The sociable ghost : $b Being the adventures of a reporter who was invited by the sociable ghost to a grand banquet, ball, and convention under the ground of old Trinity churchyard. A true tale of the things he saw and did not see while he was not there.Harper, Olive
Science
The sociable ghost : $b Being the adventures of a reporter who was invited by the sociable ghost to a grand banquet, ball, and convention under the ground of old Trinity churchyard. A true tale of the things he saw and did not see while he was not there.
Harper, Olive
American fiction -- 20th century; Ghost stories
The bishop bowed his head in assent to this, and that set the reporter
to thinking about the great agnostic Ingersoll. He asked the company at
large if they could tell him if Col. Robert Ingersoll were present. The
whole company waited for the bishop to answer this question as though he
were the proper one to do so. He spoke at last; but as if he would have
preferred to waive the question:
“No, Mr. Ingersoll is not here. He got his passport the same day he
died.”
“I—I—thought he believed—or didn’t believe—I really do not know how to
express it—” stammered the young man in his excitement.
“Young man,” said the bishop impressively, “it is not what a man
believes, or thinks he believes, while on earth, that gains heaven, but
what he does.”
All the ghosts clapped their hands and shouted, “Hear, hear.” The young
man found food for the thought in the fact just told him. He made a
resolution to become acquainted with the words of the man who had
received his passport the same day he died. And, moreover, he intended
to follow them.
There was a ghost who up to now had taken no part in the conversation,
and he suddenly fixed the newspaper man with a compelling glance and
said, slowly and impressively:
“It seems to me that no one has exactly answered the question about the
phenomenon of death, which is in reality no greater than that of birth.
We see that, but even the wisest men of all time knows no more of the
life principle than the most ignorant. We know only that we enter this
world and quit it through the doors of pain. When my own final moment
came, I knew it and braced myself so that if ever I should be able to
tell those still of the world all the sensations I experienced I would
do so. If this is my opportunity I am glad of it.
“In the first place, I was a strong man and nothing but the pneumonia
ever seemed to get a hold on me. I was ill about a week, and they all
thought I was getting better, and for that reason I refused to take any
more medicine, though really that would have made no difference anyway,
for my time had come.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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