Transcriber's note:

 Two words in this text contain macrons over double ee. These are denoted in the text with [=ee]. 

 Superscripted text is denoted by the use of the following markings: 12^{mi} where "mi" is superscripted. 

 A Transcriber's note at the end of the text lists the changes made in transcription. 

The Modern Library of the World's Best Books

THE BEST GHOST STORIES

Introduction by Arthur B. Reeve

The Modern LibraryPublishers New YorkCopyright, 1919, byBoni & Liveright, Inc. Manufactured in the United States of America by H. Wolff

CONTENTS

 PAGE

INTRODUCTION--"THE FASCINATION OF THE GHOST STORY" _Arthur B. Reeve_ vii

THE APPARITION OF MRS. VEAL _Daniel De Foe_ 3

CANON ALBERIC'S SCRAP-BOOK _Montague Rhodes James_ 18

THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS _Edward Bulwer-Lytton_ 31

THE SILENT WOMAN _Leopold Kompert_ 60

BANSHEES 79

THE MAN WHO WENT TOO FAR _E. F. Benson_ 85

THE WOMAN'S GHOST STORY _Algernon Blackwood_ 108

THE PHANTOM RICKSHAW _Rudyard Kipling_ 118

THE RIVAL GHOSTS _Brander Matthews_ 141

THE DAMNED THING _Ambrose Bierce_ 160

THE INTERVAL _Vincent O'Sullivan_ 170

DEY AIN'T NO GHOSTS _Ellis Parker Butler_ 177

SOME REAL AMERICAN GHOSTS 188

INTRODUCTION

THE FASCINATION OF THE GHOST STORY

ARTHUR B. REEVE

What is the fascination we feel for the mystery of the ghost story?

Is it of the same nature as the fascination which we feel for themystery of the detective story?

Of the latter fascination, the late Paul Armstrong used to say that itwas because we are all as full of crime as Sing Sing--only we don'tdare. 

Thus, may I ask, are we not fascinated by the ghost story because, nomatter what may be the scientific or skeptical bent of our minds, in ourinmost souls, secretly perhaps, we are as full of superstition as anobeah man--only we don't let it loose?

Who shall say that he is able to fling off lightly the inheritance ofcountless ages of superstition? Is there not a streak of superstition inus all? We laugh at the voodoo worshiper--then create our own hoodooes, our pet obsessions. 

It has been said that man is incurably religious, that if all religionswere blotted out, man would create a new religion. 

Man is incurably fascinated by the mysterious. If all the ghost storiesof the ages were blotted out, man would invent new ones. 

For, do we not all stand in awe of that which we cannot explain, of thatwhich, if it be not in our own experience, is certainly recorded in theexperience of others, of that of which we know and can know nothing?

Skeptical though one may be of the occult, he must needs be interestedin things that others believe to be objective--that certainly aresubjectively very real to them. 

The ghost story is not born of science, nor even of super-science, whatever that may be. It is not of science at all. It is of anothersphere, despite all that the psychic researchers have tried todemonstrate. 

There are in life two sorts of people who, for want of a betterclassification, I may call the psychic and the non-psychic. If I ask thepsychic to close his eyes and I say to him, "Horse, " he immediatelyvisualizes a horse. The other, non-psychic, does not. I rather inclineto believe that it is the former class who see ghosts, or rather some ofthem. The latter do not--though they share interest in them. 

The artists are of the visualizing class and, in our more modern times, it is the psychic who think in motion pictures, or at least in asuccession of still pictures. 

However we explain the ghostly and supernatural, whether we give itobjective or merely subjective reality, neither explanation prevents thenon-psychic from being intensely interested in the visions of thepsychic. 

Thus I am convinced that if we were all quite honest with ourselves, whether we believe in or do not believe in ghosts, at least we are alldeeply interested in them. There is in this interest something thatmakes all the world akin. 

Who does not feel a suppressed start at the creaking of furniture in thedark of night? Who has not felt a shiver of goose flesh, controlled onlyby an effort of will? Who, in the dark, has not had the feeling of some_thing_ behind him--and, in spite of his conscious reasoning, turned tolook?

If there be any who has not, it may be that to him ghost stories have nofascination. Let him at least, however, be honest. 

To every human being mystery appeals, be it that of the crime cases onwhich a large part of yellow journalism is founded, or be it in thecases of Dupin, of Le Coq, of Sherlock Holmes, of Arsene Lupin, of CraigKennedy, or a host of others of our fiction mystery characters. Theappeal is in the mystery. 

The detective's case is solved at the end, however. But even at the endof a ghost story, the underlying mystery remains. In the ghost story, wehave the very quintessence of mystery. 

Authors, publishers, editors, dramatists, writers of motion picturestell us that never before has there been such an intense and wideinterest in mystery stories as there is to-day. That in itself explainsthe interest in the super-mystery story of the ghost and ghostly doings. 

Another element of mystery lies in such stories. Deeper and furtherback, is the supreme mystery of life--after death--what?

"Impossible, " scorns the non-psychic as he listens to some ghost story. 

To which, doggedly replies the mind of the opposite type, "Not so. I believe _because_ it is impossible. "

The uncanny, the unhealthy--as in the master of such writing, Poe--fascinates. Whether we will or no, the imp of the perverse lures uson. 

That is why we read with enthralled interest these excursions into theeerie unknown, perhaps reading on till the mystic hour of midnightincreases the creepy pleasure. 

One might write a volume of analysis and appreciation of this aptlybalanced anthology of ghost stories assembled here after years ofreading and study by Mr. J. L. French. 

Foremost among the impressions that a casual reader will derive is theinteresting fact, just as in detective mystery stories, so in ghoststories, styles change. Each age, each period has the ghost storypeculiar to itself. To-day, there is a new style of ghost storygradually evolving. 

Once stories were of fairies, fays, trolls, the "little people, " ofpoltergiest and loup garou. Through various ages we have progressed tothe ghost story of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries until to-day, in the twentieth, we are seeing a modern style, which the new science ismodifying materially. 

High among the stories in this volume, one must recognize the masterfulart of Algernon Blackwood's "The Woman's Ghost Story. "

"I was interested in psychic things, " says the woman as she starts totell her story simply, with a sweep toward the climax that has the ringof the truth of fiction. Here perhaps we have the modern style of ghoststory at its best. 

Times change as well as styles. "The Man Who Went Too Far" is of intenseinterest as an attempt to bring into our own times an interpretation ofthe symbolism underlying Greek mythology, applied to England of someyears ago. 

To see Pan meant death. Hence in this story there is a philosophy ofPan-theism--no "me, " no "you, " no "it. " It is a mystical story, with astorm scene in which is painted a picture that reminds one strongly of"The Fall of the House of Ushur, "--with the frankly added words, "On himwere marks of hoofs of a monstrous goat that had leaped onhim, "--uncompromising mysticism. 

Happy is the Kipling selection, "The Phantom 'Rickshaw, " if only forthat obiter dictum of ghost-presence as Kipling explains about the riftin the brain: "--and a little bit of the Dark World came through andpressed him to death!"

Then there are the racial styles in ghost stories. The volume takes usfrom the "Banshees and Other Death Warnings" of Ireland to a strangeexample of Jewish mysticism in "The Silent Woman. " Mr. French has beenvery wide in his choice, giving us these as well as many examples fromthe literature of England and France. Finally, he has compiled from thenewspapers, as typically American, many ghost stories of New York andother parts of the country. 

Strange that one should find humor in a subject so weird. Yet we findit. Take, for instance, De Foe's old narrative, "The Apparition of Mrs. Veal. " It is a hoax, nothing more. Of our own times is Ellis ParkerButler's "Dey Ain't No Ghosts, " showing an example of the modern Negro'sracial heritage. 

In our literature and on the stage, the very idea of a Darky and agraveyard is mirth-provoking. Mr. Butler extracts some pithy philosophyfrom his Darky boy: "I ain't skeered ob ghosts whut am, c'ase dey ain'tno ghosts, but I jes' feel kinder oneasy 'bout de ghosts whut ain't!"

Humor is succeeded by pathos. In "The Interval" we find a sympathetictwist to the ghost story--an actual desire to meet the dead. 

It is not, however, to be compared for interest to the story of sheerterror, as in Bulwer-Lytton's "The Haunted and the Haunters, " with theflight of the servant in terror, the cowering of the dog against thewall, the death of the dog, its neck actually broken by the terror, andall that go to make an experience in a haunted house what it should be. 

Thus, at last, we come to two of the stories that attempt to give ascientific explanation, another phase of the modern style of ghoststory. 

One of these, perhaps hardly modern as far as mere years are concerned, is this same story of Bulwer, "The Haunted and the Haunters. " Besidesbeing a rattling good old-fashioned tale of horror, it attempts anew-fashioned scientific explanation. It is enough to read and re-readit. 

It is, however, the lamented Ambrose Bierce who has gone furthest in thescience and the philosophy of the matter, and in a very short story, too, splendidly titled "The Damned Thing. "

 "Incredible!" exclaims the coroner at the inquest. 

 "That is nothing to you, sir, " replies the newspaper man who relates the experience, and in these words expresses the true feeling about ghostly fiction, "that is nothing to you, if I also swear that it is true!"

But furthest of all in his scientific explanation--not scientificallyexplaining away, but in explaining the way--goes Bierce as he outlines atheory. From the diary of the murdered man he picks out the followingwhich we may treasure as a gem:

 "I am not mad. There are colors that we cannot see. And--God help me!--the Damned Thing is of such a color!"

This fascination of the ghost story--have I made it clear?

As I write, nearing midnight, the bookcase behind me cracks. I start andturn. Nothing. There is a creak of a board in the hallway. 

I know it is the cool night wind--the uneven contraction of materialsexpanded in the heat of the day. 

Yet--do I go into the darkness outside otherwise than alert?

It is this evolution of our sense of ghost terror--ages of it--thatfascinates us. 

Can we, with a few generations of modernism behind us, throw it off withall our science? And, if we did, should we not then succeed only inabolishing the old-fashioned ghost story and creating a new, scientificghost story?

Scientific? Yes. But more, --something that has existed since thebeginnings of intelligence in the human race. 

Perhaps, you critic, you say that the true ghost story originated in theage of shadowy candle light and pine knot with their grotesqueries onthe walls and in the unpenetrated darkness, that the electric bulb andthe radiator have dispelled that very thing on which, for ages, theghost story has been built. 

What? No ghost stories? Would you take away our supernatural fiction byyour paltry scientific explanation?

Still will we gather about the story teller--then lie awake o' nights, seeing mocking figures, arms akimbo, defying all your science to crushthe ghost story. 

BEST GHOST STORIES

THE APPARITION OF MRS. VEAL

BY DANIEL DE FOE

THE PREFACE

This relation is matter of fact, and attended with such circumstances, as may induce any reasonable man to believe it. It was sent by agentleman, a justice of peace, at Maidstone, in Kent, and a veryintelligent person, to his friend in London, as it is here worded; whichdiscourse is attested by a very sober and understanding gentlewoman, akinswoman of the said gentleman's, who lives in Canterbury, within a fewdoors of the house in which the within-named Mrs. Bargrave lives; whobelieves his kinswoman to be of so discerning a spirit, as not to be putupon by any fallacy; and who positively assured him that the wholematter, as it is related and laid down, is really true; and what sheherself had in the same words, as near as may be, from Mrs. Bargrave'sown mouth, who, she knows, had no reason to invent and publish such astory, or any design to forge and tell a lie, being a woman of muchhonesty and virtue, and her whole life a course, as it were, of piety. The use which we ought to make of it, is to consider, that there is alife to come after this, and a just God, who will retribute to every oneaccording to the deeds done in the body; and therefore to reflect uponour past course of life we have led in the world; that our time is shortand uncertain; and that if we would escape the punishment of theungodly, and receive the reward of the righteous, which is the layinghold of eternal life, we ought, for the time to come, to return to Godby a speedy repentance, ceasing to do evil, and learning to do well: toseek after God early, if happily He may be found of us, and lead suchlives for the future, as may be well pleasing in His sight. 

A RELATION OF THE APPARITION OF MRS. VEAL

This thing is so rare in all its circumstances, and on so goodauthority, that my reading and conversation has not given me anythinglike it: it is fit to gratify the most ingenious and serious inquirer. Mrs. Bargrave is the person to whom Mrs. Veal appeared after her death;she is my intimate friend, and I can avouch for her reputation, forthese last fifteen or sixteen years, on my own knowledge; and I canconfirm the good character she had from her youth, to the time of myacquaintance. Though, since this relation, she is calumniated by somepeople, that are friends to the brother of this Mrs. Veal, who appeared;who think the relation of this appearance to be a reflection, andendeavor what they can to blast Mrs. Bargrave's reputation, and to laughthe story out of countenance. But by the circumstances thereof, and thecheerful disposition of Mrs. Bargrave, notwithstanding the ill-usage ofa very wicked husband, there is not yet the least sign of dejection inher face; nor did I ever hear her let fall a desponding or murmuringexpression; nay, not when actually under her husband's barbarity; whichI have been witness to, and several other persons of undoubtedreputation. 

Now you must know, Mrs. Veal was a maiden gentlewoman of about thirtyyears of age, and for some years last past had been troubled with fits;which were perceived coming on her, by her going off from her discoursevery abruptly to some impertinence. She was maintained by an onlybrother, and kept his house in Dover. She was a very pious woman, andher brother a very sober man to all appearance; but now he does all hecan to null or quash the story. Mrs. Veal was intimately acquainted withMrs. Bargrave from her childhood. Mrs. Veal's circumstances were thenmean; her father did not take care of his children as he ought, so thatthey were exposed to hardships; and Mrs. Bargrave, in those days, had asunkind a father, though she wanted neither for food nor clothing, whilstMrs. Veal wanted for both; insomuch that she would often say, Mrs. Bargrave, you are not only the best, but the only friend I have in theworld, and no circumstances of life shall ever dissolve my friendship. They would often condole each other's adverse fortunes, and readtogether Drelincourt upon Death, and other good books; and so, like twoChristian friends, they comforted each other under their sorrow. 

Some time after, Mr. Veal's friends got him a place in the custom-houseat Dover, which occasioned Mrs. Veal, by little and little, to fall offfrom her intimacy with Mrs. Bargrave, though there was never any suchthing as a quarrel; but an indifferency came on by degrees, till at lastMrs. Bargrave had not seen her in two years and a half; though above atwelvemonth of the time Mrs. Bargrave hath been absent from Dover, andthis last half year has been in Canterbury about two months of the time, dwelling in a house of her own. 

In this house, on the 8th of September, 1705, she was sitting alone inthe forenoon, thinking over her unfortunate life, and arguing herselfinto a due resignation to providence, though her condition seemed hard. And, said she, I have been provided for hitherto, and doubt not but Ishall be still; and am well satisfied that my afflictions shall end whenit is most fit for me: and then took up her sewing-work, which she hadno sooner done, but she hears a knocking at the door. She went to seewho was there, and this proved to be Mrs. Veal, her old friend, who wasin a riding-habit. At that moment of time the clock struck twelve atnoon. 

Madam, says Mrs. Bargrave, I am surprised to see you, you have been solong a stranger; but told her, she was glad to see her, and offered tosalute her; which Mrs. Veal complied with, till their lips almosttouched; and then Mrs. Veal drew her hand across her own eyes, and said, I am not very well; and so waived it. She told Mrs. Bargrave, she wasgoing a journey, and had a great mind to see her first. But, says Mrs. Bargrave, how came you to take a journey alone? I am amazed at it, because I know you have a fond brother. Oh! says Mrs. Veal, I gave mybrother the slip, and came away because I had so great a desire to seeyou before I took my journey. So Mrs. Bargrave went in with her, intoanother room within the first, and Mrs. Veal sat her down in anelbow-chair, in which Mrs. Bargrave was sitting when she heard Mrs. Vealknock. Then says Mrs. Veal, My dear friend, I am come to renew our oldfriendship again, and beg your pardon for my breach of it; and if youcan forgive me, you are the best of women. O, says Mrs. Bargrave, do notmention such a thing; I have not had an uneasy thought about it; I caneasily forgive it. What did you think of me? said Mrs. Veal. Says Mrs. Bargrave, I thought you were like the rest of the world, and thatprosperity had made you forget yourself and me. Then Mrs. Veal remindedMrs. Bargrave of the many friendly offices she did her in former days, and much of the conversation they had with each other in the times oftheir adversity; what books they read, and what comfort, in particular, they received from Drelincourt's Book of Death, which was the best, shesaid, on that subject ever written. She also mentioned Dr. Sherlock, thetwo Dutch books which were translated, written upon death, and severalothers. But Drelincourt, she said, had the clearest notions of death, and of the future state, of any who had handled that subject. Then sheasked Mrs. Bargrave, whether she had Drelincourt. She said, Yes. SaysMrs. Veal, Fetch it. And so Mrs. Bargrave goes up stairs and brings itdown. Says Mrs. Veal, Dear Mrs. Bargrave, if the eyes of our faith wereas open as the eyes of our body, we should see numbers of angels aboutus for our guard. The notions we have of heaven now, are nothing likewhat it is, as Drelincourt says; therefore be comforted under yourafflictions, and believe that the Almighty has a particular regard toyou; and that your afflictions are marks of God's favor; and when theyhave done the business they are sent for, they shall be removed fromyou. And believe me, my dear friend, believe what I say to you, oneminute of future happiness will infinitely reward you for all yoursufferings. For, I can never believe (and claps her hand upon her kneewith great earnestness, which indeed ran through most of her discourse), that ever God will suffer you to spend all your days in this afflictedstate; but be assured, that your afflictions shall leave you, or youthem, in a short time. She spake in that pathetical and heavenlymanner, that Mrs. Bargrave wept several times, she was so deeplyaffected with it. 

Then Mrs. Veal mentioned Dr. Kenrick's Ascetick, at the end of which hegives an account of the lives of the primitive Christians. Their patternshe recommended to our imitation, and said, their conversation was notlike this of our age: For now, says she, there is nothing but frothy, vain discourse, which is far different from theirs. Theirs was toedification, and to build one another up in faith; so that they were notas we are, nor are we as they were: but, says she, we ought to do asthey did. There was an hearty friendship among them; but where is it nowto be found? Says Mrs. Bargrave, It is hard indeed to find a true friendin these days. Says Mrs. Veal, Mr. Norris has a fine copy of verses, called Friendship in Perfection, which I wonderfully admire. Have youseen the book? says Mrs. Veal. No, says Mrs. Bargrave, but I have theverses of my own writing out. Have you? says Mrs. Veal, then fetch them. Which she did from above stairs, and offered them to Mrs. Veal to read, who refused, and waived the thing, saying, holding down her head wouldmake it ache; and then desired Mrs. Bargrave to read them to her, whichshe did. As they were admiring friendship, Mrs. Veal said, Dear Mrs. Bargrave, I shall love you for ever. In these verses there is twice usedthe word Elysian. Ah! says Mrs. Veal, these poets have such names forheaven. She would often draw her hands across her own eyes, and say, Mrs. Bargrave, do not you think I am mightily impaired by my fits? No, says Mrs. Bargrave, I think you look as well as ever I knew you. Afterall this discourse, which the apparition put in much finer words thanMrs. Bargrave said she could pretend to, and as much more than she canremember, (for it cannot be thought, that an hour and three quarters'conversation could all be retained, though the main of it she thinks shedoes, ) she said to Mrs. Bargrave, she would have her write a letter toher brother, and tell him, she would have him give rings to such andsuch; and that there was a purse of gold in her cabinet, and that shewould have two broad pieces given to her cousin Watson. 

Talking at this rate, Mrs. Bargrave thought that a fit was coming uponher, and so placed herself in a chair just before her knees, to keep herfrom falling to the ground, if her fits should occasion it: for theelbow-chair, she thought, would keep her from falling on either side. And to divert Mrs. Veal, as she thought, took hold of her gown-sleeveseveral times, and commended it. Mrs. Veal told her, it was a scoweredsilk, and newly made up. But for all this, Mrs. Veal persisted in herrequest, and told Mrs. Bargrave, she must not deny her: and she wouldhave her tell her brother all their conversation, when she hadopportunity. Dear Mrs. Veal, says Mrs. Bargrave, this seems soimpertinent, that I cannot tell how to comply with it; and what amortifying story will our conversation be to a young gentleman? Why, says Mrs. Bargrave, it is much better, methinks, to do it yourself. No, says Mrs. Veal, though it seems impertinent to you now, you will seemore reason for it hereafter. Mrs. Bargrave then, to satisfy herimportunity, was going to fetch a pen and ink; but Mrs. Veal said, Letit alone now, but do it when I am gone; but you must be sure to do it:which was one of the last things she enjoined her at parting; and so shepromised her. 

Then Mrs. Veal asked for Mrs. Bargrave's daughter; she said, she was notat home: But if you have a mind to see her, says Mrs. Bargrave, I'llsend for her. Do, says Mrs. Veal. On which she left her, and went to aneighbor's to seek for her; and by the time Mrs. Bargrave was returning, Mrs. Veal was got without the door in the street, in the face of thebeast-market, on a Saturday, which is market-day, and stood ready topart, as soon as Mrs. Bargrave came to her. She asked her, why she wasin such haste. She said she must be going, though perhaps she might notgo her journey till Monday; and told Mrs. Bargrave, she hoped she shouldsee her again at her cousin Watson's, before she went whither she wasgoing. Then she said, she would take her leave of her, and walked fromMrs. Bargrave in her view, till a turning interrupted the sight of her, which was three quarters after one in the afternoon. 

Mrs. Veal died the 7th of September, at twelve o'clock at noon of herfits, and had not above four hours' senses before her death, in whichtime she received the sacrament. The next day after Mrs. Veal'sappearing, being Sunday, Mrs. Bargrave was mightily indisposed with acold, and a sore throat, that she could not go out that day; but onMonday morning she sent a person to Captain Watson's, to know if Mrs. Veal was there. They wondered at Mrs. Bargrave's inquiry; and sent herword, that she was not there, nor was expected. At this answer Mrs. Bargrave told the maid she had certainly mistook the name, or made someblunder. And though she was ill, she put on her hood, and went herselfto Captain Watson's though she knew none of the family, to see if Mrs. Veal was there or not. They said, they wondered at her asking, for thatshe had not been in town; they were sure, if she had, she would havebeen there. Says Mrs. Bargrave, I am sure she was with me on Saturdayalmost two hours. They said, it was impossible; for they must have seenher if she had. In comes Captain Watson, while they were in dispute, andsaid, that Mrs. Veal was certainly dead, and her escutcheons weremaking. This strangely surprised Mrs. Bargrave, when she sent to theperson immediately who had the care of them, and found it true. Then sherelated the whole story to Captain Watson's family, and what gown shehad on, and how striped; and that Mrs. Veal told her, it was scowered. Then Mrs. Watson cried out, You have seen her indeed, for none knew, butMrs. Veal and myself, that the gown was scowered. And Mrs. Watson owned, that she described the gown exactly: For, said she, I helped her to makeit up. This Mrs. Watson blazed all about the town, and avouched thedemonstration of the truth of Mrs. Bargrave's seeing Mrs. Veal'sapparition. And Captain Watson carried two gentlemen immediately to Mrs. Bargrave's house, to hear the relation of her own mouth. And when itspread so fast, that gentlemen and persons of quality, the judicious andskeptical part of the world, flocked in upon her, it at last became sucha task, that she was forced to go out of the way. For they were, ingeneral, extremely satisfied of the truth of the thing, and plainly sawthat Mrs. Bargrave was no hypochondraic; for she always appears withsuch a cheerful air, and pleasing mien, that she has gained the favorand esteem of all the gentry; and it is thought a great favor, if theycan but get the relation from her own mouth. I should have told youbefore, that Mrs. Veal told Mrs. Bargrave, that her sister andbrother-in-law were just come down from London to see her. Says Mrs. Bargrave, How came you to order matters so strangely? It could not behelped, says Mrs. Veal. And her brother and sister did come to see her, and entered the town of Dover just as Mrs. Veal was expiring. Mrs. Bargrave, asked her, whether she would drink some tea. Says Mrs. Veal, I do not care if I do; but I'll warrant you, this mad fellow (meaningMrs. Bargrave's husband) has broke all your trinkets. But, says Mrs. Bargrave, I'll get something to drink in for all that; but Mrs. Vealwaived it, and said, It is no matter, let it alone; and so it passed. 

All the time I sat with Mrs. Bargrave, which was some hours, sherecollected fresh sayings of Mrs. Veal. And one material thing more shetold Mrs. Bargrave, that old Mr. Breton allowed Mrs. Veal ten pounds ayear; which was a secret, and unknown to Mrs. Bargrave, till Mrs. Vealtold it her. 

Mrs. Bargrave never varies in her story; which puzzles those who doubtof the truth, or are unwilling to believe it. A servant in theneighbor's yard, adjoining to Mrs. Bargrave's house, heard her talkingto somebody an hour of the time Mrs. Veal was with her. Mrs. Bargravewent out to her next neighbor's the very moment she parted with Mrs. Veal, and told her what ravishing conversation she had with an oldfriend, and told the whole of it. Drelincourt's Book of Death is, sincethis happened, bought up strangely. And it is to be observed, thatnotwithstanding all the trouble and fatigue Mrs. Bargrave has undergoneupon this account, she never took the value of a farthing, nor sufferedher daughter to take anything of anybody, and therefore can have nointerest in telling the story. 

But Mr. Veal does what he can to stifle the matter, and said, he wouldsee Mrs. Bargrave; but yet it is certain matter of fact that he has beenat Captain Watson's since the death of his sister, and yet never wentnear Mrs. Bargrave; and some of his friends report her to be a liar, and that she knew of Mr. Breton's ten pounds a year. But the person whopretends to say so, has the reputation of a notorious liar, amongpersons whom I know to be of undoubted credit. Now Mr. Veal is more of agentleman than to say she lies; but says, a bad husband has crazed her. But she needs only present herself, and it will effectually confute thatpretense. Mr. Veal says, he asked his sister on her death-bed, whethershe had a mind to dispose of anything? And she said, No. Now, the thingswhich Mrs. Veal's apparition would have disposed of, were so trifling, and nothing of justice aimed at in their disposal, that the design of itappears to me to be only in order to make Mrs. Bargrave so todemonstrate the truth of her appearance, as to satisfy the world of thereality thereof, as to what she had seen and heard; and to secure herreputation among the reasonable and understanding part of mankind. Andthen again, Mr. Veal owns, that there was a purse of gold; but it wasnot found in her cabinet, but in a comb-box. This looks improbable; forthat Mrs. Watson owned, that Mrs. Veal was so very careful of the key ofthe cabinet, that she would trust nobody with it. And if so, no doubtshe would not trust her gold out of it. And Mrs. Veal's often drawingher hand over her eyes, and asking Mrs. Bargrave whether her fits hadnot impaired her, looks to me as if she did it on purpose to remind Mrs. Bargrave of her fits, to prepare her not to think it strange that sheshould put her upon writing to her brother to dispose of rings and gold, which looked so much like a dying person's request; and it tookaccordingly with Mrs. Bargrave, as the effects of her fits coming uponher; and was one of the many instances of her wonderful love to her, andcare of her, that she should not be affrighted; which indeed appears inher whole management, particularly in her coming to her in the day-time, waiving the salutation, and when she was alone; and then the manner ofher parting, to prevent a second attempt to salute her. 

