, and a long pigtail hanging down his back. The\nair of conscious importance and pomposity with which he strode along,\namused these gay companions, and they were diverting themselves at the\nold gentleman's expense, when his foot slipped on a slide, and he fell\ndown. This was irresistible; and they all burst into a simultaneous\nshout of laughter. A passer by immediately assisted him to rise; and as\nhe did so, he turned round to see from whence the merriment\nproceeded--perhaps he had recognised his nephew's voice--at all events,\nAlfred felt sure he _saw_, if he did not _hear_, and thought it prudent\nto apologise for his ill-timed hilarity, which he sought to excuse by\nalleging that he had not at first been aware who it was that had fallen.\nMr. Altorf looked stern; but as he said nothing, and never alluded to\nthe subject again, Alfred congratulated himself at having got off so\nwell, and endeavoured to efface any unpleasant impression that might\nremain by extra attentions and compliances.\n\n\"Everything went on as usual till the following year, when one morning\nthe old gentleman was found dead in his bed, and the medical men\npronounced that he had expired in a fit of apoplexy.\n\n\"When the will--which was dated several years back--came to be read, it\nwas found that after two trifling legacies, and five thousand pounds to\nLouis, the whole estate was bequeathed to Alfred, whose breast dilated\nwith joy, as the words fell upon his ear, although it was no more than\nhe was prepared for; but the first flush of triumph had not subsided,\nwhen the lawyer arrested the incipient congratulations of the company,\nby saying, 'Here is a codicil, I see, dated the fourteenth of December,\nlast year.'\n\n\"The company resumed their seats, and a cold chill crept through\nAlfred's veins, as the reader proceeded as follows:--\n\n\"'I hereby revoke the bequest hereabove made to my nephew Alfred\nZwengler, and I give and bequeath the whole of my estates, real and\npersonal, to my nephew, Louis Zwengler. To my nephew, Alfred Zwengler, I\ngive and bequeath my bust, which stands on the hall table. It is\naccounted a good likeness, and when I am gone, it will serve to keep him\nmerry. May he have many a hearty laugh at it--on the wrong side of his\nmouth.'\n\n\"The auditors looked confounded on hearing this extraordinary paragraph,\nbut Alfred understood it too well.\n\n\"It is unnecessary to dwell upon his feelings; a quarter of an hour ago\nhe was one of the richest men of his canton--now there were not many\npoorer in all Switzerland than Alfred Zwengler. He had awakened from his\nlong dream of wealth and importance, and habits of expense, to poverty\nand utter insignificance; while Louis, whom he had always\ndespised--Louis, over whom he had domineered, and assumed the airs of an\nelder brother and a great man, had leapt into his shoes at one bound,\nand left him grovelling in the mud. How he hated him.\n\n\"But he might die; what letters they had had from Paris reported him\nvery sickly; he might be killed in battle, for Europe was full of wars\nin those days; but he might do neither; and at all events, in the\nmeantime what was Alfred to do? A thousand wild and desperate schemes\npassed through his brain for bettering his situation, but none seemed\npracticable. The sole remnant of the property he had inherited from his\nfather, that still remained in his possession, was a house in Geneva,\ncalled L'Hotel Dupont, that he had mortgaged to nearly its full value,\nintending at his uncle's death, to pay the money and redeem it. It had\nbeen let, but was now empty and under repair, and the creditors talked\nof selling it to pay themselves. But Alfred induced them to wait, by\ngiving out that as soon as his brother understood his situation, he\nwould advance the necessary sum to relieve him. Perhaps he really\nentertained this expectation, but he had no precise right to do so, for\nhe had never given Louis a crown piece, though the latter had suffered\nmuch more from his uncle's parsimony than he had, having inherited\nnothing whatever from his parents. However, Alfred wrote to Louis,\ndating his letter from that house, dilating on his difficulties, and the\nhardness of his fate, and hinting that, had he come into possession of\nhis uncle's fortune, as he had every right to expect he should, how he\nshould have felt it his duty to act towards an only brother.\n\n\"He received no answer to this appeal; and, at first, he drew very\nunfavourable conclusions from his brother's silence; but, as time went\non, and Louis neither appeared to take possession of his inheritance,\nnor wrote to account for his absence, hope began once more to dawn in\nthe horizon; the brighter, that no letters whatever arrived from him;\neven the lawyers who had applied for instructions, received no answer.\nThe last letter his uncle had had from him, had mentioned the\nprobability of his joining the Republican forces in the south, if his\nhealth permitted him to do so. Altogether, there certainly were grounds\nfor anxiety or hope, as it might be; I need not say which it was on this\noccasion. Rumours of bloody battles, too, prevailed, in which many had\nfallen. Even the creditors were content to wait, not being inclined to\npush to extremity a debtor, who might be on the verge of prosperity, for\nit was not likely that Louis would make a will; and it was even possible\nthat he might have died before his uncle. In either case, Alfred was the\nundoubted heir; and, accordingly, he began once more to taste some of\nthe sweets of fortune;--hats were doffed, hands were held out to him,\nand one or two sanguine spirits went so far as to offer loans of small\nsums and temporary accommodation.\n\n\"At length, affairs being in this state of uncertainty, the lawyers\nthought it necessary to investigate the matter, and endeavour to\nascertain what was become of the heir. Measures were accordingly taken,\nwhich evidently kept Alfred in a violent state of agitation; but the\nresult, apparently, made him amends for all he had suffered. It was\nproved that Louis, with his military friend, had joined the Republican\nforces in the south, but was supposed to have perished in an encounter\nwith the Chouans; nobody could swear to having seen him dead; but, as\nthe Republicans had been surprised and fallen into an ambush, they had\nbeen obliged to retreat, leaving their dead upon the field.\n\n\"This being the case, the property was given up to Alfred; a portion\nbeing sequestered, in order that it might accumulate for a certain\nnumber of years, for the purpose of refunding the original heir, should\nhe--contrary to all expectation--reappear. If not, at the expiration of\nthat term, the sequestrated portion would be released.\n\n\"Alfred Zwengler was now at the summit of his wishes; and one might have\nthought, would have felt the more intense satisfaction, in the\npossession of his wealth, from the narrow escape he had had of losing\nit; but this did not seem to be the case. He had, formerly, been very\nfond of society, though he had few opportunities of entering into it;\nbut when he had, nobody enjoyed it more. Now, he did not shun mankind;\non the contrary, he sought their company; but he was moody, silent, and\napparently unhappy. People said, that he lived in constant fear of his\nbrother's turning up again and reclaiming his inheritance. It might be\nso; nobody knew the cause of the change in him, for he was\nuncommunicative, even to his nearest acquaintance.\n\n\"One thing, that gave colour to this supposition was, that he evidently\ndisliked to hear Louis named; and whenever he was alluded to, he\ninvariably asserted that he did not believe he was dead, and that he\nexpected every day to see him come back. After saying this, it was\nobserved that, he would turn deathly pale,--rising from his chair, and\nwalking about the room in manifest agitation.\n\n\"Preferring the town to the country, Mr. Zwengler had declared his\nintention of residing in his own house, which had lately been repaired\nunder his special directions, and fitted up with all the appliances of\ncomfort and elegance; but he was scarcely settled there before he took a\nsudden and unaccountable dislike to it, and offered it for sale. As it\nwas an excellent property, Mr. Geirsteche, my husband's father bought\nit; and Mr. Zwengler purchased another house and removed his furniture\nthither.\n\n\"Mr. Geirsteche had no intention of living in the house; he bought it as\nan investment; for being situated in one of the best streets of the\ncity, it was sure to let well; and accordingly it was not long before\nhe found an eligible tenent in Mr. Bautte, an eminent watchmaker of\nGeneva, who furnished it handsomely. He was very rich, and wanted it for\nhis family, who expressed themselves delighted with their new residence.\nNevertheless, they had not been in it three months before they expressed\na desire to live in the environs of the city rather than in it. As Mr.\nBautte had taken a long lease of the house, he put up a ticket\nannouncing that it was to be let. A gentleman from Lucerne, named\nMaurice, who had just married his sister's governess, and wished\ntherefore to reside at a distance from his family, took it for three\nyears, with the option of keeping it on for whatever term he pleased at\nthe end of that period. He gave directions for the furnishing, and when\nit was ready, they came to Geneva and took up their abode in their new\nhouse. At the end of a year, they applied to Mr. Bautte for permission\nto sub-let the house. There was no such provision in the agreement, and\nMr. Bautte at first, we were told, objected, but consented after an\ninterview with Mr. Maurice. But these frequent removals had begun to\ndraw observation, and it began to be rumoured that there was something\nobjectionable about the Hotel du Pont. The common people whispered that\nit was haunted; some said it was infested with rats; others that it was\nill drained; in short, it got a bad reputation, and nobody was willing\nto take it. Mr. Maurice and his wife, who were gone to Paris for a few\nmonths, and had not yet removed their furniture, being informed of this,\nadvertised it to be let furnished. So many strangers come to Geneva,\nthat there is no want of tenants for good furnished houses, and it was\nsoon engaged by a French family from Dijon. They took it for a year, but\nat the end of that time they left it for a residence much inferior in\nevery respect, and yet more expensive; the rent Mr. Maurice asked being\nvery moderate.