LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 326, 29 June 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE FAMILY GHOST. It ■was winter-time, somewhere about Christmas, when a snug party of tired hunters were assembled about a [roaring fire of logs, enjoying the generous hospitality of the master of the hounds. A hard day’s hunting over the mountain slopes had somewhat wearied them all; conversation languished a little, for everybody was more disposed to listen than talk. The village doctor, however, was free from this lethargy, as he had only joined the party at the dinner table. He was a lively little Welshman, full of shrugs and gestures, with a fresh shrewd face, in which good-humour contended with touchiness. ‘ Come, tell us a story, Evans,’ said the master, suddenly rousing from a gentle dose, and slapping the doctor vigorously on the knee, ‘ we’re all going to sleep.’ The doctor required a little pressing. He professed himself at a loss for a subject. Like the celebrated Knife-grinder, he had no story to tell. ‘ Unless, gentlemen, you would like me to tell you about the difficulty I have in getting my bills in.’ At this there was a general murmur of dissent. * Shall I tell you, then, of the ghost that was seen by William Griffith Jones ? ’

The subject seemed a promising one, especially as the hero of the story was present, a young Welsh squire of shy and retiring habits, who was more devoted to the ancient customs of his race than to modern culture. ‘lt is not right, indeed,’ he remonstrated. But his protest was unheeded, and the doctor began : ‘ I don’t think, ’ he said, spreading out his hands to the blaze of the fire, ‘ that we Welsh are superstitious. There was a good deal of it once, but not now. It is only here and there, among our good old-fashioned families, such as that of our friend Jones here of |the Bias, that you meet with some old stories belonging to them. It is said, for instance, that the family of Bias have a tradition that on certain occasions a white horse appears to some one of their members, foreboding death or heavy misfortune. Well, whatever reason may tell us, there is no doubt that these things have a great influence on the mind; and William here was never free from a certain amount of dread of some day seeing this appalling vision. Thus, when he visited our little town, and spent an evening with a frieud, he objected very much to going home alone. He was brave enough by daylight; but when night came on, and he had the prospect of facing the dark way to the Bias, his courage failed him, and he earnestly begged for company. But one murky night last winter William found himself overtaken by midnight at the house of Morris of the Bryn, at the breaking-up of a little bachelor party. Everybody was moving off in different directions —for Morris was an early man—but no one was going the way of our friend William, and he was afraid to traverse it by himself.

‘You must know that William lives at home with his grandmother and his brother John, [and that, curiously enough, whilst William is a very good-tempered man, John is not a little quarrelsome. For that reason the two brothers are not always on good terms ; and where you see one of them, the other is pretty sure not to be found. Indeed, like our young gentry of days gone by, John is in the habit of roaming about the country, stopping first at one house and then at another, taking free quarters with his brother’s tenants, who are not always well pleased to see him. J ohn was not at the party at Morris’s, and he and his brother had quarrelled violently that very morning. I. have good reason to know that, for it so happened that John had spent the evening with me.

* I left William standing at Morris’s door, looking tins way and that, and feeling his heart grow weaker and weaker every second; everybody had gone except young Meyrick, who lodged in the town, and he stood on the steps, lighting up his pipe. ‘ I wish you would walk home with me, Meyrick,’ said Jones; ‘ it’s so lonely.’ Meyrick laughed a sarcastic laugh. ‘ And who shall walk back home with me ? ’ he asked. ‘ Well, yon could sleep on a bench in the hall at our house,’ said William, * I prefer my own feather-bed,’ replied Meyrick. ‘ But, my good fellow, do,’ said William cntreatingly. ‘Look here, are you hungry V _ ‘Yes, indeed,’ said Meyrick—for Morris had not given them any supper, and Meyrick had dined early. ‘ Then, if you will come home with me, we will have a capital supper — corned beef and red salmon, and plenty of good ale, with some whisky-punch afterwards —and you shall sleep on the diningroom sofa.’ Well, that tempted Meyrick.

‘ The way to the Plas at night is not pleasant. First of all comes the bridge, with the water moaning and whispering dow r n below, and there, you know, it is said that a maid who had been wronged threw herself into the river and was drowned. After that you come to a dark hill-side, where the road winds through a thick wood, just the place for anybody to spring out upon you and murder you ; and, when you come out of the wood, you pass between two high rocks,

