Chapter 3

Have our readers ever heard any fearful story of a spirit attesting the reality of its apparition, by leaving a burnt impress of fingers upon whatever it hath touched? We have heard such a tale, or rather such tales (for literally they are "legion") from many lips, the circumstances of each being varied, but the main fact always the same: and, what is most extraordinary, always vouched for as being a portion of family history, attached to families who have not the slightest connexion with each other!--If our memory is not extremely treacherous, we believe that Sir Walter Scott, in one of his works (of which we have not the good fortune to possess a copy)--probably his "Ballads and Lyrical Pieces"--gives such a tale as a German tradition. It is, at least, extremely popular; but the Irish family of the Beresfords lay peculiar and original claim to this singular legend. Who has not heard of "The Beresford Ghost?"--Nay, but we must crave the liberty of re-publishing an oft-told tale, were it only in gratitude to some kind and esteemed Irish friends, who, believing that it might prove a novelty to several English readers, procured for us--from a lineal descendant of the family, and inheritor of the name, &c.--the following genuine and authentic document, concerning the celebrated Beresford Ghost:

"Sir Tristram Beresford was a general, in the service of King George I., who married Lady Hamilton, one of the co-heiresses of Lord Glenawley; and having large estates in the county of Tyrone, the family mansion of which was the Castle of Ballygawley, there Sir Tristram and his lady resided. Sir T. was ordered to join his regiment, then serving in Flanders;--he was severely wounded in an engagement, and reported to be dead. The means of communication with most places being in those days extremely difficult and uncertain, Lady Beresford had no means of knowing that the report of her husband's death was premature; but firmly believing it, she married immediately, as it should seem, a young officer named Georges, to whom she had long been greatly attached. The demise of Sir Tristram Beresford did not, in fact, take place till some days after their union; but on the night when it actually occurred, Captain Georges and his lady having retired to rest, a figure resembling Sir Tristram stood beside their bed, and having undrawn the curtains nearest his late wife, upbraided her with the indecent haste she had used in concluding her second marriage, which had caused her, in fact, to be for many days guilty of an adulterous connexion with her present husband.--She asked him, whether he were yet living?--He answered, that he had died that very hour; and also said, that she had made a disastrous choice, for that her husband would prove very unkind to her, and that she should die in giving birth to their fifth child.

"Captain G. had fallen into a profound slumber, from which, although during this conversation his wife made every effort to arouse him, he could not be awakened. She then said to the semblance of Sir Tristram--

"'How shall I know that this is not a trick, and that you are not some person disguised to deceive me?'

"Upon which the spectre took up the curtains of the bed, which were suspended from a ring over the tester, and throwing them from his hand, passed them through the ring thrice, saying--'No human being could do that.'

"'And yet, replied the lady, it is possible that people may say I did it myself. Can you give me no better token?'

"Then the spectre caught her by the wrist, exclaiming--'Unto thee shall this be a token!'--when the sinews of that wrist immediately shrivelled up, and the apparition, laying his hand on an escritoire, vanished!

"Captain Georges instantly awoke; and his lady asking him whether he had seen or heard any thing, he replied in the negative; but the sinews of her wrist were seared and shrunken ever after, and the impression of a hand was burnt into the escritoire.[15]

[15] This escritoire is said to be in the possession of Lady Clauwilliam, at Giltown, her father having married the sister and co-heiress of Lady Beresford; and a picture was lately existing, and may he now, at Catherine Grove (the seat of Richard Georges Meredith, Esq., her grandson on Capt. Georges' side), exhibiting Lady B. with a broad black ribbon round the wrist, which the apparition of Sir Tristram is said to have scorched.

"Shortly afterwards accounts arrived, identifying the hour of Sir Tristram's decease with that in which his apparition had appeared to his widow; and she was a second time married to Capt. Georges, with whom she lived some years, and had four children; but as she experienced much ill-treatment from him, they parted: he joined his regiment, and she continued to reside in Ballygawley Castle.

"Some years after this separation, they again became friends. He returned to reside with her; and in giving birth to their fifth child, she died, as had been foretold by the apparition.

"The son of Sir Tristram by this lady was Sir Marcus Beresford, who married the heiress of the estates and title of Le Pen; was created Baron Beresford and Earl of Tyrone; and was father of George Beresford, first Marquess of Waterford, the late Right Hon. John Beresford, William Beresford, late Archbishop of Tuam, Lady Frances Flood, Lady Araminta Monk, Lady Catherine Jones, Lady Glenawley, and Lady Betty Cobbe."

(_To be concluded in our next._)

* * * * *

OLD POETS

* * * * *

WILL.

Will puts in practice what the will deviseth, Will ever acts, and Wit contemplates still, And as from Wit the power of Wisdom riseth, All other virtues daughters are of Will.

LODGE.