Now, why Mr. Veal should think this relation a reflection, as it isplain he does, by his endeavoring to stifle it, I cannot imagine;because the generality believe her to be a good spirit, her discoursewas so heavenly. Her two great errands were to comfort Mrs. Bargrave inher affliction, and to ask her forgiveness for the breach of friendship, and with a pious discourse to encourage her. So that, after all, tosuppose that Mrs. Bargrave could hatch such an invention as this fromFriday noon till Saturday noon, supposing that she knew of Mrs. Veal'sdeath the very first moment, without jumbling circumstances, and withoutany interest too; she must be more witty, fortunate, and wicked too, than any indifferent person, I dare say, will allow. I asked Mrs. Bargrave several times, if she was sure she felt the gown? She answeredmodestly, If my senses be to be relied on, I am sure of it. I asked her, if she heard a sound when she clapped her hand upon her knee? She said, she did not remember she did; but said she appeared to be as much asubstance as I did, who talked with her. And I may, said she, be as soonpersuaded, that your apparition is talking to me now, as that I did notreally see her: for I was under no manner of fear, and received her as afriend, and parted with her as such. I would not, says she, give onefarthing to make any one believe it: I have no interest in it; nothingbut trouble is entailed upon me for a long time, for aught I know; andhad it not come to light by accident, it would never have been madepublic. But now, she says, she will make her own private use of it, andkeep herself out of the way as much as she can; and so she has donesince. She says, She had a gentleman who came thirty miles to her tohear the relation; and that she had told it to a room full of people ata time. Several particular gentlemen have had the story from Mrs. Bargrave's own mouth. 

This thing has very much affected me, and I am as well satisfied, as Iam of the best-grounded matter of fact. And why we should dispute matterof fact, because we cannot solve things of which we can have no certainor demonstrative notions, seems strange to me. Mrs. Bargrave's authorityand sincerity alone, would have been undoubted in any other case. 

TO THE READER

The origin of the foregoing curious story seems to have been asfollows:--

An adventurous bookseller had ventured to print a considerable editionof a work by the Reverend Charles Drelincourt, minister of the Calvinistchurch in Paris, and translated by M. D'Assigny, under the title of "TheChristian's Defense against the Fear of Death, with several directionshow to prepare ourselves to die well. " But however certain the prospectof death, it is not so agreeable (unfortunately) as to invite the eagercontemplation of the public; and Drelincourt's book, being neglected, lay a dead stock on the hands of the publisher. In this emergency, heapplied to De Foe to assist him (by dint of such means as were then, aswell as now, pretty well understood in the literary world) in rescuingthe unfortunate book from the literary death to which general neglectseemed about to consign it. 

De Foe's genius and audacity devised a plan which, for assurance andingenuity, defied even the powers of Mr. Puff in the _Critic_: for whobut himself would have thought of summoning up a ghost from the grave tobear witness in favor of a halting body of divinity? There is amatter-of-fact, business-like style in the whole account of thetransaction, which bespeaks ineffable powers of self-possession. Thenarrative is drawn up "by a gentleman, a _Justice of Peace_ atMaidstone, in Kent, a very intelligent person. " And, moreover, "thediscourse is attested by a very sober gentlewoman, who lives inCanterbury, within a few doors of the house in which Mrs. Bargravelives. " The Justice believes his kinswoman to be of so discerning aspirit, as not to be put upon by any fallacy--and the kinswomanpositively assures the Justice, "that the whole matter, as it is relatedand laid down, is really true, and what she herself heard, as near asmay be, from Mrs. Bargrave's own mouth, who, she knows, had no reason toinvent or publish such a story, or any design to forge and tell a lie, being a woman of so much honesty and virtue, and her whole life acourse, as it were, of piety. " Skepticism itself could not resist thistriple court of evidence so artfully combined, the Justice attestingfor the discerning spirit of the sober and understanding gentlewoman hiskinswoman, and his kinswoman becoming bail for the veracity of Mrs. Bargrave. And here, gentle reader, admire the simplicity of those days. Had Mrs. Veal's visit to her friend happened in our time, the conductorsof the daily press would have given the word, and seven gentlemen untothe said press belonging, would, with an obedient start, have made offfor Kingston, for Canterbury, for Dover, --for Kamchatka ifnecessary, --to pose the Justice, cross-examine Mrs. Bargrave, confrontthe sober and understanding kinswoman, and dig Mrs. Veal up from hergrave, rather than not get to the bottom of the story. But in our timewe doubt and scrutinize; our ancestors wondered and believed. 

Before the story is commenced, the understanding gentlewoman (not theJustice of Peace), who is the reporter, takes some pains to repel theobjections made against the story by some of the friends of Mrs. Veal'sbrother, who consider the marvel as an aspersion on their family, and dowhat they can to laugh it out of countenance. Indeed, it is allowed, with admirable impartiality, that Mr. Veal is too much of a gentleman tosuppose Mrs. Bargrave invented the story--scandal itself could scarcehave supposed that--although one notorious liar, who is chastisedtowards the conclusion of the story, ventures to throw out such aninsinuation. No reasonable or respectable person, however, could befound to countenance the suspicion, and Mr. Veal himself opined thatMrs. Bargrave had been driven crazy by a cruel husband, and dreamed thewhole story of the apparition. Now all this is sufficiently artful. Tohave vouched the fact as universally known, and believed by every one, _nem. Con. _, would not have been half so satisfactory to a skeptic as toallow fairly that the narrative had been impugned, and hint at thecharacter of one of those skeptics, and the motives of another, assufficient to account for their want of belief. Now to the fact itself. 

Mrs. Bargrave and Mrs. Veal had been friends in youth, and had protestedtheir attachment should last as long as they lived; but when Mrs. Veal'sbrother obtained an office in the customs at Dover, some cessation oftheir intimacy ensued, "though without any positive quarrel. " Mrs. Bargrave had removed to Canterbury, and was residing in a house of herown, when she was suddenly interrupted by a visit from Mrs. Veal, as shewas sitting in deep contemplation of certain distresses of her own. Thevisitor was in a riding-habit, and announced herself as prepared for adistant journey (which seems to intimate that spirits have aconsiderable distance to go before they arrive at their appointedstation, and that the females at least put on a _habit_ for theoccasion). The spirit, for such was the seeming Mrs. Veal, continued towaive the ceremony of salutation, both in going and coming, which willremind the reader of a ghostly lover's reply to his mistress in the fineold Scottish ballad:--

 Why should I come within thy bower? I am no earthly man; And should I kiss thy rosy lips, Thy days would not be lang. 

They then began to talk in the homely style of middle-aged ladies, andMrs. Veal proses concerning the conversations they had formerly held, and the books they had read together. Her very recent experienceprobably led Mrs. Veal to talk of death, and the books written on thesubject, and she pronounced _ex cathedrá_, as a dead person was bestentitled to do, that "Drelincourt's book on Death was the best book onthe subject ever written. " She also mentioned Dr. Sherlock, two Dutchbooks which had been translated, and several others; but Drelincourt, she said, had the clearest notions of death and the future state of anywho had handled that subject. She then asked for the work [we marvel theedition and impress had not been mentioned] and lectured on it withgreat eloquence and affection. Dr. Kenrick's _Ascetick_ was alsomentioned with approbation by this critical specter [the Doctor's workwas no doubt a tenant of the shelf in some favorite publisher's shop];and Mr. Norris's _Poem on Friendship_, a work, which I doubt, thoughhonored with a ghost's approbation, we may now seek for as vainly asCorrelli tormented his memory to recover the sonata which the devilplayed to him in a dream. Presently after, from former habits we maysuppose, the guest desires a cup of tea; but, bethinking herself of hernew character, escapes from her own proposal by recollecting that Mr. Bargrave was in the habit of breaking his wife's china. It would havebeen indeed strangely out of character if the spirit had lunched, orbreakfasted upon tea and toast. Such a consummation would have soundedas ridiculous as if the statue of the commander in _Don Juan_ had notonly accepted of the invitation of the libertine to supper, but had alsocommitted a beefsteak to his flinty jaws and stomach of adamant. Alittle more conversation ensued of a less serious nature, and tending toshow that even the passage from life to death leaves the female anxietyabout person and dress somewhat alive. The ghost asked Mrs. Bargravewhether she did not think her very much altered, and Mrs. Bargrave ofcourse complimented her on her good looks. Mrs. Bargrave also admiredthe gown which Mrs. Veal wore, and as a mark of her perfectly restoredconfidence, the spirit led her into the important secret, that it was a_scoured silk_, and lately made up. She informed her also of anothersecret, namely, that one Mr. Breton had allowed her ten pounds a year;and, lastly, she requested that Mrs. Bargrave would write to herbrother, and tell him how to distribute her mourning rings, andmentioned there was a purse of gold in her cabinet. She expressed somewish to see Mrs. Bargrave's daughter; but when that good lady went tothe next door to seek her, she found on her return the guest leaving thehouse. She had got without the door, in the street, in the face of thebeast market, on a Saturday, which is market day, and stood ready topart. She said she must be going, as she had to call upon her cousinWatson (this appears to be a _gratis dictum_ on the part of the ghost)and, maintaining the character of mortality to the last, she quietlyturned the corner, and walked out of sight. 

Then came the news of Mrs. Veal's having died the day before at noon. Says Mrs. Bargrave, "I am sure she was with me on Saturday almost twohours. " And in comes Captain Watson, and says Mrs. Veal was certainlydead. And then come all the pieces of evidence, and especially thestriped silk gown. Then Mrs. Watson cried out, "You have seen herindeed, for none knew but Mrs. Veal and I that that gown was scoured";and she cried that the gown was described exactly, for, said she, "Ihelped her to make it up. " And next we have the silly attempts made todiscredit the history. Even Mr. Veal, her brother, was obliged to allowthat the gold was found, but with a difference, and pretended it was notfound in a cabinet, but elsewhere; and, in short, we have all the gossipof _says I_, and _thinks I_, and _says she_, and _thinks she_, whichdisputed matters usually excite in a country town. 

When we have thus turned the tale, the seam without, it may be thoughttoo ridiculous to have attracted notice. But whoever will read it astold by De Foe himself, will agree that, could the thing have happenedin reality, so it would have been told. The sobering the wholesupernatural visit into the language of the middle or low life, gives itan air of probability even in its absurdity. The ghost of an exciseman'shousekeeper, and a seamstress, were not to converse like Brutus with hisEvil Genius. And the circumstances of scoured silks, broken tea-china, and such like, while they are the natural topics of such persons'conversation, would, one might have thought, be the last which aninventor would have introduced into a pretended narrative betwixt thedead and living. In short, the whole is so distinctly circumstantial, that, were it not for the impossibility, or extreme improbability atleast, of such an occurrence, the evidence could not but support thestory. 

The effect was most wonderful. _Drelincourt upon Death_, attested by onewho could speak from experience, took an unequaled run. The copies hadhung on the bookseller's hands as heavy as a pile of lead bullets. Theynow traversed the town in every direction, like the same ballsdischarged from a field-piece. In short, the object of Mrs. Veal'sapparition was perfectly attained. --[See The Miscellaneous Prose Worksof Sir Walter Scott, Bart. , vol. Iv. P. 305, ed. 1827. ]

CANON ALBERIC'S SCRAP-BOOK

BY MONTAGUE RHODES JAMES

St. Bertrand de Comminges is a decayed town on the spurs of thePyrenees, not very far from Toulouse, and still nearer toBagnères-de-Luchon. It was the site of a bishopric until the Revolution, and has a cathedral which is visited by a certain number of tourists. Inthe spring of 1883 an Englishman arrived at this old-world place--I canhardly dignify it with the name of city, for there are not a thousandinhabitants. He was a Cambridge man, who had come specially fromToulouse to see St. Bertrand's Church, and had left two friends, whowere less keen archæologists than himself, in their hotel at Toulouse, under promise to join him on the following morning. Half an hour at thechurch would satisfy _them_, and all three could then pursue theirjourney in the direction of Auch. But our Englishman had come early onthe day in question, and proposed to himself to fill a note-book and touse several dozens of plates in the process of describing andphotographing every corner of the wonderful church that dominates thelittle hill of Comminges. In order to carry out this designsatisfactorily, it was necessary to monopolize the verger of the churchfor the day. The verger or sacristan (I prefer the latter appellation, inaccurate as it may be) was accordingly sent for by the somewhatbrusque lady who keeps the inn of the Chapeau Rouge; and when he came, the Englishman found him an unexpectedly interesting object of study. Itwas not in the personal appearance of the little, dry, wizened old manthat the interest lay, for he was precisely like dozens of otherchurch-guardians in France, but in a curious furtive, or rather huntedand oppressed, air which he had. He was perpetually half glancing behindhim; the muscles of his back and shoulders seemed to be hunched in acontinual nervous contraction, as if he were expecting every moment tofind himself in the clutch of an enemy. The Englishman hardly knewwhether to put him down as a man haunted by a fixed delusion, or as oneoppressed by a guilty conscience, or as an unbearably henpecked husband. The probabilities, when reckoned up, certainly pointed to the last idea;but, still, the impression conveyed was that of a more formidablepersecutor even than a termagant wife. 

However, the Englishman (let us call him Dennistoun) was soon too deepin his note-book and too busy with his camera to give more than anoccasional glance to the sacristan. Whenever he did look at him, hefound him at no great distance, either huddling himself back against thewall or crouching in one of the gorgeous stalls. Dennistoun becamerather fidgety after a time. Mingled suspicions that he was keeping theold man from his _déjeuner_, that he was regarded as likely to make awaywith St. Bertrand's ivory crozier, or with the dusty stuffed crocodilethat hangs over the font, began to torment him. 

"Won't you go home?" he said at last; "I'm quite well able to finish mynotes alone; you can lock me in if you like. I shall want at least twohours more here, and it must be cold for you, isn't it?"

"Good heavens!" said the little man, whom the suggestion seemed to throwinto a state of unaccountable terror, "such a thing cannot be thought offor a moment. Leave monsieur alone in the church? No, no; two hours, three hours, all will be the same to me. I have breakfasted, I am not atall cold, with many thanks to monsieur. "

"Very well, my little man, " quoth Dennistoun to himself: "you have beenwarned, and you must take the consequences. "

Before the expiration of the two hours, the stalls, the enormousdilapidated organ, the choir-screen of Bishop John de Mauléon, theremnants of glass and tapestry, and the objects in the treasure-chamber, had been well and truly examined; the sacristan still keeping atDennistoun's heels, and every now and then whipping round as if he hadbeen stung, when one or other of the strange noises that trouble alarge empty building fell on his ear. Curious noises they weresometimes. 

"Once, " Dennistoun said to me, "I could have sworn I heard a thinmetallic voice laughing high up in the tower. I darted an inquiringglance at my sacristan. He was white to the lips. 'It is he--that is--itis no one; the door is locked, ' was all he said, and we looked at eachother for a full minute. "

Another little incident puzzled Dennistoun a good deal. He was examininga large dark picture that hangs behind the altar, one of a seriesillustrating the miracles of St. Bertrand. The composition of thepicture is well-nigh indecipherable, but there is a Latin legend below, which runs thus:

 "Qualiter S. Bertrandus liberavit hominem quem diabolus diu volebat strangulare. " (How St. Bertrand delivered a man whom the Devil long sought to strangle. )

Dennistoun was turning to the sacristan with a smile and a jocularremark of some sort on his lips, but he was confounded to see the oldman on his knees, gazing at the picture with the eye of a suppliant inagony, his hands tightly clasped, and a rain of tears on his cheeks. Dennistoun naturally pretended to have noticed nothing, but the questionwould not away from him, "Why should a daub of this kind affect any oneso strongly?" He seemed to himself to be getting some sort of clue tothe reason of the strange look that had been puzzling him all the day:the man must be monomaniac; but what was his monomania?

It was nearly five o'clock; the short day was drawing in, and the churchbegan to fill with shadows, while the curious noises--the muffledfootfalls and distant talking voices that had been perceptible allday--seemed, no doubt because of the fading light and the consequentlyquickened sense of hearing, to become more frequent and insistent. 

The sacristan began for the first time to show signs of hurry andimpatience. He heaved a sigh of relief when camera and note-book werefinally packed up and stowed away, and hurriedly beckoned Dennistoun tothe western door of the church, under the tower. It was time to ring theAngelus. A few pulls at the reluctant rope, and the great bellBertrande, high in the tower, began to speak, and swung her voice upamong the pines and down to the valleys, loud with mountain-streams, calling the dwellers on those lonely hills to remember and repeat thesalutation of the angel to her whom he called Blessed among women. Withthat a profound quiet seemed to fall for the first time that day uponthe little town, and Dennistoun and the sacristan went out of thechurch. 

On the doorstep they fell into conversation. 

"Monsieur seemed to interest himself in the old choir-books in thesacristy. "

"Undoubtedly. I was going to ask you if there were a library in thetown. "

"No, monsieur; perhaps there used to be one belonging to the Chapter, but it is now such a small place----" Here came a strange pause ofirresolution, as it seemed; then, with a sort of plunge, he went on:"But if monsieur is _amateur des vieux livres_, I have at home somethingthat might interest him. It is not a hundred yards. "

At once all Dennistoun's cherished dreams of finding pricelessmanuscripts in untrodden corners of France flashed up, to die down againthe next moment. It was probably a stupid missal of Plantin's printing, about 1580. Where was the likelihood that a place so near Toulouse wouldnot have been ransacked long ago by collectors? However, it would befoolish not to go; he would reproach himself for ever after if herefused. So they set off. On the way the curious irresolution and suddendetermination of the sacristan recurred to Dennistoun, and he wonderedin a shamefaced way whether he was being decoyed into some purlieu to bemade away with as a supposed rich Englishman. He contrived, therefore, to begin talking with his guide, and to drag in, in a rather clumsyfashion, the fact that he expected two friends to join him early thenext morning. To his surprise, the announcement seemed to relieve thesacristan at once of some of the anxiety that oppressed him. 

"That is well, " he said quite brightly--"that is very well. Monsieurwill travel in company with his friends; they will be always near him. It is a good thing to travel thus in company--sometimes. "

The last word appeared to be added as an afterthought, and to bring withit a relapse into gloom for the poor little man. 

They were soon at the house, which was one rather larger than itsneighbors, stone-built, with a shield carved over the door, the shieldof Alberic de Mauléon, a collateral descendant, Dennistoun tells me, ofBishop John de Mauléon. This Alberic was a Canon of Comminges from 1680to 1701. The upper windows of the mansion were boarded up, and the wholeplace bore, as does the rest of Comminges, the aspect of decaying age. 

Arrived on his doorstep, the sacristan paused a moment. 

"Perhaps, " he said, "perhaps, after all, monsieur has not the time?"

"Not at all--lots of time--nothing to do till to-morrow. Let us see whatit is you have got. "

The door was opened at this point, and a face looked out, a face faryounger than the sacristan's, but bearing something of the samedistressing look: only here it seemed to be the mark, not so much offear for personal safety as of acute anxiety on behalf of another. Plainly, the owner of the face was the sacristan's daughter; and, butfor the expression I have described, she was a handsome girl enough. Shebrightened up considerably on seeing her father accompanied by anable-bodied stranger. A few remarks passed between father and daughter, of which Dennistoun only caught these words, said by the sacristan, "Hewas laughing in the church, " words which were answered only by a look ofterror from the girl. 

But in another minute they were in the sitting-room of the house, asmall, high chamber with a stone floor, full of moving shadows cast by awood-fire that flickered on a great hearth. Something of the characterof an oratory was imparted to it by a tall crucifix, which reachedalmost to the ceiling on one side; the figure was painted of the naturalcolors, the cross was black. Under this stood a chest of some age andsolidity, and when a lamp had been brought, and chairs set, thesacristan went to this chest, and produced therefrom, with growingexcitement and nervousness, as Dennistoun thought, a large book wrappedin a white cloth, on which cloth a cross was rudely embroidered in redthread. Even before the wrapping had been removed, Dennistoun began tobe interested by the size and shape of the volume. "Too large for amissal, " he thought, "and not the shape of an antiphoner; perhaps it maybe something good, after all. " The next moment the book was open, andDennistoun felt that he had at last lit upon something better than good. Before him lay a large folio, bound, perhaps, late in the seventeenthcentury, with the arms of Canon Alberic de Mauléon stamped in gold onthe sides. There may have been a hundred and fifty leaves of paper inthe book, and on almost every one of them was fastened a leaf from anilluminated manuscript. Such a collection Dennistoun had hardly dreamedof in his wildest moments. Here were ten leaves from a copy of Genesis, illustrated with pictures, which could not be later than 700 A. D. Further on was a complete set of pictures from a psalter, of Englishexecution, of the very finest kind that the thirteenth century couldproduce; and, perhaps best of all, there were twenty leaves of uncialwriting in Latin, which, as a few words seen here and there told him atonce, must belong to some very early unknown patristic treatise. Couldit possibly be a fragment of the copy of Papias "On the Words of OurLord, " which was known to have existed as late as the twelfth century atNîmes?[A] In any case, his mind was made up; that book must return toCambridge with him, even if he had to draw the whole of his balance fromthe bank and stay at St. Bertrand till the money came. He glanced up atthe sacristan to see if his face yielded any hint that the book was forsale. The sacristan was pale, and his lips were working. 

"If monsieur will turn on to the end, " he said. 

So monsieur turned on, meeting new treasures at every rise of a leaf;and at the end of the book he came upon two sheets of paper, of muchmore recent date than anything he had yet seen, which puzzled himconsiderably. They must be contemporary, he decided, with theunprincipled Canon Alberic, who had doubtless plundered the Chapterlibrary of St. Bertrand to form this priceless scrapbook. On the firstof the paper sheets was a plan, carefully drawn and instantlyrecognizable by a person who knew the ground, of the south aisle andcloisters of St. Bertrand's. There were curious signs looking likeplanetary symbols, and a few Hebrew words in the corners; and in thenorthwest angle of the cloister was a cross drawn in gold paint. Belowthe plan were some lines of writing in Latin, which ran thus:

 "Responsa 12^{mi} Dec. 1694. Interrogatum est: Inveniamne? Responsum est: Invenies. Fiamne dives? Fies. Vivamne invidendus? Vives. Moriarne in lecto meo? Ita. " (Answers of the 12th of December, 1694. It was asked: Shall I find it? Answer: Thou shalt. Shall I become rich? Thou wilt. Shall I live an object of envy? Thou wilt. Shall I die in my bed? Thou wilt. )

"A good specimen of the treasure-hunter's record--quite reminds one ofMr. Minor-Canon Quatremain in 'Old St. Paul's, '" was Dennistoun'scomment, and he turned the leaf. 

What he then saw impressed him, as he has often told me, more than hecould have conceived any drawing or picture capable of impressing him. And, though the drawing he saw is no longer in existence, there is aphotograph of it (which I possess) which fully bears out that statement. The picture in question was a sepia drawing at the end of theseventeenth century, representing, one would say at first sight, aBiblical scene; for the architecture (the picture represented aninterior) and the figures had that semi-classical flavor about themwhich the artists of two hundred years ago thought appropriate toillustrations of the Bible. On the right was a king on his throne, thethrone elevated on twelve steps, a canopy overhead, soldiers on eitherside--evidently King Solomon. He was bending forward with outstretchedscepter, in attitude of command; his face expressed horror and disgust, yet there was in it also the mark of imperious command and confidentpower. The left half of the picture was the strangest, however. Theinterest plainly centered there. On the pavement before the throne weregrouped four soldiers, surrounding a crouching figure which must bedescribed in a moment. A fifth soldier lay dead on the pavement, hisneck distorted, and his eyeballs starting from his head. The foursurrounding guards were looking at the King. In their faces thesentiment of horror was intensified; they seemed, in fact, onlyrestrained from flight by their implicit trust in their master. All thisterror was plainly excited by the being that crouched in their midst. I entirely despair of conveying by any words the impression which thisfigure makes upon any one who looks at it. I recollect once showing thephotograph of the drawing to a lecturer on morphology--a person of, Iwas going to say, abnormally sane and unimaginative habits of mind. Heabsolutely refused to be alone for the rest of that evening, and he toldme afterwards that for many nights he had not dared to put out his lightbefore going to sleep. However, the main traits of the figure I can atleast indicate. At first you saw only a mass of coarse, matted blackhair; presently it was seen that this covered a body of fearfulthinness, almost a skeleton, but with the muscles standing out likewires. The hands were of a dusky pallor, covered, like the body, withlong, coarse hairs, and hideously taloned. The eyes, touched in with aburning yellow, had intensely black pupils, and were fixed upon thethroned king with a look of beast-like hate. Imagine one of the awfulbird-catching spiders of South America translated into human form, andendowed with intelligence just less than human, and you will have somefaint conception of the terror inspired by the appalling effigy. Oneremark is universally made by those to whom I have shown the picture:"It was drawn from the life. "

As soon as the first shock of his irresistible fright had subsided, Dennistoun stole a look at his hosts. The sacristan's hands were pressedupon his eyes; his daughter, looking up at the cross on the wall, wastelling her beads feverishly. 

At last the question was asked, "Is this book for sale?"

There was the same hesitation, the same plunge of determination, that hehad noticed before, and then came the welcome answer, "If monsieurpleases. "

"How much do you ask for it?"

"I will take two hundred and fifty francs. "

This was confounding. Even a collector's conscience is sometimesstirred, and Dennistoun's conscience was tenderer than a collector's. 

"My good man!" he said again and again, "your book is worth far morethan two hundred and fifty francs, I assure you--far more. "

But the answer did not vary: "I will take two hundred and fifty francs, not more. "

There was really no possibility of refusing such a chance. The money waspaid, the receipt signed, a glass of wine drunk over the transaction, and then the sacristan seemed to become a new man. He stood upright, heceased to throw those suspicious glances behind him, he actually laughedor tried to laugh. Dennistoun rose to go. 

"I shall have the honor of accompanying monsieur to his hotel?" said thesacristan. 

"Oh no, thanks! it isn't a hundred yards. I know the way perfectly, andthere is a moon. "

The offer was pressed three or four times, and refused as often. 

"Then, monsieur will summon me if--if he finds occasion; he will keepthe middle of the road, the sides are so rough. "

"Certainly, certainly, " said Dennistoun, who was impatient to examinehis prize by himself; and he stepped out into the passage with his bookunder his arm. 

Here he was met by the daughter; she, it appeared, was anxious to do alittle business on her own account; perhaps, like Gehazi, to "takesomewhat" from the foreigner whom her father had spared. 

"A silver crucifix and chain for the neck; monsieur would perhaps begood enough to accept it?"

Well, really, Dennistoun hadn't much use for these things. What didmademoiselle want for it?

"Nothing--nothing in the world. Monsieur is more than welcome to it. "

The tone in which this and much more was said was unmistakably genuine, so that Dennistoun was reduced to profuse thanks, and submitted to havethe chain put round his neck. It really seemed as if he had rendered thefather and daughter some service which they hardly knew how to repay. Ashe set off with his book they stood at the door looking after him, andthey were still looking when he waved them a last good-night from thesteps of the Chapeau Rouge. 

