Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 76: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

- vOSEPH WILMOT; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. were any accounts of that nature which appeared t> be so genuine. For instance, revelations made by the spirits of the departed to their survivors in this life, had proved the means of wills being discovered—had led to lawsuits—and had come “under the cognizance of legal tribunals: while the persons seeking to benefit themselves by these appeals to justice, could not possibly have ob- tained the information on which the suits were brought, save and except by preternatural reveal- ings. I found, moreover, that the idea of appa- ritions being seen only at night, and never by more than one person at a time, was a mere vulgar error—that is to say,if the accounts in these books could be relied upon: for here were “numerous instances of spiritual types of departed persons being seen in the broad daylight and by | ‘several individuals assembled. In short, the volumes which I thus greedily devoured,—stag- gered, bewildered, and amazed me. I did not like to admit, even to myself, a complete con- cession to the mass of evidence contained therein : but yet I did not see how it could reasonably be tTejected. I am not ashamed to admit that for the time being I was not merely staggered by that course of reading into which I thus plunged—but I was more or less unnerved by it. When [I retired to my chamber at night, the least unusual noise be- fore the candle was put out, would make me start and glance around with a vague dread of behold- ‘ing something terrible: and when stretched in ‘bed, and with the light extinguished, I was a long time before I could get to sleep, every now and then opening my eyes with the shuddering fear of beholding a white face looking in at me through the curtains. My mind was thus to a certain ex- ‘tent fevered—my imagination rendered morbid: vainly did I wrestle against the superstitious be- lief which was gradually obtaining a firmer hold upon me—TI felt that my thoughts in this respect ‘had all become changed under the influence of the books I had been reading. Deeply did I regret that I ever read them at all; and every night on seeking my chamber, I vowed that I would not return to them. But on the following day an ir- resistible feeling of morbid curiosity led me back to the same study; and when I could find no fresh works of the same character to peruse, I re-read the most remarkable narratives in those which had already gained my attention. Thus a belief in preternatural warnings and spiritual apparitions was taking a strong hold upon my mind. It will be remembered that the tragic occur- rence which has occupied the preceding chapter, took place at the commencement of June. Three weeks passed away; and as the incidents I have next to record, must be particularized as to date, it is necessary to observe that it was the 23rd of June whereof I am about to write. On that day a rural festival was given by the Bousteads, at which Lord and Lady Ravenshill had promised to be present, they still keeping up their intimacy with Euphemia’s parents—a circumstance, by the bye, from which I argued that Mr. Walter’s search after a rich wife in the metropolis, was not pro- gressing as favourably as he could wish. On this particular day, however, of which I am speaking, my lord and her ladyship proceeded at about eleven o’clock in the forenoon to the Bousteads’ 63 residence: and it was therefore a sort of holiday for the greater number of the servants. I had nothing particular to do; and having for the past three weeks spent all my leisure time in reading, I resolyed to recreate myself with a good walk. I really felt that I required it; for my spirits were despondine—my natural gaiety had left me: I was a prey to gloomy thoughts by day, and to super- stitious fears by night. It was about noon when I issued forth by myself; and after a little reflection, I determined to stroll across to Charlton. I had two objects in this proceeding: one was to inquire how poor Kate Allen bore her dreadful loss—the other was to ascertain if Miss Delmar was still in that village. For I now thought that I might pay my respects to her, if she were: I felt that it would do me good in one sense to see that dear kind young lady again,—though in another it might wound my heart by the spectacle of her affliction. Neverthe- less, I naturally argued that the bitterness of her woe must have experienced some mitigation during. the many months which had now elapsed since the murder of Mr. Delmar; and at all events L considered that to see Edith was a duty which ought no longer to be delayed. True, it was but a humble liveried page who entertained this idea, which may look like presumption: but I expe- rienced the liveliest gratitude towards that young lady, and was anxious to prove it. I accordingly walked across to Charlton. It would be impossible to conceive a more sweetly picturesque village than this appears in the sum- mer time,—almost completely embowered as it is in emerald verdure. The cottages, though of humblest aspect, look not merely neat, but cheerful with the jasmine and roses climbing over their porticoes, and the clematis shading the little lattice windows:—the stream, flowing through the village, and becoming broader the nearer it draws to its point of confiuence with the river, adds to the beauty of the landscape; and the old-fashioned water-mill, with its comfortable homestead adjoining, consti- tutes a feature which an artist would be careful not to omit. On entering the village I first re- paired to the churchyard, which indeed was in my way; and there I lingered for some little time, reading the quaint epitaphs, alike in prose and verse, which did more honour to the hearts than to the heads of the mourners who had caused them to be inscribed upon the stones marking the resting-places of the loved and lost ones. Pres sently a grave which had only been recently filled up, arrested my attention; and though no stone was as yet placed there as an index of who slept beneath, I nevertheless felt assured that the newly- atranged turfs covered the remains of the unfor- tunate Benjamin Cowper. While I was still regarding that grave, I heard the gate of the churchyard creak on its hinges; and glancing in that direction, I beheld a young female in deep mourning enter the enclosure. It was Catherine Allen: I recognised her at once But, good heavens, how altered! On the day that I saw her for the first time, three weeks back, she was a fine stout damsel: and though I had beheld her under the utmost disadvantage,—convulsed with grief over the corpse of her lover,—yet it was then by no means difficult to estimate the amount of her personal attractions when in her wonted mood of ECORNICLOO@ cS G (0)