Part 12

"One night, soon after I was in bed, I fell asleep, and dreamed I was going to London. I thought it would not be much out of my way to go through Gloucestershire, and call upon my friends there. Accordingly, I set out; but remember nothing that happened by the way, till I came to my father's house, when I went to the fore door and tried to open it, but found it fast; then I went to our back door, which I opened and went in: but finding all the family were in bed, I went across the rooms only, and walked up stairs, entered the room where my father and mother were in bed, and as I passed by the side of the bed in which my father lay, I found him asleep, or thought he was so; then I went to the other side, and as I just turned the foot of the bed, I found my mother awake, to whom I said these words, 'Mother, I am going a long journey, and am come to bid you good-bye;' upon which she answered me in a fright--'_O! dear son, thee art dead!_' with which I awoke, and took no notice of it more than a common dream, only it appeared to me very perfect, as sometimes dreams will. But, in a few days after, as soon as a letter could reach me, I received one by the post from my father; upon the receipt of which I was a little surprised, and concluded something extraordinary must have happened, as it was but a little before I had had a letter from my friends, and all were well: but, upon opening it, I was still more surprised; for my father addressed me as though I was dead, desiring me, if alive, or whose ever hands the letter might fall into, to write immediately. But, if the letter found me living, they concluded I should not live long, and gave this as a reason for their fears--That on such a night (naming it), after they were in bed, my father asleep and my mother awake, she heard somebody try to open the fore door, but finding it fast, he went to the back door, which he opened, and came in, and went directly through the room up stairs, and she perfectly knew it to be my step, come to her bed-side, and spoke to her these words, 'Mother, I am going a long journey, and am come to bid you good-bye,' upon which she answered in a fright, '_O! dear son, thee art dead!_' (which were the very circumstances and words of _my_ dream); but she heard nothing more, she saw nothing (neither did I in my dream, as it was all dark). Upon this she awoke my father, and told him what had passed, but he endeavoured to appease her, persuading her it was only a dream; but she insisted on it, it was no dream, for that she was as perfectly awake as ever, and had not had the least inclination to sleep since she had been in bed (from which I am apt to think it was at the _very same instant_ with my dream, though the distance between us was about one hundred miles, but of this I cannot speak positively). This affair happened whilst I was at the academy at Ottery, in the county of Devon, and I believe in the year 1754; and at this distance every circumstance is very fresh in my mind. I have since had frequent opportunities of talking over the affair with my mother, and the whole circumstance was as fresh upon her mind as it was upon mine. I have often thought that her sensation as to this matter was stronger than mine; and, what some may think strange, I cannot remember any thing remarkable happened thereon; and that this is only a plain simple narrative of matter of fact."

The above relation must convince credulous people how necessary it is, not to place implicit confidence in dreams, or suffer them to make too great an impression on the mind, as they are most frequently merely the result of our waking thoughts.

REMARKABLE INSTANCES

OF THE

POWER OF VISION.

A shepherd upon one of the mountains in Cumberland, was suddenly enveloped with a thick fog or mist, through which every object appeared so greatly increased in magnitude, that he no longer knew where he was. In this state of confusion he wandered in search of some unknown object, from which he might direct his future steps. Chance, at last, brought this lost shepherd within sight of what he supposed to be a very large mansion, which he did not remember ever to have seen before; but, on his entering this visionary castle, to inquire his way home, he found it inhabited by his own family. It was nothing more than his own cottage. But his organs of sight had so far misled his mental faculties, that some little time elapsed before he could be convinced that he saw real objects. Instances of the same kind of illusion, though not to the same degree, are not unfrequent in those mountainous regions.

From these effects of vision, it is evident that the pupil and the picture of an object within the eye, increase at the same time.

* * * * *

The writer of the above account was passing the Frith of Forth, at Queensferry, near Edinburgh, one morning when it was extremely foggy. Though the water is only two miles broad, the boat did not get within sight of the southern shore till it approached very near it. He then saw, to his great surprise, a large perpendicular rock, where he knew the shore was low and almost flat. As the boat advanced a little nearer, the rock seemed to split perpendicularly into portions, which separated at a little distance from one another. He next saw these perpendicular divisions move; and, upon approaching a little nearer, found it was a number of people, standing on the beach, waiting the arrival of the ferry-boat.

* * * * *

The following extract of a letter, from a gentleman of undoubted veracity, is another curious instance of the property of vision:--

"When I was a young man, I was, like others, fond of sporting, and seldom liked to miss a day, if I could any way go out. From my own house I set out on foot, and pursued my diversion on a foggy day; and, after I had been out some time, the fog or mist increased to so great a degree, that, however familiar the hedges, trees, &c. were to me, I lost myself, insomuch that I did not know whether I was going to or from home. In a field where I then was, I suddenly discovered what I imagined was a well known hedge-row, interspersed with pollard trees, &c. under which I purposed to proceed homewards; but, to my great surprise, upon approaching this appearance, I discovered a row of the plants known by the name of _rag_, and by the vulgar, _canker weed_, growing on a mere balk, dividing ploughed fields: the whole height of both could not exceed three feet, or three feet and a half. It struck me so forcibly that I shall never forget it; this too in a field which I knew as well as any man, could know a field."