Dinner was over, and Dennistoun was in his bedroom, shut up alone withhis acquisition. The landlady had manifested a particular interest inhim since he had told her that he had paid a visit to the sacristan andbought an old book from him. He thought, too, that he had heard ahurried dialogue between her and the said sacristan in the passageoutside the _salle à manger_; some words to the effect that "Pierre andBertrand would be sleeping in the house" had closed the conversation. 

At this time a growing feeling of discomfort had been creeping overhim--nervous reaction, perhaps, after the delight of his discovery. Whatever it was, it resulted in a conviction that there was some onebehind him, and that he was far more comfortable with his back to thewall. All this, of course, weighed light in the balance as against theobvious value of the collection he had acquired. And now, as I said, hewas alone in his bedroom, taking stock of Canon Alberic's treasures, inwhich every moment revealed something more charming. 

"Bless Canon Alberic!" said Dennistoun, who had an inveterate habit oftalking to himself. "I wonder where he is now? Dear me! I wish thatlandlady would learn to laugh in a more cheering manner; it makes onefeel as if there was some one dead in the house. Half a pipe more, didyou say? I think perhaps you are right. I wonder what that crucifix isthat the young woman insisted on giving me? Last century, I suppose. Yes, probably. It is rather a nuisance of a thing to have round one'sneck--just too heavy. Most likely her father had been wearing it foryears. I think I might give it a clean up before I put it away. "

He had taken the crucifix off, and laid it on the table, when hisattention was caught by an object lying on the red cloth just by hisleft elbow. Two or three ideas of what it might be flitted through hisbrain with their own incalculable quickness. 

"A penwiper? No, no such thing in the house. A rat? No, too black. Alarge spider? I trust to goodness not--no. Good God! a hand like thehand in that picture!"

In another infinitesimal flash he had taken it in. Pale, dusky skin, covering nothing but bones and tendons of appalling strength; coarseblack hairs, longer than ever grew on a human hand; nails rising fromthe ends of the fingers and curving sharply down and forward, gray, horny and wrinkled. 

He flew out of his chair with deadly, inconceivable terror clutching athis heart. The shape, whose left hand rested on the table, was rising toa standing posture behind his seat, its right hand crooked above hisscalp. There was black and tattered drapery about it; the coarse haircovered it as in the drawing. The lower jaw was thin--what can I callit?--shallow, like a beast's; teeth showed behind the black lips; therewas no nose; the eyes, of a fiery yellow, against which the pupilsshowed black and intense, and the exulting hate and thirst to destroylife which shone there, were the most horrifying feature in the wholevision. There was intelligence of a kind in them--intelligence beyondthat of a beast, below that of a man. 

The feelings which this horror stirred in Dennistoun were the intensestphysical fear and the most profound mental loathing. What did he do?What could he do? He has never been quite certain what words he said, but he knows that he spoke, that he grasped blindly at the silvercrucifix, that he was conscious of a movement towards him on the part ofthe demon, and that he screamed with the voice of an animal in hideouspain. 

Pierre and Bertrand, the two sturdy little serving-men, who rushed in, saw nothing, but felt themselves thrust aside by something that passedout between them, and found Dennistoun in a swoon. They sat up with himthat night, and his two friends were at St. Bertrand by nine o'clocknext morning. He himself, though still shaken and nervous, was almosthimself by that time, and his story found credence with them, though notuntil they had seen the drawing and talked with the sacristan. 

Almost at dawn the little man had come to the inn on some pretense, andhad listened with the deepest interest to the story retailed by thelandlady. He showed no surprise. 

"It is he--it is he! I have seen him myself, " was his only comment; andto all questionings but one reply was vouchsafed: "Deux fois je l'ai vu;mille fois je l'ai senti. " He would tell them nothing of the provenanceof the book, nor any details of his experiences. "I shall soon sleep, and my rest will be sweet. Why should you trouble me?" he said. [B]

We shall never know what he or Canon Alberic de Mauléon suffered. At theback of that fateful drawing were some lines of writing which may besupposed to throw light on the situation:

 "Contradictio Salomonis cum demonio nocturno. Albericus de Mauleone delineavit. V. Deus in adiutorium. Ps. Qui habitat. Sancte Bertrande, demoniorum effugator, intercede pro me miserrimo. Primum uidi nocte 12^{mi} Dec. 1694: uidebo mox ultimum. Peccaui et passus sum, plura adhuc passurus. Dec. 29, 1701. "[C]

I have never quite understood what was Dennistoun's view of the eventsI have narrated. He quoted to me once a test from Ecclesiasticus: "Somespirits there be that are created for vengeance, and in their fury layon sore strokes. " On another occasion he said: "Isaiah was a verysensible man; doesn't he say something about night monsters living inthe ruins of Babylon? These things are rather beyond us at present. "

Another confidence of his impressed me rather, and I sympathized withit. We had been, last year, to Comminges, to see Canon Alberic's tomb. It is a great marble erection with an effigy of the Canon in a large wigand soutane, and an elaborate eulogy of his learning below. I sawDennistoun talking for some time with the Vicar of St. Bertrand's, andas we drove away he said to me: "I hope it isn't wrong: you know I am aPresbyterian--but I--I believe there will be 'saying of Mass and singingof dirges' for Alberic de Mauléon's rest. " Then he added, with a touchof the Northern British in his tone, "I had no notion they came sodear. "

 * * * * *

The book is in the Wentworth Collection at Cambridge. The drawing wasphotographed and then burnt by Dennistoun on the day when he leftComminges on the occasion of his first visit. 

FOOTNOTES:

[A] We now know that these leaves did contain a considerable fragment ofthat work, if not of that actual copy of it. 

[B] He died that summer; his daughter married, and settled at St. Papoul. She never understood the circumstances of her father's"obsession. "

[C] _I. E. _, The Dispute of Solomon with a demon of the night. Drawn byAlberic de Mauléon. _Versicle. _ O Lord, make haste to help me. _Psalm. _Whoso dwelleth (xci. ). 

Saint Bertrand, who puttest devils to flight, pray for me most unhappy. I saw it first on the night of Dec. 12, 1694: soon I shall see it forthe last time. I have sinned and suffered, and have more to suffer yet. Dec. 29, 1701. 

The "Gallia Christiana" gives the date of the Canon's death as December31, 1701, "in bed, of a sudden seizure. " Details of this kind are notcommon in the great work of the Sammarthani. 

THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS

OR, THE HOUSE AND THE BRAIN

BY EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON

A friend of mine, who is a man of letters and a philosopher, said to meone day, as if between jest and earnest, --"Fancy! since we last met, Ihave discovered a haunted house in the midst of London. "

"Really haunted?--and by what? ghosts?"

"Well, I can't answer that question: all I know is this--six weeks agomy wife and I were in search of a furnished apartment. Passing a quietstreet, we saw on the window of one of the houses a bill, 'ApartmentsFurnished. ' The situation suited us; we entered the house--liked therooms--engaged them by the week--and left them the third day. No poweron earth could have reconciled my wife to stay longer; and I don'twonder at it. "

"What did you see?"

"Excuse me--I have no desire to be ridiculed as a superstitiousdreamer--nor, on the other hand, could I ask you to accept on myaffirmation what you would hold to be incredible without the evidence ofyour own senses. Let me only say this, it was not so much what we saw orheard (in which you might fairly suppose that we were the dupes of ourown excited fancy, or the victims of imposture in others) that drove usaway, as it was an undefinable terror which seized both of us wheneverwe passed by the door of a certain unfurnished room, in which we neithersaw nor heard anything. And the strangest marvel of all was, that foronce in my life I agreed with my wife, silly woman though she be--andallowed, after the third night, that it was impossible to stay a fourthin that house. Accordingly, on the fourth morning I summoned the womanwho kept the house and attended on us, and told her that the rooms didnot quite suit us, and we would not stay out our week. She said, dryly, 'I know why: you have stayed longer than any other lodger. Few everstayed a second night; none before you a third. But I take it they havebeen very kind to you. '

"'They--who?' I asked, affecting to smile. 

"'Why, they who haunt the house, whoever they are. I don't mind them;I remember them many years ago, when I lived in this house, not as aservant; but I know they will be the death of me some day. I don'tcare--I'm old, and must die soon anyhow; and then I shall be with them, and in this house still. ' The woman spoke with so dreary a calmness, that really it was a sort of awe that prevented my conversing with herfurther. I paid for my week, and too happy were my wife and I to get offso cheaply. "

"You excite my curiosity, " said I; "nothing I should like better than tosleep in a haunted house. Pray give me the address of the one which youleft so ignominiously. "

My friend gave me the address; and when we parted, I walked straighttowards the house thus indicated. 

It is situated on the North side of Oxford Street (in a dull butrespectable thoroughfare). I found the house shut up--no bill at thewindow, and no response to my knock. As I was turning away, a beer-boy, collecting pewter pots at the neighboring areas, said to me, "Do youwant any one at that house, sir?"

"Yes, I heard it was to be let. "

"Let!--why, the woman who kept it is dead--has been dead these threeweeks, and no one can be found to stay there, though Mr. J---- offeredever so much. He offered mother, who chars for him, £1 a week just toopen and shut the windows, and she would not. "

"Would not!--and why?"

"The house is haunted: and the old woman who kept it was found dead inher bed, with her eyes wide open. They say the devil strangled her. "

"Pooh!--you speak of Mr. J----. Is he the owner of the house?"

"Yes. "

"Where does he live?"

"In G---- Street, No. --. "

"What is he?--in any business?"

"No, sir--nothing particular; a single gentleman. "

I gave the pot-boy the gratuity earned by his liberal information, andproceeded to Mr. J----, in G---- Street, which was close by the streetthat boasted the haunted house. I was lucky enough to find Mr. J---- athome--an elderly man, with intelligent countenance and prepossessingmanners. 

I communicated my name and my business frankly. I said I heard the housewas considered to be haunted--that I had a strong desire to examine ahouse with so equivocal a reputation--that I should be greatly obligedif he would allow me to hire it, though only for a night. I was willingto pay for that privilege whatever he might be inclined to ask. "Sir, "said Mr. J----, with great courtesy, "the house is at your service, foras short or as long a time as you please. Rent is out of thequestion--the obligation will be on my side should you be able todiscover the cause of the strange phenomena which at present deprive itof all value. I cannot let it, for I cannot even get a servant to keepit in order or answer the door. Unluckily the house is haunted, if I mayuse that expression, not only by night, but by day; though at night thedisturbances are of a more unpleasant and sometimes of a more alarmingcharacter. The poor old woman who died in it three weeks ago was apauper whom I took out of a workhouse, for in her childhood she had beenknown to some of my family, and had once been in such good circumstancesthat she had rented that house of my uncle. She was a woman of superioreducation and strong mind, and was the only person I could ever induceto remain in the house. Indeed, since her death, which was sudden, andthe coroner's inquest, which gave it a notoriety in the neighborhood, I have so despaired of finding any person to take charge of the house, much more a tenant, that I would willingly let it rent-free for a yearto any one who would pay its rates and taxes. "

"How long is it since the house acquired this sinister character?"

"That I can scarcely tell you, but very many years since. The old womanI spoke of said it was haunted when she rented it between thirty andforty years ago. The fact is, that my life has been spent in the EastIndies, and in the civil service of the Company. I returned to Englandlast year, on inheriting the fortune of an uncle, among whosepossessions was the house in question. I found it shut up anduninhabited. I was told that it was haunted, that no one would inhabitit. I smiled at what seemed to me so idle a story. I spent some money inrepairing it--added to its old-fashioned furniture a few modernarticles--advertised it, and obtained a lodger for a year. He was acolonel retired on half-pay. He came in with his family, a son and adaughter, and four or five servants: they all left the house the nextday; and, although each of them declared that he had seen somethingdifferent from that which had scared the others, a something still wasequally terrible to all. I really could not in conscience sue, nor evenblame, the colonel for breach of agreement. Then I put in the old womanI have spoken of, and she was empowered to let the house in apartments. I never had one lodger who stayed more than three days. I do not tellyou their stories--to no two lodgers have there been exactly the samephenomena repeated. It is better that you should judge for yourself, than enter the house with an imagination influenced by previousnarratives; only be prepared to see and to hear something or other, andtake whatever precautions you yourself please. "

"Have you never had a curiosity yourself to pass a night in that house?"

"Yes. I passed not a night, but three hours in broad daylight alone inthat house. My curiosity is not satisfied but it is quenched. I have nodesire to renew the experiment. You cannot complain, you see, sir, thatI am not sufficiently candid; and unless your interest be exceedinglyeager and your nerves unusually strong, I honestly add, that I adviseyou not to pass a night in that house. "

"My interest _is_ exceedingly keen, " said I, "and though only a cowardwill boast of his nerves in situations wholly unfamiliar to him, yet mynerves have been seasoned in such variety of danger that I have theright to rely on them--even in a haunted house. "

Mr. J---- said very little more; he took the keys of the house out ofhis bureau, gave them to me--and, thanking him cordially for hisfrankness, and his urbane concession to my wish, I carried off my prize. 

Impatient for the experiment, as soon as I reached home, I summoned myconfidential servant--a young man of gay spirits, fearless temper, andas free from superstitious prejudices as any one I could think of. 

"F----, " said I, "you remember in Germany how disappointed we were atnot finding a ghost in that old castle, which was said to be haunted bya headless apparition? Well, I have heard of a house in London which, I have reason to hope, is decidedly haunted. I mean to sleep thereto-night. From what I hear, there is no doubt that something will allowitself to be seen or to be heard--something, perhaps, excessivelyhorrible. Do you think if I take you with me, I may rely on yourpresence of mind, whatever may happen?"

"Oh, sir! pray trust me, " answered F----, grinning with delight. 

"Very well; then here are the keys of the house--this is the address. Gonow--select for me any bedroom you please; and since the house has notbeen inhabited for weeks, make up a good fire--air the bed well--see, ofcourse, that there are candles as well as fuel. Take with you myrevolver and my dagger--so much for my weapons--arm yourself equallywell; and if we are not a match for a dozen ghosts, we shall be but asorry couple of Englishmen. "

I was engaged for the rest of the day on business so urgent that I hadnot leisure to think much on the nocturnal adventure to which I hadplighted my honor. I dined alone, and very late, and while dining, read, as is my habit. I selected one of the volumes of Macaulay's Essays. I thought to myself that I would take the book with me; there was somuch of the healthfulness in the style, and practical life in thesubjects, that it would serve as an antidote against the influence ofsuperstitious fancy. 

Accordingly, about half-past nine, I put the book into my pocket, andstrolled leisurely towards the haunted house. I took with me a favoritedog--an exceedingly sharp, bold and vigilant bull-terrier--a dog fond ofprowling about strange ghostly corners and passages at night in searchof rats--a dog of dogs for a ghost. 

It was a summer night, but chilly, the sky somewhat gloomy and overcast. Still there was a moon--faint and sickly, but still a moon--and if theclouds permitted, after midnight it would be brighter. 

I reached the house, knocked, and my servant opened with a cheerfulsmile. 

"All right, sir, and very comfortable. "

"Oh!" said I, rather disappointed; "have you not seen nor heard anythingremarkable?"

"Well, sir, I must own I have heard something queer. "

"What?--what?"

"The sound of feet pattering behind me; and once or twice small noiseslike whispers close at my ear--nothing more. "

"You are not at all frightened?"

"I! not a bit of it, sir, " and the man's bold look reassured me on onepoint--viz. , that happen what might, he would not desert me. 

We were in the hall, the street-door closed, and my attention was nowdrawn to my dog. He had at first run in eagerly enough, but had sneakedback to the door, and was scratching and whining to get out. Afterpatting him on the head, and encouraging him gently, the dog seemed toreconcile himself to the situation, and followed me and F---- throughthe house, but keeping close at my heels instead of hurryinginquisitively in advance, which was his usual and normal habit in allstrange places. We first visited the subterranean apartments, thekitchen and other offices, and especially the cellars, in which lastthere were two or three bottles of wine still left in a bin, coveredwith cobwebs, and evidently, by their appearance, undisturbed for manyyears. It was clear that the ghosts were not wine-bibbers. For the restwe discovered nothing of interest. There was a gloomy little backyardwith very high walls. The stones of this yard were very damp; and whatwith the damp, and what with the dust and smoke-grime on the pavement, our feet left a slight impression where we passed. 

And now appeared the first strange phenomenon witnessed by myself inthis strange abode. I saw, just before me, the print of a foot suddenlyform itself, as it were. I stopped, caught hold of my servant, andpointed to it. In advance of that footprint as suddenly dropped another. We both saw it. I advanced quickly to the place; the footprint keptadvancing before me, a small footprint--the foot of a child; theimpression was too faint thoroughly to distinguish the shape, but itseemed to us both that it was the print of a naked foot. This phenomenonceased when we arrived at the opposite wall, nor did it repeat itself onreturning. We remounted the stairs, and entered the rooms on the groundfloor, a dining-parlor, a small back parlor, and a still smaller thirdroom that had been probably appropriated to a footman--all still asdeath. We then visited the drawing-rooms, which seemed fresh and new. Inthe front room I seated myself in an armchair. F---- placed on the tablethe candlestick with which he had lighted us. I told him to shut thedoor. As he turned to do so, a chair opposite to me moved from the wallquickly and noiselessly, and dropped itself about a yard from my ownchair, immediately fronting it. 

"Why, this is better than the turning tables, " said I, with ahalf-laugh; and as I laughed, my dog put back his head and howled. 

F----, coming back, had not observed the movement of the chair. Heemployed himself now in stilling the dog. I continued to gaze on thechair, and fancied I saw on it a pale blue misty outline of a humanfigure, but an outline so indistinct that I could only distrust my ownvision. The dog now was quiet. 

"Put back that chair opposite me, " said I to F----; "put it back to thewall. "

F---- obeyed. "Was that you, sir?" said he, turning abruptly. 

"I!--what?"

"Why, something struck me. I felt it sharply on the shoulder--justhere. "

"No, " said I. "But we have jugglers present, and though we may notdiscover their tricks, we shall catch _them_ before they frighten _us_. "

We did not stay long in the drawing-rooms--in fact, they felt so dampand so chilly that I was glad to get to the fire upstairs. We locked thedoors of the drawing-rooms--a precaution which, I should observe, we hadtaken with all the rooms we had searched below. The bedroom my servanthad selected for me was the best on the floor--a large one, with twowindows fronting the street. The four-posted bed, which took up noinconsiderable space, was opposite to the fire, which burnt clear andbright; a door in the wall to the left, between the bed and the window, communicated with the room which my servant appropriated to himself. This last was a small room with a sofa-bed, and had no communicationwith the landing-place--no other door but that which conducted to thebedroom I was to occupy. On either side of my fireplace was a cupboard, without locks, flush with the wall and covered with the same dull-brownpaper. We examined these cupboards--only hooks to suspend femaledresses--nothing else; we sounded the walls--evidently solid--the outerwalls of the building. Having finished the survey of these apartments, warmed myself a few moments, and lighted my cigar, I then, stillaccompanied by F----, went forth to complete my reconnoiter. In thelanding-place there was another door; it was closed firmly. "Sir, " saidmy servant, in surprise, "I unlocked this door with all the others whenI first came; it cannot have got locked from the inside, for----"

Before he had finished his sentence, the door, which neither of us thenwas touching, opened quietly of itself. We looked at each other a singleinstant. The same thought seized both--some human agency might bedetected here. I rushed in first, my servant followed. A small blankdreary room without furniture--few empty boxes and hampers in acorner--a small window--the shutters closed--not even a fireplace--noother door than that by which we had entered--no carpet on the floor, and the floor seemed very old, uneven, worm-eaten, mended here andthere, as was shown by the whiter patches on the wood; but no livingbeing, and no visible place in which a living being could have hidden. As we stood gazing round, the door by which we had entered closed asquietly as it had before opened: we were imprisoned. 

For the first time I felt a creep of undefinable horror. Not so myservant. "Why, they don't think to trap us, sir; I could break thetrumpery door with a kick of my foot. "

"Try first if it will open to your hand, " said I, shaking off the vagueapprehension that had seized me, "while I unclose the shutters and seewhat is without. "

I unbarred the shutters--the window looked on the little back yard Ihave before described; there was no ledge without--nothing to break thesheer descent of the wall. No man getting out of that window would havefound any footing till he had fallen on the stones below. 

F----, meanwhile, was vainly attempting to open the door. He now turnedround to me and asked my permission to use force. And I should herestate, in justice to the servant, that, far from evincing anysuperstitious terrors, his nerve, composure, and even gayety amidstcircumstances so extraordinary, compelled my admiration, and made mecongratulate myself on having secured a companion in every way fitted tothe occasion. I willingly gave him the permission he required. Butthough he was a remarkably strong man, his force was as idle as hismilder efforts; the door did not even shake to his stoutest kick. Breathless and panting, he desisted. I then tried the door myself, equally in vain. As I ceased from the effort, again that creep of horrorcame over me; but this time it was more cold and stubborn. I felt as ifsome strange and ghastly exhalation were rising up from the chinks ofthat rugged floor, and filling the atmosphere with a venomous influencehostile to human life. The door now very slowly and quietly opened asof its own accord. We precipitated ourselves into the landing-place. Weboth saw a large pale light--as large as the human figure but shapelessand unsubstantial--move before us, and ascend the stairs that led fromthe landing into the attics. I followed the light, and my servantfollowed me. It entered, to the right of the landing, a small garret, ofwhich the door stood open. I entered in the same instant. The light thencollapsed into a small globule, exceedingly brilliant and vivid; resteda moment on a bed in the corner, quivered, and vanished. 

We approached the bed and examined it--a half-tester, such as iscommonly found in attics devoted to servants. On the drawers that stoodnear it we perceived an old faded silk kerchief, with the needle stillleft in a rent half repaired. The kerchief was covered with dust;probably it had belonged to the old woman who had last died in thathouse, and this might have been her sleeping room. I had sufficientcuriosity to open the drawers: there were a few odds and ends of femaledress, and two letters tied round with a narrow ribbon of faded yellow. I took the liberty to possess myself of the letters. We found nothingelse in the room worth noticing--nor did the light reappear; but wedistinctly heard, as we turned to go, a pattering footfall on thefloor--just before us. We went through the other attics (in all four), the footfall still preceding us. Nothing to be seen--nothing but thefootfall heard. I had the letters in my hand: just as I was descendingthe stairs I distinctly felt my wrist seized, and a faint soft effortmade to draw the letters from my clasp. I only held them the moretightly, and the effort ceased. 

We regained the bedchamber appropriated to myself, and I then remarkedthat my dog had not followed us when we had left it. He was thrustinghimself close to the fire, and trembling. I was impatient to examine theletters; and while I read them, my servant opened a little box in whichhe had deposited the weapons I had ordered him to bring; took them out, placed them on a table close at my bed-head, and then occupied himselfin soothing the dog, who, however, seemed to heed him very little. 

The letters were short--they were dated; the dates exactly thirty-fiveyears ago. They were evidently from a lover to his mistress, or ahusband to some young wife. Not only the terms of expression, but adistinct reference to a former voyage, indicated the writer to have beena seafarer. The spelling and handwriting were those of a man imperfectlyeducated, but still the language itself was forcible. In the expressionsof endearment there was a kind of rough wild love; but here and therewere dark and unintelligible hints at some secret not of love--somesecret that seemed of crime. "We ought to love each other, " was one ofthe sentences I remember, "for how every one else would execrate us ifall was known. " Again: "Don't let any one be in the same room with youat night--you talk in your sleep. " And again: "What's done can't beundone; and I tell you there's nothing against us unless the dead couldcome to life. " Here there was underlined in a better handwriting (afemale's), "They do!" At the end of the letter latest in date the samefemale hand had written these words: "Lost at sea the 4th of June, thesame day as ----. "

I put down the letters, and began to muse over their contents. 

Fearing, however, that the train of thought into which I fell mightunsteady my nerves, I fully determined to keep my mind in a fit state tocope with whatever of marvelous the advancing night might bring forth. I roused myself--laid the letters on the table--stirred up the fire, which was still bright and cheering--and opened my volume of Macaulay. I read quietly enough till about half-past eleven. I then threw myselfdressed upon the bed, and told my servant he might retire to his ownroom, but must keep himself awake. I bade him leave open the door betweenthe two rooms. Thus alone, I kept two candles burning on the table by mybed-head. I placed my watch beside the weapons, and calmly resumed myMacaulay. Opposite to me the fire burned clear; and on the hearthrug, seemingly asleep, lay the dog. In about twenty minutes I felt anexceedingly cold air pass by my cheek, like a sudden draught. I fanciedthe door to my right, communicating with the landing-place, must havegot open; but no--it was closed. I then turned my glance to my left, andsaw the flame of the candles violently swayed as by a wind. At the samemoment the watch beside the revolver softly slid from the table--softly, softly--no visible hand--it was gone. I sprang up, seizing the revolverwith the one hand, the dagger with other: I was not willing that myweapons should share the fate of the watch. Thus armed, I looked roundthe floor--no sign of the watch. Three slow, loud, distinct knocks werenow heard at the bed-head; my servant called out, "Is that you, sir?"

"No; be on your guard. "

The dog now roused himself and sat on his haunches, his ears movingquickly backwards and forwards. He kept his eyes fixed on me with a lookso strange that he concentered all my attention on himself. Slowly herose up, all his hair bristling, and stood perfectly rigid, and with thesame wild stare. I had no time, however, to examine the dog. Presentlymy servant emerged from his room; and if ever I saw horror in the humanface, it was then. I should not have recognized him had we met in thestreet, so altered was every lineament. He passed by me quickly, sayingin a whisper that seemed scarcely to come from his lips, "Run--run! itis after me!" He gained the door to the landing, pulled it open, andrushed forth. I followed him into the landing involuntarily, calling himto stop; but, without heeding me, he bounded down the stairs, clingingto the balusters, and taking several steps at a time. I heard, where Istood, the street-door open--heard it again clap to. I was left alone inthe haunted house. 

It was but for a moment that I remained undecided whether or not tofollow my servant; pride and curiosity alike forbade so dastardly aflight. I re-entered my room, closing the door after me, and proceededcautiously into the interior chamber. I encountered nothing to justifymy servant's terror. I again carefully examined the walls, to see ifthere were any concealed door. I could find no trace of one--not even aseam in the dull-brown paper with which the room was hung. How, then, had the THING, whatever it was, which had so scared him, obtainedingress except through my own chamber?

I returned to my room, shut and locked the door that opened upon theinterior one, and stood on the hearth, expectant and prepared. I nowperceived that the dog had slunk into an angle of the wall, and waspressing himself close against it, as if literally striving to force hisway into it. I approached the animal and spoke to it; the poor brute wasevidently beside itself with terror. It showed all its teeth, the slaverdropping from its jaws, and would certainly have bitten me if I hadtouched it. It did not seem to recognize me. Whoever has seen at theZoological Gardens a rabbit fascinated by a serpent, cowering in acorner, may form some idea of the anguish which the dog exhibited. Finding all efforts to soothe the animal in vain, and fearing that hisbite might be as venomous in that state as in the madness ofhydrophobia, I left him alone, placed my weapons on the table beside thefire, seated myself, and recommenced my Macaulay. 