\n\n\"I don't know who were the next tenants, but family after family took\nthe house, for it was a very attractive one, but nobody lived in it\nlong. When Mr. Maurice's three years had expired, Mr. Bautte bought his\nfurniture, and continued to let the house furnished. He would have been\nglad to sell his lease, which was for thirty years, but nobody was\ninclined to buy it.\n\n\"I now, said Madame de G. come to that part of the story that concerns\nmy mother. I have frequently heard the story from her own lips, and\nnothing made her so angry as to see people listen to it with\nincredulity. My grandfather, Mr. Colman, was, as you are aware, much\ngiven to the pursuit of literature, and as that is one that seldom\nbrings wealth, his means were somewhat restricted, although he had a\nsmall independance of his own. He had three daughters and two sons, and\nwhen his family had outgrown their childhood, and my mother, who was the\neldest, had attained the age of seventeen, they came to Geneva for the\nsake of giving the young people some advantages of education that he\ncould not afford them in England; besides there was a good deal of\nliterary society to be had here then, and the place was cheaper than it\nis now.\n\n\"Having no acquaintance, they applied on their arrival to an agent, who\noffered them several houses and L'Hotel du Pont amongst the number. At\nfirst they were about to decline it as a residence beyond their means;\nbut when the rent was named, they took it immediately. It was so far the\nbest house they had seen, and the cheapest, that when the agreement was\nsigned, they expressed their surprise to the agent, at what appeared the\nunreasonable demands of the other proprietors.\n\n\"'Why, this house is particularly situated, sir,' said the agent. 'The\ngentleman who furnished it was obliged to leave Geneva almost\nimmediately after he had settled himself here; and he being absent, and\ncaring more for a good tenant than a high rent, we don't stand out for a\nprice as people must do when they look to make money by a house.'\n\n\"Mr. Colman congratulated himself on his good luck in finding such a\nliberal proprietor, and in a few days he and his family were comfortably\nestablished in the Hotel du Pont. The only difficulty they had found was\nin procuring servants. They had one English maid with them, and, at\nlast, they succeeded in getting two girls as cook and housemaid. The\nlatter was a German, who had been brought there by a family who had gone\non to Italy; and the former was a Frenchwoman, who had married a\ngentleman's valet, and had followed him from Paris to Geneva.\n\n\"As soon as everything was arranged, they resumed their usual\nhabits--one of which was, that for an hour or two before they went to\nbed the father read aloud to them, in a room they called the library--it\nwas, in fact, his writing-room--whilst the ladies worked. A few evenings\nafter they had recommenced this practice, a discussion arose between Mr.\nColman and his eldest daughter, Mary, as to the precise meaning of a\nFrench word, and the dictionary had to be appealed to to decide the\nquestion. Mary said it was in her bed-chamber, and left the room to\nfetch it. The library was on the ground-floor, and the staircase was a\nbroad, handsome one as far as the first flight; it had been made by\nAlfred Zwengler when the house was repaired, and there was a wide\nlanding at the top, the whole being lighted sufficiently for ordinary\npurposes by a lamp that hung in the hall. The stairs were very easy of\nascent, and my mother--I mean Mary--for she was afterwards my mother,\nwho was a lively, active girl, was springing up two steps at a time,\nwhen, to her amazement, she saw a gentleman in uniform standing on the\nlanding above. She stopt suddenly, but as he did not appear to notice\nher, she continued to ascend, concluding it was some stranger, who had\ngot into the house by mistake, for he did not look a thief; but when she\nreached the landing he was gone. She stood at first bewildered. There\nwere four doors opening into bedrooms, but they were all shut; and after\nthinking a moment, she concluded it was the shadow of some cloaks and\nhats, and sticks, that were hanging in the hall, that had deceived her.\nShe did not pause to consider how this could be, but turned into her own\nroom; felt for the book, which she remembered to have left on her bed\nand ran down stairs again to her father; so occupied with the disputed\nquestion, that for the moment she forgot what had happened, and as her\nfather resumed his reading immediately, she did not mention it. When\nthey were going to bed, and they were lighting their candles in the\nhall, she said, 'you can't think what a start I had this evening when I\nwent for the dictionary. It must have been the shadow of those cloaks\nand things, but I could have declared I saw an officer in uniform\nstanding at the top of the stairs. I even saw his epaulette and the\ncolour of his clothes.'\n\n\"'La! Mary,' said one of the younger ones, 'weren't you frightened?'\n\n\"'Frightened! no, why should I be frightened at a shadow?'\n\n\"'Or a handsome young officer either,' said one of the boys.\n\n\"She playfully gave him a tap on the head, and they all went to bed,\nthinking no more of the matter.\n\n\"The kitchen was at the back of the house, on the same floor as the\nlibrary, and a few evenings after this occurrence, one of the girls\nbeing in the store-room, heard sounds of distress proceeding thence; and\non opening the kitchen-door, to inquire what was the matter, she saw\nJemima, the English girl, in hysterics, and the other two standing over\nher, sprinkling her face with water. They said that she had left the\nkitchen to fetch some worsted to mend her master's stockings, but that\nbefore she could have got up stairs, she had rushed back again, thrown\nherself into a chair, and '_gone off_' as they expressed it. On hearing\nthe noise, Mr. and Mrs. Colman joined them, but, for a long time, they\ncould extract nothing from her--but that she had seen _something_. My\ngrandfather asked if it was a rat, or a robber! but she only shook her\nhead; and it was not till they had all left the kitchen and sent her a\nglass of wine, that she was sufficiently collected to tell them that, as\nshe got to the foot of the stairs, she saw an officer in uniform, going\nup before her. He had his cap in his hand, and his sword at his side;\nand supposing he was some friend of her master's, she was going to\nfollow him up; but when he reached the landing, to her surprise and\nhorror, he disappeared through the wall.\n\n\"When the family heard this, combining it with what had happened to\nMary--though the circumstance had never been mentioned in the hearing of\nthe servants; nor, indeed, even alluded to a second time--they began to\nask themselves whether it was possible any such person could get into\nthe house? and they examined every part of it with care, but found\nnothing that threw a light on the mystery. After this, Jemima was afraid\nto go up stairs alone at night, and Gretchen shared her fears; but the\nFrenchwoman laughed at them both, and said she should like to see a\nghost that would frighten her. One night, however, about nine o'clock,\nwhen the family were in the library, they suddenly heard a great noise\nupon the stairs, as if something had fallen from the top to the bottom,\nand when they all rushed out to see what was the matter, they found the\ncook lying across the lower step in a state of insensibility, and the\ncoalscuttle upset beside her, with its contents scattered around. They\ncarried her into the library, and when she revived, she insisted on\nimmediately leaving the house; she would not sleep in it another night\non any account whatever, and away she went. Gretchen and Jemima said,\nthey were sure she had seen the ghost, but was too proud to own it,\nafter turning their fears into ridicule; and the family began to be very\nmuch perplexed.\n\n\"My grandfather had a truly philosophical mind, and did not think it a\nproof of wisdom to hold decided opinions on subjects that he had not\ninvestigated. He had never believed in spiritual appearances, but he had\nnever thought seriously on the subject at all, and did not feel himself\nqualified to assert that such things were impossible. Certainly, it was\na singular coincidence, that Jemima's description of the apparition\nexactly coincided with what my mother had seen; and though the\nFrenchwoman had confessed to nothing, yet it was at the same hour and\nthe same place that she had taken fright. He tried, whether--by placing\nthe cloaks and the lamp in certain relative positions--he could produce\nany reflection that might deceive the eye; but there was not the most\nremote approximation to such a thing; in short, he perceived that that\nexplanation of the appearance was altogether inadmissible.\n\n\"'Well,' he said, 'if anybody sees this figure again, I beg they will\ncall me!'\n\n\"They were not a nervous family, I suppose; my mother was quite the\nreverse, I know. I never saw anybody with more courage; at all events,\nthey do not seem to have been alarmed, though both the boys afterwards\nsaw the same figure on the same spot, and ran to call their father; but\nwhen Mr. Colman came it was gone. However, they declared they had seen\nit cross the landing; and that it had seemed to them, to walk through\nthe wall, just as Jemima had described.\n\n\"Some weeks after this, towards the same hour, as Mr. Colman was about\nto commence reading aloud, he discovered that he had left his\nspectacles in the pocket of his coat, when he dressed for dinner; and my\nmother, who was always alert and active, left the room to fetch them.\nPresently, she re-entered the room,--pale, and somewhat agitated, but\nperfectly collected; and said, that when she had ascended the stairs\nabout half-way, she heard a slight rustle above, which caused her to\nraise her eyes; when she saw, distinctly, the same figure she had seen\nbefore. 'I was not frightened!' she said, 'and I stopt with one foot on\nthe next stair, and looked at it steadily, that I might be sure I was\nnot under a delusion. The face was pale, and it looked at me with such a\nsad expression, that I thought if it was really a ghost, it might wish\nto say something; so I asked it.'\n\n\"'Asked it!' they all exclaimed. 'What did you say?'\n\n\"'I said, if you have anything to communicate, I conjure you--speak!'\n\n\"'And did it.'