Part 40 (1/2)
The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never pa.s.sed away: I could not draw my eyes from theirs, Nor turn them up to pray.”
With this weird tale in his mind in the mystic stillness of midnight would an imaginative man be likely to deny the reality of the spirit world? The chances are that he would be spellbound; or, if he had breath enough, would cry out--
”Angels and ministers of grace, defend us!”
”In the year 1421, the widow of Ralph Cranbourne, of Dipmore End, in the parish of Sandhurst, Berks, was one midnight alarmed by a noise in her bedchamber, and, looking up, she saw at her bedfoot the appearance of a skeleton (which she verily believed was her husband) nodding and talking to her upon its fingers, or finger bones, after the manner of a dumb person. Whereupon she was so terrified, that after striving to scream aloud, which she could not, for her tongue clave to her mouth, she fell backward as in a swoon; yet not so insensible withal but she could see that at this the figure became greatly agitated and distressed, and would have clasped her, but upon her appearance of loathing it desisted, only moving its jaw upward and downward, as if it would cry for help but could not for want of its parts of speech.
At length, she growing more and more faint, and likely to die of fear, the spectre suddenly, as if at a thought, began to swing round its hand, which was loose at the wrist, with a brisk motion, and the finger bones being long and hard, and striking sharply against each other, made a loud noise like to the springing of a watchman's rattle.
At which alarm, the neighbours running in, stoutly armed, as against thieves or murderers, the spectre suddenly departed.”[89]
”His shoes they were coffins, his dim eye reveal'd The gleam of a grave-lamp with vapours oppress'd; And a dark crimson necklace of blood-drops congeal'd Reflected each bone that jagg'd out of his breast.”[90]
[Ill.u.s.tration]
WELCOME TO CHRISTMAS.
By MARY HOWITT.
He comes--the brave old Christmas!
His st.u.r.dy steps I hear; We will give him a hearty welcome, For he comes but once a year!
And of all our old acquaintance 'Tis he we like the best; There's a jolly old way about him-- There's a warm heart in his breast.
He is not too proud to enter Your house though it be mean; Yet is company fit for a courtier, And is welcomed by the Queen!
He can tell you a hundred stories Of the Old World's whims and ways, And how they merrily wish'd him joy In our fathers' courting days.
He laughs with the heartiest laughter That does one good to hear; 'Tis a pity so brave an old fellow Should come but once a year!
But once, then, let us be ready, With all that he can desire-- With plenty of holly and ivy, And a huge log for the fire;
With plenty of n.o.ble actions, And plenty of warm good-will; With our hearts as full of kindness As the board we mean to fill.
With plenty of store in the larder, And plenty of wine in the bin; And plenty of mirth for the kitchen; Then open and let him in!
Oh, he is a fine old fellow-- His heart's in the truest place; You may know that at once by the children, Who glory to see his face.
For he never forgets the children, They all are dear to him; You'll see that with wonderful presents His pockets are cramm'd to the brim.
Nor will he forget the servants, Whether you've many or one; Nor the poor old man at the corner; Nor the widow who lives alone.
He is rich as a Jew, is Old Christmas, I wish he would make me his heir; But he has plenty to do with his money, And he is not given to spare.
Not he--bless the good old fellow!
He hates to h.o.a.rd his pelf; He wishes to make all people As gay as he is himself.
So he goes to the parish unions-- North, south, and west and east-- And there he gives the paupers, At his own expense a feast.
He gives the old men tobacco, And the women a cup of tea; And he takes the pauper children, And dances them on his knee.
I wish you could see those paupers Sit down to his n.o.ble cheer, You would wish, like them, and no wonder, That he stay'd the livelong year.