* * * * *

LOVE.

Where heat of Love doth once possess the heart, There cares oppress the mind with wondrous ill, Wit runs awry, not fearing subtil smart, And fond desire doth ever master will. The belly neither cares for meat nor drink, Nor o'erwatched eyes desire to wink.

Footsteps are false and wavering to and fro, The brightsome flower of beauty fades away, Reason retires, and Pleasure brings in Woe, And Wisdom yieldeth place to black decay. Counsel, and fame, and friendship are condemned, And bashful shame, and gods themselves contemned.

Watchful suspect is kindled with despair, Inconstant hope is often drown'd in fears; What folly hurts not, fortune can repair, And misery doth swim in seas of tears. Long use of life is but a living foe, As gentle death is only end of woe.

WATSON.

* * * * *

PRINCES.

A prince's safety lies in loving people, His fort is Justice (free from stratagem), Without the which strong citadels are feeble, The subjects' love is won by loving them: Of loving them no oppression is the trial, And no oppression makes them ever loyal.

SYLVESTER.

* * * * *

GRIEF.

True grief is fond and testy as a child, Who wayward once, his mood with naught agrees. Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild, Continuance tames the one, the other wild. Like an unpractis'd swimmer, plunging still With too much labour drowns for want of skill.

SHAKSPEARE.

* * * * *

FAME.

A lofty subject of itself doth bring Grave words and weighty, of itself divine; And makes the author's holy honour shine. If ye would after ashes live, beware To do like Erostrate, who burnt the fair Ephesian Temple, or to win a name To make of brass a cruel calf untame.

KING OF SCOTS.

* * * * *

SPRING.

The Winter with his grisly storms no longer dare abide, The pleasant grass with lusty green the earth hath newly dyed, The trees hath leaves, the boughs do spread, new changed is the year, The water brooks are clean sunk down, the pleasant boughs appear, The Spring is come, the goodly nymphs now dance in every place: Thus hath the year most pleasantly so lately chang'd her face.

EARL OF SURREY.

* * * * *

THE SOUL.

--To show her powerful deity, Her sweet Endymion more to beautify, Into his soul the goddess doth infuse The fiery nature of a heavenly muse; Which the spirit labouring by the mind, Partaketh of celestial things by kind: For why the soul being divine alone, Exempt from gross and vile corruption, Of heavenly secrets incomprehensible, Of which the dull flesh is not sensible, And by one only powerful faculty, Yet governeth a multiplicity, Being essential uniform in all Not to be severed or dividual; But in her function holdeth her estate By powers divine in her ingenerate; And so by inspiration conceiveth, What heaven to her by divination breatheth.

DRAYTON.

* * * * *

UNDERSTANDING.

Most miserable creature under sky Man without understanding doth appear, For all this world's affliction he thereby, And Fortune's freaks is wisely taught to bear; Of wretched life the only joy is she, And the only comfort in calamity; She arms the breast with constant patience, Against the bitter throes of Dolour's darts, She solaceth with rules of sapience, The gentle winds in midst of worldly smarts: When he is sad, she seeks to make him merry, And doth refresh his spirits when they be weary.

SPENSER.

* * * * *

CARE.

Care, the consuming canker of the mind, The discord that disorders sweet heart's tune, The abortive bastard of a coward mind, The lightfoot lackey that runs post by death, Bearing the letters which contain our end; The busy advocate that sells his breath Denouncing worst to him who's most his friend.

CONSTABLE.

* * * * *

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

* * * * *

OLD PARR AND OLD PEOPLE.

(_From "After Dinner Chat," in the New Monthly Magazine._)

_N_.--Parr was a mischievous old fellow: he has left a pernicious example of longevity behind him. At sixty-nine a man will look with complacency to the approaching termination of his career, as an event to be expected in the ordinary course of Nature. Once allow him to turn seventy, he has then escaped the fatal three-score-and-ten, and would consider himself an ill-used person should he receive notice of ejectment a day short of ninety. Ninety comes, and he grows insolent. Death, he thinks, has passed on and overlooked him. He asks why Nature so long has delayed to claim her debt. She has suffered thrice seven years to elapse beyond the period usually assigned for payment, and he indulges in wild fancies of a Statute of Limitations. In his most rational moments he talks of nothing but Old Parr. He burns his will, marries his housemaid, hectors his son-and-heir, who is seventy, and canes his grand-child (a lad of fifty) for keeping late hours. I called on old S--g a morning or two ago: he is ninety-three. I found him reading his newspaper, and inveighing against the outcry for Reform and short Parliaments--declaring that, rather than be forced down into Cheshire to vote oftener than once in every six or seven years, he, for his part, would sell his franchise for a straw. 'Twas clear he had outlived the recollection of the probability of a visit from one who might deprive him of his franchise upon terms even less advantageous. I took occasion to compliment him upon his fine old age. His reply was an angry growl.--"Ugh! do you want me gone? I'm only ninety-three Ugh! Mr. Parr wouldn't die till he was one hundred and sixty!"