\n\n\"'No,' answered Mary, 'but it made a sign--'\n\n\"'Good Heavens!' said Mrs. Colman, 'do you know what you're saying?'\n\n\"'Perfectly,' said Mary, calmly. 'With one hand it pointed to the\nwall--just where Jemima and the boys saw it go in--and with the other it\nmade a movement, as if it was going to strike the wall with something\nheavy.'\n\n\"'Perhaps there's some money buried there,' said one of the boys.\n\n\"Mr. Colman, who had hitherto been a silent but amazed listener to his\ndaughter's narration, asked her what the gesture appeared to signify.\n\n\"'It was as if it wanted the wall to be pulled down--at least, I thought\nso. I wish I had asked if that was what it wished, but I had not\npresence of mind; if I see it again, I will.'\n\n\"'But we could not pull down the wall, you know, my dear,' said Mrs.\nColman.\n\n\"'I suppose we might, if we engaged to build it up again,' suggested one\nof the party.\n\n\"'But if we told anybody, we should not get the money,' said the boys.\n\n\"'Hush!' said Mary, 'Don't speak in that way; think what a solemn thing\nit is. I shall never forget his face--never, to the day of my death; and\nit looked at me so gratefully when I spoke to it, and then it\ndisappeared into the wall.'\n\n\"Of course this extraordinary occurrence formed the subject of\nconversation for the rest of the evening, and Mr. Colman narrowly\nquestioned his daughter with regard to the particulars; but her story\nwas always consistent, and as he had a very high opinion of Mary's\ncourage and sense, the circumstance made so much impression on him, that\nhe set about making enquiries as to the owner and antecedents of the\nhouse. It was difficult to obtain much information--for saying a house\nis haunted, is an injury to the landlord, and sometimes brings people\ninto trouble--but he ascertained that it had had several tenants, that\nnobody had staid in it long, and that one of the persons who had\ninhabited it for a short time, was Mr. Bautte himself, whereupon he\nresolved to pay him a visit.\n\n\"Mr. Bautte, as I have mentioned, was a watchmaker; and though very rich,\nstill attended to his trade, so that it was easy to obtain an interview\nwith him. Mr. Colman called at his place of business, which was not a\nshop, but a room on the first floor of a private house. He asked about\nthe engraving of a seal that he had to his watch-chain; and then, having\nascertained which was Mr. B., he told him he was his tenant. Mr. B.\nbowed and said, 'I hope you like the house, sir.'\n\n\"My grandfather said that, perhaps, he might not have observed it but\nfor what had happened, but that he fancied this was said with a sort of\nmisgiving, as if he was conscious that there was something objectionable\nabout the house.\n\n\"'Why,' said my grandfather, drawing him rather aside, 'I like the house\nvery much; but there's one great inconvenience about it--we can't get\nany servants to stay with us. One has left us already, and the others\nhave given us warning, and nobody seems willing to come in their places.\nI understand you lived in the house yourself a short time; may I ask if\nyou found any similar difficulty?'\n\n\"'Well, sir,' said Mr. Bautte, trying to look unconcerned, 'you are\naware how ignorant and foolish such people are--I fancy from the\nconstruction of the house that the sounds from the next door penetrate\nthe walls.'\n\n\"'We hear no sounds,' said Mr. Colman. 'I have heard no complaints of\nany. Did any of your family ever say they saw anything extraordinary\nthere?'\n\n\"'Well, sir, since you put the question so directly, I can't deny that\nthe female part of my family did assert something of the sort; but women\nhave generally a tendency to superstition, and are easily terrified.'\n\n\"'Very true,' said Mr. Colman, 'but I should take it as a great favour\nif you would tell me what they said they saw--I have no idea of leaving\nthe house; you need not be afraid of that; and of course I shall not\nmention this conversation to any one--what did they say they saw?'\n\n\"Mr. Bautte thus exhorted, confessed that his family, and everybody who\nhad lived in the house, asserted that they had seen the apparition of a\nyoung man in uniform, who always appeared on the stairs or the landing;\nadding, that he himself had never seen it, although he had put himself\nin the way of it repeatedly, and he firmly believed it was some\nextraordinary delusion or optical deception, though it was impossible to\naccount for its affecting so many persons in the same way.\n\n\"My grandfather then told him what had occurred in his family;\nespecially to his eldest daughter, in whose testimony, he assured Mr.\nBautte, he placed the greatest reliance; and he ventured to propose an\nexamination of the spot, where the figure was said invariably to\ndisappear. At first, Mr. Bautte laughed at the idea; for--besides his\nscepticism, which made him unwilling to take any proceeding that\ncountenanced what he considered an absurd superstition--he urged, that\nthe staircase and landing in question, were of very recent erection,\nbeing one of Mr. Zwengler's improvements when he repaired the house.\nHowever, after a short argument, wherein my grandfather represented that\nnobody but the parties concerned need know the real reason for what they\ndid, that the expense would be small, and the possible result beneficial\nto the property, Mr. Bautte consented, provided Mr. Geierstecke made no\nobjection; he being still the owner of the house.\n\n\"Mr. G., who, you know, was my husband's father, was aware that the\nHotel du Pont had frequently changed its tenants, but was quite ignorant\nof the cause. He had no immediate interest in the matter, as Mr. Bautte\nheld a thirty-years lease, and he naturally assumed that these frequent\nchanges were purely accidental. Everybody, who became acquainted with\nthe house, had a strong motive for keeping the secret; for--besides the\nridicule and penalty they might have incurred--they all wanted to get it\noff their hands. It's true, that amongst the servants and common people\nof the neighbourhood, there were strange whispers going about; the\nsource of which it would not have been easy to trace. A glazier said he\nknew a man, who had heard another declare, that he was acquainted with a\nbricklayer, who had helped to build the staircase; who used to say, he\ndid not wonder that nobody could live in the Hotel du Pont; and that it\nwas his opinion that nobody ever would be able to live in it; and a\nwoman who kept a shop opposite, had been heard to say, that she saw\nsomebody go into that house that never came out again; but whenever she\nalluded to this subject, her husband always reproved her, and told her\nshe did not know what she was talking about.\n\n\"This gossip had, however, never reached Mr. Geierstecks, and he was\nexceedingly surprised when Mr. Bautte communicated Mr. Colman's\nproposal, and the reason of it. He immediately called upon my\ngrandfather, who recited the circumstances to him, and introduced my\nmother; from whose lips he wished to hear the account of her two\nrencontres with the ghost; and also, a particular description of its\nappearance. At the commencement of his visit, he was inclined to be\njocular on the subject; but after he had seen my mother, and heard her\ndescribe the dress of the apparition, which was that of an officer in\nthe Republican army of France, he seemed a good deal struck, and became\nserious. He said, he did not believe in ghosts; though he had heard\npeople affirm, that they had seen such things; he always supposed them\nto be under a delusion; but that my mother's testimony was so clear, and\nfrom the account of her family she was so unlikely a person to be\ndeceived, that he felt bound to give his assent to the proposed\ninvestigation; only stipulating for entire secrecy, and that he might\nfix the day for it himself. 'I'll speak to a builder,' said he; 'Mr.\nBautte, of course, will wish to be present; and, perhaps, I may bring a\nfriend with me.'\n\n\"As I mentioned before, he had been early acquainted with the\nZwengler's; and betwixt him and Alfred the intimacy still continued,\nalthough the latter was by no means the pleasant companion he had been\nformerly. Mr. Geierstecke concluding that his uncle's will, and the\nsudden vicissitudes of fortune he had experienced, had affected his\nspirits, pitied him; and had often endeavoured to argue him out of his\ndepression, but with little effect.\n\n\"I have heard him say, that after he left my grandfather's house on that\nday, he went to Mr. Zwengler's with the intention of telling him the\ncircumstances I have related, and also of giving him notice of the\nimpending investigation; but when he had got to the door, and his hand\nwas upon the bell, he shrunk from the interview. 'Not,' he said, 'that\nhe admitted a suspicion; on the contrary, he repelled it; but he could\nnot overcome an uneasy feeling at the striking resemblance between Louis\nZwengler and the ghost (if ghost there was), as described by my mother.\nHe feared that, if his words did not betray this feeling, his\ncountenance would, and he could not face Alfred in this state of mind;\nso he turned from the door and went home. Still he felt he could not\nallow this thing to be done without warning his friend of their\nintention, and he sat down to write him a letter; but it was a difficult\nthing to communicate,--at least, he somehow found it so. He could have\nmentioned it jocularly; but that, under all the circumstances, he could\nnot do so; and he had torn up two or three unsuccessful efforts, when\nthe door opened, and the servant announced Mr. Zwengler himself.\n\n\"My father-in-law told me that he felt his knees tremble, and his cheek\nturn pale, when he rose to receive his visitor, who seemingly rather\nmore cheerful than usual, said he had called to ask him why he did not\ncome in to-day, when he was at his door. 'I was at the window,' said he,\n'and was quite disappointed to see you turn away.'\n\n\"This was too good an opportunity to be lost, and Mr. Geierstecke\nanswered, that it was quite true, and that he had actually had his hand\nupon the bell, when he thought it was useless troubling him with such\nnonsense.\n\n\"'What nonsense?' asked Zwengler.\n\n\"'It's about that house I bought of you,' said Mr. Geierstecke. 'People\nsay they can't live in it;' adding, while he affected to laugh; 'They\nsay there's a ghost in it, and they want to pull down the staircase to\nlook for him.'