GHOST STORIES. I AM naturally the most superstitious man alive; ever since my youth I have read with avidity, every pamphlet which treated of supernatural occurrences, from the story of the Cock-lane Ghost, down to the ingenious speculations of Dr. Ferriar and Hibbert. But more especially have I dwelt with delight on the deeply interesting tales of the German School. With what emotion have I accompanied the unfortunate Leonora, in her frightful journey with the horseman-spirit, watching every turn of his ghastly countenance until it assumed all the horrors of the fleshless skull; and fancying myself seized by his fatal grasp, when it was only the wooden arms of my reading-chair, which pressed against my sides. In short, what with stories to excite superstitious belief, and arguments to destroy it, my mind has been so tossed up and down by the wind of doctrine, that like the Vicar of Bray, or some equally consistent personage whom I have heard of, I have generally remained of the opinion of" the gentleman who spoke last." I occupy a set of attics in Gray's Inn, formerly the property of my deceased brother, Peter Corcoran, whose poetical labours are before the public, and, like most men who live entirely alone, become extremely alive, about midnight, to external sensations. Often has the fatal death-watch aroused me by its awful tick about my wainscot; and frequently, on a stormy night, the wild lamentations of the fine old crows, who from time immemorial are said to have haunted the gardens of the Inn, roused me from the romantic pages of Mrs. Radcliffe, fully possessed with a belief in transmigration of souls. I have fancied the crows are not what they seem, and have imagined that, perchance, the celebrated Sir Nicholas Bacon, with his more celebrated and philosophic son, Lord Verulam, together with Old David Jenkins, the patriotic and Welsh Judge, all members of the Honourable Society of Gray's Inn, together with some fellowbenchers of their day, may still hover about the scene of their former studies, in such a disguise, and nightly lament over the degeneracy of their successors. After what I have stated, you will readily perceive that my sentiments on the subject of apparitions, are not yet settled; notwithstanding every endeavour to fortify my mind against impressions of this nature, I have derived some satisfaction from the perusal of such accounts as have attempted to shew, that supernatural occurrences are often established as facts for want of proper investigation, which would deprive them of their marvellous character, and invest them with the sober garment of reason: such discoveries have often been made by accident, and a Ghost Story has been stifled, as it were, in embryo; but it were well if the people would give themselves the trouble of looking more closely into these matters, as I am persuaded their labours would greatly tend to throw a new light upon the theory of apparitions. The following circumstance, which occurred to a particular friend of mine, had a remarkable effect in assuaging my terrors for a time, and tended much to confirm the sentiment which I have just expressed. Near the village of M-, in a northern county, stood, a few years ago, the venerable pile of Castle N-, long one of the resident abodes of the Noble family of S. Ever since I knew it, the walls were insensibly falling to decay, for the owners had long since ceased to inhabit the spot, and the rust of age had penetrated deep into its crumbling sides; but this desolation partook of the sublime, recalling to mind the evanescent nature of all earthly things, and raising images of romantic pageantry and martial achievement, in days long since past, wherein the former owners were principal actors. They had many years ceased to be, and the only inhabitants of this ancient mansion were the old steward, gamekeeper, and a few veteran retainers of the family, who seemed to have a sort of inheritance within the old walls, and, like them, were gradually tending towards their parent earth. It was in the year 1798, that my friend, who was in treaty for the purchase of a few acres of the surrounding domain, made an appointment with his agents, to meet him at Castle N—, in order to have a conference with the old steward, and make arrangements for a final settlement of the negociation; they were to be there on the evening of the 24th of November, and to take a view of that part of the property, intended to be purchased, on the following morning. The day was advanced before P. mounted his horse for the journey, and, owing to a mistake or two in the road (no uncommon incident in visiting an unfrequented neighbourhood after dusk,) the chill, damp breeze of evening disturbed the remaining leaves of the trees, as he at length pursued his road through the long and broken avenue leading to the gate. He felt relieved from an uncomfortable sensation of loneliness when, on knocking at the door, it was opened by a blooming damsel of eighteen, the daughter of the gamekeeper, who informed him he had been long expected, and that supper was waiting his arrival, ushering him at the same time into the cheerful atmosphere of the steward's room, where he found his expected friends, and the octagenarian owner of the apartment, round a cheerful fire under one of those over-arching porches, which served, in former times, not only as a receptacle for the blazing