Perhaps, in order not to appear seeking credit for a courage, or rathera coolness, which the reader may conceive I exaggerate, I may bepardoned if I pause to indulge in one or two egotistical remarks. 

As I hold presence of mind, or what is called courage, to be preciselyproportioned to familiarity with the circumstances that lead to it, so Ishould say that I had been long sufficiently familiar with allexperiments that appertain to the Marvelous. I had witnessed many veryextraordinary phenomena in various parts of the world--phenomena thatwould be either totally disbelieved if I stated them, or ascribed tosupernatural agencies. Now, my theory is that the Supernatural is theImpossible, and that what is called supernatural is only a something inthe laws of nature of which we have been hitherto ignorant. Therefore, if a ghost rise before me, I have not the right to say, "So, then, thesupernatural is possible, " but rather, "So, then, the apparition of aghost is, contrary to received opinion, within the laws ofnature--_i. E. _, not supernatural. "

Now, in all that I had hitherto witnessed, and indeed in all the wonderswhich the amateurs of mystery in our age record as facts, a materialliving agency is always required. On the continent you will find stillmagicians who assert that they can raise spirits. Assume for the momentthat they assert truly, still the living material form of the magicianis present; and he is the material agency by which, from someconstitutional peculiarities, certain strange phenomena are representedto your natural senses. 

Accept, again, as truthful, the tales of spirit Manifestation inAmerica--musical or other sounds--writings on paper, produced by nodiscernible hand--articles of furniture moved without apparent humanagency--or the actual sight and touch of hands, to which no bodies seemto belong--still there must be found the MEDIUM or living being, withconstitutional peculiarities capable of obtaining these signs. In fine, in all such marvels, supposing even that there is no imposture, theremust be a human being like ourselves by whom, or through whom, theeffects presented to human beings are produced. It is so with the nowfamiliar phenomena of mesmerism or electro-biology; the mind of theperson operated on is affected through a material living agent. Nor, supposing it true that a mesmerized patient can respond to the will orpasses of a mesmerizer a hundred miles distant, is the response lessoccasioned by a material fluid--call it Electric, call it Odic, call itwhat you will--which has the power of traversing space and passingobstacles, that the material effect is communicated from one to theother. Hence all that I had hitherto witnessed, or expected to witness, in this strange house, I believed to be occasioned through some agencyor medium as mortal as myself: and this idea necessarily prevented theawe with which those who regard as supernatural, things that are notwithin the ordinary operations of nature, might have been impressed bythe adventures of that memorable night. 

As, then, it was my conjecture that all that was presented, or would bepresented to my senses, must originate in some human being gifted byconstitution with the power so to present them, and having some motiveso to do, I felt an interest in my theory which, in its way, was ratherphilosophical than superstitious. And I can sincerely say that I was inas tranquil a temper for observation as any practical experimentalistcould be in awaiting the effect of some rare, though perhaps perilous, chemical combination. Of course, the more I kept my mind detached fromfancy, the more the temper fitted for observation would be obtained; andI therefore riveted eye and thought on the strong daylight sense in thepage of my Macaulay. 

I now became aware that something interposed between the page and thelight--the page was over-shadowed: I looked up, and I saw what I shallfind it very difficult, perhaps impossible, to describe. 

It was a Darkness shaping itself forth from the air in very undefinedoutline. I cannot say it was of a human form, and yet it had moreresemblance to a human form, or rather shadow, than to anything else. Asit stood, wholly apart and distinct from the air and the light aroundit, its dimensions seemed gigantic, the summit nearly touching theceiling. While I gazed, a feeling of intense cold seized me. An icebergbefore me could not more have chilled me; nor could the cold of aniceberg have been more purely physical. I feel convinced that it was notthe cold caused by fear. As I continued to gaze, I thought--but this Icannot say with precision--that I distinguished two eyes looking down onme from the height. One moment I fancied that I distinguished themclearly, the next they seemed gone; but still two rays of a pale-bluelight frequently shot through the darkness, as from the height on whichI half believed, half doubted, that I had encountered the eyes. 

I strove to speak--my voice utterly failed me; I could only thinkto myself, "is this fear? it is _not_ fear!" I strove to rise--invain; I felt as if weighed down by an irresistible force. Indeed, myimpression was that of an immense and overwhelming Power opposed to anyvolition;--that sense of utter inadequacy to cope with a force beyondman's, which one may feel _physically_ in a storm at sea, in aconflagration, or when confronting some terrible wild beast, or rather, perhaps, the shark of the ocean, I felt _morally_. Opposed to my willwas another will, as far superior to its strength as storm, fire, andshark are superior in material force to the force of man. 

And now, as this impression grew on me--now came, at last, horror--horror to a degree that no words can convey. Still I retainedpride, if not courage; and in my own mind I said, "This is horror, butit is not fear; unless I fear I cannot be harmed; my reason rejects thisthing, it is an illusion--I do not fear. " With a violent effort Isucceeded at last in stretching out my hand towards the weapon on thetable: as I did so, on the arm and shoulder I received a strange shock, and my arm fell to my side powerless. And now, to add to my horror, thelight began slowly to wane from the candles, they were not, as it were, extinguished, but their flame seemed very gradually withdrawn: it wasthe same with the fire--the light was extracted from the fuel; in a fewminutes the room was in utter darkness. 

The dread that came over me, to be thus in the dark with that darkThing, whose power was so intensely felt, brought a reaction of nerve. In fact, terror had reached that climax, that either my senses must havedeserted me, or I must have burst through the spell. I did burst throughit. I found voice, though the voice was a shriek. I remember that Ibroke forth with words like these--"I do not fear, my soul does notfear"; and at the same time I found the strength to rise. Still in thatprofound gloom I rushed to one of the windows--tore aside thecurtain--flung open the shutters; my first thought was--LIGHT. --And whenI saw the moon high, clear, and calm, I felt a joy that almostcompensated for the previous terror. There was the moon, there was alsothe light from the gas-lamps in the deserted slumberous street. I turnedto look back into the room; the moon penetrated its shadow very palelyand partially--but still there was light. The dark Thing, whatever itmight be, was gone--except that I could yet see a dim shadow, whichseemed the shadow of that shade, against the opposite wall. 

My eye now rested on the table, and from under the table (which waswithout cloth or cover--an old mahogany round table) there rose a hand, visible as far as the wrist. It was a hand, seemingly, as much of fleshand blood as my own, but the hand of an aged person--lean, wrinkled, small, too--a woman's hand. That hand very softly closed on the twoletters that lay on the table: hand and letters both vanished. 

There then came the same three loud measured knocks I heard at thebed-head before this extraordinary drama had commenced. 

As those sounds slowly ceased, I felt the whole room vibrate sensibly;and at the far end there rose, as from the floor, sparks or globuleslike bubbles of light, many-colored--green, yellow, fire-red, azure. Upand down, to and fro, hither, thither, as tiny Will-o'-the-Wisps thesparks moved, slow or swift, each at his own caprice. A chair (as in thedrawing-room below) was now advanced from the wall without apparentagency, and placed at the opposite side of the table. Suddenly as forthfrom the chair, there grew a shape--a woman's shape. It was distinct asa shape of life--ghastly as a shape of death. The face was that ofyouth, with a strange mournful beauty: the throat and shoulders werebare, the rest of the form in a loose robe of cloudy white. It begansleeking its long yellow hair, which fell over its shoulders; its eyeswere not turned towards me, but to the door; it seemed listening, watching, waiting. The shadow of the shade in the background grewdarker; and again I thought I beheld the eyes gleaming out from thesummit of the shadow--eyes fixed upon that shape. 

As if from the door, though it did not open, there grew out anothershape, equally distinct, equally ghastly--a man's shape--a young man's. It was in the dress of the last century, or rather in a likeness of suchdress (for both the male shape and the female, though defined, wereevidently unsubstantial, impalpable--simulacra--phantasms); and therewas something incongruous, grotesque, yet fearful, in the contrastbetween the elaborate finery, the courtly precision of thatold-fashioned garb, with its ruffles and lace and buckles, and thecorpse-like aspect and ghost-like stillness of the flitting wearer. Justas the male shape approached the female, the dark shadow started fromthe wall, all three for a moment wrapped in darkness. When the palelight returned, the two phantoms were as in the grasp of the shadow thattowered between them; and there was a blood-stain on the breast of thefemale; and the phantom male was leaning on its phantom sword, and bloodseemed trickling fast from the ruffles, from the lace; and the darknessof the intermediate Shadow swallowed them up--they were gone. And againthe bubbles of light shot, and sailed, and undulated, growing thickerand thicker and more wildly confused in their movements. 

The closet door to the right of the fireplace now opened, and from theaperture there came the form of an aged woman. In her hand she heldletters, --the very letters over which I had seen _the_ Hand close; andbehind her I heard a footstep. She turned round as if to listen, andthen she opened the letters and seemed to read; and over her shoulder Isaw a livid face, the face as of a man long drowned--bloated, bleached, seaweed tangled in its dripping hair; and at her feet lay a form as of acorpse, and beside the corpse there cowered a child, a miserable squalidchild, with famine in its cheeks and fear in its eyes. And as I lookedin the old woman's face, the wrinkles and lines vanished and it became aface of youth--hard-eyed, stony, but still youth; and the Shadow dartedforth, and darkened over these phantoms as it had darkened over thelast. 

Nothing now was left but the Shadow, and on that my eyes were intentlyfixed, till again eyes grew out of the Shadow--malignant, serpent eyes. And the bubbles of light again rose and fell, and in their disorder, irregular, turbulent maze, mingled with the wan moonlight. And now fromthese globules themselves, as from the shell of an egg, monstrous thingsburst out; the air grew filled with them; larvæ so bloodless and sohideous that I can in no way describe them except to remind the readerof the swarming life which the solar microscope brings before his eyesin a drop of water--things transparent, supple, agile, chasing eachother, devouring each other--forms like nought ever beheld by the nakedeye. As the shapes were without symmetry, so their movements werewithout order. In their very vagrancies there was no sport; they cameround me and round, thicker and faster and swifter, swarming over myhead, crawling over my right arm, which was outstretched in involuntarycommand against all evil beings. Sometimes I felt myself touched, butnot by them; invisible hands touched me. Once I felt the clutch as ofcold soft fingers at my throat. I was still equally conscious that if Igave way to fear I should be in bodily peril; and I concentrated all myfaculties in the single focus of resisting, stubborn will. And I turnedmy sight from the Shadow--above all, from those strange serpenteyes--eyes that had now become distinctly visible. For there, though innought else round me, I was aware that there was a WILL, and a will ofintense, creative, working evil, which might crush down my own. 

The pale atmosphere in the room began now to redden as if in the air ofsome near conflagration. The larvæ grew lurid as things that live infire. Again the room vibrated; again were heard the three measuredknocks; and again all things were swallowed up in the darkness of thedark Shadow, as if out of that darkness all had come, into that darknessall returned. 

As the gloom receded, the Shadow was wholly gone. Slowly as it had beenwithdrawn, the flame grew again into the candles on the table, againinto the fuel in the grate. The whole room came once more calmly, healthfully into sight. 

The two doors were still closed, the door communicating with theservant's room still locked. In the corner of the wall into which he hadso convulsively niched himself, lay the dog. I called to him--nomovement; I approached--the animal was dead; his eyes protruded; histongue out of his mouth; the froth gathered round his jaws. I took himin my arms; I brought him to the fire, I felt acute grief for the lossof my poor favorite--acute self-reproach; I accused myself of his death;I imagined he had died of fright. But what was my surprise on findingthat his neck was actually broken. Had this been done in the dark?--mustit not have been by a hand human as mine?--must there not have beena human agency all the while in that room? Good cause to suspect it. I cannot tell. I cannot do more than state the fact fairly; the readermay draw his own inference. 

Another surprising circumstance--my watch was restored to the table fromwhich it had been so mysteriously withdrawn; but it had stopped at thevery moment it was so withdrawn; nor, despite all the skill of thewatchmaker, has it ever gone since--that is, it will go in a strangeerratic way for a few hours, and then come to a dead stop--it isworthless. 

Nothing more chanced for the rest of the night. Nor, indeed, had I longto wait before the dawn broke. Nor till it was broad daylight did I quitthe haunted house. Before I did so, I revisited the little blind room inwhich my servant and myself had been for a time imprisoned. I had astrong impression--for which I could not account--that from that roomhad originated the mechanism of the phenomena--if I may use theterm--which had been experienced in my chamber. And though I entered itnow in the clear day, with the sun peering through the filmy window Istill felt, as I stood on its floor, the creep of the horror which I hadfirst there experienced the night before, and which had been soaggravated by what had passed in my own chamber. I could not, indeed, bear to stay more than half a minute within those walls. I descended thestairs, and again I heard the footfall before me; and when I opened thestreet door, I thought I could distinguish a very low laugh. I gained myown home, expecting to find my runaway servant there. But he had notpresented himself; nor did I hear more of him for three days, when Ireceived a letter from him, dated from Liverpool to this effect:--

 "HONORED SIR, --I humbly entreat your pardon, though I can scarcely hope that you will think I deserve it, unless--which Heaven forbid--you saw what I did. I feel that it will be years before I can recover myself: and as to being fit for service, it is out of the question. I am therefore going to my brother-in-law at Melbourne. The ship sails to-morrow. Perhaps the long voyage may set me up. I do nothing now but start and tremble, and fancy IT is behind me. I humbly beg you, honored sir, to order my clothes, and whatever wages are due to me, to be sent to my mother's, at Walworth. --John knows her address. "

The letter ended with additional apologies, somewhat incoherent, andexplanatory details as to effects that had been under the writer'scharge. 

This flight may perhaps warrant a suspicion that the man wished to go toAustralia, and had been somehow or other fraudulently mixed up with theevents of the night. I say nothing in refutation of that conjecture;rather, I suggest it as one that would seem to many persons the mostprobable solution of improbable occurrences. My belief in my own theoryremained unshaken. I returned in the evening to the house, to bring awayin a hack cab the things I had left there, with my poor dog's body. Inthis task I was not disturbed, nor did any incident worth note befallme, except that still, on ascending and descending the stairs, I heardthe same footfall in advance. On leaving the house, I went to Mr. J. 's. He was at home. I returned him the keys, told him that my curiosity wassufficiently gratified, and was about to relate quickly what had passed, when he stopped me, and said, though with much politeness, that he hadno longer any interest in a mystery which none had ever solved. 

I determined at least to tell him of the two letters I had read, as wellas of the extraordinary manner in which they had disappeared, and I theninquired if he thought they had been addressed to the woman who had diedin the house, and if there were anything in her early history whichcould possibly confirm the dark suspicions to which the letters gaverise. Mr. J---- seemed startled, and, after musing a few moments, answered, "I am but little acquainted with the woman's earlier history, except, as I before told you, that her family were known to mine. Butyou revive some vague reminiscences to her prejudice. I will makeinquiries, and inform you of their result. Still, even if we could admitthe popular superstition that a person who had been either theperpetrator or the victim of dark crimes in life could revisit, as arestless spirit, the scene in which those crimes had been committed, Ishould observe that the house was infested by strange sights and soundsbefore the old woman died--you smile--what would you say?"

"I would say this, that I am convinced, if we could get to the bottom ofthese mysteries, we should find a living human agency. "

"What! you believe it is all an imposture? for what object?"

"Not an imposture in the ordinary sense of the word. If suddenly I wereto sink into a deep sleep, from which you could not awake me, but inthat sleep could answer questions with an accuracy which I could notpretend to when awake--tell you what money you had in your pocket--nay, describe your very thoughts--it is not necessarily an imposture, anymore than it is necessarily supernatural. I should be, unconsciously tomyself, under a mesmeric influence, conveyed to me from a distance by ahuman being who had acquired power over me by previous _rapport_. "

"But if a mesmerizer could so affect another living being, can yousuppose that a mesmerizer could also affect inanimate objects: movechairs--open and shut doors?"

"Or impress our senses with the belief in such effects--we never havingbeen _en rapport_ with the person acting on us? No. What is commonlycalled mesmerism could not do this; but there may be a power akin tomesmerism, and superior to it--the power that in the old days was calledMagic. That such a power may extend to all inanimate objects of matter Ido not say; but if so, it would not be against nature--it would be onlya rare power in nature which might be given to constitutions withcertain peculiarities, and cultivated by practice to an extraordinarydegree. That such a power might extend over the dead--that is, overcertain thoughts and memories that the dead may still retain--andcompel, not that which ought properly to be called the SOUL, and whichis far beyond human reach, but rather a phantom of what has been mostearth-stained on earth, to make itself apparent to our senses--is a veryancient though obsolete theory, upon which I will hazard no opinion. ButI do not conceive the power would be supernatural. Let me illustratewhat I mean from an experiment which Paracelsus describes as notdifficult, and which the author of the _Curiosities of Literature_ citesas credible:--A flower perishes; you burn it. Whatever were the elementsof that flower while it lived are gone, dispersed, you know not whither;you can never discover nor recollect them. But you can, by chemistry, out of the burnt dust of that flower, raise a spectrum of the flower, just as it seemed in life. It may be the same with the human being. Thesoul has as much escaped you as the essence or elements of the flower. Still you may make a spectrum of it. 

"And this phantom, though in the popular superstition it is held to bethe soul of the departed, must not be confounded with the true soul; itis but eidolon of the dead form. Hence, like the best attested storiesof ghosts or spirits, the thing that most strikes us is the absence ofwhat we hold to be soul; that is, of superior emancipated intelligence. These apparitions come for little or no object--they seldom speak whenthey do come; if they speak, they utter no ideas above those of anordinary person on earth. American spirit-seers have published volumesof communications in prose and verse, which they assert to be given inthe names of the most illustrious dead--Shakespeare, Bacon--heaven knowswhom. Those communications, taking the best, are certainly not a whit ofhigher order than would be communications from living persons of fairtalent and education; they are wondrously inferior to what Bacon, Shakespeare, and Plato said and wrote when on earth. Nor, what is morenoticeable, do they ever contain an idea that was not on the earthbefore. Wonderful, therefore, as such phenomena may be (granting them tobe truthful), I see much that philosophy may question, nothing that itis incumbent on philosophy to deny, viz. , nothing supernatural. They arebut ideas conveyed somehow or other (we have not yet discovered themeans) from one mortal brain to another. Whether, in so doing, tableswalk of their own accord, or fiend-like shapes appear in a magic circle, or bodyless hands rise and remove material objects, or a Thing ofDarkness, such as presented itself to me, freeze our blood--still am Ipersuaded that these are but agencies conveyed, as if by electric wires, to my own brain from the brain of another. In some constitutions thereis a natural chemistry, and these constitutions may produce chemicwonders--in others a natural fluid, call it electricity, and these mayproduce electric wonders. 

"But the wonders differ from Normal Science in this--they are alikeobjectless, purposeless, puerile, frivolous. They lead on to no grandresults; and therefore the world does not heed, and true sages have notcultivated them. But sure I am, that of all I saw or heard, a man, human as myself, was the remote originator; and I believe unconsciouslyto himself as to the exact effects produced, for this reason: no twopersons, you say, have ever told you that they experienced exactly thesame thing. Well, observe, no two persons ever experience exactly thesame dream. If this were an ordinary imposture, the machinery would bearranged for results that would but little vary; if it were asupernatural agency permitted by the Almighty, it would surely be forsome definite end. These phenomena belong to neither class; mypersuasion is, that they originate in some brain now far distant; thatthat brain had no distinct volition in anything that occurred; that whatdoes occur reflects but its devious, motley, ever-shifting, half-formedthoughts; in short, that it has been but the dreams of such a brain putinto action and invested with a semi-substance. That this brain is ofimmense power, that it can set matter into movement, that it ismalignant and destructive, I believe; some material force must havekilled my dog; the same force might, for aught I know, have sufficed tokill myself, had I been as subjugated by terror as the dog--had myintellect or my spirit given me no countervailing resistance in mywill. "

"It killed your dog! that is fearful! indeed it is strange that noanimal can be induced to stay in that house; not even a cat. Rats andmice are never found in it. "

"The instincts of the brute creation detect influences deadly to theirexistence. Man's reason has a sense less subtle, because it has aresisting power more supreme. But enough; do you comprehend my theory?"

"Yes, though imperfectly--and I accept any crotchet (pardon the word), however odd, rather than embrace at once the notion of ghosts andhob-goblins we imbibed in our nurseries. Still, to my unfortunate housethe evil is the same. What on earth can I do with the house?"

"I will tell you what I would do. I am convinced from my own internalfeelings that the small unfurnished room at right angles to the door ofthe bedroom which I occupied, forms a starting-point or receptacle forthe influences which haunt the house; and I strongly advise you to havethe walls opened, the floor removed--nay, the whole room pulled down. I observe that it is detached from the body of the house, built over thesmall back-yard, and could be removed without injury to the rest of thebuilding. "

"And you think, if I did that----"

"You would cut off the telegraph wires. Try it. I am so persuaded that Iam right, that I will pay half the expense if you will allow me todirect the operations. "

"Nay, I am well able to afford the cost; for the rest, allow me to writeto you. "

About ten days afterwards I received a letter from Mr. J----, telling methat he had visited the house since I had seen him; that he had foundthe two letters I had described replaced in the drawer from which I hadtaken them; that he had read them with misgivings like my own; that hehad instituted a cautious inquiry about the woman to whom I rightlyconjectured they had been written. It seemed that thirty-six years ago(a year before the date of the letters) she had married, against thewish of her relations, an American of very suspicious character, infact, he was generally believed to have been a pirate. She herself wasthe daughter of very respectable tradespeople, and had served in thecapacity of nursery governess before her marriage. She had a brother, awidower, who was considered wealthy, and who had one child of about sixyears old. A month after the marriage, the body of this brother wasfound in the Thames, near London Bridge; there seemed some marks ofviolence about his throat, but they were not deemed sufficient towarrant the inquest in any other verdict than that of "found drowned. "

The American and his wife took charge of the little boy, the deceasedbrother having by his will left his sister the guardian of his onlychild--and in the event of the child's death, the sister inherited. Thechild died about six months afterwards--it was supposed to have beenneglected and ill-treated. The neighbors deposed to have heard it shriekat night. The surgeon who had examined it after death said that it wasemaciated as if from want of nourishment, and the body was covered withlivid bruises. It seemed that one winter night the child had sought toescape--crept out into the back-yard--tried to scale the wall--fallenback exhausted, and been found at morning on the stones in a dyingstate. But though there was some evidence of cruelty, there was none ofmurder; and the aunt and her husband had sought to palliate cruelty byalleging the exceeding stubbornness and perversity of the child, who wasdeclared to be half-witted. Be that is it may, at the orphan's death theaunt inherited her brother's fortune. Before the first wedded year wasout the American quitted England abruptly, and never returned to it. Heobtained a cruising vessel, which was lost in the Atlantic two yearsafterwards. The widow was left in affluence; but reverses of variouskinds had befallen her; a bank broke--an investment failed--she wentinto a small business and became insolvent--then she entered intoservice, sinking lower and lower, from housekeeper down to maid-of-allwork--never long retaining a place, though nothing decided against hercharacter was ever alleged. She was considered sober, honest, andpeculiarly quiet in her ways; still nothing prospered with her. And soshe had dropped into the workhouse, from which Mr. J---- had taken her, to be placed in charge of the very house which she had rented asmistress in the first year of her wedded life. 

Mr. J---- added that he had passed an hour alone in the unfurnished roomwhich I had urged him to destroy, and that his impressions of dreadwhile there were so great, though he had neither heard nor seenanything, that he was eager to have the walls bared and the floorsremoved as I had suggested. He had engaged persons for the work, andwould commence any day I would name. 

The day was accordingly fixed. I repaired to the haunted house--he wentinto the blind dreary room, took up the skirting, and then the floors. Under the rafters, covered with rubbish, was found a trap-door, quitelarge enough to admit a man. It was closely nailed down, with clamps andrivets of iron. On removing these we descended into a room below, theexistence of which had never been suspected. In this room there had beena window and a flue, but they had been bricked over, evidently for manyyears. By the help of candles we examined this place; it still retainedsome mouldering furniture--three chairs, an oak settle, a table--all ofthe fashion of about eighty years ago. There was a chest of drawersagainst the wall, in which we found, half-rotted away, old-fashionedarticles of a man's dress, such as might have been worn eighty or ahundred years ago by a gentleman of some rank--costly steel buckles andbuttons, like those yet worn in court-dresses, a handsome courtsword--in a waistcoat which had once been rich with gold-lace, but whichwas now blackened and foul with damp, we found five guineas, a fewsilver coins, and an ivory ticket, probably for some place ofentertainment long since passed away. But our main discovery was in akind of iron safe fixed to the wall, the lock of which it cost us muchtrouble to get picked. 

In this safe were three shelves, and two small drawers. Ranged on theshelves were several small bottles of crystal, hermetically stopped. They contained colorless volatile essences, of the nature of which Ishall only say that they were not poisons--phosphor and ammonia enteredinto some of them. There were also some very curious glass tubes, and asmall pointed rod of iron, with a large lump of rock-crystal, andanother of amber--also a loadstone of great power. 

In one of the drawers we found a miniature portrait set in gold, andretaining the freshness of its colors most remarkably, considering thelength of time it had probably been there. The portrait was that of aman who might be somewhat advanced in middle life, perhaps forty-sevenor forty-eight. 

It was a remarkable face--a most impressive face. If you could fancysome mighty serpent transformed into a man, preserving in the humanlineaments the old serpent type, you would have a better idea of thatcountenance than long descriptions can convey: the width and flatness offrontal--the tapering elegance of contour disguising the strength of thedeadly jaw--the long, large, terrible eye, glittering and green as theemerald--and withal a certain ruthless calm, as if from theconsciousness of an immense power. 

Mechanically I turned round the miniature to examine the back of it, and on the back was engraved a pentacle; in the middle of the pentacle aladder, and the third step of the ladder was formed by the date 1765. Examining still more minutely, I detected a spring; this, on beingpressed, opened the back of the miniature as a lid. Withinside the lidwere engraved, "Marianna to thee--be faithful in life and in deathto----. " Here follows a name that I will not mention, but it was notunfamiliar to me. I had heard it spoken of by old men in my childhood asthe name borne by a dazzling charlatan who had made a great sensation inLondon for a year or so, and had fled the country on the charge of adouble murder within his own house--that of his mistress and his rival. I said nothing of this to Mr. J----, to whom reluctantly I resigned theminiature. 

We had found no difficulty in opening the first drawer within the ironsafe; we found great difficulty in opening the second: it was notlocked, but it resisted all efforts, till we inserted in the clinks theedge of a chisel. When we had thus drawn it forth we found a verysingular apparatus in the nicest order. Upon a small thin book, orrather tablet, was placed a saucer of crystal: this saucer was filledwith a clear liquid--on that liquid floated a kind of compass, with aneedle shifting rapidly round; but instead of the usual points of acompass were seven strange characters, not very unlike those used byastrologers to denote the planets. 