\n\n\"'How absurd,' said Mr. Zwengler; 'and are you going to do it?' but the\nvoice sounded as if there was something in his throat.\n\n\"'We are,' replied Mr. G. 'Mr. Bautte has never been able to keep a\ntenant, and I can't refuse, for it appears they all assert the same\nthing. Even Mr. Bautte's family would not live in it--they say they\nsee----'\n\n\"'Ha! ha!' laughed Zwengler, rising suddenly, and pushing back his chair\nin a hurried manner, 'but I must leave you--I've an appointment; I\nmerely called as I passed the door, to ask why you'd not come in. Bless\nme! I'm late,' he added, as he looked at his watch; and he hurried out\nof the room, crying 'Good night,' as he disappeared.\n\n\"Mr. Geierstecke used to say that he believed that he (Mr. G. himself)\ncontinued standing on the same spot, like a statue, for nearly half an\nhour after the door closed on his visitor.\n\n\"'I had scarcely had time to rise from my chair,' he said, 'before he\nwas gone, and I felt paralysed. I did not know what to do. I wished I\nhad never bought the house, and I lay awake all night, thinking of\nhorrors, and then trying to persuade myself that perhaps there was no\ncause for my apprehensions after all.'\n\n\"'I saw nothing more of Zwengler, though I frequently passed his house\npurposely; and, at length, the day arrived which I had--not without\ndesign--fixed at the interval of a week from my first visit to Mr.\nColman. We all assembled at the appointed time, with a respectable\nworkman whom I was in the habit of employing, to whom we accounted for\nour proceeding, by alleging that there was a bad smell sometimes, which\nwe thought might proceed from a dead rat.\n\n\"'I never felt more nervous and agitated in my life, than while the man\nwas demolishing the wall, and we were waiting the denouement; while\nMary, the heroine, stood pale and earnest, with her eyes eagerly fixed\non the spot.'\n\n\"'We had better have a light, sir,' said the mason presently, 'There is\nsomething here----'\n\n\"One of the boys went for a light, while silent and breathless they\nwaited its arrival.\n\n\"When it came it disclosed a fearful sight. There lay, huddled up, as if\nthrust in in haste, the bones of a perfect skeleton, and what appeared\nto be burnt remnants of clothes. Before they touched anything, Mr.\nBautte sent for the police, and these sad relics were removed by their\nofficers. There was no means of discovering how life had been taken, but\nthe medical men said that some strong chemical preparation had been used\nto consume the flesh and clothes, and prevent any bad odour.\n\n\"Everybody knew the Zwenglers and their history; and on this discovery,\nthe prefet sent for my mother, and took her deposition as to the\nappearance of the figure she had seen. He also examined Jemima and the\nFrenchwoman who had left our service; and the testimony of all parties\ncoinciding, he issued an order to arrest Alfred. But when they went to\nhis house he was not there. The servants said he had been absent nearly\na week; that he left, saying he was going on business to Dole, and his\nstay was uncertain. He had taken no baggage with him but a carpet bag. A\nmessenger was despatched to Dole, but nothing was known of him there;\nand the enquiries that were instituted at the Messageries and\nVoituriers threw no light on his mode of conveyance, if, indeed, he had\nleft Geneva.\n\n\"Various people, who had lived in the house, now confessed to have been\ntroubled with the same apparition; and several amongst the neighbours of\nthe lower ranks avowed that they had strong suspicions that Alfred\nZwengler did not come fairly by his fortune, alleging different reasons\nfor their opinion; one of which was singular--it was, that a little deaf\nand dumb girl, who lived near him, described to her mother, that when he\npassed their door, she always saw him as enveloped in a black cloud.\n\n\"Howbeit, Alfred Zwengler never appeared more; and it was generally\nthought that terrified by the impending disclosure he had thrown himself\neither into the lake or the river, to escape it. He left no will, and\nthe fortune went to his sisters. But this strange circumstance resulted\nin my mother's marriage to Monsieur de Beaugarde the Prefect, who was so\ncaptivated by her courage, that he made her an offer immediately; and\nthe acquaintance with Mr. Geierstecke, thus commenced, led to my\nmarriage with his son.\"\n\nIn answer to my enquiry, of how it was supposed the murder was\ncommitted, Madame de G. said, the conjecture was, that Louis had made\nhis escape from the Chouans, and returned unexpectedly--a neighbour even\ntestified to having seen him enter the house one night at the time it\nwas under repair--and that his brother by a sudden and dreadful impulse,\nhad struck him down unawares. One of the masons who had been employed in\nbuilding the staircase, but who was killed by a fall shortly before the\ndiscovery, had been heard to hint that before he died he must unburden\nhis mind of a secret that weighed heavily on his conscience. \"Not that\nthe guilt lies on my soul, he used to say, but perhaps it's a sin to\nhold my tongue.\"\n\nHowever, he had no time to speak; but one came from the grave to tell\nthe tale and bear awful witness against the unhappy Alfred Zwengler.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SHEEP-FARMER'S STORY.\n\n\nThe following singular story was related to me in a dialect which,\nthough I understood, from having lived much in the country where it was\nspoken, I cannot attempt to imitate, not being \"to the manner born;\"\nneither, if I could, would it be agreeable, or very comprehensible, to\nmy readers in general. I shall, therefore, tell it in plain English; and\nhope it will interest others as much as it did me.\n\nSandy Shiels, the narrator, was a sheep-farmer in the Lammermuirs. He\nlived in a lone house, in a wild and desolate country, with his wife and\nchildren, his farm-servants, and his dogs, and seldom saw a stranger\nenter his door, from week's end to week's end; but on certain occasions,\nmore or less frequent, Sandy attended the fairs and markets about the\ncountry; and at the cattle shows, sometimes, appeared in Edinburgh\nitself. He was a shrewd and a simple man--for the two characteristics\nare by no means incompatible--hardhanded and hardfeatured, but not\nunkindly; a serious churchman, a great reader of his Bible, and a keen\nobserver of Nature and Nature's language, as men who are born and bred\namongst mountains generally are.\n\nHis wife was a plain, hardworking woman, by whom he had two children,\nyet young; but he had an elder son by a former marriage, called Ihan\nDhu; a Highland appellation not common in the Lammermuirs; but his\nmother was a Highland woman, and had given it to him. Ihan Dhu means\nBlack John; and it suited him well; for, instead of the brawny figure\nand sandy hue which so generally prevails in the south, he had inherited\nthe slight figure, the dark complexion, and black hair and eyes of his\nmother, who was a specimen of the genuine Highland type; which, contrary\nto the belief commonly entertained in England, is (Lord Jeffrey informed\nme), _a little dark man_.\n\nThe two farm-servants were called Donald and Rob. The former a heavy,\nstolid lout, who had just intellect enough to do what he was told; the\nlatter, a smart, lively, goodnatured lad, who was fond of reading, when\nhe could get a book; and wide awake about everything that his very\nlimited sphere brought him in contact with. The only other member of the\nfamily was a girl, called Annie Goil, an orphan niece of Mrs. Shiel's;\nwho, in conjunction with her aunt, did all the work of the house and\ndairy. The whole household lived and ate, and sat together, and with\nthem the two sheep dogs, Coully and Jock. In the summer, it was pleasant\nenough; but in the winter, when the snow fell and the sheep were on the\nhills, they had often a hard time of it.\n\nAnnie Goil was a pretty lass; and, naturally enough, there being no\nother at hand, the three young men, Ihan, Donald, and Rob, were all\ncandidates for her favour. Nevertheless, they lived tolerably well\ntogether; the rivalry, apparently, not running very high. Ihan was, of\ncourse, much the best match; and he might, perhaps, feel pretty\nconfident that whenever he chose seriously to put in his claim, it could\nnot be resisted. Rob, possibly, comforted and consoled himself with the\nsundry little marks of preference she bestowed on him, which might be\ngenuine, or might be designed to _agacer_ Ihan. As for Donald, he was of\nso slow and undemonstrative a nature, that though she and the other two\noften jeered him, and pretended to think he was the one destined to\ncarry off the prize, he exhibited neither anger nor jealousy; if he felt\neither, he kept them to himself.\n\nNevertheless, a sharp word, or sour look, would occasionally pass\nbetween them; that is, between Ihan and Rob; for any dissatisfaction on\nthe part of Donald was only expressed by increased stolidity and\nsilence; and so persuaded was the old man that their feelings towards\neach other were not very genial; to say the least, that he had been\nheard to say to his wife, that Annie Goil was a good girl; but, perhaps,\nit would have been better, if she had never come amongst them.\n\nStill they rubbed on \"middling well,\" as Sandy said, and certainly far\nbetter than might have been expected under such circumstances.\n\nThe winter preceding the circumstances I am about to relate, had been a\nvery severe one, and Sandy Shiels, who had exposed himself too much to\nthe weather, was laid up with an attack of rheumatism. As he was a very\nactive man, still not much past middle life, who when in health\ndiligently looked after his business himself; his loss during this\nconfinement was much felt; and the others had enough to do to make up\nfor his absence.\n\nOn the 27th of February, the snow was on the ground, and the wind blew\nwildly over the Lammermuir hills; the sheep sought shelter and munched\ntheir turnips sadly in the nooks and hollows. Donald was abroad, with\nthe dogs looking after them, and seeing that no stray lamb perished in\nthe cold; while Ihan and Rob were off to Gifford. Ihan to do business\nthere for his father; for there was a three days fair, or market, which\nSandy, when in health, never failed to attend, both as a buyer and\nseller; and Rob to fetch some medicine for the patient, and other\nmatters wanted at the farm.