xt7qjq0stw34_2156 https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7qjq0stw34/data/mets.xml https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7qjq0stw34/data/1997ms474.dao.xml unknown archival material 1997ms474 English University of Kentucky The physical rights to the materials in this collection are held by the University of Kentucky Special Collections Research Center. Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. W. Hugh Peal manuscript collection The Living Phantom by Charles Lamb, privately printed in Omaha text 43.94 Cubic Feet 86 boxes, 4 oversize boxes, 22 items Poor-Good Peal accession no. 11453. The Living Phantom by Charles Lamb, privately printed in Omaha 2017 https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7qjq0stw34/data/1997ms474/Box_21/Folder_9/Multipage7355.pdf 1934 1934 1934 section false xt7qjq0stw34_2156 xt7qjq0stw34 6%:gﬁggmmﬁ Wﬁﬁgﬁy. ' r

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Kid ,

CHARLES LAMB

OBIAHA
I’RIVA TEL Y PRINTED

THE LIVING PHANTOM

CIIARLES LA IVI B

ONIAHA
PRIVA TEL Y PRINTED

193+

In the way ofa preface, this little bit :1;—

tributed to Lamb was discovered on page 46

TM! Edition Limited To [00

of the Baltimore Monument, published
Copin Of W/Iich T122} N0.

Nov. 11, 1837 in Baltimore.

M. E. NOrthwall , Detx 1934

I‘LRRATA

Page 8 Line 7 [mug/1i should be brought
Line 14 ﬁfe/1t shotnd be bright

Page 9 Line 5 be after to

THE LIVING PHANTOM

When I was a young boy, I had delicate
health, and was somewhat of a pensive and
contemplative turn of mind; it was my de—
light, in the long summer evenings, to slip a—
way from my noisy and more robustcompan—
ions that I might wall; in the shade of a ven-
erable wood my favorite haunt,and listen to
the cawing of the old rooks, who seemed as

fond of this retreat as I was.

One evening I sat later than usual, though
the distant sound of the Cathedral Clock had
more than once warnei me to my home.
There was a stillness in all nature that I was un—
willing to disturb by the least motion. From
this reverie I was suddenly startled by the
sight of a tall slender female, who was stand-
in; by me, looking sari-awfully a'1:l steadily
in my face. She was dressed in white, from
head to foot, in a fashion that Ihad never
seen before; her garments were unusually
long and flowing, and rustled as she glided

through the low shrubs near me, as it they
were made of the finest silk. My heart
beat as if I weredying, and I knew that I
could not have {HUVetl from the spot; but she
seemed so very mild and beautiful, I did not
attempt it. 'Her pale brown hair, was braid—
ed round her head, but there were some
locks that strayed upon her neck; and alto—
gether she looked like a lovely picture, but
not like a lovely woman. I closed my eyes
forcibly with my hands, and whenl looked
again, she had vanished.

I cannot exactly say why I did not, on my
return home, speak of this beautiful appear—
ance: nor why, with a strange mixture of hope
and fear, I Went again and again to the same
spot, that I might see her. She always came;
and often in the storm and splashing rain,
that never seemed to touch or annoy her, and
looked sweetly on me, and silently passed
on: and though she was so near to me, that
once the wind lifted those light straying
locks, and I felt them against my cheek, yet
neither could I move or speak to her. I fell
ill; and when I recovered, my mother close-
ly questioned me about the tall lady, of

whom, in the height of my fever, I had so
often spoken.

I cannot tell you what a weight was taken
from my boyish spirits, when I learned that
this was no apparition, but a most lovely
woman—not young, though she had kept her
looks; for the grief which had broken her
heart seemed to have spared her beauty.

\Vhen the rebel troops were retreating,
after their total defeat in that very wood I was ‘
so fond of, a young officer unable to endure
the anguish of his Wounds, stink from his
horse, and laid himself down to die. He was
rcund there by the daughter of Sir Henry
l<___, and conveyed, by a trusty domestic,
to her father’s mansion. Sir Henry was a
Loyalist; but the officer’s desperate condition
excited his compassion and his many wounds
spoke a language a braVe nan could not
misunderstand. Sir Henry’s daughter, with
many tears, pleaded for him and. promised
that he should be carefully and secretly attend-
ed. And well she kept that promise; for she
waited upon him (her mother being long
dead) forrnany weeks, and anxiously watched
for the opening of the eyes that, languid as

he was, looked bright and gracefully upon
his young nurse.

You may fancy better than I can tell you,
as he slowly recovered, all the moments that
were spent in reading and low voiced singing,
and gentle playing onthe lute; and how many
fresh flowers Were bought to one, whose
wounded limbs would not bear him to
gather them himself; and how calmly the
days glided on in blessedness of returning
health, and in that sweet silence so carefully
enjoined them. I will pass by this, to speak
of one day, which brighter and pleasanter
than others, did not seem more b ight or
more lovely than the looks of the young
maiden, as she gaily spoke of “a little festi—
val, which (thoth it must hear an unworth—
ier name) she meant really to give in honor
of her guests recovery”. “And it is time,
lady,” said he, “for that guest, so tended and
honored, to tell his whole story, and speak
to you of one who will help him to thank
you: May I ask you, fair lady, to write a
little billet for me, which, even in these times
of danger, I may find some means to
forward.” To his mother no doubt, she

thought, as with light steps and a lighter
heart, she seated herself by his couch and
smilingly bade him dictate; but, when he
said, “My dear wife,” and lifted up his eyes
to asked for more, he saw before him a pale
statue, that gave him a look of utter despair,
and fell, for he had no power to help her,
heavily at his feet. Those eyes never
truly reflected the pure soul again, or an—
swered by answering looks, the fond inquir-
ies of her poor old father. She lived to be as
I saw her, Sweet and gentle, and delicate al—
ways but reason returned no more. Sl.e' visit—
ed, till the day of her death. the spot where
she first saw the young soldier, and dressed
herself in the very clothes that he said so
well became her.

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