faggot, but as a protection to the welcome guest, for whom a seat in the chimney-corner was assigned as the place of honor and comfort, at once fixing him in a conspicuous station, and guarding him from all fear of annoyance from the partial or intruding blast. The mantel piece, like others of the same period, was surmounted by the family arms and crest, cut out of the solid oak, with the motto enscrolled beneath, whilst pendants of fruits, and flowers of ingenious workmanship, and branching from either side, seemed to indicate the honors and abundance which emanated from those noble insignia. The wainscot of the room was of the same finely polished material, though less elaborately carved, affording an opening at one end for a semi-gothic window, whilst the floor was but scantily covered with an ancient figured carpet, of Flemish manufacture. In the midst of this room was placed a circular oak table, supported by massive beams, round which King Arthur's Knights might have been supposed to have placed themselves in time of yore, such was its appearance of strength and durability-in different parts of the room were tall chairs, whose lofty backs, interlaced with tracery of cane-work, and of the same substantial material, seemed suited for the stately formalities of a courtly feast. P. had not, however, much opportunity for reconnoitring the place, for the worthy old steward was clamorous in his inquiries after the health of the new guest, and‐ in demanding the speedy entrance of refreshments, which soon smoked on the board in such hospitable profusion, that King Arthur's aforesaid Knights, all twelve of them, might have wagged their steel-clad jaws till they were tired, before any sensible impression would have been made on those substantial viands, or that huge pitcher of October. The feast was ended, and the warm bowl of toddy inspired the guests with topics of animated discussion. The old steward was still the only oracle of the party, and as P. was naturally inquisitive about the family history, with which his host seemed most perfectly acquainted; he drew largely on the old gentleman's store of reminis cences, whose garrulous faculties were most readily exercised in gratifying his inmate's curiosity-legends of the olden time were again recapitulated the civil wars again fought over, and sundry private anecdotes related, whose origin might be traced to the contents of a certain strongly iron-ribbed chest, in which were deposited sundry diaries and memorials of deceased members of the family, unfolding state secrets, once of deep moment, and recording private transactions, too important to be communicated even in a whisper, at the time they were there inscribed, but which now lay exposed to view, unguarded by lock or bolt, in this deserted abode. "Strange things have taken place within these old walls, my young gentleman," repeated the aged domestic, with a condensed brow. "It is not many years since part of the left wing was taken down, and under the floor of one of the strong chambers were discovered the remains of a human skeleton; various conjectures arose on the subject of this horrid disclosure, and many surmises were excited as to whom those bones might have belonged: alas! they brought to my recollection the tradition of a fair maiden, whose frailty once brought disgrace on this honourable house. She was suddenly missing, and none could tell, or chose to tell, what became of her. It was left to after-times to discover that her proud relations trampled daily over her infamy and remains”. but why, my friend, look so sad?" "the nobles of former days had a nice sense of honour, and their revenge was cruel; take another glass, and let us drink to the pretty damsels of the present day, who, we hope, will be less frail, or more readily forgiven." 66 The story made such an impression upon P.'s mind, that it was in vain he tried to assume his usual gaiety, therefore, pleading the fatigues of his journey as an excuse, he bid his friends adieu, shook the old steward by the hand, and the same fair attendant who had greeted him on his arrival, now undertook the task of shewing him to his bed-room. He drew his habit more closely round him as he encountered the chilling atmosphere of the wide hall and lofty staircase, after ascending which he passed along a gallery, where the stately graces of antiquated beauties, and the grim features of a range of martial ancestry, glared dimly upon him, fixed upon as the perpetrator or the victim of that direful deed, which he had just heard alluded to: The forms of the grim Knights, and the pictured saints Of your own footsteps-voices from the urn Start from the frames, which fence their aspects stern, A vigil there, where all but death should sleep. The charms of other days, in star-light gleams But death is imaged in their shadowy beams, A picture is the past; even ere its frame Be gilt, who sate hath ceased to be the same. He was glad when his blooming guide placed the candlestick in his hand, and with a modest curtesy informed him he was now arrived at the door of his sleeping apartment, and after wishing him good night, left him to his own reflections. On opening the door, P. found himself in what had formerly been the state bed-room of the place; it was unusually large for a mere sleeping room, and contained, as he observed, two beds, one of them extremely lofty, and