This led to the mention of another superstition of an equally strange and melancholy kind, which, however, is chiefly confined to Wales.  It is respecting what are called corpse-candles, little wandering fires, of a pale bluish light, that move about like tapers in the open air, and are supposed to designate the way some corpse is to go.  One was seen at Lanyler, late at night, hovering up and down, along the bank of the Istwith, and was watched by the neighbours until they were tired, and went to bed.  Not long afterwards there came a comely country lass, from Montgomeryshire, to see her friends, who dwelt on the opposite side of the river.  She thought to ford the stream at the very place where the light had been first seen, but was dissuaded on account of the height of the flood.  She walked to and fro along the bank, just where the candle had moved, waiting for the subsiding of the water.  She at length endeavored to cross, but the poor girl was drowned in the attempt.[6]

[Footnote 6:  Aubrey’s Miscel.]

There was something mournful in this little anecdote of rural superstition, that seemed to affect all the listeners.  Indeed, it is curious to remark how completely a conversation of the kind will absorb the attention of a circle, and sober down its gayety, however boisterous.  By degrees I noticed that every one was leaning forward over the table, with eyes earnestly fixed upon the parson; and at the mention of corpse-candles which had been seen about the chamber of a young lady who died on the eve of her wedding-day, Lady Lillycraft turned pale.

I have witnessed the introduction of stories of the kind into various evening circles; they were often commenced in jest, and listened to with smiles; but I never knew the most gay or the most enlightened of audiences, that were not, if the conversation continued for any length of time, completely and solemnly interested in it.  There is, I believe, a degree of superstition lurking in every mind; and I doubt if any one can thoroughly examine all his secret notions and impulses, without detecting it, hidden, perhaps, even from himself.  It seems, in fact, to be a part of our nature, like instinct in animals, acting independently of our reason.  It is often found existing in lofty natures, especially those that are poetical and aspiring.  A great and extraordinary poet of our day, whose life and writings evince a mind subject to powerful exaltations, is said to believe in omens and secret intimations.  Caesar, it is well known, was greatly under the influence of such belief; and Napoleon had his good and evil days, and his presiding star.