An Apparition Seen by the Late Marquis of Londonderry.
Originally published in Terrific Register (Sherwood, Jones, and Co.; 1825).
It is now more than twenty years since the late Lord Londonderry was, for the first time, on a visit to a gentleman in the north of Ireland. The mansion was such a one as spectres are fabled to inhabit. The apartment, also, which was appointed to Lord Londonderry, was calculated to foster such a tone of feeling, from its antique appointments; from the dark and richly carved pannels of its wainscot; from its yawning width and height of chimney, looking like the open entrance to a tomb, of which the surrounding ornaments appeared to form the sculpture and entablature; from the portraits of grim men and severe-eyed women, arrayed in orderly procession along the walls, and scowling a contemptuous enmity against the degenerate invader of their gloomy bowers and venerable halls; and from the vast dusky, ponderous, and complicated draperies that concealed the windows, and hung with a gloomy grandeur of funeral trappings about the hearse-like piece of furniture that was destined for his bed.
Lord Londonderry examined his chamber; he made himself acquainted with the forms and faces of the ancient possessors of the mansion, as they sat upright in their ebony frames to receive his salutation; and then, after dismissing his valet, he retired to bed. His candles had not long been extinguished when he perceived a light gleaming on the draperies of the lofty canopy over his head. Conscious that there was no fire in the grate—that the curtains were closed—that the chamber had been in perfect darkness but a few minutes before, he supposed that some intruder must have accidentally entered his apartment; and, turning hastily round to the side from which the light proceeded, saw, to his infinite astonishment, not the form of any human visitor, but the figure of a fair boy, who seemed to be garmented in rays of mild and tempered glory, which beamed palely from his slender form, like the faint light of the declining moon, and rendered the objects which were nearest to him dimly and indistinctly visible. The spirit stood at some short distance from the side of the bed. Certain that his own faculties were not deceiving him, but suspecting he might be imposed on by the ingenuity of some of the numerous guests who were then visiting in the same house, Lord Londonderry proceeded towards the figure:—it retreated before him:—as he slowly advanced, the form with equal paces slowly retired:—it entered the gloomy arch of the capacious chimney, and then sunk into the earth. Lord Londonderry returned to his bed, but not to rest: his mind was harassed by the consideration of the extraordinary event which had occurred to him.—Was it real?—Was it the work of the imagination?--Was it the result of imposture?—It was all incomprehensible.
He resolved in the morning not to mention the appearance till he should have well observed the manners and countenances of the family: he was conscious that, if any deception had been practised, its authors would be too delighted with their success to conceal the vanity of their triumph. When the guests assembled at the breakfast table, the eye of Lord Londonderry searched in vain for those latent smiles—those conscious looks—that silent communication between the parties, by which the authors and abettors of such domestic conspiracies are generally betrayed. Every thing apparently proceeded in its ordinary course: the conversation flowed rapidly along from the subjects afforded at the moment, without any of the constraint which marks a party intent upon some secret and more interesting argument, and endeavouring to afford an opportunity for its introduction. At last the hero of the tale found himself compelled to mention the occurrence of the night:—It was most extraordinary:—he feared that he should not be credited;—and then, after all due preparation, the story was related. Those, among his auditors who, like himself, were strangers and visitors in the house, certain that some delusion must have been practised: the family alone seemed perfectly composed and calm. At last, the gentleman whom Lord Londonderry was visiting interrupted their various surmises on the subject, by saying—"The circumstance which you have just recounted must naturally appear very extraordinary to those who have not long been inmates of my dwelling, and not conversant with the legends of my family; and to those who are, the event which has happened will only serve as the corroboration of an old tradition that has long been related of the apartment in which you slept. You have seen the Radiant Boy--be content--it is an omen of prosperous fortunes. I would rather that this subject should no more be mentioned." And here the affair ended.