A peculiar, but not strong nor displeasing odor came from this drawer, which was lined with a wood that we afterwards discovered to be hazel. Whatever the cause of this odor, it produced a material effect on thenerves. We all felt it, even the two workmen who were in the room--acreeping tingling sensation from the tips of the fingers to the roots ofthe hair. Impatient to examine the tablet, I removed the saucer. As Idid so the needle of the compass went round and round with exceedingswiftness, and I felt a shock that ran through my whole frame, so thatI dropped the saucer on the floor. The liquid was spilt--the saucer wasbroken--the compass rolled to the end of the room--and at that instantthe walls shook to and fro, as if a giant had swayed and rocked them. 

The two workmen were so frightened that they ran up the ladder by whichwe had descended from the trap-door; but seeing that nothing morehappened, they were easily induced to return. 

Meanwhile I had opened the tablet: it was bound in plain red leather, with a silver clasp; it contained but one sheet of thick vellum, and onthat sheet were inscribed within a double pentacle, words in old monkishLatin, which are literally to be translated thus: "On all that it canreach within these walls--sentient or inanimate, living or dead--asmoves the needle, so work my will! Accursed be the house, and restlessbe the dwellers therein. "

We found no more. Mr. J---- burnt the tablet and its anathema. He razedto the foundations the part of the building containing the secret roomwith the chamber over it. He had then the courage to inhabit the househimself for a month, and a quieter, better-conditioned house could notbe found in all London. Subsequently he let it to advantage, and histenant has made no complaints. 

THE SILENT WOMAN[D]

BY LEOPOLD KOMPERT

The uproarious merriment of a wedding-feast burst forth into the nightfrom a brilliantly lighted house in the "gasse" (narrow street). It wasone of those nights touched with the warmth of spring, but dark and fullof soft mist. Most fitting it was for a celebration of the union of twoyearning hearts to share the same lot, a lot that may possibly dawn insunny brightness, but also become clouded and sullen--for a long, longtime! But how merry and joyous they were over there, those people of thehappy olden times! They, like us, had their troubles and trials, andwhen misfortune visited them it came not to them with soft cushions andtender pressures of the hand. Rough and hard, with clinched fist, itlaid hold upon them. But when they gave vent to their happy feelings andsought to enjoy themselves, they were like swimmers in cooling waters. They struck out into the stream with freshness and courage, sufferedthemselves to be borne along by the current whithersoever it took itscourse. This was the cause of such a jubilee, such a thoughtlessly noisyoutburst of all kinds of soul-possessing gayety from this house ofnuptials. 

"And if I had known, " the bride's father, the rich Ruben Klattaner, hadjust said, "that it would take the last gulden in my pocket, then out itwould have come. "

In fact, it did appear as if the last groschen had really taken flight, and was fluttering about in the form of platters heaped up with geeseand pastry-tarts. Since two o'clock--that is, since the marriageceremony had been performed out in the open street--until nearlymidnight, the wedding-feast had been progressing, and even yet the_sarvers_, or waiters, were hurrying from room to room. It was as if atwofold blessing had descended upon all this abundance of food anddrink, for, in the first place, they did not seem to diminish; secondly, they ever found a new place for disposal. To be sure, this appetite wassharpened by the presence of a little dwarf-like, unimportant-lookingman. He was esteemed, however, none the less highly by every one. Theyhad specially written to engage the celebrated "Leb Narr, " of Prague. And when was ever a mood so out of sorts, a heart so imbittered as notto thaw out and laugh if Leb Narr played one of his pranks. Ah, thou artnow dead, good fool! Thy lips, once always ready with a witty reply, areclosed. Thy mouth, then never still, now speaks no more! But when thehearty peals of laughter once rang forth at thy command, intercessors, as it were, in thy behalf before the very throne of God, thou hadstnothing to fear. And the joy of that "other" world was thine, that joythat has ever belonged to the most pious of country rabbis!

In the mean time the young people had assembled in one of the rooms todance. It was strange how the sound of violins and trumpets accordedwith the drolleries of the wit from Prague. In one part the outbursts ofmerriment were so boisterous that the very candles on the little tableseemed to flicker with terror; in another an ordinary conversation wasin progress, which now and then only ran over into a loud tittering, when some old lady slipped into the circle and tried her skill at aredowa, then altogether unknown to the young people. In the very midstof the tangle of dancers was to be seen the bride in a heavy silkwedding-gown. The point of her golden hood hung far down over her face. She danced continuously. She danced with every one that asked her. Hadone, however, observed the actions of the young woman, they wouldcertainly have seemed to him hurried, agitated, almost wild. She lookedno one in the eye, not even her own bridegroom. He stood for the mostpart in the door-way, and evidently took more pleasure in the witticismsof the fool than in the dance or the lady dancers. But who ever thoughtfor a moment why the young woman's hand burned, why her breath was sohot when one came near to her lips? Who should have noticed so strangea thing? A low whispering already passed through the company, a stealthysmile stole across many a lip. A bevy of ladies was seen to enter theroom suddenly. The music dashed off into one of its loudest pieces, and, as if by enchantment, the newly made bride disappeared behind theladies. The bridegroom, with his stupid, smiling mien, was still leftstanding on the threshold. But it was not long before he too vanished. One could hardly say how it happened. But people understand suchskillful movements by experience, and will continue to understand themas long as there are brides and grooms in the world. 

This disappearance of the chief personages, little as it seemed to benoticed, gave, however, the signal for general leave-taking. The dancingbecame drowsy; it stopped all at once, as if by appointment. That noisyconfusion now began which always attends so merry a wedding-party. Half-drunken voices could be heard still intermingled with a last, hearty laugh over a joke of the fool from Prague echoing across thetable. Here and there some one, not quite sure of his balance, wasfumbling for the arm of his chair or the edge of the table. Thisresulted in his overturning a dish that had been forgotten, or inspilling a beer-glass. While this, in turn, set up a new hubbub, someone else, in his eagerness to betake himself from the scene, fell flatinto the very débris. But all this tumult was really hushed the momentthey all pressed to the door, for at that very instant shrieks, cries ofpain, were heard issuing from the entrance below. In an instant theentire outpouring crowd with all possible force pushed back into theroom, but it was a long time before the stream was pressed back again. Meanwhile, painful cries were again heard from below, so painful, indeed, that they restored even the most drunken to a state ofconsciousness. 

"By the living God!" they cried to each other, "what is the matter downthere? Is the house on fire?"

"She is gone! she is gone!" shrieked a woman's voice from the entrybelow. 

"Who? who?" groaned the wedding-guests, seized, as it were, with an icyhorror. 

"Gone! gone!" cried the woman from the entry, and hurrying up the stairscame Selde Klattaner, the mother of the bride, pale as death, her eyesdilated with most awful fright, convulsively grasping a candle in herhand. "For God's sake, what has happened?" was heard on every side ofher. 

The sight of so many people about her, and the confusion of voices, seemed to release the poor woman from a kind of stupor. She glancedshyly about her then, as if overcome with a sense of shame stronger thanher terror, and said, in a suppressed tone:

"Nothing, nothing, good people. In God's name, I ask, what was there tohappen?"

Dissimulation, however, was too evident to suffice to deceive them. 

"Why, then, did you shriek so, Selde, " called out one of the guests toher, "if nothing happened?"

"Yes, she has gone, " Selde now moaned in heart-rending tones, "and shehas certainly done herself some harm!"

The cause of this strange scene was now first discovered. The bride hasdisappeared from the wedding-feast. Soon after that she had vanished insuch a mysterious way, the bridegroom went below to the dimly-lightedroom to find her, but in vain. At first thought this seemed to him to bea sort of bashful jest; but not finding her here, a mysteriousforeboding seized him. He called to the mother of the bride:

"Woe to me! This woman has gone!"

Presently this party, that had so admirably controlled itself, was againthrown into commotion. "There was nothing to do, " was said on all sides, "but to ransack every nook and corner. Remarkable instances of suchdisappearances of brides had been known. Evil spirits were wont to lurkabout such nights and to inflict mankind with all sorts of sorceries. "Strange as this explanation may seem, there were many who believed it atthis very moment, and, most of all, Selde Klattaner herself. But it wasonly for a moment, for she at once exclaimed:

"No, no, my good people, she is gone; I know she is gone!"

Now for the first time many of them, especially the mothers, feltparticularly uneasy, and anxiously called their daughters to them. Onlya few showed courage, and urged that they must search and search, evenif they had to turn aside the river Iser a hundred times. They urgentlypressed on, called for torches and lanterns, and started forth. Thecowardly ran after them up and down the stairs. Before any one perceivedit the room was entirely forsaken. 

Ruben Klattaner stood in the hall entry below, and let the people hurrypast him without exchanging a word with any. Bitter disappointment andfear had almost crazed him. One of the last to stay in the room abovewith Selde was, strange to say, Leb Narr, of Prague. After all haddeparted, he approached the miserable mother, and, in a tone leastbecoming his general manner, inquired:

"Tell me, now, Mrs. Selde, did she not wish to have 'him'?"

"Whom? whom?" cried Selde, with renewed alarm, when she found herselfalone with the fool. 

"I mean, " said Leb, in a most sympathetic manner, approaching stillnearer to Selde, "that maybe you had to make your daughter marry him. "

"Make? And have we, then, made her?" moaned Selde, staring at the foolwith a look of uncertainty. 

"Then nobody needs to search for her, " replied the fool, with asympathetic laugh, at the same time retreating. "It's better to leaveher where she is. "

Without saying thanks or good-night, he was gone. 

Meanwhile the cause of all this disturbance had arrived at the end ofher flight. 

Close by the synagogue was situated the house of the rabbi. It was builtin an angle of a very narrow street, set in a framework of tallshade-trees. Even by daylight it was dismal enough. At night it wasalmost impossible for a timid person to approach it, for people declaredthat the low supplications of the dead could be heard in the dingy houseof God when at night they took the rolls of the law from the ark tosummon their members by name. 

Through this retired street passed, or rather ran, at this hour a shyform. Arriving at the dwelling of the rabbi, she glanced backward to seewhether any one was following her. But all was silent and gloomy enoughabout her. A pale light issued from one of the windows of the synagogue;it came from the "eternal lamp" hanging in front of the ark of thecovenant. But at this moment it seemed to her as if a supernatural eyewas gazing upon her. Thoroughly affrighted, she seized the little ironknocker of the door and struck it gently. But the throb of her beatingheart was even louder, more violent, than this blow. After a pause, footsteps were heard passing slowly along the hallway. 

The rabbi had not occupied this lonely house a long time. Hispredecessor, almost a centenarian in years, had been laid to rest a fewmonths before. The new rabbi had been called, from a distant part of thecountry. He was unmarried, and in the prime of life. No one had knownhim before his coming. But his personal nobility and the profundity ofhis scholarship made up for his deficiency in years. An aged mother hadaccompanied him from their distant home, and she took the place of wifeand child. 

"Who is there?" asked the rabbi, who had been busy at his desk even atthis late hour and thus had not missed hearing the knocker. 

"It is I, " the figure without responded, almost inaudibly. 

"Speak louder, if you wish me to hear you, " replied the rabbi. 

"It is I, Ruben Klattaner's daughter, " she repeated. 

The name seemed to sound strange to the rabbi. He as yet knew too few ofhis congregation to understand that this very day he performed themarriage ceremony of the person who had just repeated her name. Therefore he called out, after a moment's pause, "What do you wish solate at night?"

"Open the door, rabbi, " she answered, pleadingly, "or I shall die atonce!"

The bolt was pushed back. Something gleaming, rustling, glided past therabbi into the dusky hall. The light of the candle in his hand was notsufficient to allow him to descry it. Before he had time to address her, she had vanished past him and had disappeared through the open doorinto the room. Shaking his head, the rabbi again bolted the door. 

On reëntering the room he saw a woman's form sitting in the chair whichhe usually occupied. She had her back turned to him. Her head was bentlow over her breast. Her golden wedding-hood, with its shading lace, waspulled down over her forehead. Courageous and pious as the rabbi was, hecould not rid himself of a feeling of terror. 

"Who are you?" he demanded, in a loud tone, as if its sound alone wouldbanish the presence of this being that seemed to him at this moment tobe the production of all the enchantments of evil spirits. 

She raised herself, and cried in a voice that seemed to come from theagony of a human being:

"Do you not know me--me, whom you married a few hours since under the_chuppe_ (marriage-canopy) to a husband?"

On hearing this familiar voice the rabbi stood speechless. He gazed atthe young woman. Now, indeed, he must regard her as one bereft ofreason, rather than as a specter. 

"Well, if you are she, " he stammered out, after a pause, for it was withdifficulty that he found words to answer, "why are you here and not inthe place where you belong?"

"I know no other place to which I belong more than here where I now am!"she answered, severely. 

These words puzzled the rabbi still more. Is it really an insane womanbefore him? He must have thought so, for he now addressed her in agentle tone of voice, as we do those suffering from this kind ofsickness, in order not to excite her, and said:

"The place where you belong, my daughter, is in the house of yourparents, and, since you have to-day been made a wife, your place is inyour husband's house. "

The young woman muttered something which failed to reach the rabbi'sear. Yet he only continued to think that he saw before him some poorunfortunate whose mind was deranged. After a pause, he added, in a stillgentler tone: "What is your name, then, my child?"

"God, god, " she moaned, in the greatest anguish, "he does not even yetknow my name!"

"How should I know you, " he continued, apologetically, "for I am astranger in this place?"

This tender remark seemed to have produced the desired effect upon herexcited mind. 

"My name is Veile, " she said, quietly, after a pause. 

The rabbi quickly perceived that he had adopted the right tone towardshis mysterious guest. 

"Veile, " he said, approaching nearer her, "what do you wish of me?"

"Rabbi, I have a great sin resting heavily upon my heart, " she replieddespondently. "I do not know what to do. "

"What can you have done, " inquired the rabbi, with a tender look, "thatcannot be discussed at any other time than just now? Will you let meadvise you, Veile?"

"No, no, " she cried again, violently, "I will not be advised. I see, Iknow what oppresses me. Yes, I can grasp it by the hand, it lies so nearbefore me. Is that what you call to be advised?"

"Very well, " returned the rabbi, seeing that this was the very way toget the young woman to talk--"very well, I say, you are not imagininganything. I believe that you have greatly sinned. Have you come herethen to confess this sin? Do your parents or your husband know anythingabout it?"

"Who is my husband?" she interrupted him, impetuously. 

Thoughts welled up in the rabbi's heart like a tumultuous sea in whichopposing conjectures cross and recross each other's course. Should hespeak with her as with an ordinary sinner?

"Were you, perhaps, forced to be married?" he inquired, as quietly aspossible, after a pause. 

A suppressed sob, a strong inward struggle, manifesting itself in thewhole trembling body, was the only answer to this question. 

"Tell me, my child, " said the rabbi, encouragingly. 

In such tones as the rabbi had never before heard, so strange, sosurpassing any human sounds, the young woman began:

"Yes, rabbi, I will speak, even though I know that I shall never go fromthis place alive, which would be the very best thing for me! No, rabbi, I was not forced to be married. My parents have never once said to me'you must, ' but my own will, my own desire, rather, has always beensupreme. My husband is the son of a rich man in the community. To enterhis family was to be made the first lady in the _gasse_, to sit buriedin gold and silver. And that very thing, nothing else, was whatinfatuated me with him. It was for that that I forced myself, my heartand will, to be married to him, hard as it was for me. But in myinnermost heart I detested him. The more he loved me, the more I hatedhim. But the gold and silver had an influence over me. More and morethey cried to me, 'You will be the first lady in the _gasse_!'"

"Continue, " said the rabbi, when she ceased, almost exhausted by thesewords. 

"What more shall I tell you, rabbi?" she began again. "I was never aliar, when a child, or older, and yet during my whole engagement it hasseemed to me as if a big, gigantic lie had followed me step by step. I have seen it on every side of me. But to-day, when I stood under the_chuppe_, rabbi, and he took the ring from his finger and put it onmine, and when I had to dance at my own wedding with him, whom I nowrecognized, now for the first time, as the lie, and--when they led meaway----"

This sincere confession escaping from the lips of the young woman, shesobbed aloud and bowed her head still deeper over her breast. The rabbigazed upon her in silence. No insane woman ever spoke like that! Only asoul conscious of its own sin, but captivated by a mysterious power, could suffer like this!

It was not sympathy which he felt with her; it was much more a livingover the sufferings of the woman. In spite of the confused story, it wasall clear to the rabbi. The cause of the flight from the father's houseat this hour also required no explanation. "I know what you mean, " helonged to say, but he could only find words to say: "Speak further, Veile!"

The young woman turned towards him. He had not yet seen her face. Thegolden hood with the shading lace hung deeply over it. 

"Have I not told you everything?" she said, with a flush of scorn. 

"Everything?" repeated the rabbi, inquiringly. He only said this, moreover, through embarrassment. 

"Do you tell me now, " she cried, at once passionately and mildly, "whatam I to do?"

"Veile!" exclaimed the rabbi, entertaining now, for the first time, afeeling of repugnance for this confidential interview. 

"Tell me now!" she pleaded; and before the rabbi could prevent it theyoung woman threw herself down at his feet and clasped his knees in herarms. This hasty act had loosened the golden wedding-hood from her head, and thus exposed her face to view, a face of remarkable beauty. 

So overcome was the young rabbi by the sight of it that he had to shadehis eyes with his hands, as if before a sudden flash of lightning. 

"Tell me now, what shall I do?" she cried again. "Do you think that Ihave come from my parents' home merely to return again without help? Youalone in the world must tell me. Look at me! I have kept all my hairjust as God gave it me. It has never been touched by the shears. ShouldI, then, do anything to please my husband? I am no wife. I will not be awife! Tell me, tell me, what am I to do?"

"Arise, arise, " bade the rabbi; but his voice quivered, sounded almostpainful. 

"Tell me first, " she gasped; "I will not rise till then!"

"How can I tell you?" he moaned, almost inaudibly. 

"Naphtali!" shrieked the kneeling woman. 

But the rabbi staggered backward. The room seemed ablaze before him, like a bright fire. A sharp cry rang from his breast, as if onesuffering from some painful wound had been seized by a rough hand. Inhis hurried attempt to free himself from the embrace of the youngwoman, who still clung to his knees, it chanced that her head struckheavily against the floor. 

"Naphtali!" she cried once again. 

"Silence, silence, " groaned the rabbi, pressing both hands against hishead. 

And still again she called out this name, but not with that agonizingcry. It sounded rather like a commingling of exultation and lamentation. 

And again he demanded, "Silence! silence!" but this time so imperiously, so forcibly, that the young woman lay on the floor as if conjured, notdaring to utter a single word. 

The rabbi paced almost wildly up and down the room. There must have beena hard, terrible struggle in his breast. It seemed to the one lying onthe floor that she heard him sigh from the depths of his soul. Then hispacing became calmer; but it did not last long. The fierce conflictagain assailed him. His step grew hurried; it echoed loudly through theawful stillness of the room. Suddenly he neared the young woman, whoseemed to lie there scarcely breathing. He stopped in front of her. Hadany one seen the face of the rabbi at this moment the expression on itwould have filled him with terror. There was a marvelous tranquillityoverlying it, the tranquillity of a struggle for life or death. 

"Listen to me now, Veile, " he began, slowly. "I will talk with you. "

"I listen, rabbi, " she whispered. 

"But do you hear me well?"

"Only speak, " she returned. 

"But will you do what I advise you? Will you not oppose it? For I amgoing to say something that will terrify you. "

"I will do anything that you say. Only tell me, " she moaned. 

"Will you swear?"

"I will, " she groaned. 

"No, do not swear yet, until you have heard me, " he cried. "I will notforce you. "

This time came no answer. 

"Hear me, then, daughter of Ruben Klattaner, " he began, after a pause. "You have a twofold sin upon your soul, and each is so great, socriminal, that it can only be forgiven by severe punishment. First youpermitted yourself to be infatuated by the gold and silver, and then youforced your heart to lie. With the lie you sought to deceive the man, even though he had intrusted you with his all when he made you his wife. A lie is truly a great sin! Streams of water cannot drown them. Theymake men false and hateful to themselves. The worst that has beencommitted in the world was led in by a lie. That is the one sin. "

"I know, I know, " sobbed the young woman. 

"Now hear me further, " began the rabbi again, with a wavering voice, after a short pause. "You have committed a still greater sin than thefirst. You have not only deceived your husband, but you have alsodestroyed the happiness of another person. You could have spoken, andyou did not. For life you have robbed him of his happiness, his light, his joy, but you did not speak. What can he now do, when he knows whathas been lost to him?"

"Naphtali!" cried the young woman. 

"Silence! silence! do not let that name pass your lips again, " hedemanded, violently. "The more you repeat it the greater becomes yoursin. Why did you not speak when you could have spoken? God can nevereasily forgive you that. To be silent, to keep secret in one's breastwhat would have made another man happier than the mightiest monarch!Thereby you have made him more than unhappy. He will nevermore have thedesire to be happy. Veile, God in heaven cannot forgive you for that. "

"Silence! silence!" groaned the wretched woman. 

"No, Veile, " he continued, with a stronger voice, "let me talk now. Youare certainly willing to hear me speak? Listen to me. You must do severepenance for this sin, the twofold sin which rests upon your head. God islong-suffering and merciful. He will perhaps look down upon your misery, and will blot out your guilt from the great book of transgressions. Butyou must become penitent. Hear, now, what it shall be. "

The rabbi paused. He was on the point of saying the severest thing thathad ever passed his lips. 

"You were silent, Veile, " then he cried, "when you should have spoken. Be silent now forever to all men and to yourself. From the moment youleave this house, until I grant it, you must be dumb; you dare not let aloud word pass from your mouth. Will you undergo this penance?"

"I will do all you say, " moaned the young woman. 

"Will you have strength to do it?" he asked, gently. 

"I shall be as silent as death, " she replied. 

"And one thing more I have to say to you, " he continued. "You are thewife of your husband. Return home and be a Jewish wife. "

"I understand you, " she sobbed in reply. 

"Go to your home now, and bring peace to your parents and husband. Thetime will come when you may speak, when your sin will be forgiven you. Till then bear what has been laid upon you. "

"May I say one thing more?" she cried, lifting up her head. 

"Speak, " he said. 

"Naphtali!"

The rabbi covered his eyes with one hand, with the other motioned her tobe silent. But she grasped his hand, drew it to her lips. Hot tears fellupon it. 

"Go now, " he sobbed, completely broken down. 

She let go the hand. The rabbi had seized the candle, but she hadalready passed him, and glided through the dark hall. The door was leftopen. The rabbi locked it again. 

 * * * * *

Veile returned to her home, as she had escaped, unnoticed. The narrowstreet was deserted, as desolate as death. The searchers were to befound everywhere except there where they ought first to have sought forthe missing one. Her mother, Selde, still sat on the same chair on whichshe had sunk down an hour ago. The fright had left her like oneparalyzed, and she was unable to rise. What a wonderful contrast thiswedding-room, with the mother sitting alone in it, presented to thehilarity reigning here shortly before! On Veile's entrance her motherdid not cry out. She had no strength to do so. She merely said: "So youhave come at last, my daughter?" as if Veile had only returned from awalk somewhat too long. But the young woman did not answer to this andsimilar questions. Finally she signified by gesticulations that shecould not speak. Fright seized the wretched mother a second time, andthe entire house was filled with her lamentations. 

Ruben Klattaner and Veile's husband having now returned from theirfruitless search, were horrified on perceiving the change which Veilehad undergone. Being men, they did not weep. With staring eyes theygazed upon the silent young woman, and beheld in her an apparition whichhad been dealt with by God's visitation in a mysterious manner. 

From this hour began the terrible penance of the young woman. 

The impression which Veile's woeful condition made upon the people ofthe _gasse_ was wonderful. Those who had danced with her that evening onthe wedding now first recalled her excited state. Her wild actions werenow first remembered by many. It must have been an "evil eye, " theyconcluded--a jealous, evil eye, to which her beauty was hateful. Thisalone could have possessed her with a demon of unrest. She was driven bythis evil power into the dark night, a sport of these maliciouspotencies which pursue men step by step, especially on such occasions. The living God alone knows what she must have seen that night. Nothinggood, else one would not become dumb. Old legends and tales wererevived, each more horrible than the other. Hundreds of instances weregiven to prove that this was nothing new in the _gasse_. Despite thisexplanation, it is remarkable that the people did not believe that theyoung woman was dumb. The most thought that her power of speech had beenparalyzed by some awful fright, but that with time it would be restored. Under this supposition they called her "Veile the Silent. "

There is a kind of human eloquence more telling, more forcible than theloudest words, than the choicest diction--the silence of woman!Ofttimes they cannot endure the slightest vexation, but some great, heart-breaking sorrow, some pain from constant renunciation, self-sacrifice, they suffer with sealed lips--as if, in very truth, theywere bound with bars of iron. 

It would be difficult to fully describe that long "silent" life of theyoung woman. It is almost impossible to cite more than one incident. Veile accompanied her husband to his home, that house resplendent withthat gold and silver which had infatuated her. She was, to be sure, the"first" woman in the _gasse_; she had everything in abundance. Indeed, the world supposed that she had but little cause for complaint. "Mustone have everything?" was sometimes queried in the _gasse_. "One has onething; another, another. " And, according to all appearances, the peoplewere right. Veile continued to be the beautiful, blooming woman. Herpenance of silence did not deprive her of a single charm. She was sovery happy, indeed, that she did not seem to feel even the pain of herpunishment. Veile could laugh and rejoice, but never did she forget tobe silent. The seemingly happy days, however, were only qualified tobring about the proper time of trials and temptations. The beginning waseasy enough for her, the middle and end were times of real pain. Thefirst years of their wedded life were childless. "It is well, " thepeople in the _gasse_ said, "that she has no children, and God hasrightly ordained it to be so. A mother who cannot talk to her child, that would be something awful!" Unexpectedly to all, she rejoiced oneday in the birth of a daughter. And when that affectionate youngcreature, her own offspring, was laid upon her breast, and the firstsounds were uttered by its lips--that nameless, eloquent utterance of aninfant--she forgot herself not; she was silent!

She was silent also when from day to day that child blossomed before hereyes into fuller beauty. Nor had she any words for it when, in effusionsof tenderness, it stretched forth its tiny arms, when in burning feverit sought for the mother's hand. For days--yes, weeks--together shewatched at its bedside. Sleep never visited her eyes. But she everremembered her penance. 

Years fled by. In her arms she carried another child. It was a boy. Thefather's joy was great. The child inherited its mother's beauty. Likeits sister, it grew in health and strength. The noblest, richest mother, they said, might be proud of such children! And Veile was proud, nodoubt, but this never passed her lips. She remained silent about thingswhich mothers in their joy often cannot find words enough to express. And although her face many times lighted up with beaming smiles, yet shenever renounced the habitual silence imposed upon her. 

The idea that the slightest dereliction of her penance would beaccompanied with a curse upon her children may have impressed itselfupon her mind. Mothers will understand better than other persons whatthis mother suffered from her penalty of silence. 

