“People are full of ‘The Unclassed,’ a powerful novel, though, as a very pretty young lady said to me the other day, ‘not at all the sort of book one would give to one’s mother to read!’
“Coming through Roker, I heard a woman say, ‘Wal, geese is geese, and ye canna mak um nought else.’ But some one else had this to report as a specimen Northumbrian sentence: ‘I left the door on the sneck, and, as I was ganging doun the sandy chare (lane), I met twa bairnies huggin a can o’ bumblekites, and a good few tykes were havin a reglar hubbledeshoo o’ a midden.’”
“Brancepeth Castle, Jan. 3, 1885.—Mr. Wharton dined. He said, ‘When I was at the little inn at Ayscliffe, I met a Mr. Bond, who told me a story about my friend Johnnie Greenwood of Swancliffe. Johnnie had to ride one night through a wood a mile long to the place he was going to. At the entrance of the wood a large black dog joined him, and pattered along by his side. He could not make out where it came from, but it never left him, and when the wood grew so dark that he could not see it, he still heard it pattering beside him. When he emerged from the wood, the dog had disappeared, and he could not tell where it had gone to. Well, Johnnie paid his visit, and set out to return the same way. At the entrance of the wood, the dog joined him, and pattered along beside him as before; but it never touched him, and he never spoke to it, and again, as he emerged from the wood, it ceased to be there.
“‘Years after, two condemned prisoners in York gaol told the chaplain that they had intended to rob and murder Johnnie that night in the wood, but that he had a large dog with him, and when they saw that, they felt that Johnnie and the dog together would be too much for them.’
“‘Now that is what I call a useful ghostly apparition,’ said Mr. Wharton.”
“London, Feb. 22, 1885.—At dinner at Miss Bromley’s I met the Misses Bryant, who live in 17 Somerset Street. On the ground-floor of the house is a large room said to be haunted, and in which such terrible noises are heard as prevent any one sleeping there. A man with a grey beard once committed suicide in that room. The other day some children, nephews and nieces of the Misses Bryant, came to spend the afternoon with them, and, to amuse them, one of the ladies got them to help her in arranging her garden upon the leads. While they were at work, the little boy looked over the parapet into the court below, and said, ‘Who is that old man with the grey beard who keeps looking at me out of that window? Oh! he is gone now, but he has put out his head and looked up at me several times.’ The window was that of ‘Greybeard’s room.’ Miss Bryant immediately ran down and asked the servants if any one with a grey beard had come into the house, but no one had entered the house at all, and ‘Greybeard’s room’ was locked up.”
“March 7.—Two days ago I dined with Lady Sarah Lindsay to meet Colonel Hugh Lindsay and Lady Jane. Colonel Lindsay was full of spiritualism and the wonderful discoveries this generation seems on the verge of. He had himself seen a large table, which had been first set in motion, after the hands which touched it were taken away, float up to the ceiling, remain there for some time over their heads, and then float down again. ‘The conjurors Maskelyne and Cook could not have done this; they might have raised the table (by wires), but it would not have floated.’
“Colonel Lindsay spoke much of the wonderful Providence which keeps down voracious animals. He said that the aphis (of the rose, &c.) reproduced itself in such intense multitudes, that, if not kept down by weather and other insects, it would, in ten days, have assumed proportions equal in volume to many thousand times the inhabitants of the earth, the whole air would be darkened, and every living thing upon earth would be utterly consumed by them!
“Lady Sarah told of her grandmother, old Lady Hardwicke,[400] with whom a young lady came to stay. They dined at three o’clock, but when the girl came down, she was dreadfully agitated, and looked as if she had seen a ghost. When Lady Hardwicke pressed her as to the reason, she, after a time, confessed that it was because there was a spirit in her room. It came to her lamenting its hard fate whilst she was dressing, and she was sure there had been a murder in that room. Lady Hardwicke said, ‘Well, my dear, to-morrow you must let me come and stay with you when you are dressing,’ and she did. Soon the girl said, ‘There—there it is!’ and Lady Hardwicke really did hear something. ‘Oh, listen!’ cried the girl. ‘Once I was hap-hap-hap-y, but now I am me-e-e-serable!’ a voice seemed to wail: it was the old kitchen jack!”
“March 19.—Edward Malet was married to Lady Ermyntrude Russell in Westminster Abbey at 4 P.M. Seldom was there a greater crowd in the streets near Westminster. I met Lady Jane Repton in the crush, and we made our way in together through the Deanery. The glorious building was crowded from end to end, and the music most beautiful. Perhaps the greatest of smaller features was Lady Ermyntrude’s dress, which the papers describe as ‘more pearly than pearl, and more snowy than snow.’”