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The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft
·
George Gissing
107
I
once
passed
a
night
in
a
little
market-town
where
I
had
arrived
tired
and
went
to
bed
early.
I
slept
forthwith,
but
was
presently
awakened
by
I
knew
not
what;
in
the
darkness
there
sounded
a
sort
of
music,
and,
as
my
brain
cleared,
I
was
aware
of
the
soft
chiming
of
church
bells.
Why,
what
hour
could
it
be?
I
struck
a
light
and
looked
at
my
watch.
Midnight.
Then
a
glow
came
over
me.
"We
have
heard
the
chimes
at
midnight,
Master
Shallow!"
Never
till
then
had
I
heard
them.
And
the
town
in
which
I
slept
was
Evesham,
but
a
few
miles
from
Stratford-on-Avon.
What
if
those
midnight
bells
had
been
to
me
but
as
any
other,
and
I
had
reviled
them
for
breaking
my
sleep?--Johnson
did
not
much
exaggerate.
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