Thus a part of those years sped away which we are wont to call the best. She still flourished in her wonderful beauty. Her maiden daughter wasbeside her, like the bud beside the full-blown rose. Suitors werealready present from far and near, who passed in review before thebeautiful girl. The most of them were excellent young men, and anymother might have been proud in having her own daughter sought by such. Even then Veile did not undo her penance. Those busy times ofintercourse which keep mothers engaged in presenting the superioritiesof their daughters in the best light were not allowed her. The choice ofone of the most favored suitors was made. Never before did any couple inthe _gasse_ equal this in beauty and grace. A few weeks before theappointed time for the wedding a malignant disease stole on, spreadingsorrow and anxiety over the greater part of the land. Young girls wereprincipally its victims. It seemed to pass scornfully over the aged andinfirm. Veile's daughter was also laid hold upon by it. Before threedays had passed there was a corpse in the house--the bride!

Even then Veile did not forget her penance. When they bore away thecorpse to the "good place, " she did utter a cry of anguish which longafter echoed in the ears of the people; she did wring her hands indespair, but no one heard a word of complaint. Her lips seemed dumbforever. It was then, when she was seated on the low stool in the sevendays of mourning, that the rabbi came to her, to bring to her the usualconsolation for the dead. But he did not speak with her. He addressedwords only to her husband. She herself dared not look up. Only when heturned to go did she lift her eyes. They, in turn, met the eyes of therabbi, but he departed without a farewell. 

After her daughter's death Veile was completely broken down. Even thatwhich at her time of life is still called beauty had faded away within afew days. Her cheeks had become hollow, her hair gray. Visitors wonderedhow she could endure such a shock, how body and spirit could holdtogether. They did not know that that silence was an iron fetter firmlyimprisoning the slumbering spirits. She had a son, moreover, to whom, asto something last and dearest, her whole being still clung. 

The boy was thirteen years old. His learning in the Holy Scriptures wasalready celebrated for miles around. He was the pupil of the rabbi, whohad treated him with a love and tenderness becoming his own father. Hesaid that he was a remarkable child, endowed with rare talents. The boywas to be sent to Hungary, to one of the most celebrated teachers of thetimes, in order to lay the foundation for his sacred studies under thisinstructor's guidance and wisdom. Years might perhaps pass before shewould see him again. But Veile let her boy go from her embrace. She didnot say a blessing over him when he went; only her lips twitched withthe pain of silence. 

Long years expired before the boy returned from the strange land, afull-grown, noble youth. When Veile had her son with her again a smileplayed about her mouth, and for a moment it seemed as if her formerbeauty had enjoyed a second spring. The extraordinary ability of her sonalready made him famous. Wheresoever he went people were delighted withhis beauty, and admired the modesty of his manner, despite such greatscholarship. 

The next Sabbath the young disciple of the Talmud, scarcely twenty yearsof age, was to demonstrate the first marks of this great learning. 

The people crowded shoulder to shoulder in this great synagogue. Curiousglances were cast through the lattice-work of the women's gallery aboveupon the dense throng. Veile occupied one of the foremost seats. Shecould see everything that took place below. Her face was extremely pale. All eyes were turned towards her--the mother, who was permitted to seesuch a day for her son! But Veile did not appear to notice what washappening before her. A weariness, such as she had never felt before, even in her greatest suffering, crept over her limbs. It was as if shemust sleep during her son's address. He had hardly mounted the stairsbefore the ark of the laws--hardly uttered his first words--when aremarkable change crossed her face. Her cheeks burned. She arose. Allher vital energy seemed aroused. Her son meanwhile was speaking downbelow. She could not have told what he was saying. She did not hearhim--she only heard the murmur of approbation, sometimes low, sometimesloud, which came to her ears from the quarters of the men. The peoplewere astonished at the noble bearing of the speaker, his melodiousspeech, and his powerful energy. When he stopped at certain times torest it seemed as if one were in a wood swept by a storm. She could nowand then hear a few voices declaring that such a one had never beforebeen listened to. The women at her side wept; she alone could not. Achoking pain pressed from her breast to her lips. Forces were astir inher heart which struggled for expression. The whole synagogue echoedwith buzzing voices, but to her it seemed as if she must speak louderthan these. At the very moment her son had ended she cried outunconsciously, violently throwing herself against the lattice-work:

"God! living God! shall I not now speak?" A dead silence followed thisoutcry. Nearly all had recognized this voice as that of the "silentwoman. " A miracle had taken place!

"Speak! speak!" resounded the answer of the rabbi from the men's seatsbelow. "You may now speak!"

But no reply came. Veile had fallen back into her seat, pressing bothhands against her breast. When the women sitting beside her looked ather they were terrified to find that the "silent woman" had fainted. She was dead! The unsealing of her lips was her last moment. 

Long years afterwards the rabbi died. On his death-bed he told thosestanding about him this wonderful penance of Veile. 

Every girl in the _gasse_ knew the story of the "silent woman. "

FOOTNOTE:

[D] Copyright, 1890, by Harper Bros. 

BANSHEES[E]

Of all Irish ghosts, fairies, or bogles, the Banshee (sometimes calledlocally the "Boh[=ee]ntha" or "Bank[=ee]ntha") is the best known to thegeneral public: indeed, cross-Channel visitors would class her withpigs, potatoes, and other fauna and flora of Ireland, and would expecther to make manifest her presence to them as being one of the sights ofthe country. She is a spirit with a lengthy pedigree--how lengthy no mancan say, as its roots go back into the dim, mysterious past. The mostfamous Banshee of ancient times was that attached to the kingly house ofO'Brien, Aibhill, who haunted the rock of Craglea above Killaloe, nearthe old palace of Kincora. In A. D. 1014 was fought the battle ofClontarf, from which the aged king, Brian Boru, knew that he would nevercome away alive, for the previous night Aibhill had appeared to him totell him of his impending fate. The Banshee's method of foretellingdeath in olden times differed from that adopted by her at the presentday: now she wails and wrings her hands, as a general rule, but in theold Irish tales she is to be found washing human heads and limbs, orblood-stained clothes, till the water is all dyed with human blood--thiswould take place before a battle. So it would seem that in the course ofcenturies her attributes and characteristics have changed somewhat. 

Very different descriptions are given of her personal appearance. Sometimes she is young and beautiful, sometimes old and of a fearsomeappearance. One writer describes her as "a tall, thin woman withuncovered head, and long hair that floated round her shoulders, attiredin something which seemed either a loose white cloak, or a sheet thrownhastily around her, uttering piercing cries. " Another person, acoachman, saw her one evening sitting on a stile in the yard; she seemedto be a very small woman, with blue eyes, long light hair, and wearinga red cloak. Other descriptions will be found in this chapter. By theway, it does not seem to be true that the Banshee exclusively followsfamilies of Irish descent, for the last incident had reference to thedeath of a member of a Co. Galway family English by name and origin. 

One of the oldest and best-known Banshee stories is that related in the_Memoirs_ of Lady Fanshaw. [F] In 1642 her husband, Sir Richard, and shechanced to visit a friend, the head of an Irish sept, who resided in hisancient baronial castle, surrounded with a moat. At midnight she wasawakened by a ghastly and supernatural scream, and looking out of bed, beheld in the moonlight a female face and part of the form hovering atthe window. The distance from the ground, as well as the circumstance ofthe moat, excluded the possibility that what she beheld was of thisworld. The face was that of a young and rather handsome woman, but pale, and the hair, which was reddish, was loose and disheveled. The dress, which Lady Fanshaw's terror did not prevent her remarking accurately, was that of the ancient Irish. This apparition continued to exhibititself for some time, and then vanished with two shrieks similar to thatwhich had first excited Lady Fanshaw's attention. In the morning, withinfinite terror, she communicated to her host what she had witnessed, and found him prepared not only to credit, but to account for thesuperstition. "A near relation of my family, " said he; "expired lastnight in this castle. We disguised our certain expectation of the eventfrom you, lest it should throw a cloud over the cheerful reception whichwas your due. Now, before such an event happens in this family orcastle, the female specter whom you have seen is always visible. She isbelieved to be the spirit of a woman of inferior rank, whom one of myancestors degraded himself by marrying, and whom afterwards, to expiatethe dishonor done to his family, he caused to be drowned in the moat. "In strictness this woman could hardly be termed a Banshee. The motivefor the haunting is akin to that in the tale of the Scotch "Drummer ofCortachy, " where the spirit of the murdered man haunts the family out ofrevenge, and appears before a death. 

Mr. T. J. Westropp, M. A. , has furnished the following story: "My maternalgrandmother heard the following tradition from her mother, one of theMiss Ross-Lewins, who witnessed the occurrence. Their father, Mr. Harrison Ross-Lewin, was away in Dublin on law business, and in hisabsence the young people went off to spend the evening with a friend wholived some miles away. The night was fine and lightsome as they werereturning, save at one point where the road ran between trees or highhedges not far to the west of the old church of Kilchrist. The latter, like many similar ruins, was a simple oblong building, with longside-walls and high gables, and at that time it and its graveyard wereunenclosed, and lay in the open fields. As the party passed down thelong dark lane they suddenly heard in the distance loud keening andclapping of hands, as the country-people were accustomed to do whenlamenting the dead. The Ross-Lewins hurried on, and came in sight of thechurch, on the side wall of which a little gray-haired old woman, cladin a dark cloak, was running to and fro, chanting and wailing, andthrowing up her arms. The girls were very frightened, but the young menran forward and surrounded the ruin, and two of them went into thechurch, the apparition vanishing from the wall as they did so. Theysearched every nook, and found no one, nor did any one pass out. Allwere now well scared, and got home as fast as possible. On reachingtheir home their mother opened the door, and at once told them that shewas in terror about their father, for, as she sat looking out the windowin the moonlight, a huge raven with fiery eyes lit on the sill, andtapped three times on the glass. They told her their story, which onlyadded to their anxiety, and as they stood talking, taps came to thenearest window, and they saw the bird again. A few days later newsreached them that Mr. Ross-Lewin had died suddenly in Dublin. Thisoccurred about 1776. "

Mr. Westropp also writes that the sister of a former Roman CatholicBishop told his sisters that when she was a little girl she went outone evening with some other children for a walk. Going down the road, they passed the gate of the principal demesne near the town. There was arock, or large stone, beside the road, on which they saw something. Going nearer, they perceived it to be a little dark, old woman, whobegan crying and clapping her hands. Some of them attempted to speak toher, but got frightened, and all finally ran home as quickly as theycould. Next day the news came that the gentleman near whose gate theBanshee had cried, was dead, and it was found on inquiry that he haddied at the very hour at which the children had seen the specter. 

A lady who is a relation of one of the compilers, and a member of a Co. Cork family of English descent, sends the two following experiences of aBanshee in her family. "My mother, when a young girl, was standinglooking out of the window in their house at Blackrock, near Cork. Shesuddenly saw a white figure standing on a bridge which was easilyvisible from the house. The figure waved her arms towards the house, andmy mother heard the bitter wailing of the Banshee. It lasted someseconds, and then the figure disappeared. Next morning my grandfatherwas walking as usual into the city of Cork. He accidentally fell, hithis head against the curbstone, and never recovered consciousness. 

"In March, 1900, my mother was very ill, and one evening the nurse and Iwere with her arranging her bed. We suddenly heard the most extraordinarywailing, which seemed to come in waves round and under her bed. Wenaturally looked everywhere to try and find the cause, but in vain. Thenurse and I looked at one another, but made no remark, as my mother didnot seem to hear it. My sister was downstairs sitting with my father. She heard it, and thought some terrible thing had happened to her littleboy, who was in bed upstairs. She rushed up, and found him sleepingquietly. My father did not hear it. In the house next door they heardit, and ran downstairs, thinking something had happened to the servant;but the latter at once said to them, 'Did you hear the Banshee? Mrs. P---- must be dying. '"

A few years ago (_i. E. _ before 1894) a curious incident occurred in apublic school in connection with the belief in the Banshee. One of theboys, happening to become ill, was at once placed in a room by himself, where he used to sit all day. On one occasion, as he was being visitedby the doctor, he suddenly started up from his seat, and affirmed thathe heard somebody crying. The doctor, of course, who could hear or seenothing, came to the conclusion that the illness had slightly affectedhis brain. However, the boy, who appeared quite sensible, stillpersisted that he heard some one crying, and furthermore said, "It isthe Banshee, as I have heard it before. " The following morning thehead-master received a telegram saying that the boy's brother had beenaccidentally shot dead. [G]

That the Banshee is not confined within the geographical limits ofIreland, but that she can follow the fortunes of a family abroad, andthere foretell their death, is clearly shown by the following story. Aparty of visitors were gathered together on the deck of a private yachton one of the Italian lakes, and during a lull in the conversation oneof them, a Colonel, said to the owner, "Count, who's that queer-lookingwoman you have on board?" The Count replied that there was nobody exceptthe ladies present, and the stewardess, but the speaker protested thathe was correct, and suddenly, with a scream of horror, he placed hishands before his eyes, and exclaimed, "Oh, my God, what a face!" Forsome time he was overcome with terror, and at length reluctantly lookedup, and cried:

"Thank Heavens, it's gone!"

"What was it?" asked the Count. 

"Nothing human, " replied the Colonel--"nothing belonging to this world. It was a woman of no earthly type, with a queer-shaped, gleaming face, amass of red hair, and eyes that would have been beautiful but for theirexpression, which was hellish. She had on a green hood, after thefashion of an Irish peasant. "

An American lady present suggested that the description tallied withthat of the Banshee, upon which the Count said:

"I am an O'Neill--at least I am descended from one. My family name is, as you know, Neilsini, which, little more than a century ago, wasO'Neill. My great-grandfather served in the Irish Brigade, and on itsdissolution at the time of the French Revolution had the good fortune toescape the general massacre of officers, and in company with an O'Brienand a Maguire fled across the frontier and settled in Italy. On hisdeath his son, who had been born in Italy, and was far more Italian thanIrish, changed his name to Neilsini, by which name the family has beenknown ever since. But for all that we are Irish. "

"The Banshee was yours, then!" ejaculated the Colonel. "What exactlydoes it mean?"

"It means, " the Count replied solemnly, "the death of some one verynearly associated with me. Pray Heaven it is not my wife or daughter. "

On that score, however, his anxiety was speedily removed, for within twohours he was seized with a violent attack of angina pectoris, and diedbefore morning. [H]

Mr. Elliott O'Donnell, to whose article on "Banshees" we are indebtedfor the above, adds: "The Banshee never manifests itself to the personwhose death it is prognosticating. Other people may see or hear it, butthe fated one never, so that when every one present is aware of it butone, the fate of that one may be regarded as pretty well certain. "

FOOTNOTES:

[E] From "True Irish Ghost Stories. "

[F] Scott's _Lady of the Lake_, notes to Canto III (edition of 1811). 

[G] A. G. Bradley, _Notes on some Irish Superstitions_, p. 9. 

[H] _Occult Review_ for September, 1913. 

THE MAN WHO WENT TOO FAR

BY E. F. BENSON

The little village of St. Faith's nestles in a hollow of wooded hill upon the north bank of the river Fawn in the county of Hampshire, huddlingclose round its gray Norman church as if for spiritual protectionagainst the fays and fairies, the trolls and "little people, " who mightbe supposed still to linger in the vast empty spaces of the New Forest, and to come after dusk and do their doubtful businesses. Once outsidethe hamlet you may walk in any direction (so long as you avoid the highroad which leads to Brockenhurst) for the length of a summer afternoonwithout seeing sign of human habitation, or possibly even catching sightof another human being. Shaggy wild ponies may stop their feeding for amoment as you pass, the white scuts of rabbits will vanish into theirburrows, a brown viper perhaps will glide from your path into a clump ofheather, and unseen birds will chuckle in the bushes, but it may easilyhappen that for a long day you will see nothing human. But you will notfeel in the least lonely; in summer, at any rate, the sunlight will begay with butterflies, and the air thick with all those woodland soundswhich like instruments in an orchestra combine to play the greatsymphony of the yearly festival of June. Winds whisper in the birches, and sigh among the firs; bees are busy with their redolent labor amongthe heather, a myriad birds chirp in the green temples of the foresttrees, and the voice of the river prattling over stony places, bubblinginto pools, chuckling and gulping round corners, gives you the sensethat many presences and companions are near at hand. 

Yet, oddly enough, though one would have thought that these benign andcheerful influences of wholesome air and spaciousness of forest werevery healthful comrades for a man, in so far as nature can reallyinfluence this wonderful human genus which has in these centurieslearned to defy her most violent storms in its well-established houses, to bridle her torrents and make them light its streets, to tunnel hermountains and plow her seas, the inhabitants of St. Faith's will notwillingly venture into the forest after dark. For in spite of thesilence and loneliness of the hooded night it seems that a man is notsure in what company he may suddenly find himself, and though it isdifficult to get from these villagers any very clear story of occultappearances, the feeling is widespread. One story indeed I have heardwith some definiteness, the tale of a monstrous goat that has been seento skip with hellish glee about the woods and shady places, and thisperhaps is connected with the story which I have here attempted to piecetogether. It too is well-known to them; for all remember the youngartist who died here not long ago, a young man, or so he struck thebeholder, of great personal beauty, with something about him that mademen's faces to smile and brighten when they looked on him. His ghostthey will tell you "walks" constantly by the stream and through thewoods which he loved so, and in especial it haunts a certain house, thelast of the village, where he lived, and its garden in which he was doneto death. For my part I am inclined to think that the terror of theForest dates chiefly from that day. So, such as the story is, I have setit forth in connected form. It is based partly on the accounts of thevillagers, but mainly on that of Darcy, a friend of mine and a friend ofthe man with whom these events were chiefly concerned. 

 * * * * *

The day had been one of untarnished midsummer splendor, and as the sundrew near to its setting, the glory of the evening grew every momentmore crystalline, more miraculous. Westward from St. Faith's thebeechwood which stretched for some miles toward the heathery uplandbeyond already cast its veil of clear shadow over the red roofs of thevillage, but the spire of the gray church, over-topping all, stillpointed a flaming orange finger into the sky. The river Fawn, which runsbelow, lay in sheets of sky-reflected blue, and wound its dreamy deviouscourse round the edge of this wood, where a rough two-planked bridgecrossed from the bottom of the garden of the last house in the village, and communicated by means of a little wicker gate with the wood itself. Then once out of the shadow of the wood the stream lay in flaming poolsof the molten crimson of the sunset, and lost itself in the haze ofwoodland distances. 

This house at the end of the village stood outside the shadow, and thelawn which sloped down to the river was still flecked with sunlight. Garden-beds of dazzling color lined its gravel walks, and down themiddle of it ran a brick pergola, half-hidden in clusters oframbler-rose and purple with starry clematis. At the bottom end of it, between two of its pillars, was slung a hammock containing ashirt-sleeved figure. 

The house itself lay somewhat remote from the rest of the village, and afootpath leading across two fields, now tall and fragrant with hay, wasits only communication with the high road. It was low-built, only twostories in height, and like the garden, its walls were a mass offlowering roses. A narrow stone terrace ran along the garden front, overwhich was stretched an awning, and on the terrace a young silent-footedman-servant was busied with the laying of the table for dinner. He wasneat-handed and quick with his job, and having finished it he went backinto the house, and reappeared again with a large rough bath-towel onhis arm. With this he went to the hammock in the pergola. 

"Nearly eight, sir, " he said. 

"Has Mr. Darcy come yet?" asked a voice from the hammock. 

"No, sir. "

"If I'm not back when he comes, tell him that I'm just having a bathebefore dinner. "

The servant went back to the house, and after a moment or two FrankHalton struggled to a sitting posture, and slipped out on to the grass. He was of medium height and rather slender in build, but the supple easeand grace of his movements gave the impression of great physicalstrength: even his descent from the hammock was not an awkwardperformance. His face and hands were of very dark complexion, eitherfrom constant exposure to wind and sun, or, as his black hair and darkeyes tended to show, from some strain of southern blood. His head wassmall, his face of an exquisite beauty of modeling, while the smoothnessof its contour would have led you to believe that he was a beardless ladstill in his teens. But something, some look which living and experiencealone can give, seemed to contradict that, and finding yourselfcompletely puzzled as to his age, you would next moment probably ceaseto think about that, and only look at this glorious specimen of youngmanhood with wondering satisfaction. 

He was dressed as became the season and the heat, and wore only a shirtopen at the neck, and a pair of flannel trousers. His head, covered verythickly with a somewhat rebellious crop of short curly hair, was bare ashe strolled across the lawn to the bathing-place that lay below. Thenfor a moment there was silence, then the sound of splashed and dividedwaters, and presently after, a great shout of ecstatic joy, as he swamup-stream with the foamed water standing in a frill round his neck. Thenafter some five minutes of limb-stretching struggle with the flood, heturned over on his back, and with arms thrown wide, floated down-stream, ripple-cradled and inert. His eyes were shut, and between half-partedlips he talked gently to himself. 

"I am one with it, " he said to himself, "the river and I, I and theriver. The coolness and splash of it is I, and the water-herbs that wavein it are I also. And my strength and my limbs are not mine but theriver's. It is all one, all one, dear Fawn. "

 * * * * *

A quarter of an hour later he appeared again at the bottom of the lawn, dressed as before, his wet hair already drying into its crisp shortcurls again. There he paused a moment, looking back at the stream withthe smile with which men look on the face of a friend, then turnedtowards the house. Simultaneously his servant came to the door leadingon to the terrace, followed by a man who appeared to be some half-waythrough the fourth decade of his years. Frank and he saw each otheracross the bushes and garden-beds, and each quickening his step, theymet suddenly face to face round an angle of the garden walk, in thefragrance of syringa. 

"My dear Darcy, " cried Frank, "I am charmed to see you. "

But the other stared at him in amazement. 

"Frank!" he exclaimed. 

"Yes, that is my name, " he said laughing, "what is the matter?"

Darcy took his hand. 

"What have you done to yourself?" he asked. "You are a boy again. "

"Ah, I have a lot to tell you, " said Frank. "Lots that you will hardlybelieve, but I shall convince you----"

He broke off suddenly, and held up his hand. 

"Hush, there is my nightingale, " he said. 

The smile of recognition and welcome with which he had greeted hisfriend faded from his face, and a look of rapt wonder took its place, asof a lover listening to the voice of his beloved. His mouth partedslightly, showing the white line of teeth, and his eyes looked out andout till they seemed to Darcy to be focused on things beyond the visionof man. Then something perhaps startled the bird, for the song ceased. 

"Yes, lots to tell you, " he said. "Really I am delighted to see you. Butyou look rather white and pulled down; no wonder after that fever. Andthere is to be no nonsense about this visit. It is June now, you stophere till you are fit to begin work again. Two months at least. "

"Ah, I can't trespass quite to that extent. "

Frank took his arm and walked him down the grass. 

"Trespass? Who talks of trespass? I shall tell you quite openly when Iam tired of you, but you know when we had the studio together, we usednot to bore each other. However, it is ill talking of going away on themoment of your arrival. Just a stroll to the river, and then it will bedinner-time. "

Darcy took out his cigarette case, and offered it to the other. 

Frank laughed. 

"No, not for me. Dear me, I suppose I used to smoke once. How very odd!"

"Given it up?"

"I don't know. I suppose I must have. Anyhow I don't do it now. I wouldas soon think of eating meat. "

"Another victim on the smoking altar of vegetarianism?"

"Victim?" asked Frank. "Do I strike you as such?"

He paused on the margin of the stream and whistled softly. Next moment amoor-hen made its splashing flight across the river, and ran up thebank. Frank took it very gently in his hands and stroked its head, asthe creature lay against his shirt. 

"And is the house among the reeds still secure?" he half-crooned to it. "And is the missus quite well, and are the neighbors flourishing? There, dear, home with you, " and he flung it into the air. 

"That bird's very tame, " said Darcy, slightly bewildered. 

"It is rather, " said Frank, following its flight. 

 * * * * *

During dinner Frank chiefly occupied himself in bringing himselfup-to-date in the movements and achievements of this old friend whom hehad not seen for six years. Those six years, it now appeared, had beenfull of incident and success for Darcy; he had made a name for himselfas a portrait painter which bade fair to outlast the vogue of a coupleof seasons, and his leisure time had been brief. Then some four monthspreviously he had been through a severe attack of typhoid, the result ofwhich as concerns this story was that he had come down to thissequestered place to recruit. 

"Yes, you've got on, " said Frank at the end. "I always knew you would. A. R. A. With more in prospect. Money? You roll in it, I suppose, and, ODarcy, how much happiness have you had all these years? That is the onlyimperishable possession. And how much have you learned? Oh, I don't meanin Art. Even I could have done well in that. "

Darcy laughed. 

"Done well? My dear fellow, all I have learned in these six years youknew, so to speak, in your cradle. Your old pictures fetch huge prices. Do you never paint now?"

Frank shook his head. 

"No, I'm too busy, " he said. 

"Doing what? Please tell me. That is what every one is for ever askingme. "

"Doing? I suppose you would say I do nothing. "

Darcy glanced up at the brilliant young face opposite him. 

"It seems to suit you, that way of being busy, " he said. "Now, it's yourturn. Do you read? Do you study? I remember you saying that it would dous all--all us artists, I mean--a great deal of good if we would studyany one human face carefully for a year, without recording a line. Haveyou been doing that?"

Frank shook his head again. 

"I mean exactly what I say, " he said, "I have been _doing_ nothing. AndI have never been so occupied. Look at me; have I not done something tomyself to begin with?"

"You are two years younger than I, " said Darcy, "at least you used tobe. You therefore are thirty-five. But had I never seen you before Ishould say you were just twenty. But was it worth while to spend sixyears of greatly-occupied life in order to look twenty? Seems ratherlike a woman of fashion. "

Frank laughed boisterously. 

"First time I've ever been compared to that particular bird of prey, " hesaid. "No, that has not been my occupation--in fact I am only veryrarely conscious that one effect of my occupation has been that. Ofcourse, it must have been if one comes to think of it. It is not veryimportant. Quite true my body has become young. But that is very little;I have become young. "

Darcy pushed back his chair and sat sideways to the table looking at theother. 

"Has that been your occupation then?" he asked. 

"Yes, that anyhow is one aspect of it. Think what youth means! It is thecapacity for growth, mind, body, spirit, all grow, all get stronger, allhave a fuller, firmer life every day. That is something, consideringthat every day that passes after the ordinary man reaches thefull-blown flower of his strength, weakens his hold on life. A manreaches his prime, and remains, we say, in his prime, for ten years, orperhaps twenty. But after his primest prime is reached, he slowly, insensibly weakens. These are the signs of age in you, in your body, inyour art probably, in your mind. You are less electric than you were. But I, when I reach my prime--I am nearing it--ah, you shall see. "

The stars had begun to appear in the blue velvet of the sky, and to theeast the horizon seen above the black silhouette of the village wasgrowing dove-colored with the approach of moon-rise. White moths hovereddimly over the garden-beds, and the footsteps of night tip-toed throughthe bushes. Suddenly Frank rose. 

"Ah, it is the supreme moment, " he said softly. "Now more than at anyother time the current of life, the eternal imperishable current runs soclose to me that I am almost enveloped in it. Be silent a minute. "

He advanced to the edge of the terrace and looked out standing stretchedwith arms outspread. Darcy heard him draw a long breath into his lungs, and after many seconds expel it again. Six or eight times he did this, then turned back into the lamplight. 