THE

PHILOSOPHER GASSENDI,

AND THE

_HAUNTED BED-ROOM_.

In one of the letters of this celebrated philosopher, he says, that he was consulted by his friend and patron the Count d'Alais, governor of Provence, on a phenomenon that haunted his bed-chamber while he was at Marseilles on some business relative to his office. The Count tells Gassendi, that, for several successive nights, as soon as the candle was taken away, he and his Countess saw a luminous spectre, sometimes of an oval, and sometimes of a triangular form; that it always disappeared when light came into the room; that he had often struck at it, but could discover nothing solid. Gassendi, as a natural philosopher, endeavoured to account for it; sometimes attributing it to some defect of vision, or to some dampness of the room, insinuating that perhaps it might be sent from Heaven to him, to give him a warning in due time of something that should happen. The spectre still continued its visits all the time that he staid at Marseilles; and some years afterwards, on their return to Aix, the Countess d'Alais confessed to her husband, that she played him this trick, by means of one of her women placed under the bed with a phial of phosphorus, with an intention to frighten him away from Marseilles, a place in which she very much disliked to live.

THE

GHOST ON SHIP-BOARD.

A gentleman of high respectability in the navy relates the following story.

"When on a voyage to New York, we had not been four days at sea, before an occurrence of a very singular nature broke in upon our quiet. _It was a ghost!_ One night, when all was still and dark, and the ship rolling at sea before the wind, a man sprung suddenly upon deck in his shirt, his hair erect, his eyes starting from their sockets, and loudly vociferating he had seen a ghost. After his horror had a little subsided, we asked him what he had seen?--he said, the figure of a woman dressed in white, with eyes of flaming fire; that she came to his hammock, and stared him in the face. This we treated as an idle dream, and sent the frantic fellow to his bed. The story became the subject of every one; and the succeeding night produced half a dozen more terrified men to corroborate what had happened the first, and all agreed in the same story, that it was a woman. This rumour daily increasing, at length came to the ears of the captain and officers, who were all equally solicitous to discover the true cause of this terrific report. I placed myself night by night beneath the hammocks to watch its appearance, but all in vain; yet still the appearance was nightly, as usual, and the horrors and fears of the people rather daily increased than diminished. A phantom of this sort rather amused than perplexed my mind; and when I had given over every idea of discovering the cause of this strange circumstance, and the thing began to wear away, I was surprised, one very dark night, as seated under the boats, with a stately figure in white stalking along the deck! The singularity of the event struck my mind that this must be the very identical ghost which had of late so much disturbed the ship's company. I therefore instantly dropped down from the place I was in, to the deck on which it appeared, when it passed me immediately very quickly, turned round, and marched directly forwards. I followed it closely, through the gallery, and out at the head-doors, when the figure instantly disappeared, which very much astonished me. I then leaped upon the forecastle, and asked of the people who were walking there, if such a figure had passed them? They replied, No, with some emotion and pleasure, as I had ever ridiculed all their reports on this subject. However, this night-scene between me and the ghost became the theme of the ensuing day. Nothing particular transpired till twelve o'clock, when, as the people were pricking at the tub for their beef, it was discovered Jack Sutton was missing. The ship's company was directly mustered, and Jack was no where to be found. I then inquired of his messmates the character of the man; and, after a number of interrogatories, one of them said, that poor Sutton used to tell him a number of comical jokes about his walking in his sleep. Now the mystery was unravelled; and this terrific ghost, which had so much alarmed all the sailors, now proved to be the poor unfortunate Jack Sutton, who had walked overboard in his dream."

The first fellow who spread this report, and who shewed such signs of horror, was found on inquiry to be a most flagitious villain, who had murdered a woman, who he believed always haunted him, and the appearance of this sleepwalker confirmed in his mind the ghost of the murdered fair one; for, in such cases, conscience is a busy monitor, and ever active to its own pain and disturbance.

A REMARKABLE STORY

OF

A GHOST,

_Thrice called for, as an Evidence, in a Court of Justice_.