\n\nRob set out at dawn of day, for it was a long walk of ten miles through\nthe snow, and the sooner he could return the better, as the things he\nwas to bring were wanted. Ihan rode a rough little Shetland pony; he did\nnot start till midday, and was not expected back till the evening after\nthe next. On the first day he had to go on as far as Haddington, which\nis four miles beyond Gifford, where he was to consult a lawyer about a\ndisputed point in his father's lease. He was to sleep there at the house\nof a friend, and to be back to the Gifford market early the next\nmorning.\n\nAnnie Goil stood at the door covertly watching Ihan as he mounted his\npony, well equipt for his cold ride, his neck enveloped in a red\ncomforter, knitted for him by Annie herself. She leant against the\ndoor-post looking about her with an air of indifference; while Ihan\nseemed wholly occupied in tightening his girths and seeing that his\nstirrups were of the right length. Neither spoke; still he lingered over\nhis gear, and still she stood leaning against the post, when suddenly\nMrs. Shiels called from above, \"Is Ihan gone? Stop him!\" and hurrying\ndown stairs appeared at the door.\n\n\"Ihan,\" she said, \"I forgot to tell Rob to bring sixpennyworth of\ncamphorated spirits for your father; if he has not left Gifford before\nyou get there, tell him to get it.\"\n\n\"He will have left, I should think,\" answered Ihan.\n\n\"Perhaps not,\" said Mrs. Shiels, \"but if he has you must bring it,\nthough I want it to night.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Ihan as he rode away, and Mrs. Shiels and Annie\nre-entered the house.\n\nThe hours passed drearily at the farm, with the sick man groaning in his\npain, and the two lonely women dividing their time betwixt his chamber\nand their household cares. As the day advanced Annie went frequently to\nthe door and looked up the glen; and Mrs. Shiels, glancing at the Dutch\ntimepiece that stood in the kitchen, observed that she wondered Rob had\nnot come back. Annie responding that the snow was deep, and it must be\nvery heavy walking, again went to the door and looked up the glen; but\nthere was nobody in sight. The hours dragged on, and as it grew later,\nlarge flakes began to fall and obscure what little light remained. Sandy\ngrew impatient and accused Rob of idling and lingering at the fair; Mrs.\nShiels wondered; and Annie having done her work, took up her station at\nthe door with her gown-skirt over her head; there she stood listening\nfor the sound of a step, for it was too dark to see, and at last, she\nheard a heavy foot approaching, but it was Donald returning from the\nhills, followed by Jock.\n\n\"You haven't seen anything of Rob, have you?\" said Annie.\n\n\"How should I see Rob! He's gone to Gifford ar'n't he?\"\n\n\"You might have been on that side of the hill?\"\n\n\"Ar'n't he come back with the stuff?\"\n\n\"No; he might have been here three hours since. I can't think what's\nbecome of him.\"\n\n\"Stopt at the Fair, may-be; there's dancing the night at the Lion.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" said Annie, pouting her lips at him, and turning away to\nprepare their evening meal.\n\nDonald shook himself, and stamped his feet to get rid of the snow, and\nthen entered the kitchen. Mrs. Shiels hearing a foot, came down, hoping\nto find Rob; and was very much disappointed when she saw it was Donald.\n\n\"What can that boy be doing, all this time?\" she said.\n\n\"Perhaps he met Ihan, and went back for the camphor,\" suggested Annie.\n\n\"He'd never think of such a thing! Ihan would not let him; that is, if\nhe had got any way on,\" said Mrs. Shiels.\n\n\"There's dancing the night at the Lion,\" reiterated Donald.\n\n\"Why, the boy would never think of staying for that!\" exclaimed Mrs.\nShiels; indignant at the mere notion of such a disorderly proceeding.\n\n\"To be sure, he wouldn't,\" said Annie; \"Donald knows that well enough;\"\nand her lip curled as she spoke!\n\nAnnie was evidently disturbed at Rob's prolonged absence, and angry with\nDonald's insidious attempts to put an ill construction on it. But still\nRob did not come.\n\nAnnie went on preparing the supper, which consisted of porridge; and\nwhen she had poured it into the bowls, she made two messes for the dogs.\n\n\"Where's Coullie?\" she said looking round.\n\n\"Arn't he here?\" inquired Donald.\n\n\"No.--Don't you see he's not?\"\n\n\"Well, I thought he came in with me,\" said Donald; and going to the door\nhe began whistling the familiar whistle that calls home the dogs. Jock\nleaving his bowl of porridge, that Annie had set down, went to the door\ntoo. Presently they both returned; Donald sat down to his supper,\nsaying, he supposed the dog would come presently; and Jock applied\nhimself to his.\n\nAs the night drew on, the wonders and conjectures increased, and the\nfamily grew more and more fidgity and perplexed at Rob's absence. Donald\nwent to bed as he had to be up betimes in the morning; Mrs. Shiels did\nthe same, because she slept in her sick husband's room; Annie lingered\nas long as she could; then she made up a good fire, set a saucepan of\nporridge on the hob, left a bowl and a spoon, and salt on the table, and\nwent to bed too. When she was undrest and had extinguished her candle,\nshe opened the lattice window of her chamber and put out her head. The\nsnow still fell, and it was very dark; after listening for some minutes,\nshe shut the window, and softly opening her chamber door, she crept down\nstairs again to the kitchen. There she unhooked a lantern from the wall,\nput a lighted candle in it, and returning to her room, she hung it on\nthe latch of the window before she got into bed. She thought she should\nnot sleep, but after a little while she did, and soundly too, till next\nmorning. When she opened her eyes at dawn of day, the candle was burnt\nout, but the sight of the lantern in so unusual a place, reminded her\nimmediately why she had placed it there, and she wondered whether Rob\nhad come home in the night, and been let in by Donald. When she came\ndown, Donald was already outside the house cleaning his shoes and\nfeeding the pigs. She called to him, \"Is Rob come?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" he answered. Of course, then, he was not. It was most\nextraordinary.\n\n\"Is Coullie come in?\" she asked.\n\n\"I ha'nt seen him,\" he said.\n\nHe was very silent; swallowed his mess of porridge in haste, and then\nset off to the hills with Jock. When Mrs. Shiels came down, the same\nquestions were reiterated; and when she found Rob was not come, she was\nvery angry, and expressed her conviction that he had staid for the dance\nat the Lion. Even Annie no longer defended him, for where else could he\nbe all night? A pretty rating he will get when he comes back thought\nshe; and she could not deny that he well deserved it.\n\nShe expected him early, and every now and then she went to the door as\non the preceding day; but hour after hour passed, and he did not come.\nAll sorts of conjectures were formed as to the cause of the delay, but\nMrs. Shiels and her husband admitted but one solution of the\ndifficulty--\"the boy's head had got clean turned, and he was gone to the\nbad althegither.\"\n\nAt night, Donald came home to the great surprise of all, without\nCoullie; he said he had seen nothing of the dog. Now Coullie was devoted\nto Rob--in short, he was the only person the animal cared for--and it\noccurred to Annie that he had somehow come upon Rob's footsteps, and\ntracked him to Gifford, and she expected whenever they did come, to see\nthem both arrive together.\n\nBut that night passed and the next day, and then, towards evening,\nAnnie, who had been to the door, announced that she heard the pony's\nfoot; here was at hand one who doubtless would be able to solve the\nmystery about the absentee. It was the first question addressed to\nhim--\"Where's Rob?\"\n\n\"How should I know?\"\n\n\"Haven't you seen him?\"\n\n\"Seen him, no; I've not seen him since the day before yesterday. Why?\nwhat's the matter?\"\n\n\"He's never come back from Gifford. Where was he when you saw him?\"\n\n\"I never saw him at all, except in the morning before he set off.\"\n\n\"You did not meet him on the road, nor in the village?\"\n\n\"No; I saw nothing of him after he left this.\"\n\n\"Did you hear if he had been there?\"\n\n\"I never asked; I bought the camphor--here it is. How's father?\"\n\nAt night, Donald came home, still without Coullie; and as the dog had\nnever strayed before, it was natural to conclude that he had gone after\nRob, wherever the latter might be. The irritation of Mr. and Mrs. Shiels\nincreased hourly, so did Annie's wonder and perplexity. The two young\nmen, Ihan and Donald, were differently affected; Ihan seemed rather\npleased, and he covertly taunted Annie with this desertion of her\nfavourite; Donald was only more silent and stolid than he had been\nbefore.\n\nBut the next day, and the next passed, and so on through the winter, and\nneither the man nor the dog were seen or heard of. It was ascertained by\nenquiry that he had been at Gifford, and made his purchases, and it was\nsupposed, had left it early, but _that_ no one knew. Certainly, he was\nnot at the ball at the Lion. Somebody had seen him in company with a\nyoung man from Edinburgh, in a tax cart, but nobody knew who he was;\nand, finally, Mr. and Mrs. Shiels declared their conviction that,\ntempted by fine promises--being an ambitious lad--he had gone off to\nEdinburgh with this acquaintance, to better his fortune; and Ihan\nappeared to adopt their opinion. Annie had considerable difficulty in\ndoing so; but, at length, even she ceased to defend him, since there was\nno other way of accounting for his absence.\n\nBefore the winter was over, Donald had left. He had come home one night,\nwith his hands dreadfully mangled by a pole-cat, which he said he had\nfound devouring a rabbit under a bush, and had rashly attempted to lay\nhold of. Hereupon, he went away to the infirmary in Edinburgh, to be\nunder Dr. S.; and Sandy Shiels engaged a man to fill his situation, and\nalso bought a dog in place of Coullie, whose loss he much regretted,\nwell-broken sheep dogs being very valuable.\n\nSome time had elapsed--the fine weather had set in; and with it, the\nfarmer had got rid of his rheumatism, and resumed his former habits of\nactive occupation; when one day, as he was crossing the hill between his\nown farm and a place called 'The Hopes,' he observed a dog trotting\nalong, that struck him as being very like Coullie. He gave a whistle,\nand the animal stopt and looked round, and on calling him by his name,\nhe came up and fondled his master, appearing very glad to see him, and\nfinally accompanying him where he was going.