I was once at a hunting dinner, given by a worthy fox-hunting old
Baronet, who kept Bachelor’s Hall in jovial style, in an ancient
rook-haunted family mansion, in one of the middle counties. He
had been a devoted admirer of the fair sex in his young days; but
having travelled much, studied the sex in various countries with
distinguished success, and returned home profoundly instructed,
as he supposed, in the ways of woman, and a perfect master of the
art of pleasing, he had the mortification of being jilted by a
little boarding school girl, who was scarcely versed in the
accidence of love.
The Baronet was completely overcome by such an incredible defeat;
retired from the world in disgust, put himself under the
government of his housekeeper, and took to fox-hunting like a
perfect Jehu. Whatever poets may say to the contrary, a man will
grow out of love as he grows old; and a pack of fox hounds may
chase out of his heart even the memory of a boarding-school
goddess. The Baronet was when I saw him as merry and mellow an
old bachelor as ever followed a hound; and the love he had once
felt for one woman had spread itself over the whole sex; so that
there was not a pretty face in the whole country round, but came
in for a share.
The dinner was prolonged till a late hour; for our host having no
ladies in his household to summon us to the drawing-room, the
bottle maintained its true bachelor sway, unrivalled by its
potent enemy the tea-kettle. The old hall in which we dined
echoed to bursts of robustious fox-hunting merriment, that made
the ancient antlers shake on the walls. By degrees, however, the
wine and wassail of mine host began to operate upon bodies
already a little jaded by the chase. The choice spirits that
flashed up at the beginning of the dinner, sparkled for a time,
then gradually went out one after another, or only emitted now
and then a faint gleam from the socket.
Some of the briskest talkers, who had given tongue so bravely at
the first burst, fell fast asleep; and none kept on their way but
certain of those long-winded prosers, who, like short-legged
hounds, worry on unnoticed at the bottom of conversation, but are
sure to be in at the death. Even these at length subsided into
silence; and scarcely any thing was heard but the nasal
communications of two or three veteran masticators, who, having
been silent while awake, were indemnifying the company in their
sleep.
At length the announcement of tea and coffee in the cedar parlor
roused all hands from this temporary torpor. Every one awoke
marvellously renovated, and while sipping the refreshing beverage
out of the Baronet’s old-fashioned hereditary china, began to
think of departing for their several homes. But here a sudden
difficulty arose. While we had been prolonging our repast, a
heavy winter storm had set in, with snow, rain, and sleet, driven
by such bitter blasts of wind, that they threatened to penetrate
to the very bone.
“It’s all in vain,” said our hospitable host, “to think of
putting one’s head out of doors in such weather. So, gentlemen, I
hold you my guests for this night at least, and will have your
quarters prepared accordingly.”
The unruly weather, which became more and more tempestuous,
rendered The hospitable suggestion unanswerable. The only
question was, whether such an unexpected accession of company, to
an already crowded house, would not put the housekeeper to her
trumps to accommodate them.
“Pshaw,” cried mine host, “did you ever know of a Bachelor’s Hall
that was not elastic, and able to accommodate twice as many as it
could hold?” So out of a good-humored pique the housekeeper was
summoned to consultation before us all. The old lady appeared, in
her gala suit of faded brocade, which rustled with flurry and
agitation, for in spite of mine host’s bravado, she was a little
perplexed. But in a bachelor’s house, and with bachelor guests,
these matters are readily managed. There is no lady of the house
to stand upon squeamish points about lodging guests in odd holes
and corners, and exposing the shabby parts of the establishment.
A bachelor’s housekeeper is used to shifts and emergencies. After
much worrying to and fro, and divers consultations about the red
room, and the blue room, and the chintz room, and the damask
room, and the little room with the bow window, the matter was
finally arranged.
When all this was done, we were once more summoned to the
standing Rural amusement of eating. The time that had been
consumed in dozing after dinner, and in the refreshment and
consultation of the cedar parlor, was sufficient, in the opinion
of the rosy-faced butler, to engender a reasonable appetite for
supper. A slight repast had therefore been tricked up from the
residue of dinner, consisting of cold sirloin of beef; hashed
venison; a devilled leg of a turkey or so, and a few other of
those light articles taken by country gentlemen to ensure sound
sleep and heavy snoring.