"It will sound to you quite mad, I expect, " he said, "but if you want tohear the soberest truth I have ever spoken and shall ever speak, I willtell you about myself. But come into the garden if it is not too dampfor you. I have never told any one yet, but I shall like to tell you. Itis long, in fact, since I have even tried to classify what I havelearned. "

They wandered into the fragrant dimness of the pergola, and sat down. Then Frank began:

"Years ago, do you remember, " he said, "we used often to talk about thedecay of joy in the world. Many impulses, we settled, had contributed tothis decay, some of which were good in themselves, others that werequite completely bad. Among the good things, I put what we may callcertain Christian virtues, renunciation, resignation, sympathy withsuffering, and the desire to relieve sufferers. But out of those thingsspring very bad ones, useless renunciations, asceticism for its ownsake, mortification of the flesh with nothing to follow, nocorresponding gain that is, and that awful and terrible disease whichdevastated England some centuries ago, and from which by heredity ofspirit we suffer now, Puritanism. That was a dreadful plague, the brutesheld and taught that joy and laughter and merriment were evil: it was adoctrine the most profane and wicked. Why, what is the commonest crimeone sees? A sullen face. That is the truth of the matter. 

"Now all my life I have believed that we are intended to be happy, thatjoy is of all gifts the most divine. And when I left London, abandonedmy career, such as it was, I did so because I intended to devote my lifeto the cultivation of joy, and, by continuous and unsparing effort, tobe happy. Among people, and in constant intercourse with others, I didnot find it possible; there were too many distractions in towns andwork-rooms, and also too much suffering. So I took one step backwards orforwards, as you may choose to put it, and went straight to Nature, totrees, birds, animals, to all those things which quite clearly pursueone aim only, which blindly follow the great native instinct to behappy without any care at all for morality, or human law or divine law. I wanted, you understand, to get all joy first-hand and unadulterated, and I think it scarcely exists among men; it is obsolete. "

Darcy turned in his chair. 

"Ah, but what makes birds and animals happy?" he asked. "Food, food andmating. "

Frank laughed gently in the stillness. 

"Do not think I became a sensualist, " he said. "I did not make thatmistake. For the sensualist carries his miseries pick-a-back, and roundhis feet is wound the shroud that shall soon enwrap him. I may be mad, it is true, but I am not so stupid anyhow as to have tried that. No, what is it that makes puppies play with their own tails, that sends catson their prowling ecstatic errands at night?". 

He paused a moment. 

"So I went to Nature, " he said. "I sat down here in this New Forest, sat down fair and square, and looked. That was my first difficulty, tosit here quiet without being bored, to wait without being impatient, tobe receptive and very alert, though for a long time nothing particularhappened. The change in fact was slow in those early stages. "

"Nothing happened?" asked Darcy rather impatiently, with the sturdyrevolt against any new idea which to the English mind is synonymous withnonsense. "Why, what in the world _should_ happen?"

Now Frank as he had known him was the most generous but mostquick-tempered of mortal men; in other words his anger would flare to aprodigious beacon, under almost no provocation, only to be quenchedagain under a gust of no less impulsive kindliness. Thus the momentDarcy had spoken, an apology for his hasty question was half-way up histongue. But there was no need for it to have traveled even so far, forFrank laughed again with kindly, genuine mirth. 

"Oh, how I should have resented that a few years ago, " he said. "Thankgoodness that resentment is one of the things I have got rid of. I certainly wish that you should believe my story--in fact, you aregoing to--but that you at this moment should imply that you do not, does not concern me. "

"Ah, your solitary sojournings have made you inhuman, " said Darcy, stillvery English. 

"No, human, " said Frank. "Rather more human, at least rather less of anape. "

"Well, that was my first quest, " he continued, after a moment, "thedeliberate and unswerving pursuit of joy, and my method, the eagercontemplation of Nature. As far as motive went, I daresay it was purelyselfish, but as far as effect goes, it seems to me about the best thingone can do for one's fellow-creatures, for happiness is more infectiousthan small-pox. So, as I said, I sat down and waited; I looked at happythings, zealously avoided the sight of anything unhappy, and by degreesa little trickle of the happiness of this blissful world began to filterinto me. The trickle grew more abundant, and now, my dear fellow, if Icould for a moment divert from me into you one half of the torrent ofjoy that pours through me day and night, you would throw the world, art, everything aside, and just live, exist. When a man's body dies, itpasses into trees and flowers. Well, that is what I have been trying todo with my soul before death. "

The servant had brought into the pergola a table with syphons andspirits, and had set a lamp upon it. As Frank spoke he leaned forwardtowards the other, and Darcy for all his matter-of-fact commonsensecould have sworn that his companion's face shone, was luminous initself. His dark brown eyes glowed from within, the unconscious smile ofa child irradiated and transformed his face. Darcy felt suddenlyexcited, exhilarated. 

"Go on, " he said. "Go on. I can feel you are somehow telling me sobertruth. I daresay you are mad; but I don't see that matters. "

Frank laughed again. 

"Mad?" he said. "Yes, certainly, if you wish. But I prefer to call itsane. However, nothing matters less than what anybody chooses to callthings. God never labels his gifts; He just puts them into our hands;just as he put animals in the garden of Eden, for Adam to name if hefelt disposed. "

"So by the continual observance and study of things that were happy, "continued he, "I got happiness, I got joy. But seeking it, as I did, from Nature, I got much more which I did not seek, but stumbled uponoriginally by accident. It is difficult to explain, but I will try. 

"About three years ago I was sitting one morning in a place I will showyou to-morrow. It is down by the river brink, very green, dappled withshade and sun, and the river passes there through some little clumps ofreeds. Well, as I sat there, doing nothing, but just looking andlistening, I heard the sound quite distinctly of some flute-likeinstrument playing a strange unending melody. I thought at first it wassome musical yokel on the highway and did not pay much attention. Butbefore long the strangeness and indescribable beauty of the tune struckme. It never repeated itself, but it never came to an end, phrase afterphrase ran its sweet course, it worked gradually and inevitably up to aclimax, and having attained it, it went on; another climax was reachedand another and another. Then with a sudden gasp of wonder I localizedwhere it came from. It came from the reeds and from the sky and from thetrees. It was everywhere, it was the sound of life. It was, my dearDarcy, as the Greeks would have said, it was Pan playing on his pipes, the voice of Nature. It was the life-melody, the world-melody. "

Darcy was far too interested to interrupt, though there was a questionhe would have liked to ask, and Frank went on:

"Well, for the moment I was terrified, terrified with the impotenthorror of nightmare, and I stopped my ears and just ran from the placeand got back to the house panting, trembling, literally in a panic. Unknowingly, for at that time I only pursued joy, I had begun, since Idrew my joy from Nature, to get in touch with Nature. Nature, force, God, call it what you will, had drawn across my face a little gossamerweb of essential life. I saw that when I emerged from my terror, and Iwent very humbly back to where I had heard the Pan-pipes. But it wasnearly six months before I heard them again. "

"Why was that?" asked Darcy. 

"Surely because I had revolted, rebelled, and worst of all beenfrightened. For I believe that just as there is nothing in the worldwhich so injures one's body as fear, so there is nothing that so muchshuts up the soul. I was afraid, you see, of the one thing in the worldwhich has real existence. No wonder its manifestation was withdrawn. "

"And after six months?"

"After six months one blessed morning I heard the piping again. I wasn'tafraid that time. And since then it has grown louder, it has become moreconstant. I now hear it often, and I can put myself into such anattitude towards Nature that the pipes will almost certainly sound. Andnever yet have they played the same tune, it is always something new, something fuller, richer, more complete than before. "

"What do you mean by 'such an attitude towards Nature'?" asked Darcy. 

"I can't explain that; but by translating it into a bodily attitude itis this. "

Frank sat up for a moment quite straight in his chair, then slowly sunkback with arms outspread and head drooped. 

"That, " he said, "an effortless attitude, but open, resting, receptive. It is just that which you must do with your soul. "

Then he sat up again. 

"One word more, " he said, "and I will bore you no further. Nor unlessyou ask me questions shall I talk about it again. You will find me, infact, quite sane in my mode of life. Birds and beasts you will seebehaving somewhat intimately to me, like that moor-hen, but that is all. I will walk with you, ride with you, play golf with you, and talk withyou on any subject you like. But I wanted you on the threshold to knowwhat has happened to me. And one thing more will happen. "

He paused again, and a slight look of fear crossed his eyes. 

"There will be a final revelation, " he said, "a complete and blindingstroke which will throw open to me, once and for all, the fullknowledge, the full realization and comprehension that I am one, just asyou are, with life. In reality there is no 'me, ' no 'you, ' no 'it. 'Everything is part of the one and only thing which is life. I know thatthat is so, but the realization of it is not yet mine. But it will be, and on that day, so I take it, I shall see Pan. It may mean death, thedeath of my body, that is, but I don't care. It may mean immortal, eternal life lived here and now and for ever. Then having gained that, ah, my dear Darcy, I shall preach such a gospel of joy, showing myselfas the living proof of the truth, that Puritanism, the dismal religionof sour faces, shall vanish like a breath of smoke, and be dispersed anddisappear in the sunlit air. But first the full knowledge must be mine. "

Darcy watched his face narrowly. 

"You are afraid of that moment, " he said. 

Frank smiled at him. 

"Quite true; you are quick to have seen that. But when it comes I hope Ishall not be afraid. "

For some little time there was silence; then Darcy rose. 

"You have bewitched me, you extraordinary boy, " he said. "You have beentelling me a fairy-story, and I find myself saying, 'Promise me it istrue. '"

"I promise you that, " said the other. 

"And I know I shan't sleep, " added Darcy. 

Frank looked at him with a sort of mild wonder as if he scarcelyunderstood. 

"Well, what does that matter?" he said. 

"I assure you it does. I am wretched unless I sleep. "

"Of course I can make you sleep if I want, " said Frank in a rather boredvoice. 

"Well, do. "

"Very good: go to bed. I'll come upstairs in ten minutes. "

Frank busied himself for a little after the other had gone, moving thetable back under the awning of the veranda and quenching the lamp. Thenhe went with his quick silent tread upstairs and into Darcy's room. Thelatter was already in bed, but very wide-eyed and wakeful, and Frankwith an amused smile of indulgence, as for a fretful child, sat down onthe edge of the bed. 

"Look at me, " he said, and Darcy looked. 

"The birds are sleeping in the brake, " said Frank softly, "and the windsare asleep. The sea sleeps, and the tides are but the heaving of itsbreast. The stars swing slow, rocked in the great cradle of the Heavens, and----"

He stopped suddenly, gently blew out Darcy's candle, and left himsleeping. 

Morning brought to Darcy a flood of hard commonsense, as clear and crispas the sunshine that filled his room. Slowly as he woke he gatheredtogether the broken threads of the memories of the evening which hadended, so he told himself, in a trick of common hypnotism. Thataccounted for it all; the whole strange talk he had had was under aspell of suggestion from the extraordinary vivid boy who had once been aman; all his own excitement, his acceptance of the incredible had beenmerely the effect of a stronger, more potent will imposed on his own. How strong that will was, he guessed from his own instantaneousobedience to Frank's suggestion of sleep. And armed with impenetrablecommonsense he came down to breakfast. Frank had already begun, and wasconsuming a large plateful of porridge and milk with the most prosaicand healthy appetite. 

"Slept well?" he asked. 

"Yes, of course. Where did you learn hypnotism?"

"By the side of the river. "

"You talked an amazing quantity of nonsense last night, " remarked Darcy, in a voice prickly with reason. 

"Rather. I felt quite giddy. Look, I remembered to order a dreadfuldaily paper for you. You can read about money markets or politics orcricket matches. "

Darcy looked at him closely. In the morning light Frank looked evenfresher, younger, more vital than he had done the night before, and thesight of him somehow dinted Darcy's armor of commonsense. 

"You are the most extraordinary fellow I ever saw, " he said. "I want toask you some more questions. "

"Ask away, " said Frank. 

 * * * * *

For the next day or two Darcy plied his friend with many questions, objections and criticisms on the theory of life and gradually got out ofhim a coherent and complete account of his experience. In brief then, Frank believed that "by lying naked, " as he put it, to the force whichcontrols the passage of the stars, the breaking of a wave, the buddingof a tree, the love of a youth and maiden, he had succeeded in a wayhitherto undreamed of in possessing himself of the essential principleof life. Day by day, so he thought, he was getting nearer to, and incloser union with the great power itself which caused all life to be, the spirit of nature, of force, or the spirit of God. For himself, heconfessed to what others would call paganism; it was sufficient for himthat there existed a principle of life. He did not worship it, he didnot pray to it, he did not praise it. Some of it existed in all humanbeings, just as it existed in trees and animals; to realize and makeliving to himself the fact that it was all one, was his sole aim andobject. 

Here perhaps Darcy would put in a word of warning. "Take care, " he said. "To see Pan meant death, did it not?"

Frank's eyebrows would rise at this. 

"What does that matter?" he said. "True, the Greeks were always right, and they said so, but there is another possibility. For the nearer I getto it, the more living, the more vital and young I become. "

"What then do you expect the final revelation will do for you?"

"I have told you, " said he. "It will make me immortal. "

But it was not so much from speech and argument that Darcy grew to grasphis friend's conception, as from the ordinary conduct of his life. Theywere passing, for instance, one morning down the village street, when anold woman, very bent and decrepit, but with an extraordinarycheerfulness of face, hobbled out from her cottage. Frank instantlystopped when he saw her. 

"You old darling! How goes it all?" he said. 

But she did not answer, her dim old eyes were riveted on his face; sheseemed to drink in like a thirsty creature the beautiful radiance whichshone there. Suddenly she put her two withered old hands on hisshoulders. 

"You're just the sunshine itself, " she said, and he kissed her andpassed on. 

But scarcely a hundred yards further a strange contradiction of suchtenderness occurred. A child running along the path towards them fell onits face, and set up a dismal cry of fright and pain. A look of horrorcame into Frank's eyes, and, putting his fingers in his ears, he fled atfull speed down the street, and did not pause till he was out ofhearing. Darcy, having ascertained that the child was not really hurt, followed him in bewilderment. 

"Are you without pity then?" he asked. 

Frank shook his head impatiently. 

"Can't you see?" he asked. "Can't you understand that that sort ofthing, pain, anger, anything unlovely throws me back, retards thecoming of the great hour! Perhaps when it comes I shall be able to piecethat side of life on to the other, on to the true religion of joy. Atpresent I can't. "

"But the old woman. Was she not ugly?"

Frank's radiance gradually returned. 

"Ah, no. She was like me. She longed for joy, and knew it when she sawit, the old darling. "

Another question suggested itself. 

"Then what about Christianity?" asked Darcy. 

"I can't accept it. I can't believe in any creed of which the centraldoctrine is that God who is Joy should have had to suffer. Perhaps itwas so; in some inscrutable way I believe it may have been so, but Idon't understand how it was possible. So I leave it alone; my affair isjoy. "

They had come to the weir above the village, and the thunder of riotouscool water was heavy in the air. Trees dipped into the translucentstream with slender trailing branches, and the meadow where they stoodwas starred with midsummer blossomings. Larks shot up caroling into thecrystal dome of blue, and a thousand voices of June sang round them. Frank, bare-headed as was his wont, with his coat slung over his arm andhis shirt sleeves rolled up above the elbow, stood there like somebeautiful wild animal with eyes half-shut and mouth half-open, drinkingin the scented warmth of the air. Then suddenly he flung himself facedownwards on the grass at the edge of the stream, burying his face inthe daisies and cowslips, and lay stretched there in wide-armed ecstasy, with his long fingers pressing and stroking the dewy herbs of the field. Never before had Darcy seen him thus fully possessed by his idea; hiscaressing fingers, his half-buried face pressed close to the grass, eventhe clothed lines of his figure were instinct with a vitality thatsomehow was different from that of other men. And some faint glow fromit reached Darcy, some thrill, some vibration from that chargedrecumbent body passed to him, and for a moment he understood as he hadnot understood before, despite his persistent questions and the candidanswers they received, how real, and how realized by Frank, his ideawas. 

Then suddenly the muscles in Frank's neck became stiff and alert, andhe half-raised his head, whispering, "The Pan-pipes, the Pan-pipes. Close, oh, so close. "

Very slowly, as if a sudden movement might interrupt the melody, heraised himself and leaned on the elbow of his bent arm. His eyes openedwider, the lower lids drooped as if he focused his eyes on somethingvery far away, and the smile on his face broadened and quivered likesunlight on still water, till the exultance of its happiness wasscarcely human. So he remained motionless and rapt for some minutes, then the look of listening died from his face, and he bowed his headsatisfied. 

"Ah, that was good, " he said. "How is it possible you did not hear? Oh, you poor fellow! Did you really hear nothing?"

A week of this outdoor and stimulating life did wonders in restoring toDarcy the vigor and health which his weeks of fever had filched fromhim, and as his normal activity and higher pressure of vitalityreturned, he seemed to himself to fall even more under the spell whichthe miracle of Frank's youth cast over him. Twenty times a day he foundhimself saying to himself suddenly at the end of some ten minutes'silent resistance to the absurdity of Frank's idea: "But it isn'tpossible; it can't be possible, " and from the fact of his having toassure himself so frequently of this, he knew that he was struggling andarguing with a conclusion which already had taken root in his mind. Forin any case a visible living miracle confronted him, since it wasequally impossible that this youth, this boy, trembling on the verge ofmanhood, was thirty-five. Yet such was the fact. 

July was ushered in by a couple of days of blustering and fretful rain, and Darcy, unwilling to risk a chill, kept to the house. But to Frankthis weeping change of weather seemed to have no bearing on the behaviorof man, and he spent his days exactly as he did under the suns of June, lying in his hammock, stretched on the dripping grass, or making hugerambling excursions into the forest, the birds hopping from tree to treeafter him, to return in the evening, drenched and soaked, but with thesame unquenchable flame of joy burning within him. 

"Catch cold?" he would ask, "I've forgotten how to do it, I think. I suppose it makes one's body more sensible always to sleep out-of-doors. People who live indoors always remind me of something peeled andskinless. "

"Do you mean to say you slept out-of-doors last night in that deluge?"asked Darcy. "And where, may I ask?"

Frank thought a moment. 

"I slept in the hammock till nearly dawn, " he said. "For I remember thelight blinked in the east when I awoke. Then I went--where did I go?--oh, yes, to the meadow where the Pan-pipes sounded so close a week ago. Youwere with me, do you remember? But I always have a rug if it is wet. "

And he went whistling upstairs. 

Somehow that little touch, his obvious effort to recall where he hadslept, brought strangely home to Darcy the wonderful romance of which hewas the still half-incredulous beholder. Sleep till close on dawn in ahammock, then the tramp--or probably scamper--underneath the windy andweeping heavens to the remote and lonely meadow by the weir! The pictureof other such nights rose before him; Frank sleeping perhaps by thebathing-place under the filtered twilight of the stars, or the whiteblaze of moon-shine, a stir and awakening at some dead hour, perhaps aspace of silent wide-eyed thought, and then a wandering through thehushed woods to some other dormitory, alone with his happiness, alonewith the joy and the life that suffused and enveloped him, without otherthought or desire or aim except the hourly and never-ceasing communionwith the joy of nature. 

They were in the middle of dinner that night, talking on indifferentsubjects, when Darcy suddenly broke off in the middle of a sentence. 

"I've got it, " he said. "At last I've got it. "

"Congratulate you, " said Frank. "But what?"

"The radical unsoundness of your idea. It is this: All nature fromhighest to lowest is full, crammed full of suffering; every livingorganism in nature preys on another, yet in your aim to get close to, tobe one with nature, you leave suffering altogether out; you run awayfrom it, you refuse to recognize it. And you are waiting, you say, forthe final revelation. "

Frank's brow clouded slightly. 

"Well?" he asked, rather wearily. 

"Cannot you guess then when the final revelation will be? In joy you aresupreme, I grant you that; I did not know a man could be so master ofit. You have learned perhaps practically all that nature can teach. Andif, as you think, the final revelation is coming to you, it will be therevelation of horror, suffering, death, pain in all its hideous forms. Suffering does exist: you hate it and fear it. "

Frank held up his hand. 

"Stop; let me think, " he said. 

There was silence for a long minute. 

"That never struck me, " he said at length. "It is possible that what yousuggest is true. Does the sight of Pan mean that, do you think? Is itthat nature, take it altogether, suffers horribly, suffers to a hideousinconceivable extent? Shall I be shown all the suffering?"

He got up and came round to where Darcy sat. 

"If it is so, so be it, " he said. "Because, my dear fellow, I am near, so splendidly near to the final revelation. To-day the pipes havesounded almost without pause. I have even heard the rustle in thebushes, I believe, of Pan's coming. I have seen, yes, I saw to-day, thebushes pushed aside as if by a hand, and piece of a face, not human, peered through. But I was not frightened, at least I did not run awaythis time. "

He took a turn up to the window and back again. 

"Yes, there is suffering all through, " he said, "and I have left it allout of my search. Perhaps, as you say, the revelation will be that. Andin that case, it will be good-bye. I have gone on one line. I shall havegone too far along one road, without having explored the other. But Ican't go back now. I wouldn't if I could; not a step would I retrace! Inany case, whatever the revelation is, it will be God. I'm sure of that. "

The rainy weather soon passed, and with the return of the sun Darcyagain joined Frank in long rambling days. It grew extraordinarilyhotter, and with the fresh bursting of life, after the rain, Frank'svitality seemed to blaze higher and higher. Then, as is the habit of theEnglish weather, one evening clouds began to bank themselves up in thewest, the sun went down in a glare of coppery thunder-rack, and thewhole earth broiling under an unspeakable oppression and sultrinesspaused and panted for the storm. After sunset the remote fires oflightning began to wink and flicker on the horizon, but when bed-timecame the storm seemed to have moved no nearer, though a very lowunceasing noise of thunder was audible. Weary and oppressed by thestress of the day, Darcy fell at once into a heavy uncomforting sleep. 

He woke suddenly into full consciousness, with the din of some appallingexplosion of thunder in his ears, and sat up in bed with racing heart. Then for a moment, as he recovered himself from the panic-land whichlies between sleeping and waking, there was silence, except for thesteady hissing of rain on the shrubs outside his window. But suddenlythat silence was shattered and shredded into fragments by a scream fromsomewhere close at hand outside in the black garden, a scream of supremeand despairing terror. Again, and once again it shrilled up, and then ababble of awful words was interjected. A quivering sobbing voice that heknew, said:

"My God, oh, my God; oh, Christ!"

And then followed a little mocking, bleating laugh. Then was silenceagain; only the rain hissed on the shrubs. 

All this was but the affair of a moment, and without pause either to puton clothes or light a candle, Darcy was already fumbling at hisdoor-handle. Even as he opened it he met a terror-stricken face outside, that of the man-servant who carried a light. 

"Did you hear?" he asked. 

The man's face was bleached to a dull shining whiteness. 

"Yes, sir, " he said. "It was the master's voice. "

 * * * * *

Together they hurried down the stairs, and through the dining-room wherean orderly table for breakfast had already been laid, and out on to theterrace. The rain for the moment had been utterly stayed, as if the tapof the heavens had been turned off, and under the lowering black sky, not quite dark, since the moon rode somewhere serene behind theconglomerated thunder-clouds, Darcy stumbled into the garden, followedby the servant with the candle. The monstrous leaping shadow of himselfwas cast before him on the lawn; lost and wandering odors of rose andlily and damp earth were thick about him, but more pungent was somesharp and acrid smell that suddenly reminded him of a certain châlet inwhich he had once taken refuge in the Alps. In the blackness of the hazylight from the sky, and the vague tossing of the candle behind him, hesaw that the hammock in which Frank so often lay was tenanted. A gleamof white shirt was there, as if a man sitting up in it, but across thatthere was an obscure dark shadow, and as he approached the acrid odorgrew more intense. 

He was now only some few yards away, when suddenly the black shadowseemed to jump into the air, then came down with tappings of hard hoofson the brick path that ran down the pergola, and with frolicsomeskippings galloped off into the bushes. When that was gone Darcy couldsee quite clearly that a shirted figure sat up in the hammock. For onemoment, from sheer terror of the unseen, he hung on his step, and theservant joining him they walked together to the hammock. 

It was Frank. He was in shirt and trousers only, and he sat up withbraced arms. For one half-second he stared at them, his face a mask ofhorrible contorted terror. His upper lip was drawn back so that the gumsof the teeth appeared, and his eyes were focused not on the two whoapproached him but on something quite close to him; his nostrils werewidely expanded, as if he panted for breath, and terror incarnate andrepulsion and deathly anguish ruled dreadful lines on his smooth cheeksand forehead. Then even as they looked the body sank backwards, and theropes of the hammock wheezed and strained. 

Darcy lifted him out and carried him indoors. Once he thought there wasa faint convulsive stir of the limbs that lay with so dead a weight inhis arms, but when they got inside, there was no trace of life. But thelook of supreme terror and agony of fear had gone from his face, a boytired with play but still smiling in his sleep was the burden he laid onthe floor. His eyes had closed, and the beautiful mouth lay in smilingcurves, even as when a few mornings ago, in the meadow by the weir, ithad quivered to the music of the unheard melody of Pan's pipes. Thenthey looked further. 

Frank had come back from his bath before dinner that night in his usualcostume of shirt and trousers only. He had not dressed, and duringdinner, so Darcy remembered, he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirtto above the elbow. Later, as they sat and talked after dinner on theclose sultriness of the evening, he had unbuttoned the front of hisshirt to let what little breath of wind there was play on his skin. Thesleeves were rolled up now, the front of the shirt was unbuttoned, andon his arms and on the brown skin of his chest were strangediscolorations which grew momently more clear and defined, till they sawthat the marks were pointed prints, as if caused by the hoofs of somemonstrous goat that had leaped and stamped upon him. 

THE WOMAN'S GHOST STORY[I]

BY ALGERNON BLACKWOOD

"Yes, " she said, from her seat in the dark corner, "I'll tell you anexperience if you care to listen. And, what's more, I'll tell itbriefly, without trimmings--I mean without unessentials. That's a thingstory-tellers never do, you know, " she laughed. "They drag in all theunessentials and leave their listeners to disentangle; but I'll give youjust the essentials, and you can make of it what you please. But on onecondition: that at the end you ask no questions, because I can't explainit and have no wish to. "

We agreed. We were all serious. After listening to a dozen prolixstories from people who merely wished to "talk" but had nothing to tell, we wanted "essentials. "

"In those days, " she began, feeling from the quality of our silence thatwe were with her, "in those days I was interested in psychic things, andhad arranged to sit up alone in a haunted house in the middle of London. It was a cheap and dingy lodging-house in a mean street, unfurnished. I had already made a preliminary examination in daylight that afternoon, and the keys from the caretaker, who lived next door, were in my pocket. The story was a good one--satisfied me, at any rate, that it was worthinvestigating; and I won't weary you with details as to the woman'smurder and all the tiresome elaboration as to _why_ the place was_alive_. Enough that it was. 

"I was a good deal bored, therefore, to see a man, whom I took to be thetalkative old caretaker, waiting for me on the steps when I went in at11 P. M. , for I had sufficiently explained that I wished to be therealone for the night. 