\n\n'The Hopes' was a gentleman's house, about three miles from Shiels'\nfarm, and when he reached the gate, he was surprised to hear the keeper\nat the lodge say, patting the dog familiarly, \"Well, Willie, so you've\ncome back again?\" Whereupon Sandy asked him if he knew him.\n\n\"Oh, yes, I know him,\" he said; \"he's a great favourite of the ladies\nhere. They found him on the hill nearly starved, some time ago, and he\nfollowed them home, and has lived here, off and on, ever since.\"\n\n\"That's very odd,\" said Sandy, \"for the dog's mine. I brought him up\nfrom a pup, and we broke him ourselves--that is, a lad did, that lived\nwith me then, called Rob. But, one day last winter, the lad disappeared,\nand the dog too, and I've never seen either of them since, till just now\nI saw the dog on the hill.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the keeper, \"I think it was early in March the ladies\nbrought him home here. He often goes away; but he comes back again, and\nthe ladies take him along with them when they walk out.\"\n\nSandy could not conceive why the dog had deserted his home, or why he\nhad remained starving on the hill, when he knew very well where his food\nawaited him. The keeper agreed in its being very extraordinary, since he\nmust have known his way over every part of the moor for miles round; and\nsuggested that he might have gone after the young man who had\ndisappeared, and been on his way back, when the ladies met him; but,\neven if that were so, why had he not returned home since, especially as\nhe was frequently absent for hours, and sometimes all night?\n\nWhen Sandy Shiels had concluded his business, and was about to depart,\nhe whistled the dog, who followed him willingly enough; but as he\napproached his own house, Coullie shrunk behind, and seemed inclined to\nturn tail, and run away; however, he came on in obedience to his\nmaster's call, and was joyfully received by the family in general, who\nlistened with interest to the account of his adventures, as far as they\nwere known; all agreeing that his absence must, in some way, be\nconnected with that of Rob. It was observed that one of his first\nmovements was to examine the premises after his own fashion, sniffing\nabout, first below, and afterwards above stairs in the attic in which\nRob and Donald formerly slept. What was the result of these\ninvestigations we cannot tell; but when they were concluded, he\nstretched himself before the kitchen fire, and went to sleep.\n\nThe following days, Sandy took him on the hill when he went to look at\nthe sheep, and he did his duty as formerly; but on the third or fourth\nevening he was missed, and was absent all night. He returned in the\nmorning, and was gently chided for this irregularity--the family\nconcluding he had been to visit his friends at \"The Hopes;\" however, a\nfew evenings after, when they were sitting at supper, with the doors\nclosed, and the dogs lying quietly dozing on the hearth, Coullie\nsuddenly started up, and began to show signs of uneasiness; while,\nalmost at the same moment, something like a low whistle reached their\nears, which seemed to proceed from the air, rather than the earth. They\nhad heard no sound of footsteps, but Ihan rose from the table and opened\nthe door; whereupon Coullie seized the opportunity to dart out, and Ihan\nreturned, saying he could see nobody, but that Coullie was off at the\nrate of ten miles an hour. Everybody wondered where he was gone; and at\nlast it was concluded that some person from 'The Hopes' had been passing\nnear the house, and that the dog had recognised the whistle, and\nfollowed him. The truant was found at the door in the morning, and\nchided as before, but that did not prevent his repeating the offence,\ntill their wonder was greatly increased by the following\ncircumstance:--\n\nSandy Shiels always read prayers to his family on the Sunday evenings;\nand one night, while he was thus engaged, and the dogs were lying\napparently asleep, Coullie suddenly uttered two or three low whines.\nAnnie raised her head from her book to bid him be silent, and observing\nthat he was sitting up, looking eagerly towards the door, which was\nopen, she turned her eyes in that direction, and saw to her\nastonishment, a man standing in the dusk of the passage. As all the\ninmates of the house were present, and the outer door was shut, so that\nno stranger could have come in, she uttered an exclamation of surprise\nwhich interrupted the reader, and caused everybody to turn their heads;\nbut with the sound of her voice the figure had disappeared, and the\nothers saw nothing. Coullie ran to the door, and became uneasy, while\nSandy asked what was the matter.\n\n\"I saw a man in the passage,\" said Annie, looking very pale and\nagitated.\n\n\"A man,\" said Ihan, rising; \"I saw no man;\" and going into the passage,\nhe opened the outer door to look round; whereupon, Coullie seized the\nopportunity, and rushed out.\n\n\"There's nobody that I see,\" said Ihan; \"but the dog's off again.\"\n\n\"I'm sure I saw somebody,\" said Annie.\n\n\"Go and look up stairs,\" said Mrs. Shiels; Ihan went and returned,\nsaying there was nobody in the house but themselves, and Annie must have\nbeen mistaken.\n\nBut Annie shook her head, and beginning to cry, asserted that she had\nnot been mistaken, and that she believed the man she saw was Rob,\nadding, that she always thought that the whistle they sometimes heard,\nand which agitated Coullie so much, was Rob's whistle.\n\nAt this suggestion, Ihan fired and showed symptoms of great irritation;\nand if Sandy had not been present, high words would have arisen betwixt\nhim and Annie. As it was, his countenance was clouded all the rest of\nthe evening.\n\nThis event made a great impression on the young girl; she thought of it\nday and night, and she watched with increasing interest Coullie's\ninexplicable proceedings, which still continued. Sometimes of an evening\nthey would hear footsteps, whereon the dog would betray great\nuneasiness till they opened the door, and he could dart off on his\nmysterious errand. Once or twice they confined him and would not let him\ngo; but the animal seemed so much distressed and whined so piteously,\nthat they ceased to oppose his inclinations. Although when they heard\nthese footsteps they searched the premises in all directions, nobody was\never to be found. Annie wished them to endeavour to find out where\nCoullie went; but nobody seemed to have sufficient curiosity to take any\ntrouble about the matter, though they all admitted the singularity of\nthe circumstances. No doubt, it was difficult, inasmuch as he always\nstarted on these expeditions at night, while he ran off so rapidly that\nit would have been impossible to overtake him or keep him in sight. This\nstate of things continued till the month of October, which became very\ncold; and one morning, towards the end of it, Annie, when she went to\nthe door, found there had been a fall of snow in the night. Coullie, who\nhad gone off the evening before, was there waiting to be let in, and she\nobserved the track of his feet on the ground. It immediately occurred to\nher that here was an opportunity of discovering what she wished so much\nto know. She had nobody to consult, for her aunt and uncle were not come\ndown; and being a stout country girl, she threw her shawl over her head,\nand calling the dog to follow her, she set off up hill and down dale,\nguided by the marks of Coullie's footsteps which remained perfectly\ndistinct for about four miles in the direction of Gifford, when they\nturned off to the left, and stopt at the edge of an old quarry. The dog,\nwho had trotted cheerily beside her, now began to descend into the\nhollow, stopping and looking up every now and then, whining as if\ninviting her to follow; but after several attempts she found the descent\ntoo steep. When at the bottom, Coullie disappeared for a minute or two\nunder the embankment, and she heard him still whining; but finding she\ncould make no further investigations without assistance, she called the\ndog who joined her directly, and they returned home to find Mrs. Shiels\nin a dreadful state of mind at Annie's unaccountable and unprecedented\nabsence. However, when she communicated the cause of it, and the\ndiscovery she had made, Sandy was sufficiently aroused to say that he\nwould send some one down to examine the quarry. He did so, and the\nresult was that they found the remains of poor Rob under circumstances\nthat led to the conclusion that he had somehow gone out of his way, and\nfallen into the pit; for on medical examination, it appeared that both\nhis legs were broken. As the quarry was abandoned and in a lonely spot,\na person might very possibly die there under such circumstances without\nbeing able to make his distress known.\n\nPoor Rob's remains were committed to the earth; Coullie left off his\nerratic habits and became an ordinary, but intelligent, sheep dog; and\nthe family at Shiel's farm, after due comment, on the singular events\nthat had led to the discovery of his body, which could only be accounted\nfor by admitting a spiritual agency (a view of the case which Ihan\nalways repelled with scorn) turned their thoughts into other channels,\nwith the exception of Annie, who had a strong persuasion that Rob had\nnot come fairly by his end; and oftentimes she would say to Coullie when\nalone with the dog, \"Ah, Coullie, if you had a tongue that could speak,\nI think you could tell a tale!\"\n\nAnd Coullie looked at her with his large wise eyes full of affection;\nfor she petted and cherished him for Rob's sake, and always gave him the\nlargest mess at supper time.\n\nSometimes, too, Annie had strange thoughts about Ihan; he had become\nmore dark, and silent, and sulky, since Rob's death; was it because he\nwas jealous of the interest she had exhibited, or was it from any other\ncause? Did he meet Rob that day on his way to Gifford? What could Rob be\ndoing so much out of the road as the Quarry? These thoughts naturally\nmade her more and more cold to Ihan, whilst her reserve aggrivated his\nill-temper and dissatisfaction.