Market Harborough, and Inside the BarWhyte-Melville, G. J. (George John)
General
Market Harborough, and Inside the Bar
Whyte-Melville, G. J. (George John)
Country life -- England -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century; Fox hunting -- Fiction
I am no busy-body, I humbly trust and believe. It is not my way ever to
inquire into the affairs of other people; and when any obliging friend
wishes to make me the depository of some secret which is growing too
heavy for his own shoulders, I invariably beg that he will keep it to
himself. There is no such false position, as to be told an awful mystery
under oath of inviolable silence, which you feel sure has been
administered with the same injunctions to some half-dozen others besides
yourself. One of these lets it out; perhaps all six of them make it
their everyday conversation; and you, the only trustworthy person of the
lot, sustain all the blame of having divulged a circumstance which you
have kept silent as the grave, or even forgotten altogether. I need not,
therefore, say that it is not my custom to waylay waiting-maids, nor to
set every engine in my power in motion to discover the antecedents of
such ladies as may happen to occupy the same hostelry with myself. But
there was something about this new arrival that interested and excited
me in spite of my better judgment. It was like being in the same house
with a ghost. A man may not like ghosts, or he may disbelieve in them,
or, worse still, he may have an invincible terror of these apparitions;
and although he laughs and jeers at such matters by a crowded fireside
on a Christmas eve, he may quail and shudder in his cold sheets at the
dead of night, when he lies awake, thinking of all the horrors he has
ever heard and read; fancying, as people _will_ fancy in the dark, that
he hears sighs at the door, footsteps in the passage, and something
moving softly and stealthily about the room. But whether he be a
courageous infidel, or a superstitious believer in the possibility of
apparitions, only tell him there is a phantom belonging to the
establishment, and the man becomes restless and uncomfortable forthwith.
You will find him poking about the attics and offices by day and night.
When you are snoring healthily in your first sleep, he will be shivering
in his dressing-gown, to discover the spirit or the impostor; and it is
probable that in his character of detective he will alarm more of the
inhabitants of the mansion in a week than the old established and
considerate ghost itself has done in a century.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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