A farmer, on his return from the market at Southam, in the county of Warwick, was murdered. A man went the next morning to his house, and inquired of the mistress, if her husband came home the evening before; she replied, No, and that she was under the utmost anxiety and terror on that account. "Your terror," added he, "cannot equal mine; for, last night, as I lay in bed quite awake, the apparition of your husband appeared to me, shewed me several ghastly stabs in his body; told me that he had been murdered by such a person (naming the man), and his body thrown into such a marl-pit, which he then particularly described. The alarm was given, the pit searched, the body found, and the wounds answered the description given of them. The man whom the ghost had accused was apprehended, and committed, on a violent suspicion of murder. His trial came on at Warwick, before the Lord Chief Justice Raymond; when the jury would have convicted, as rashly as the magistrate had committed him, had not the judge checked them. He addressed himself to them in words to this purpose--"I think, Gentlemen, you seem inclined to lay more stress on the evidence of an apparition than it will bear. I cannot say that I give much credit to these kind of stories: but, be that as it will, we have no right to follow our own private opinions here. We are now in a court of law, and must determine according to it; and I know of no law now in being, which will admit of the testimony of an apparition: not yet, if it did, doth the ghost appear to give evidence. Crier," said he, "call the ghost." Which was _thrice_ done, to no manner of purpose: it appeared not. "Gentlemen of the Jury," continued the Judge, "the prisoner at the bar, as you have heard by undeniable witnesses, is a man of the most unblemished character; nor has it appeared in the course of the examination, that there was any manner of quarrel or grudge between him and the party deceased. I do believe him to be perfectly innocent; and, as there is no evidence against him, either positive or circumstantial, he must be acquitted. But, from many circumstances which have arisen during the trial, I do strongly suspect that the gentleman who saw the apparition was himself the murderer: in which case he might easily ascertain the pit, the wounds, &c. without any supernatural assistance; and on suspicion, I shall think myself justified in committing him to close custody, till the matter can be fairly inquired into. This was immediately done, and a warrant granted for searching his house; when such strong proofs of guilt appeared against him, that he confessed the murder: for which he was executed.

THE

LADY OF THE BLACK TOWER.

BY MRS. ROBINSON.

"Watch no more the twinkling stars; Watch no more the chalky bourne; Lady, from the holy wars Never will thy love return! Cease to watch, and cease to mourn; Thy lover never will return!

"Watch no more the yellow moon, Peering o'er the mountain's head; Rosy day, returning soon, Will see thy lover pale and dead! Cease to weep, and cease to mourn: Thy lover will no more return.

"Lady, in the holy wars, Fighting for the cross, he died; Low he lies, and many scars Mark his cold and mangled side; In his winding-sheet he lies. Lady, check those rending sighs.

"Hark! the hollow-sounding gale Seems to sweep in murmurs by, Sinking slowly down the vale; Wherefore, gentle lady, sigh? Wherefore moan, and wherefore sigh? Lady, all that live must die.

"Now the stars are fading fast, Swift their brilliant course are run: Soon shall dreary night be past, Soon shall rise the cheering sun! The sun will rise to gladden thee; Lady, lady, cheerful be."

So spake a voice; while, sad and lone, Upon a lofty tow'r reclin'd, A lady sat: the pale moon shone, And sweetly blew the summer wind; Yet still, disconsolate in mind, The lovely lady sat reclin'd.

The lofty tow'r was ivy-clad; And round a dreary forest rose; The midnight bell was tolling sad, 'Twas tolling for a soul's repose. The lady heard the gates unclose, And from her seat in terror rose.

The summer moon shone bright and clear; She saw the castle gates unclose; And now she saw four monks appear, Loud chanting for a soul's repose. Forbear, O lady! look no more: They pass'd--a livid corpse they bore.

They pass'd, and all was silent now; The breeze upon the forest slept; The moon stole o'er the mountain's brow; Again the lady sigh'd and wept. She watch'd the holy fathers go Along the forest path below.

And now the dawn was bright; the dew Upon the yellow heath was seen; The clouds were of a rosy hue, The sunny lustre shone between: The lady to the chapel ran, While the slow matin pray'r began.

And then, once more, the fathers grey She mark'd, employ'd in holy pray'r; Her heart was full, she could not pray, For love and fear were masters there! Ah, lady! thou wilt pray, ere long, To sleep those lonely aisles among!

And now the matin pray'rs were o'er; The barefoot monks, of order grey, Were thronging to the chapel door: When there the lady stopp'd the way; "Tell me," she cried, "whose corpse so pale Last night ye bore along the vale?"

"O lady! question us no more: No corpse did we bear down the dale." The lady sunk upon the floor, Her quiv'ring lip was deathly pale! The barefoot monks now whisper'd, sad, "God grant our lady be not mad!"

The monks departing, one by one, The chapel gates in silence close, When from the altar steps of stone The trembling lady feebly goes; While morning sheds a ruby light, The painted windows glowing bright.

And now she heard a hollow sound; It seem'd to come from graves below; And now again she look'd around, A voice came murm'ring sad and slow And now she heard it feebly cry, "Lady, all that live must die!