_R_.--Paying a visit to old P--ke, I found him walking up and down the drawing-room, stamping and raving, and holding a handkerchief to his mouth. I inquired what ailed him. To my astonishment, he complained of _tooth-ache_!--a strange complaint, thought I, for a man of seventy-eight, whom one would hardly expect to find with a single implement of that kind in his head; but, in fact, he was in possession of the whole set, _except two_! His lamentation, which he continued at intervals, ran in this strain--"Seventy-eight!--only seventy-eight, and two teeth gone already!--lost one of them sixty years ago, and, as if that were not enough, four years ago I must lose a second;--and now--ah! I suppose I must part with another. And then my eyes! one of my eyes is beginning to fail. Lord help me! for, should it go on at this rate, I shall be in a sad condition before many more years are over my head!"

_S_.--The unconscionable old rogue! at seventy-eight how many more could he expect?

_N_.--Rely on it I am right, and that Parr was to blame for this. At seventy, P--ke would have died with grateful thanksgivings on his lips for the blessings of his past life. As it was, had he been allowed to live on till he should have parted with the remainder of his teeth, at the rate of one a year, he would have attempted, when it came to the last, to smuggle a false tooth or two into his jaws.

_R_.--I think I understand the gist of your complaint: the longer you allow folks to live, the more they won't die. Fie upon them!

_S_.--I shudder at the contemplation of the consequences of Parr's abominable example. Well had it been for posterity if some one had killed the cent-sexagenarian at the outset of his wicked career.

_K_.--Horrible! that would have been _Parr_-icide!

* * * * *

DUELLING.

_N_.--Apropos of duelling. I hear that General F--rn--r is dead. He was the most celebrated, or, I ought to say, the most notorious duellist in France--at a time, too, when duelling was most the rage. He had been a great favourite of Napoleon's. Having the command of a regiment, upon--I forget what occasion--he led it with such extraordinary bravery to the attack, yet, at the same time, conducted its movements with so total a want of skill and discretion, that, without attaining any good result, his men were nearly all cut to pieces, and he himself narrowly escaped with his life. As a reward for his gallantry, his Imperial master promoted him to the rank of general; but, to mark his sense of F--rn--r's total want of "the better part of valour," he never after entrusted him with a command. So fatal was his skill in duelling, that, when I knew him in Paris, he was under an interdiction of the police ever to fight again. The terms of one of the duels in which he had been engaged were, that the parties should fire at eight paces, and that they should alternately advance two paces till the fire of one or both of them should take deadly effect. According to this arrangement, the last advance brought the muzzle of his pistol close to his adversary's breast--he had twice already wounded him slightly, and received one shot himself--he fired, and his adversary fell dead at his feet! This piece of butchery--for as such it must be stigmatized--having been perpetrated under sanction of the articles of the meeting, passed over without receiving any severe notice. No wonder he was an unhappy man. I met him one day at dinner. On that occasion he was boisterous in his mirth, without appearing to be gay.--Suddenly he rose and left the room. Half an hour afterwards we found him in a small _boudoir_ at the farther end of the apartment, stretched on a sofa--writhing, groaning, and gnashing his teeth: I thought of Richard in the tent scene. I once heard him say--(I must give part of his expression in his own words, for terrible as they are, they are, at the same time, so simple, that they would lose their force in translation)--"_J'ai la bras fatal!_ if I fire at a mark ten to one I miss it: I never miss a man." His look and tone, as he uttered this, were as of one who should speak of an attendant demon, from whose dominion he had no power of escape.

_R_.--I once was witness to an instance of apathy on the part of a father--your talking of duelling reminds me of it--which is perhaps without a parallel. Walking one day beyond the _Barrière de Clichy_, I saw several persons assembled at a little distance from the roadside. Two gentlemen had just taken their ground--you know that these affairs are not always conducted with the same privacy on the Continent as in England--and received their pistols from the hands of their seconds. They fired at the same instant. One of the combatants, a line young man of about five-and-twenty, received his adversary's shot in his forehead: it pierced his brain. He sprang nearly his own height from the ground, and fell dead. He was immediately carried home to his father's house, which was at no great distance from the spot, and I went along with the crowd. He was an only son, mind you, but (so it was said) a _mauvais sujet_ of the last degree--indeed the very quarrel which led to the duel had occurred in a gaming-house of which he was a regular frequenter. The body, which I followed into the courtyard of his father's house, was placed on the stones. The father was sent for;--a _scene_ was naturally to be expected;--and a scene to be remembered there was. The old gentleman came out, looked calmly upon the dead body of his son, deliberately took a pinch of snuff, tapped down the lid of the box, and, saying nothing in the world more than--_Enfin!_--walked in again.