\n\nAnd Annie was not the only person to whom these questions suggested\nthemselves. People would gossip amongst themselves secretly; it got\nabroad that there had been a good deal of jealousy amongst the young\nmen, and it was whispered that the first Mrs. Shiels had aptly named her\nson when she called him Ihan Dhu--Black John. At length, these reports\nreached Sandy Shiels and his son; the latter appeared sullenly\nindifferent, but they made the old man very unhappy; and every night\nwhen he prayed aloud with the family before retiring to rest, he\nbesought God, saying, \"Oh Lord if it be thy pleasure, may them that are\ninnocent be justified!\"\n\nAt term time, when, in Scotland, servants frequently, especially farm\nservants, change their situations, the man whom Shiels had engaged in\nDonald's place left; and having heard that Donald, who had been in\nservice at Dunse, was leaving also, Sandy wrote and proposed to him to\nreturn; the proposal was accepted, and they were expecting him, when a\ncart was heard to stop at the door, out of which they looked to see him\nalight; but the visitor proved to be an old Highland woman who\nintroduced herself as Rob's grandmother--his father and mother having\nemigrated. She said she had heard the account of her boy's death, and\nthe attachment displayed by the dog, and that she had come all the way\nto see the animal, and had brought the money to purchase him; if his\nmaster did not object. She had travelled from Argyleshire to Haddington\nby coach; and at the latter place she had hired a cart and a lad to\ndrive her to her destination. She added that she and her old man \"were\nno that puir but that they could afford to buy the dog that had been so\nfaithful to their ain boy.\"\n\nSandy Shiels and his family made her welcome; invited her to stay and\ntake a day or two's repose after her journey, and granted her request\nwith regard to Coullie. Annie was very much interested in the old woman;\nand the latter was deeply impressed with the circumstances the young\ngirl related to her; enquiring minutely into every particular of places\nand persons connected with the boy's death. She said it was \"wonderfu';\"\nadding, that she had \"seen\" Rob's funeral,--meaning by the second\nsight--\"but not the manner of his death; but she had no doubt God would\nshew it her before she died.\"\n\nOn the third day she departed; and Sandy Shiels, who had business at\nGifford, drove her and Annie, who wished to accompany her, in his cart.\nThey started in time to meet the coach, Coullie making the fourth\npassenger; and in due time reached the village and drove up to the door\nof the Lion, where three or four men were sitting on the bench outside\nsmoking and drinking beer; but the moment the cart stopped--almost\nbefore it had stopped--Coullie bounded out of it and with indescribable\nfury attacked one of the men. His master called him, but he was deaf to\nhis voice; and so violent was his rage that it was not without the\nassistance of the others that he could draw him off. Even then, whilst\nholding him back with an iron grasp, the dog growled and shewed his\nteeth, and with flashing eyes, struggled to renew the onslaught.\n\n\"Wha's that?\" asked the old woman, who had witnessed the scene with\nsurprise.\n\n\"That's our Donald, that I told you of--he that lived with us in poor\nRob's time,\" said Annie. \"What a very extraordinary thing of Coullie to\ndo! I never saw him in such a way before. Besides, he couldn't have\nforgotten Donald!\"\n\n\"Forget him!\" exclaimed the old woman; \"Na, na; Coullie no forgets. Mind\nye lass; tak tent o' that man--there's bluid upon him!\"\n\nDonald in the mean time had retreated into the house in search of some\nwater to wash his hand that Coullie had bitten. When he came out the old\nwoman and the dog had departed.\n\nBut the lookers on were not uninterested observers of what had past. A\nnew idea struck them; the tide of opinion was rather turned in Ihan's\nfavour. However, this was but the under current of gossip. Donald went\nhome with Sandy Shiels and Annie, who whatever they might have thought,\nsaid nothing; but after this, in the nightly prayer, Sandy not only\nbesought God that the innocent might be justified; but also, that the\nguilty might be brought to repentance; and sometimes he would go\nfurther, dilating on the duties enjoined by a _true_ repentance; such as\nreparation, where reparation could be made; and, at all events, where it\ncould not, taking the burthen of our guilt on our own shoulders, even\nthough it weigh us down to death, rather than let the guiltless man\nsuffer, though it were only the breath of slander.\n\nOne morning, about three weeks after the departure of the old Highland\nwoman, when they opened the door they found Coullie waiting to be let\nin. However, kindly treated by his new owners, he had found his way\nback; a letter arrived from them shortly afterwards, saying, they had\nmissed him, and that they did not doubt that he would reach his former\nhome, \"and, may, be yet give testimony agen the wicked.\"\n\nAnnie kept the contents of this epistle to herself, but it did not\nescape her eye that Donald seemed cowed by Coullie's enmity, which the\nanimal never failed to exhibit as much as he durst. Moreover, as time\npassed, Donald lost his appetite and the healthy hue of his complexion;\nin short it was evident he was far from happy in his situation; and she\nthought that Sandy's significant and awful prayers were eating into his\nsoul and wearing him away.\n\nFarm servants are usually hired for six months; and at last Donald gave\nwarning that he should leave next term--he did not think the place\nagreed with him; so it seemed indeed; but that was the year 1832; and\nere term time arrived, the cholera came, and seized upon Donald as one\nof its first victims in those parts.\n\nBefore he died, he made his confession in presence of the doctor, to the\neffect, that he was jealous of Rob, because in the morning he and Ihan\nhad overheard a conversation between him and Annie, and she had promised\nhim a lock of her hair. That he met him as he was returning from\nGilford, induced him to go out of his road towards the Quarry, by saying\none of the sheep had fallen in, and when Rob was off his guard, he\npushed him over; but not without a desperate struggle, Rob being very\nactive and strong.\n\nHe was dreadfully frightened, and ran from the place not knowing what\nwould happen, and for some time he hourly expected Rob to come home. But\nat length finding he did not, he ventured to approach the spot; but\nCoullie was there and he flew at him and bit him so severely that he\nresolved to leave the country and go to the Infirmary. He had heard of\nRob's remains being found and buried, while he was living at Dunse; and\nthinking there would be no more enquiry about the matter, he accepted\nthe farmer's offer to come back, because he wanted to see Annie.\n\nAnd so he died, justifying the innocent, according to the old man's\nprayers; but Ihan did not long survive. Sandy said he feared he had\ntaken to whiskey drinking from disappointment and vexation, and the\ncholera found him also an easy prey.\n\n\n\n\nMY FRIEND'S STORY.\n\n\n\"I don't know how often you have promised to tell me a remarkable thing\nin the ghostly line, that happened to yourself,\" said I, the other day\nto my friend; \"but something has always come in the way; now I shall be\nvery much obliged to you for the particulars, if you have no objection\nto my printing the story.\"\n\n\"None,\" she said, \"but as regards names of persons and places; the\ncircumstances are so singular that I think they deserve to be recorded.\nThat part of the affair which happened to myself I vouch for; and I can\nonly say that I have most entire confidence in the truth of the rest,\nand that all the enquiries I made, tended to confirm the story.\n\n\"I remember your asking me once, why I so seldom visited our place in\nS----, and I told you it was because it was so dreadfully _triste_ that\nI could not inhabit it. You will perhaps suppose that what I am going to\nrelate happened there, but it did not, for the house has not even the\nrecommendation of being haunted--that would at least give it an\ninterest--but I am sorry to say the sole interest it possesses is, that\nit happens to be ours. Dull as it is, however, we lived there shortly\nafter I was married, for some time. I had no children then, which made\nit all the duller, particularly when my husband was called away; and on\none of these occasions, some acquaintances I had, who were living at a\nplace called the Bellfry, about two miles distant, invited me to visit\nthem for a few days.\n\n\"The Bellfry is a common place square house, just such as the doctor or\nlawyer would inhabit in a provincial town; a little white swing gate, a\nround grass plot, with a few straggling dahlias, a gravel road leading\nto the small portico, and a terrible loud bell to ring, when you want to\nbe admitted. So much for the exterior. The interior is not at all more\nsuggestive to the fancy. On the ground floor, there is the usual parlour\non one side, and drawing-room on the other, with a long passage leading\nto the offices at the back; upstairs, a sort of corridor, with dingy\nbedrooms opening into it. Decidedly not lively, but perfectly prosaic,\nit was by no means calculated to inspire ghostly terrors; and, indeed, I\nmust confess the supernatural, as it is called, was a subject that, at\nthat time, had never engaged my attention. I mention all this to show\nyou that what happened was not 'the offspring of my excited\nimagination,' as the learned always tell you these things are. Moreover,\nI was young; and, to the best of my belief, in very good health.\n\n\"The room they gave me was the best. It was plainly but comfortably\nfurnished, with a large four-post bed, and it looked into the\nchurchyard; but this is not an uncommon prospect in country towns, and I\nthought nothing about it. Now that we understand these things better, I\nshould think it not ghostly, but unhealthy.\n\n\"The first two or three nights I slept there, nothing particular\noccurred; but on the fourth or fifth night, soon after I had fallen\nasleep, I was awoke by a noise which appeared very near me, and on\nlistening attentively, I heard a rustling sound, and footsteps on the\nfloor. I forgot for the moment that I had locked my door, and\nconcluding it was the housekeeper, who sometimes looked in when I was\ngoing to bed, to ask if I was comfortable, I said, 'Is that you, Mrs.