"Watch no more from yonder tow'r, Watch no more the star of day! Watch no more the dawning hour, That chases sullen night away! Cease to watch, and cease to mourn; Thy lover will no more return!"

She look'd around, and now she view'd, Clad in a doublet gold and green, A youthful knight: he frowning stood, And noble was his mournful mien; And now he said, with heaving sigh, "Lady, all that live must die."

She rose to quit the altar's stone, She cast a look to heav'n, and sigh'd: When, lo! the youthful knight was gone; And, scowling by the lady's side, With sightless skull and bony hand, She saw a giant spectre stand!

His flowing robe was long and clear, His ribs were white as drifted snow. The lady's heart was chill'd with fear; She rose, but scarce had power to go: The spectre grinn'd a dreadful smile, And walk'd beside her down the aisle.

And now he wav'd his ratt'ling hand; And now they reach'd the chapel door, And there the spectre took his stand; While, rising from the marble floor, A hollow voice was heard to cry, "Lady, all that live must die.

"Watch no more the evening star! Watch no more the glimpse of morn! Never from the holy war, Lady, will thy love return! See this bloody cross; and, see, His bloody scarf he sends to thee!"

And now again the youthful knight Stood smiling by the lady's side! His helmet shone with crimson light, His sword with drops of blood was dy'd: And now a soft and mournful song Stole the chapel aisles among.

Now from the spectre's paley cheek The flesh began to waste away; The vaulted doors were heard to creak, And dark became the summer day! The spectre's eyes were sunk, but he Seem'd with their sockets still to see;

The second bell is heard to ring: Four barefoot monks, of orders grey, Again their holy service sing, And round their chapel altar pray: The lady counted o'er and o'er, And shudder'd while she counted _four_!

"Oh! fathers, who was he, so gay, That stood beside the chapel door? Oh! tell me, fathers, tell me, pray," The monks replied, "We fathers four: Lady, _no other_ have we seen, Since in this holy place we've been!"

_PART SECOND._

Now the merry bugle-horn Through the forest sounded far; When on the lofty tow'r, forlorn, The lady watch'd the evening star; The evening star that seemed to be Rising from the dark'ned sea.

The summer sea was dark and still, The sky was streak'd with lines of gold, The mist rose grey above the hill, And low the clouds of amber roll'd: The lady on the lofty tow'r Watch'd the calm and silent hour.

And while she watch'd, she saw advance A ship, with painted streamers gay: She saw it on the green wave dance, And plunge amid the silver spray; While from the forest's haunts forlorn, Again she heard the bugle horn.

The sails were full; the breezes rose; The billows curl'd along the shore; And now the day began to close-- The bugle horn was heard no more. But, rising from the wat'ry way An airy voice was heard to say--

"Watch no more the evening star; Watch no more the billowy sea; Lady, from the holy war, Thy lover hastes to comfort thee: Lady, lady, cease to mourn; Soon thy lover will return."

Now she hastens to the bay; Now the rising storm she hears: Now the sailors smiling say, "Lady, lady, check your fears: Trust us, lady; we will be Your pilots o'er the stormy sea."

Now the little bark she view'd, Moor'd beside the flinty steep; And now, upon the foamy flood, The tranquil breezes seemed to sleep. The moon arose; her silver ray Seem'd on the silent deep to play.

Now music stole across the main: It was a sweet but mournful tone; It came a slow and dulcet strain; It came from where the pale moon shone: And while it pass'd across the sea, More soft and soft it seem'd to be.

Now on the deck the lady stands. The vessel steers across the main; It steers towards the Holy Land, Never to return again: Still the sailors cry, "We'll be Your pilots o'er the stormy sea."

Now she hears a low voice say, "Deeper, deeper, deeper still; Hark! the black'ning billows play; Hark! the waves the vessel fill: Lower, lower, down we go; All is dark and still below."

Now a flash of vivid light On the rolling deep was seen! And now the lady saw the knight, With doublet rich, of gold and green: From the sockets of his eyes, A pale and streaming light she spies.

And now his form transparent stood, Smiling with a ghastly mien: And now the calm and boundless flood Was like the emerald, bright and green; And now 'twas of a troubled hue, While "Deeper, deeper," sang the crew.

Slow advanced the morning light, Slow they plough'd the wavy tide; When, on a cliff of dreadful height, A castle's lofty tow'r they spied: The lady heard the sailor-band Cry, "Lady, this is Holy Land.

"Watch no more the glitt'ring spray; Watch no more the weedy sand; Watch no more the star of day; Lady, this is Holy Land: This castle's lord shall welcome thee; Then, lady, lady, cheerful be!"

Now the castle-gates they pass; Now across the spacious square, Cover'd high with dewy grass, Trembling steals the lady fair: And now _the castle's lord_ was seen, Clad in a doublet gold and green.