Produced by Suzanne Shell, Tom Allen, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. NIGHTMARE ABBEY By _Thomas Love Peacock_ CONTENTS NIGHTMARE ABBEY NOTES TO _Nightmare Abbey_ NIGHTMARE ABBEY: BY THE AUTHOR OF HEADLONG HALL. * * * * * There's a dark lantern of the spirit, Which none see by but those who bear it, That makes them in the dark see visions And hag themselves with apparitions, Find racks for their own minds, and vaunt Of their own misery and want. BUTLER. * * * * * LONDON: 1818. MATTHEW. Oh! it's your only fine humour, sir. Your true melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit, sir. I am melancholy myself, divers times, sir; and then do I no more but take pen and paper presently, and overflow you half a score or a dozen of sonnets at a sitting. STEPHEN. Truly, sir, and I love such things out of measure. MATTHEW. Why, I pray you, sir, make use of my study: it's at your service. STEPHEN. I thank you, sir, I shall be bold, I warrant you. Have you a stool there, to be melancholy upon? BEN JONSON, _Every Man in his Humour_, Act 3, Sc. I Ay esleu gazouiller et siffler oye, comme dit le commun proverbe, entre les cygnes, plutoust que d'estre entre tant de gentils poetes et faconds orateurs mut du tout estime. RABELAIS, _Prol. L_. 5 * * * * * CHAPTER I Nightmare Abbey, a venerable family-mansion, in a highly picturesque state of semi-dilapidation, pleasantly situated on a strip of dry land between the sea and the fens, at the verge of the county of Lincoln, had the honour to be the seat of Christopher Glowry, Esquire. This gentleman was naturally of an atrabilarious temperament, and much troubled with those phantoms of indigestion which are commonly called _blue devils_. He had been deceived in an early friendship: he had been crossed in love; and had offered his hand, from pique, to a lady, who accepted it from interest, and who, in so doing, violently tore asunder the bonds of a tried and youthful attachment. Her vanity was gratified by being the mistress of a very extensive, if not very lively, establishment; but all the springs of her sympathies were frozen. Riches she possessed, but that which enriches them, the participation of affection, was wanting. All that they could purchase for her became indifferent to her, because that which they could not purchase, and which was more valuable than themselves, she had, for their sake, thrown away. She discovered, when it was too late, that she had mistaken the means for the end--that riches, rightly used, are instruments of happiness, but are not in themselves happiness. In this wilful blight of her affections, she found them valueless as means: they had been the end to which she had immolated all her affections, and were now the only end that remained to her. She did not confess