From this the banter turned as to what quarters each
would find, on being thus suddenly billeted in so antiquated a
mansion.
"By my soul," said an Irish captain of dragoons, one of the most merry
and boisterous of the party--"by my soul, but I should not be
surprised if some of those good-looking gentlefolks that hang along
the walls, should walk about the rooms of this stormy night; or if I
should find the ghost of one of these long-waisted ladies turning into
my bed in mistake for her grave in the church-yard.
"Do you believe in ghosts, then?" said a thin, hatchet-faced gentleman,
with projecting eyes like a lobster.
I had remarked this last personage throughout dinner-time for one of
Those incessant questioners, who seem to have a craving, unhealthy
appetite in conversation. He never seemed satisfied with the whole of
a story; never laughed when others laughed; but always put the joke to
the question. He could never enjoy the kernel of the nut, but pestered
himself to get more out of the shell.
"Do you believe in ghosts, then?" said the inquisitive gentleman.
"Faith, but I do," replied the jovial Irishman; "I was brought up in
the fear and belief of them; we had a Benshee in our own family,
honey."
"A Benshee--and what's that?" cried the questioner.
"Why an old lady ghost that tends upon your real Milesian families,
and wails at their window to let them know when some of them are to
die.
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