_S.--Père Sensible!_

_Ibid._

* * * * *

POLITICAL CHANGES.

Presumptuous was the wish so patriotically conceived, and so repeatedly extolled, of that pious churchman, who exclaimed, with reference to the constitution of his native country, now no more existing as an independent state, "Esto perpetua!" The ancients, indeed, to secure what might be humanely termed a perpetuity to their laws and edicts, had them graven on brass. But what is the perpetuity even of brass itself, when opposed to the irresistible advance of Time? Even in the very infancy of the world, this question might have been answered, as it was, some few thousand years after its creation, by Old Simonides:

"Who so bold To uphold What the Lindian sage[16] has told? Who will dare To compare Works of man, that fleeting are, With the smooth perennial flow Of swift rivers, or the glow Of the eternal sun, or light Of the golden orb of night?

Spring renews The floweret's hues With his sweet refreshing dews; Ocean wide Bids his tide With returning current glide; The sculptured tomb is but a toy Man may fashion, man destroy-- Eternity in stone or brass? Go, go! who said it was an ass."

_Fragm_. 10. BRUNCK, _ Analect_, tom. i. p. 122.

[16] Cleobulus.

(From a striking paper entitled "Correction, Melioration, Reformation, Revolution," in _Blackwood's Magazine_.)

* * * * *

OLD PARLIAMENTS.

There is nothing in our history more uncertain than their nature and the extent of their power. Blackstone says, that "the original or first institution of parliaments is one of those matters which lie so far hidden in the dark ages of antiquity, that the tracing of it out is a thing equally difficult and uncertain; and how members were returned to the _Michel-Synoth_, or _Michel-Gemote_, or _Wittena-Gemote_, of our Saxon ancestors, it would doubtless puzzle the learning even of Lord John Russell to ascertain." In the simple days of good King Alfred, parliaments were not summoned for "the dispatch of business"--that is, to discuss regulations touching the taxes and the public debt--the Bank affairs--the East India affairs--the West India affairs, and a thousand other concerns of national moment, then lying unborn in the womb of time. In those days, the great council was ordained to "meet twice in the year, or oftener, if need be, to treat of the government of God's people, how they should keep themselves from, sin, should live in quiet, and should receive right."--_Blackwood's Mag_.

* * * * *

LENDING BOOKS.

To lend a byeuck is to lose it--and borrowin's but a hypocritical pretence for stealin', and shou'd be punished wi' death.--_Ettrick Shepherd_.

* * * * *

THE GATHERER.

A snapper up of unconsidered trifles.

SHAKSPEARE.

* * * * *

HOW TO ROAST AN ACTOR.

If he is tall, you may discover that his person is ungraceful, and that he wants the dapper-size of Garrick. If short, he is much under the proper size, and can never play the character of a hero, which is always fixed at five feet ten inches. If his features are small, you can find out that they want expression; if large, his face is vulgar, and his nose too much beyond the dramatic size. If his face be unexceptionable, you may with some pains discover a _something_ in his eye. If his eyes are piercing and intelligent, perhaps his features are stiff and unmanageable. His shoulders may be broad; and, if not, it is a thousand to one but he stoops; and if he stoops, and does not turn out his toes, it is impossible he can understand his author. If he is a scholar and a critic, and repeats a line as you never heard it repeated before, he must be a word-catcher. If his manner is graceful, he has studied dancing too much; but if his manner is not graceful, be sure to tell him he must go to the dancing-school. If you can discover no fault, you must prove how much better Garrick, Powel, Holland, or Barry, performed the character; and as nine-tenths of your readers cannot remember those performers, you may easily persuade them that the object of your censure is a blockhead. If he has the art of rapid elocution, tell him he speaks too fast; and if he speaks slowly, and with discrimination, say that he only waits to catch applause. If his action is graceful, tell him he makes too much use of his arms and hands; and if his action is moderate, persuade the public that his arms are tied behind him. By these hints you will have _done him_ completely on one side, and, if you change your opinion, and praise him, he will be done on the other.--_Old Magazine_.

* * * * *

VALE OF TEMPE.

Dr. Clarke says, "The boasted Vale of Tempe, is a defile; it is something like Matlock, but wilder; more savage than Salvator Rosa, and with nothing of Claude. I cannot tell why the ancients made such a fuss about it; perhaps because half of them never saw it, and took its character from hearsay; the other half, like mankind every where, stupidly admiring what is said to be admirable. It is like a crack in a great wall, at the bottom of which is a river, sometimes inundated, sometimes dry; the passage narrow, the sides craggy, bare, lofty and perpendicular; its whole length not above a mile."

* * * * *

THEATRES.

We find the following sensible observations in a recent work:--