The nap after dinner had brightened up every one’s wit; and a
great deal of excellent humor was expended upon the perplexities
of mine host and his housekeeper, by certain married gentlemen of
the company, who considered themselves privileged in joking with
a bachelor’s establishment. From this the banter turned as to
what quarters each would find, on being thus suddenly billeted in
so antiquated a mansion.
“By my soul,” said an Irish captain of dragoons, one of the most
merry and boisterous of the party—“by my soul, but I should not
be surprised if some of those good-looking gentlefolks that hang
along the walls, should walk about the rooms of this stormy
night; or if I should find the ghost of one of these long-waisted
ladies turning into my bed in mistake for her grave in the
church-yard.
“Do you believe in ghosts, then?” said a thin, hatchet-faced
gentleman, with projecting eyes like a lobster.
I had remarked this last personage throughout dinner-time for one
of Those incessant questioners, who seem to have a craving,
unhealthy appetite in conversation. He never seemed satisfied
with the whole of a story; never laughed when others laughed; but
always put the joke to the question. He could never enjoy the
kernel of the nut, but pestered himself to get more out of the
shell.
“Do you believe in ghosts, then?” said the inquisitive gentleman.
“Faith, but I do,” replied the jovial Irishman; “I was brought up
in the fear and belief of them; we had a Benshee in our own
family, honey.”
“A Benshee—and what’s that?” cried the questioner.
“Why an old lady ghost that tends upon your real Milesian
families, and wails at their window to let them know when some of
them are to die.”
“A mighty pleasant piece of information,” cried an elderly
gentleman, with a knowing look and a flexible nose, to which he
could give a whimsical twist when he wished to be waggish.
“By my soul, but I’d have you know it’s a piece of distinction to
be waited upon by a Benshee. It’s a proof that one has pure blood
in one’s veins. But, egad, now we’re talking of ghosts, there
never was a house or a night better fitted than the present for a
ghost adventure. Faith, Sir John, haven’t you such a thing as a
haunted chamber to put a guest in?”
“Perhaps,” said the Baronet, smiling, “I might accommodate you
even on that point.”
“Oh, I should like it of all things, my jewel. Some dark oaken
room, with ugly wo-begone portraits that stare dismally at one,
and about which the housekeeper has a power of delightful stories
of love and murder. And then a dim lamp, a table with a rusty
sword across it, and a spectre all in white to draw aside one’s
curtains at midnight—”
“In truth,” said an old gentleman at one end of the table, “you
put me in mind of an anecdote—”
“Oh, a ghost story! a ghost story!” was vociferated round the
board, every one edging his chair a little nearer.
The attention of the whole company was now turned upon the
speaker. He was an old gentleman, one side of whose face was no
match for the other. The eyelid drooped and hung down like an
unhinged window shutter. Indeed, the whole side of his head was
dilapidated, and seemed like the wing of a house shut up and
haunted. I’ll warrant that side was well stuffed with ghost
stories.
There was a universal demand for the tale.
“Nay,” said the old gentleman, “it’s a mere anecdote—and a very
commonplace one; but such as it is you shall have it. It is a
story that I once heard my uncle tell when I was a boy. But
whether as having happened to himself or to another, I cannot
recollect. But no matter, it’s very likely it happened to
himself, for he was a man very apt to meet with strange
adventures. I have heard him tell of others much more singular.
At any rate, we will suppose it happened to himself.”
“What kind of man was your uncle?” said the questioning
gentleman.
“Why, he was rather a dry, shrewd kind of body; a great
traveller, and fond of telling his adventures.”
“Pray, how old might he have been when this happened?”
“When what happened?” cried the gentleman with the flexible nose,
impatiently—“Egad, you have not given any thing a chance to
happen -—come, never mind our uncle’s age; let us have his
adventures.”
The inquisitive gentleman being for the moment silenced, the old
gentleman with the haunted head proceeded.