\nH?' But there was no answer, upon which I sat up and looked around; and\nseeing nobody, though I heard the sound still, I jumped out of bed. Then\nI observed, for if was a bright moonlight night, that there was a large\ntree in the churchyard, which grew very close to the window, and I\nconcluded that a breeze had arisen, and caused the branches to touch the\nglass; so I got into bed again quite satisfied, and settled myself to\nsleep. But scarcely had I closed my eyes, when the footsteps began\nagain, much too distinct this time to be mistaken for anything else; and\nwhilst I was listening in amazement, I heard a heavy, heavy sigh. I had\nraised myself on my elbow, in order to have my ears freer to listen, and\npresently I saw the curtains at the foot of the bed, which were closed,\nslowly and gently opened. I saw no figure, but they were held apart,\napparently by the two hands of some one standing there. I bounded out of\nbed, and rushed out of the room into the corridor, screaming for help.\nAll who heard me, got up and came out of their rooms, to enquire what\nhad happened; but I had not courage to tell the truth, I was afraid of\ngiving offence, or incurring ridicule, and I said I had been awakened by\na noise in my room, and I was afraid somebody was concealed there. They\nwent in with me and searched; of course, nobody was found; and one\nsuggested that it was a mouse, another that it was a dream, and so\nforth. But then, and still more the next morning, I fancied, from their\nmanner, they were better acquainted with my midnight visitor than they\nchose to say. However, I changed my room, and soon after quitted the\nBellfry, which I have never slept at since, so there concludes the\nstory, so far as I am concerned; but there is a sequel to the tale.\n\n\"I must tell you that I never mentioned these circumstances, because I\nknew I should only be laughed at; besides I thought it might annoy my\nhosts, as they had an idea of going abroad for some time, and it might\nhave interfered with their letting the house.\n\n\"Now to my sequel.\n\n\"Two or three years after this occurrence, I fell desperately ill;\nfirst I was confined of an infant which did not survive; and then I was\nattacked with typhus fever, which raged in the neighbourhood. I was at\ndeath's door for eleven weeks, and not expected to recover; but you see,\nI did, _nonobstant messrs. les medicins_; but I was so long regaining my\nstrength, that I was recommended to try the effects of a sea voyage.\nEven then, I could not sit up, and was lifted about like a baby; and as\na fine lady's maid would have been of no use on board the yacht, a\nsailor's daughter from the coast was engaged to attend me; a strong,\nhealthy young woman, to whom my weight was a feather. She tended me most\nfaithfully, and I found her simple, truthful, and straightforward;\ninsomuch, that I had thoughts of engaging her in my service permanently.\nWith this view, and also because it helped to pass the time, I\nquestioned her about her family, and the manner of life of her class, in\nthe out of the way part of the country from which she came.\n\n\"'I suppose, Mary, you've never been away from home before?'\n\n\"'Oh, yes, Ma'am; I was in service as housemaid for a short time at the\nBellfry, not far from your place, Ma'am; but I soon left that, and I\nhave never been out again.'\n\n\"'But why did you leave? Didn't you like the place?'\n\n\"'No, Ma'am.'\n\n\"'But why? Perhaps you'd too much to do?'\n\n\"'No, Ma'am, it wasn't a hard place; but unpleasant things happened, and\nso I left.'\n\n\"'What sort of unpleasant things?' said I, my own adventure there\nsuddenly recurring to my memory.\n\n\"She hesitated, and said, that perhaps it would alarm me; she had also\nmade a sort of promise to her master and mistress not to talk about it,\nand she never had mentioned what happened except to her parents, in\norder to account for leaving so suddenly. I assured her that I should\nnot be alarmed, and overcame her scruples, and then she told me what\nfollows.\n\n\"It appeared that she was engaged as housemaid at the Bellfry about two\nyears before my visit there. Shortly after her arrival, her mistress\nbeing taken very unwell, her master went to sleep at the other side of\nthe house, whilst Mary made her bed in the dressing-room, in order to\nbe near at hand if the invalid required any assistance in the night. She\nhad directions to keep some refreshment ready in case it was wanted, and\ntowards two o'clock in the morning, her mistress saying she should like\na little broth, Mary rose, and half drest, proceeded down stairs with a\ncandle in her hand, to fetch some which she had left simmering on the\nkitchen fire. As she descended the last flight of stairs, she was a good\ndeal startled at seeing a bright light issuing from the kitchen--the\ndoor of which was open--much brighter than could possibly proceed from\nthe fire, for the whole passage was illuminated by it. Her first and\nvery natural idea was that there were thieves in the house; and she was\nabout to rush upstairs again to her master's room, when it occurred to\nher that one of the servants might be sitting up for some object of her\nown, and she stopt to listen, but there was not the least sound--all was\nsilent. It then occurred to her that possibly something might have\ncaught fire; so half-frightened, she advanced on tip-toe and peeped in,\nwhen, to her surprise, she saw a lady dressed in white, sitting by the\nfire, into which she was sadly and thoughtfully gazing. Her hands were\nclasped upon her knees, and two large greyhounds--beautiful dogs, said\nMary--sat at her feet, both looking up fondly in her face. Her dress\nseemed to be of cambric or dimity, and from Mary's description, was that\nworn by ladies in the seventeenth century.\n\n\"The kitchen was as bright as if illuminated by twenty candles, but this\ndid not strike her she said, till afterwards; so quite reassured by the\nappearance of a lady instead of a band of robbers, it did not occur to\nher to question who she was or how she came there; and saying, 'I beg\nyour pardon ma'am', she entered the kitchen, dropt a curtsey, and was\ngoing towards the fire, but as she advanced the vision retreated, till,\nat last, lady, chair, and dogs, glided through the closed window; and\nthen the figure appeared standing erect in the garden, with its face\nclose to the panes, and the eyes looking sorrowfully and earnestly on\npoor Mary.\n\n\"'And what did you do then, Mary?' said I.\n\n\"'Oh, ma'am, then I _fared_ to feel very queer, and I fell upon the\nfloor with a scream.'\n\n\"Her master heard the cry, and came down to see what was the matter.\nWhen she told him what she had seen, he endeavoured to persuade her it\nwas all fancy; but Mary said she knew better than that; however, she\npromised not to talk of it, as it might frighten her sick mistress.\n\n\"Subsequently, she met the same melancholy apparition pacing the\ncorridor into which the room that I had slept in opened; and not liking\nthese rencontres she gave warning and left the place.\n\n\"She knew nothing more, for her home was at some distance from the\nBellfry, which she had not since revisited: but when I had recovered my\nhealth and returned to that part of the country, I found, on enquiry,\nthat this apparition was believed to haunt not only the house, but the\nneighbourhood; and I conversed with several people who affirmed they had\nseen her, generally alone, but sometimes accompanied by the two dogs.\n\n\"One woman said she had no fear, and that she had determined if she met\nthe ghost, to try and touch her, in order to ascertain if it was\npositively an apparition; she did meet her in the dusk of the evening on\nthe path that runs by the high road between the Bellfry and G---- and put\nout her arm to take hold of her dress. She felt no substance, but she\ndescribed the sensation as if she had plunged her hand into cold water.\n\n\"Another person saw her go through the hedge, and he observed, that he\ncould see the hedge through the figure as she glided into the field.\n\n\"It is whispered that this unfortunate lady was an ancestress of the\noriginal proprietor of the place, who married a man she adored, contrary\nto the advice of her friends; and too late she discovered that he had\ntaken her only for her money, which was needed to repair his ruined\nfortunes; he, the while being deeply enamoured of her younger sister,\nwhose portion was too small for his purpose.\n\n\"The sister came to live with the newly married couple; and suspecting\nnothing, the bride was some time wholly unable to account for her\nhusband's mysterious conduct and total alienation. At length she\nawakened to the dreadful reality, but unable to overcome her passion,\nshe continued to live under his roof, suffering all the tortures of\njealousy and disappointed love. She shunned the world; and the world,\nwho soon learnt the state of affairs, shunned her husband's society; so\nshe dragged on her dreary existence with no companionship but that of\ntwo remarkable fine greyhounds, which her husband had given her before\nmarriage. Riding or walking, she was always accompanied by these\nanimals--they and their affection were all she could call her own on\nearth.\n\n\"She died young; not without some suspicions that her end was\nhastened--at least, passively, by neglect, if not by more active means.\n\n\"When she was gone, the husband and the sister married; but the\ntradition runs, that the union was anything but blest. It is said that\non the wedding night, immediately after her attendant had left her,\nscreams were heard proceeding from the bridal chamber; and that on going\nupstairs, the bride was found in hysterics, and the groom pale, and\napparently horror-stricken. After a little while, they desired to be\nleft alone, but in the morning it was evident that no heads had prest\nthe pillows. They had past the night without going to bed, and the next\nday they left their home--she never to return. She is supposed to have\ngone out of her mind, and to have died abroad in that state, carefully\ntended by him to the last. After her decease, he returned once to the\nBellfry, a prematurely aged, melancholy man; and after staying a few\ndays, and destroying several letters and papers, to do which appeared\nthe object of his visit, he went away, and was seen no more in that\ncounty.\"\n\nAlas, for poor human nature! How we are cursed in the realisation of our\nown wishes! How we struggle and sin to attain what we are never to\nenjoy!\n\n\n\nOSTELL, PRINTER, HART STREET, BLOOMSBURY.","title":"Ghosts and Family Legends: A Volume for Christmas","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":65506}