LETTER XXXVI.
WILLIAM to his MOTHER.
I cannot forbear relating to you, my dear mother, what happened here last night. We had scarcely been in bed half an hour, before we heard a dreadful noise. What is that, said Charles? I do not know, answered I, but I am afraid somebody is breaking into the house. We listened, and the moment after heard Edward cry out. Charles jumped immediately out of bed, and I followed him; he caught up the poker and the candle, and lighted it at the lamp on the staircase. We almost flew to Edward’s room, where the noise came from. Charles shewed not the least sign of fear; but I could not help trembling exceedingly. Coming into Edward’s chamber we found him lying on the ground, and the table fallen topsy turvy, and all the books and things on the floor. What has happened? asked Charles. Heaven knows; but I am terribly frightened, replied Edward. We both eagerly enquired how he came on the ground, and why he had cried out so dreadfully?
EDWARD.
You would probably have cried out too—I do not know how I got out of bed—this room is haunted.
CHARLES.
You frightened me at first; but now I must laugh. Poor William was almost frightened to death; I will go and look for a bottle of wine, it is proper you should both take a glass.
EDWARD.
Do not go alone!—call one of the servants.
Let the servants sleep; I could not call them without disturbing my mother, and I would avoid doing that, as there is not any real cause for fear.
WILLIAM.
And dare you go alone?
CHARLES.
Why not, my friend, I am sure there are no thieves in the house.
EDWARD.
I have as much courage as he—yet, William, I would not go down. Hush! pray listen—do you hear any thing? Here comes Charles—what have you seen? Surely, you must have met something.
CHARLES.
Yes; I have seen the stairs, the dining-room, and this bottle and glass. Come on, let us drink each a glass, and it will give us courage to wait for the apparition.
EDWARD.
I beg you will not make game of it.
CHARLES.
And why not?—It is only at apparitions I laugh.
WILLIAM.
Why, do you believe that there are no apparitions?
CHARLES.
Indeed I do not give credit to the stories I have been told lately; my father would never allow such subjects to be mentioned when I was a child. But, Edward, tell me now what made you so suddenly get out of bed?
EDWARD.
An apparition, I tell you, Charles.
CHARLES.
Perhaps you were dreaming?
A likely story truly—I think I know when I am awake.
CHARLES.
And what did you see then?
EDWARD.
I had just put out my candle, and before I could fall asleep, I plainly heard something run across the chamber. I then started up in bed and saw in the farther corner two lights, they moved about, and sometimes appeared very small and then glared like large balls.
CHARLES.
That was certainly no more than a glittering in your eyes.
EDWARD.
What?—What I saw so clearly?—I then kept myself quite still—the light vanished, and I heard a great bounce against the door.
I should have been frightened, I am sure.
EDWARD.
I was so terrified I could not call for a light, I sunk into the bed and covered my head; but I had not remained many moments, scarcely daring to breathe, when I heard a light foot-step coming towards the side of my bed next the wall;—I ventured to peep—and saw, indeed I did, a great white apparition, which grew bigger and bigger as it approached:—I know not what I did—I jumped out of the other side of the bed, knocked down the table, and screamed out.—But hush, I hear a noise.
CHARLES.
I will lay a wager it is a rat that has hid itself.
EDWARD.
A rat is not white.
Let us search, something it must be; a spirit cannot make a noise.
Charles then looked in every corner of the room, behind the clothes-press, and the bureau. He then called out, there is the apparition, Edward, I have found it at last. And what was it, do you think? A great white cat which generally lives in the stable. We all laughed, in particular Edward; but, said he, I cannot imagine how the cat could make such a noise, and look so big.
CHARLES.
Your fear magnified it; when we are terrified, we seldom see things as they really are. The lights, which were the cat’s eyes, so dazzled yours, you imagined them to be balls of fire.
We then went to bed and slept very sound till the morning.
We related the whole affair when we were at breakfast, and after Sir Charles had commended his son, he added, This may teach you all not to be terrified, but to enquire into things; and believe me, many causes, which at first appeared very alarming, will vanish, or only resemble the white cat. While God, the great Spirit, takes care of us, can phantoms harm us? He will support all those who trust in him—fear him—and you may banish every other fear. You may be certain, all the stories you have heard, took their rise from terror; a timid disturbed imagination created the spectre, or swelled some slight reality into one: none had the courage to search for the truth, or it eluded the search.
I shall never forget this incident, dear mother; I recollect what Charles said, a spirit cannot make a noise. The stories I have been told in Holland, I now think foolish; the tall woman, who walked in the grove at night, and the white monster, almost as high as the steeple, and many others of the same kind, I am sure would be found, on enquiry, to resemble the tale of the white cat, which Edward would have told, if Charles had not dragged the supposed spirit from its hiding place.
WILLIAM.