AN ANTIQUARY'S GHOST STORY.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 2192, 29 March 1880, Page 2

AN ANTIQUARY'S GHOST STORY.

Tlio Ecv. Dr. Jcssop writes to the Athenamm a narrative of an incident which has “ strikingly enlarged his experience of mental phenomena.” It occurred on the 11th of October last, at Lord Oxford’s seat, Maunington Hall, where he had been engaged in consulting and taking notes from a number of volumes of antiquarian interest. The statement was written not many days after the event, at the request of a friend and when all the circumstances were fresh on his memory, and ho has yielded to an earnest request to make it public. Dr Jessop was writing in a room adjoining the library between 1 and 2 a.m., and “ being a chilly person,” was seated at the corner of a table, on which four silver candlesticks were burning, with a fire on his left side, while in front was a little pile of books, from which ho was taking notes. “ I was just,” he says, “ beginning to think that my work was drawing to a close, when, as I was actually writing, I saw a large white hand within a foot of my elbow.” Turning his head, he saw “ a somewhat large man with his back to the fire, slightly bending over the table and apparently examining the pile of books. The man’s face was turned away from mo, but I saw his closoly-cut reddish brown hair, his car and shaved cheek, the eye-brow, the corner of the right eye, the side of the forehead, and the large cheek-bone. He was dressed in what I can only describe as a kind of ecclesiastical habit, of thick corded silk, or some such material, close up to the threat, and a narrow rim or edging - , of about an inch broad, of satin or velvet, serving as a stand-up collar, and iitting close to the chin.” The doctor looked at his visitor for some seconds, “perfectly' sure that he was no reality,” feeling, however, no alarm or uneasiness, but curious interest. He was eager to make a sketch of the apparition, and afraid “not of his staying, but lest he should go.” At a movement of his arm the figure vanished, and ho resumed his writing, but when he actually' got to the last few words of his extracts it appeared again. Endeavouring to frame a sentence, to address to the mysterious personage, “ I discovered that I did not dare to speak. I was afraid of the sound of my own voice.” He completed his task—the notes, he says, showing not the slightest tremor

of nervousness—shut the book, and threw it on the table. At the noise the figure vanished, and the doctor, leisurely replacing the volumes in their places, went to bed, and “ slept soundly.”