where they say that thieves and robbers were put to death a long while ago. And even then you are a good way from the Plas, that stands in the middle of a grove of trees, and looks wild and ghostly enough itself when you get there. ‘lt was a tempestuous night; the wind howled savagely, making all kinds of strange noises among the trees; dark as pitch, for the moon would not rise for an hour or more. The two young men crept quietly along, starting and quivering at every noise. A sheep jumped up before them out of a ditch, and frightened them almost out of their senses. A screech-owl flew over the wood, moaning and shrieking like a child; and then they gave themselves up for lost. But nothing happened, after all, till they had come to the place between the two crags, when in an interval of calm they heard a distant sound from the direction of the Plas. They stopped and listened intently. The sound was approaching; it came nearer and nearer. At last it proved to be the sound of a horse’s hoofs. Clop, clop, clop, clop. * What can it be ? ’ said Meyrick, seizing William by the arm. ‘ There can be no horse coming from the Plas at this time of night. ’ William gazed and listened a moment longer, and then began to run as fast as he could in an opposite direction. ‘Run,’ he cried in a hoarse whisper to his companion — £ run for your life ; if it catches us here, we are lost! ’ They just cleared the rocks as the horse’s hoofs echoed hollowly behind them. William jumped into the hedge on one side, and Meyrick on the oiher. The horse went past like the wind. After a while they crawled out. ‘Did you see it ? ’ whispered William. * I saw something white.’ ‘White was it? Are you sure?’ ‘Yes; a white horse.’ ‘Then it’s all over with one of us ; there will be a death in our family within twenty-four hours.’ ‘I wish I hadn’t come with you,’ said Meyrick. ‘Come on,’ said William, now in quite a fever of excitement. ‘ Dear, I hope it will not be John ; and we parted such bad friends ! ’ ‘ John fell out with me to-day too,’ said Meyrick, ‘ and I threatened to break his head.’ ‘ Well, let us hope it may be grandmother.’ ‘As they approached the Plas the storm increased. The trees were lashing each other fiercely with their leafless branches, and showers of twigs were hurled against their faces. The Plas was all in darkness, and looked so solemn and funereal that they were almost afraid to enter, William went first ; then he stopped, and waited for Meyrick. ‘They say too,’ he whispered, ‘that at such time a corpse is seen lying stretched across a bier in the hall; suppose we should see it ?’ ‘O, go in,’ said Meyiick ; ‘ let us know the worst at once.’

* The hall was all in darkness ; but William found the matches on the table, and was just going to strike a light, whenMeyrick stumbled over something in the hall. * Hang it; a dog !’ he cried, and dealt a desperate kick at it. It was a heavy blow, and was followed by a sound of crashing and breaking, and a short sharp cry. ‘What have I done ?’ cried Meyrick, ‘ A light J quick !’ The light revealed the body of a youth lying apparently lifeless on the floor. William gave a loud shriek. *lt is brother John !* he cried. * Meyrick, what have you done ? You have kilied him.’ It was the white horse, you see, that would not be denied. * Well, after a moment’s speechless horror, the two young men looked into each other’s faces; the same thing had occurred to each. They were both on bad terms with John. They had killed him—they would be seized, condemned, hung. In the flurry of the moment they did not see that the most sensible way would be to give the alarm at once, and explain things. They thought only of concealment. Listening intently, they found that no one was aroused. Then they took up the body by the head and feet, gently carried it to the wood-house, and placing a log against the body, as if it had fallen down, they crept away guiltily towards the town, overpowered with grief and terror. They had not, however, got more than halfway back, before William stopped suddenly, and elapsing his hands to his temples, cried, ‘ Meyrick, my hat! ’ His hat had blown off when they were carrying poor John, and in the excitement he had forgotten all about it. There was nothing for it but they must go back, else they might both suffer. They reached the house at last, and crept cautiously round to the yard. The tempest had abated now, and a wan yellow moon showed over the trees. William’s hat lay full in the moonlight in the middle of the yard. He had just clutched it, when he heard a noise from the wood-house, and looking up, saw a ghastly figure, having the features of his brother John, but clad all in white, in the very habiliments of the grave. His companion saw it at the same time, and they both darted away at their utmost speed. But the figure, whatever it was, followed them, without sound or apparent motion; each felt that the touch of the spectre was upon him. They reached the town at last. There was a light in my surgery, and for it they made like frightened deer. I must tell you how it was that my surgery was lighted up at that time of night. ‘John, as I told you, had spent the evening with me, and I was heartily wishing I could get rid of him, when, as luck would have it, a message came from the quarry to which I am surgeon to call me to see a young man who had fallen and broken some bones. The messenger had come on horseback, and he went .on to the Goat, to order a car and horse to take me to the quarry, whilst I put up my instruments and so on. Among other things I took a small bottle of chloric ether, as a stimulant, in case it were required. I couldn’t leave John in the house, and so I took him with me. We reached the quarry, and I attended to the young man, leaving John in the car, and, as it happened, the bottle of ether too. It was a cold night, and John, seeing the little case-bottle, thought it contained spirits, and, first testing it with his nose, applied his mouth to it, and took a good pull at it. To ho continued.