hung with figured silk of a deep crimson edged with gold, and looped up at the centre with a tarnished coronet. The other was an unpresuming camp bedstead, evidently prepared for his reception, and standing in one corner of the room, whilst the old chest, above alluded to, occupied the other. The rattling of the casement, and the undulating motion of the old faded tapestry suspended from the walls, announced to him that the night was become boisterous, and he had more than once to move the situation of his light, lest it should become extinguished by some sudden gust. He finally placed it by his bed-side, not venturing to encounter total darkness until he found himself comfortably bestowed within the bed clothes. But sleep, which is usually most coy when most solicited, refused to visit his pillow; in vain he turned himself from side to side; the recollection of that fatal event still haunted his imagination-such an air of desolation there was too in that large apartment-the appearance of that stately couch not far from him, so full of mournful recollections of departed greatness, for there surely had many of the deceased nobles of that house reposed in the stillness of death-in that very room had much funereal pomp been displayed-the velvet pall emblazoned with gorgeous quarterings, the dull heavy flame of the funeral-torch, too, had spread a doubtful light over that mournful panoply, whilst the mortal remains of fallen dignity lay exposed to the view of weeping kinsfolk and retainers, ere they were for ever hid from sight in the lofty mausoleum. With such thoughts no wonder that P. found sleep impossible; he was obliged to console himself with that sort of grateful rest which the exercise of the day, and the hospitality of the evening, had tended to require. The storm began gradually to cease, and he was no longer annoyed by the fitful burst of the wind, and at length seemed falling into a gentle doze, when he fancied he heard a rustling noise, and pre sently observed a soft gleam of light issue from that corner of the room at which he had entered; this was succeeded by the door slowly opening, and the entrance of a tall gaunt figure. But what was his astonishment to perceive that it was no being of the present age that met his view. It appeared to be a stately dame, equipped in the court dress of the early part of George the Second's reign, and looked as if it had stepped out of one of those old frames which he had lately observed in the gallery. Her high lace cap was secured by enormous corking pins to the top of a head of perfectly white hair, apparently powdered, and combed entirely back from the face, the features of which bore the marks of many wrinkles, but were stamped by an impression of aristocratic hauteur; round a long scraggy neck was tied a narrow band of black velvet; the dress of stiff brocade was decorated by a tightly adjusted stomacher, to which lappets of considerable length were appended, through which protruded a pair of long skinny arms, one of them bearing a lamp, the other securing a part of the lower dress, from beneath which was advanced a foot, elevated on a high-heeled shoe, terminating in a point of unusual acuteness. P-shrunk as he beheld this apparition stalk into the midst of the room, raising the lamp above its head, and viewing the surrounding objects with its hollow but piercing eyes; it was again in motion, and directing its steps to the very bed in which he lay-was an alarm to be sounded?-he had observed no bell-speak he could not, for his tongue had attached itself firmly to the roof of his mouth, and was immoveable; to what could he attribute this visit from an inhabitant of another world? was he to be made the confidant of a second dreadful secret in the annals of the house? the whole man sunk within him, and he shrunk beneath the clothes, tremblingly awaiting the awful announcement. The figure spoke, indeed, but it was to unfold no tale of dreadful import; it merely said, "I beg you ten thousand pardons, sir, Alice did not inform me you had retired to rest, and I came to see if all was ready for your reception." It was as much as my friend could do, to assure the lady in brocade he was not in the least disturbed, and his unbidden guest, whom he afterwards discovered to be the old housekeeper of the castle, an ancient dame of 79, with fifty curtesies and a hundred excuses for her intrusion, retired from the apartment. It seems that the aforesaid lady, partaking of that common failing of the sex, called vanity, had from time to time, as occasion required, converted to her own use certain garments in the neglected wardrobe, which at once afforded a plentiful supply of apparel, and raised her much in her mental estimation, as the representatives of those lofty dames who had formerly borne sway in that very place. The old steward and housekeeper are long since dead, and the ancient edifice is levelled to the ground; a small house, built out of the ruins, and occupied by the gamekeeper, alone marking its scite. My friend paid several visits before the demolition of the structure, to the aged domestics, and imparted to me some interesting particulars, which he had gathered partly from their recitals, but chiefly from an inspection of the contents of that worm-eaten chest, What, P-assured me, afforded him most interest, was the perusal of a manuscript in the hand writing |