"'I wished to show you _the_ room, ' he mumbled, and of course I couldn'texactly refuse, having tipped him for the temporary loan of a chair andtable. 

"'Come in, then, and let's be quick, ' I said. 

"We went in, he shuffling after me through the unlighted hall up to thefirst floor where the murder had taken place, and I prepared myself tohear his inevitable account before turning him out with the half-crownhis persistence had earned. After lighting the gas I sat down in thearm-chair he had provided--a faded, brown plush arm-chair--and turnedfor the first time to face him and get through with the performance asquickly as possible. And it was in that instant I got my first shock. The man was _not_ the caretaker. It was not the old fool, Carey, I hadinterviewed earlier in the day and made my plans with. My heart gave ahorrid jump. 

"'Now who are _you_, pray?' I said. 'You're not Carey, the man Iarranged with this afternoon. Who are you?'

"I felt uncomfortable, as you may imagine. I was a 'psychicalresearcher, ' and a young woman of new tendencies, and proud of myliberty, but I did not care to find myself in an empty house with astranger. Something of my confidence left me. Confidence with women, youknow, is all humbug after a certain point. Or perhaps you don't know, for most of you are men. But anyhow my pluck ebbed in a quick rush, andI felt afraid. 

"'Who are you?' I repeated quickly and nervously. The fellow was welldressed, youngish and good-looking, but with a face of great sadness. I myself was barely thirty. I am giving you essentials, or I would notmention it. Out of quite ordinary things comes this story. I thinkthat's why it has value. 

"'No, ' he said; 'I'm the man who was frightened to death. '

"His voice and his words ran through me like a knife, and I felt readyto drop. In my pocket was the book I had bought to make notes in. I feltthe pencil sticking in the socket. I felt, too, the extra warm thingsI had put on to sit up in, as no bed or sofa was available--a hundredthings dashed through my mind, foolishly and without sequence ormeaning, as the way is when one is really frightened. Unessentialsleaped up and puzzled me, and I thought of what the papers might say ifit came out, and what my 'smart' brother-in-law would think, and whetherit would be told that I had cigarettes in my pocket, and was afree-thinker. 

"'The man who was frightened to death!' I repeated aghast. 

"'That's me, ' he said stupidly. 

"I stared at him just as you would have done--any one of you men nowlistening to me--and felt my life ebbing and flowing like a sort of hotfluid. You needn't laugh! That's how I felt. Small things, you know, touch the mind with great earnestness when terror is there--_realterror_. But I might have been at a middle-class tea-party, for all theideas I had: they were so ordinary!

"'But I thought you were the caretaker I tipped this afternoon to let mesleep here!' I gasped. 'Did--did Carey send you to meet me?'

"'No, ' he replied in a voice that touched my boots somehow. 'I am theman who was frightened to death. And what is more, I am frightened_now_!'

"'So am I!' I managed to utter, speaking instinctively. 'I'm simplyterrified. '

"'Yes, ' he replied in that same odd voice that seemed to sound withinme. 'But you are still in the flesh, and I--_am not_!'

"I felt the need for vigorous self-assertion. I stood up in that empty, unfurnished room, digging the nails into my palms and clenching myteeth. I was determined to assert my individuality and my courage as anew woman and a free soul. 

"'You mean to say you are not in the flesh!' I gasped. 'What in theworld are you talking about?'

"The silence of the night swallowed up my voice. For the first time Irealized that darkness was over the city; that dust lay upon the stairs;that the floor above was untenanted and the floor below empty. I wasalone in an unoccupied and haunted house, unprotected, and a woman. I chilled. I heard the wind round the house, and knew the stars werehidden. My thoughts rushed to policemen and omnibuses, and everythingthat was useful and comforting. I suddenly realized what a fool I was tocome to such a house alone. I was icily afraid. I thought the end of mylife had come. I was an utter fool to go in for psychical research whenI had not the necessary nerve. 

"'Good God!' I gasped. 'If you're not Carey, the man I arranged with, who are you?'

"I was really stiff with terror. The man moved slowly towards me acrossthe empty room. I held out my arm to stop him, getting up out of mychair at the same moment, and he came to halt just opposite to me, asmile on his worn, sad face. 

"'I told you who I am, ' he repeated quietly with a sigh, looking at mewith the saddest eyes I have ever seen, 'and I am frightened _still_. '

"By this time I was convinced that I was entertaining either a rogue ora madman, and I cursed my stupidity in bringing the man in withouthaving seen his face. My mind was quickly made up, and I knew what todo. Ghosts and psychic phenomena flew to the winds. If I angered thecreature my life might pay the price. I must humor him till I got to thedoor, and then race for the street. I stood bolt upright and faced him. We were about of a height, and I was a strong, athletic woman who playedhockey in winter and climbed Alps in summer. My hand itched for a stick, but I had none. 

"'Now, of course, I remember, ' I said with a sort of stiff smile thatwas very hard to force. 'Now I remember your case and the wonderful wayyou behaved . . . . '

"The man stared at me stupidly, turning his head to watch me as I backedmore and more quickly to the door. But when his face broke into a smileI could control myself no longer. I reached the door in a run, and shotout on to the landing. Like a fool, I turned the wrong way, and stumbledover the stairs leading to the next story. But it was too late tochange. The man was after me, I was sure, though no sound of footstepscame; and I dashed up the next flight, tearing my skirt and banging myribs in the darkness, and rushed headlong into the first room I cameto. Luckily the door stood ajar, and, still more fortunate, there was akey in the lock. In a second I had slammed the door, flung my wholeweight against it, and turned the key. 

"I was safe, but my heart was beating like a drum. A second later itseemed to stop altogether, for I saw that there was some one else in theroom besides myself. A man's figure stood between me and the windows, where the street lamps gave just enough light to outline his shapeagainst the glass. I'm a plucky woman, you know, for even then I didn'tgive up hope, but I may tell you that I have never felt so vilelyfrightened in all my born days. I had locked myself in with him!

"The man leaned against the window, watching me where I lay in acollapsed heap upon the floor. So there were two men in the house withme, I reflected. Perhaps other rooms were occupied too! What could itall mean? But, as I stared something changed in the room, or in me--hardto say which--and I realized my mistake, so that my fear, which had sofar been physical, at once altered its character and became _psychical_. I became afraid in my soul instead of in my heart, and I knewimmediately who this man was. 

"'How in the world did you get up here?' I stammered to him across theempty room, amazement momentarily stemming my fear. 

"'Now, let me tell you, ' he began, in that odd faraway voice of his thatwent down my spine like a knife. 'I'm in different space, for one thing, and you'd find me in any room you went into; for according to your wayof measuring, I'm _all over the house_. Space is a bodily condition, butI am out of the body, and am not affected by space. It's my conditionthat keeps me here. I want something to change my condition for me, forthen I could get away. What I want is sympathy. Or, really, more thansympathy; I want affection--I want _love_!'

"While he was speaking I gathered myself slowly upon my feet. I wantedto scream and cry and laugh all at once, but I only succeeded insighing, for my emotion was exhausted and a numbness was coming over me. I felt for the matches in my pocket and made a movement towards the gasjet. 

"'I should be much happier if you didn't light the gas, ' he said atonce, 'for the vibrations of your light hurt me a good deal. You neednot be afraid that I shall injure you. I can't touch your body to beginwith, for there's a great gulf fixed, you know; and really thishalf-light suits me best. Now, let me continue what I was trying to saybefore. You know, so many people have come to this house to see me, andmost of them have seen me, and one and all have been terrified. If only, oh, if only some one would be _not_ terrified, but kind and loving tome! Then, you see, I might be able to change my condition and get away. '

"His voice was so sad that I felt tears start somewhere at the back ofmy eyes; but fear kept all else in check, and I stood shaking and coldas I listened to him. 

"'Who are you then? Of course Carey didn't send you, I know now, ' Imanaged to utter. My thoughts scattered dreadfully and I could think ofnothing to say. I was afraid of a stroke. 

"'I know nothing about Carey, or who he is, ' continued the man quietly, 'and the name my body had I have forgotten, thank God; but I am the manwho was frightened to death in this house ten years ago, and I have beenfrightened ever since, and am frightened still; for the succession ofcruel and curious people who come to this house to see the ghost, andthus keep alive its atmosphere of terror, only helps to render mycondition worse. If only some one would be kind to me--_laugh_, speakgently and rationally with me, cry if they like, pity, comfort, sootheme--anything but come here in curiosity and tremble as you are now doingin that corner. Now, madam, won't you take pity on me?' His voice roseto a dreadful cry. 'Won't you step out into the middle of the room andtry to love me a little?'

"A horrible laughter came gurgling up in my throat as I heard him, butthe sense of pity was stronger than the laughter, and I found myselfactually leaving the support of the wall and approaching the center ofthe floor. 

"'By God!' he cried, at once straightening up against the window, 'youhave done a kind act. That's the first attempt at sympathy that hasbeen shown me since I died, and I feel better already. In life, youknow, I was a misanthrope. Everything went wrong with me, and I came tohate my fellow men so much that I couldn't bear to see them even. Ofcourse, like begets like, and this hate was returned. Finally I sufferedfrom horrible delusions, and my room became haunted with demons thatlaughed and grimaced, and one night I ran into a whole cluster of themnear the bed--and the fright stopped my heart and killed me. It's hateand remorse, as much as terror, that clogs me so thickly and keeps mehere. If only some one could feel pity, and sympathy, and perhaps alittle love for me, I could get away and be happy. When you came thisafternoon to see over the house I watched you, and a little hope came tome for the first time. I saw you had courage, originality, resource--_love_. If only I could touch your heart, without frighteningyou, I knew I could perhaps tap that love you have stored up in yourbeing there, and thus borrow the wings for my escape!'

"Now I must confess my heart began to ache a little, as fear left me andthe man's words sank their sad meaning into me. Still, the whole affairwas so incredible, and so touched with unholy quality, and the story ofa woman's murder I had come to investigate had so obviously nothing todo with this thing, that I felt myself in a kind of wild dream thatseemed likely to stop at any moment and leave me somewhere in bed aftera nightmare. 

"Moreover, his words possessed me to such an extent that I found itimpossible to reflect upon anything else at all, or to consideradequately any ways or means of action or escape. 

"I moved a little nearer to him in the gloom, horribly frightened, ofcourse, but with the beginnings of a strange determination in my heart. 

"'You women, ' he continued, his voice plainly thrilling at my approach, 'you wonderful women, to whom life often brings no opportunity ofspending your great love, oh, if you only could know how many of _us_simply yearn for it! It would save our souls, if but you knew. Few mightfind the chance that you now have, but if you only spent your lovefreely, without definite object, just letting it flow openly for all whoneed, you would reach hundreds and thousands of souls like me, and_release us_! Oh, madam, I ask you again to feel with me, to be kind andgentle--and if you can to love me a little!'

"My heart did leap within me and this time the tears did come, for Icould not restrain them. I laughed too, for the way he called me 'madam'sounded so odd, here in this empty room at midnight in a London street, but my laughter stopped dead and merged in a flood of weeping when I sawhow my change of feeling affected him. He had left his place by thewindow and was kneeling on the floor at my feet, his hands stretched outtowards me, and the first signs of a kind of glory about his head. 

"'Put your arms round me and kiss me, for the love of God!' he cried. 'Kiss me, oh, kiss me, and I shall be freed! You have done so muchalready--now do this!'

"I stuck there, hesitating, shaking, my determination on the verge ofaction, yet not quite able to compass it. But the terror had almostgone. 

"'Forget that I'm a man and you're a woman, ' he continued in the mostbeseeching voice I ever heard. 'Forget that I'm a ghost, and come outboldly and press me to you with a great kiss, and let your love flowinto me. Forget yourself just for one minute and do a brave thing! Oh, love me, _love me_, LOVE ME! and I shall be free!'

"The words, or the deep force they somehow released in the center of mybeing, stirred me profoundly, and an emotion infinitely greater thanfear surged up over me and carried me with it across the edge of action. Without hesitation I took two steps forward towards him where he knelt, and held out my arms. Pity and love were in my heart at that moment, genuine pity, I swear, and genuine love. I forgot myself and my littletremblings in a great desire to help another soul. 

"'I love you! poor, aching, unhappy thing! I love you, ' I cried throughhot tears; 'and I am not the least bit afraid in the world. '

"The man uttered a curious sound, like laughter, yet not laughter, andturned his face up to me. The light from the street below fell on it, but there was another light, too, shining all round it that seemed tocome from the eyes and skin. He rose to his feet and met me, and in thatsecond I folded him to my breast and kissed him full on the lips againand again. "

All our pipes had gone out, and not even a skirt rustled in that darkstudio as the story-teller paused a moment to steady her voice, and puta hand softly up to her eyes before going on again. 

"Now, what can I say, and how can I describe to you, all you skepticalmen sitting there with pipes in your mouths, the amazing sensation Iexperienced of holding an intangible, impalpable thing so closely to myheart that it touched my body with equal pressure all the way down, andthen melted away somewhere into my very being? For it was like seizing arush of cool wind and feeling a touch of burning fire the moment it hadstruck its swift blow and passed on. A series of shocks ran all over andall through me; a momentary ecstasy of flaming sweetness and wonderthrilled down into me; my heart gave another great leap--and then I wasalone. 

"The room was empty. I turned on the gas and struck a match to prove it. All fear had left me, and something was singing round me in the air andin my heart like the joy of a spring morning in youth. Not all thedevils or shadows or hauntings in the world could then have caused me asingle tremor. 

"I unlocked the door and went all over the dark house, even into kitchenand cellar and up among the ghostly attics. But the house was empty. Something had left it. I lingered a short hour, analyzing, thinking, wondering--you can guess what and how, perhaps, but I won't detail, forI promised only essentials, remember--and then went out to sleep theremainder of the night in my own flat, locking the door behind me upon ahouse no longer haunted. 

"But my uncle, Sir Henry, the owner of the house, required an account ofmy adventure, and of course I was in duty bound to give him some kind ofa true story. Before I could begin, however, he held up his hand to stopme. 

"'First, ' he said, 'I wish to tell you a little deception I ventured topractice on you. So many people have been to that house and seen theghost that I came to think the story acted on their imaginations, andI wished to make a better test. So I invented for their benefit anotherstory, with the idea that if you did see anything I could be sure it wasnot due merely to an excited imagination. '

"'Then what you told me about a woman having been murdered, and allthat, was not the true story of the haunting?'

"'It was not. The true story is that a cousin of mine went mad in thathouse, and killed himself in a fit of morbid terror following upon yearsof miserable hypochondriasis. It is his figure that investigators see. '

"'That explains, then, ' I gasped----

"'Explains what?'

"I thought of that poor struggling soul, longing all these years forescape, and determined to keep my story for the present to myself. 

"'Explains, I mean, why I did not see the ghost of the murdered woman, 'I concluded. 

"'Precisely, ' said Sir Henry, 'and why, if you had seen anything, itwould have had value, inasmuch as it could not have been caused by theimagination working upon a story you already knew. '"

FOOTNOTE:

[I] Taken by permission from "The Listener and Other Stories, "--E. P. Dutton & Co. 

THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW

BY RUDYARD KIPLING

 "May no ill dreams disturb my rest, Nor Powers of Darkness me molest. " --_Evening Hymn. _

One of the few advantages that India has over England is a certain greatKnowability. After five years' service a man is directly or indirectlyacquainted with the two or three hundred Civilians in his Province, allthe Messes of ten or twelve Regiments and Batteries, and some fifteenhundred other people of the non-official castes. In ten years hisknowledge should be doubled, and at the end of twenty he knows, or knowssomething about, almost every Englishman in the Empire, and may travelanywhere and everywhere without paying hotel-bills. 

Globe-trotters who expect entertainment as a right, have, even within mymemory, blunted this open-heartedness, but, none the less, to-day if youbelong to the Inner Circle and are neither a bear nor a black sheep allhouses are open to you and our small world is very kind and helpful. 

Rickett of Kamartha stayed with Polder of Kumaon, some fifteen yearsago. He meant to stay two nights only, but was knocked down by rheumaticfever, and for six weeks disorganized Polder's establishment, stoppedPolder's work, and nearly died in Polder's bed-room. Polder behaves asthough he had been placed under eternal obligation by Rickett, andyearly sends the little Ricketts a box of presents and toys. It is thesame everywhere. The men who do not take the trouble to conceal from youtheir opinion that you are an incompetent ass, and the women who blackenyour character and misunderstand your wife's amusements, will workthemselves to the bone in your behalf if you fall sick or into serioustrouble. 

Heatherlegh, the Doctor, kept, in addition to his regular practice, ahospital on his private account--an arrangement of loose-boxes forIncurables, his friends called it--but it was really a sort offitting-up shed for craft that had been damaged by stress of weather. The weather in India is often sultry, and since the tale of bricks is afixed quantity, and the only liberty allowed is permission to workovertime and get no thanks, men occasionally break down and become asmixed as the metaphors in this sentence. 

Heatherlegh is the nicest doctor that ever was, and his invariableprescription to all his patients is "lie low, go slow, and keep cool. "He says that more men are killed by overwork than the importance of thisworld justifies. He maintains that overwork slew Pansay who died underhis hands about three years ago. He has, of course, the right to speakauthoritatively, and he laughs at my theory that there was a crack inPansay's head and a little bit of the Dark World came through andpressed him to death. "Pansay went off the handle, " says Heatherlegh, "after the stimulus of long leave at Home. He may or he may not havebehaved like a blackguard to Mrs. Keith-Wessington. My notion is thatthe work of the Katabundi Settlement ran him off his legs, and that hetook to brooding and making much of an ordinary P. & O. Flirtation. Hecertainly was engaged to Miss Mannering, and she certainly broke off theengagement. Then he took a feverish chill and all that nonsense aboutghosts developed itself. Overwork started his illness, kept it alight, and killed him, poor devil. Write him off to the System--one man to dothe work of two-and-a-half men. "

I do not believe this. I used to sit up with Pansay sometimes whenHeatherlegh was called out to visit patients and I happened to be withinclaim. The man would make me most unhappy by describing in a low, evenvoice the procession of men, women, children, and devils that was alwayspassing at the bottom of his bed. He had a sick man's command oflanguage. When he recovered I suggested that he should write out thewhole affair from beginning to end, knowing that ink might assist him toease his mind. When little boys have learned a new bad word they arenever happy till they have chalked it up on a door. And this also isLiterature. 

He was in a high fever while he was writing, and the blood-and-thunderMagazine style he adopted did not calm him. Two months afterwards he wasreported fit for duty, but, in spite of the fact that he was urgentlyneeded to help an undermanned Commission stagger through a deficit, hepreferred to die; vowing at the last that he was hag-ridden. I securedhis manuscript before he died, and this is his version of the affair, dated 1885:--

 * * * * *

My doctor tells me that I need rest and change of air. It is notimprobable that I shall get both ere long--rest that neither thered-coated orderly nor the mid-day gun can break, and change of air farbeyond that which any homeward-bound steamer can give me. In themeantime I am resolved to stay where I am; and, in flat defiance of mydoctor's orders, to take all the world into my confidence. You shalllearn for yourselves the precise nature of my malady; and shall, too, judge for yourselves whether any man born of woman on this weary earthwas ever so tormented as I. 

Speaking now as a condemned criminal might speak ere the drop-bolts aredrawn, my story, wild and hideously improbable as it may appear, demandsat least attention. That it will ever receive credence I utterlydisbelieve. Two months ago I should have scouted as mad or drunk the manwho had dared tell me the like. Two months ago I was the happiest man inIndia. To-day, from Peshawar to the sea, there is no one more wretched. My doctor and I are the only two who know this. His explanation is thatmy brain, digestion and eyesight are all slightly affected; giving riseto my frequent and persistent "delusions. " Delusions, indeed! I call hima fool; but he attends me still with the same unwearied smile, the samebland professional manner, the same neatly-trimmed red whiskers, till Ibegin to suspect that I am an ungrateful, evil-tempered invalid. But youshall judge for yourselves. 

Three years ago it was my fortune--my great misfortune--to sail fromGravesend to Bombay, on return from long leave, with one AgnesKeith-Wessington, wife of an officer on the Bombay side. It does not inthe least concern you to know what manner of woman she was. Be contentwith the knowledge that, ere the voyage had ended, both she and I weredesperately and unreasoningly in love with one another. Heaven knowsthat I can make the admission now without one particle of vanity. Inmatters of this sort there is always one who gives and another whoaccepts. From the first day of our ill-omened attachment, I wasconscious that Agnes's passion was a stronger, a more dominant, and--ifI may use the expression--a purer sentiment than mine. Whether sherecognized the fact then, I do not know. Afterwards it was bitterlyplain to both of us. 

Arrived at Bombay in the spring of the year, we went our respectiveways, to meet no more for the next three or four months, when my leaveand her love took us both to Simla. There we spent the season together;and there my fire of straw burnt itself out to a pitiful end with theclosing year. I attempt no excuse. I make no apology. Mrs. Wessingtonhad given up much for my sake, and was prepared to give up all. From myown lips, in August, 1882, she learnt that I was sick of her presence, tired of her company, and weary of the sound of her voice. Ninety-ninewomen out of a hundred would have wearied of me as I wearied of them;seventy-five of that number would have promptly avenged themselves byactive and obtrusive flirtation with other men. Mrs. Wessington was thehundredth. On her neither my openly-expressed aversion, nor the cuttingbrutalities with which I garnished our interviews had the least effect. 

"Jack, darling!" was her one eternal cuckoo-cry, "I'm sure it's all amistake--a hideous mistake; and we'll be good friends again some day. _Please_ forgive me, Jack, dear. "

I was the offender, and I knew it. That knowledge transformed my pityinto passive endurance, and, eventually, into blind hate--the sameinstinct, I suppose, which prompts a man to savagely stamp on the spiderhe has but half killed. And with this hate in my bosom the season of1882 came to an end. 

Next year we met again at Simla--she with her monotonous face and timidattempts at reconciliation, and I with loathing of her in every fiber ofmy frame. Several times I could not avoid meeting her alone; and on eachoccasion her words were identically the same. Still the unreasoning wailthat it was all a "mistake"; and still the hope of eventually "makingfriends. " I might have seen, had I cared to look, that that hope onlywas keeping her alive. She grew more wan and thin month by month. Youwill agree with me, at least, that such conduct would have driven anyone to despair. It was uncalled for, childish, unwomanly. I maintainthat she was much to blame. And again, sometimes, in the black, fever-stricken night watches, I have begun to think that I might havebeen a little kinder to her. But that really _is_ a "delusion. " I couldnot have continued pretending to love her when I didn't; could I? Itwould have been unfair to us both. 

Last year we met again--on the same terms as before. The same wearyappeals, and the same curt answers from my lips. At least I would makeher see how wholly wrong and hopeless were her attempts at resuming theold relationship. As the season wore on, we fell apart--that is to say, she found it difficult to meet me, for I had other and more absorbinginterests to attend to. When I think it over quietly in my sick-room, the season of 1884 seems a confused nightmare wherein light and shadewere fantastically intermingled--my courtship of little Kitty Mannering;my hopes, doubts and fears; our long rides together; my trembling avowalof attachment; her reply; and now and again a vision of a white faceflitting by in the 'rickshaw with the black and white liveries I oncewatched for so earnestly; the wave of Mrs. Wessington's gloved hand;and, when she met me alone, which was but seldom, the irksome monotonyof her appeal. I loved Kitty Mannering, honestly, heartily loved her, and with my love for her grew my hatred for Agnes. In August Kitty and Iwere engaged. The next day I met those accursed "magpie" _jhampanies_ atthe back of Jakko, and, moved by some passing sentiment of pity, stoppedto tell Mrs. Wessington everything. She knew it already. 

"So I hear you're engaged, Jack dear. " Then, without a moment's pause:"I'm sure it's all a mistake--a hideous mistake. We shall be as goodfriends some day, Jack, as we ever were. "

My answer might have made even a man wince. It cut the dying womanbefore me like the blow of a whip. "Please forgive me, Jack; I didn'tmean to make you angry; but it's true, it's true!"

And Mrs. Wessington broke down completely. I turned away and left her tofinish her journey in peace, feeling, but only for a moment or two, thatI had been an unutterably mean hound. I looked back, and saw that shehad turned her 'rickshaw with the idea, I suppose, of overtaking me. 

The scene and its surroundings were photographed on my memory. Therain-swept sky (we were at the end of the wet weather), the sodden, dingy pines, the muddy road, and the black powder-riven cliffs formed agloomy background against which the black and white liveries of the_jhampanies_, the yellow-paneled 'rickshaw and Mrs. Wessington'sdown-bowed golden head stood out clearly. She was holding herhandkerchief in her left hand and was leaning back exhausted against the'rickshaw cushions. I turned my horse up a bypath near the SanjowlieReservoir and literally ran away. Once I fancied I heard a faint call of"Jack!" This may have been imagination. I never stopped to verify it. Ten minutes later I came across Kitty on horseback; and, in the delightof a long ride with her, forgot all about the interview. 

A week later Mrs. Wessington died, and the inexpressible burden of herexistence was removed from my life. I went Plainsward perfectly happy. Before three months were over I had forgotten all about her, except thatat times the discovery of some of her old letters reminded meunpleasantly of our bygone relationship. By January I had disinterredwhat was left of our correspondence from among my scattered belongingsand had burnt it. At the beginning of April of this year, 1885, I was atSimla--semi-deserted Simla--once more, and was deep in lover's talks andwalks with Kitty. It was decided that we should be married at the end ofJune. You will understand, therefore, that, loving Kitty as I did, I amnot saying too much when I pronounce myself to have been, at the time, the happiest man in India. 

Fourteen delightful days passed almost before I noticed their flight. Then, aroused to the sense of what was proper among mortalscircumstanced as we were, I pointed out to Kitty that an engagement-ringwas the outward and visible sign of her dignity as an engaged girl; andthat she must forthwith come to Hamilton's to be measured for one. Up tothat moment, I give you my word, we had completely forgotten so triviala matter. To Hamilton's we accordingly went on the 15th of April, 1885. Remember that--whatever my doctor may say to the contrary--I was then inperfect health, enjoying a well-balanced mind and an absolutely tranquilspirit. Kitty and I entered Hamilton's shop together, and there, regardless of the order of affairs, I measured Kitty's finger for thering in the presence of the amused assistant. The ring was a sapphirewith two diamonds. We then rode out down the slope that leads to theCombermere Bridge and Peliti's shop. 

While my Waler was cautiously feeling his way over the loose shale, andKitty was laughing and chattering at my side--while all Simla, that isto say as much of it as had then come from the Plains, was grouped roundthe Reading-room and Peliti's veranda--I was aware that some one, apparently at a vast distance, was calling me by my Christian name. Itstruck me that I had heard the voice before, but when and where I couldnot at once determine. In the short space it took to cover the roadbetween the path from Hamilton's shop and the first plank of theCombermere Bridge I had thought over half-a-dozen people who might havecommitted such a solecism, and had eventually decided that it must havebeen some singing in my ears. Immediately opposite Peliti's shop my eyewas arrested by the sight of four _jhampanies_ in black and whitelivery, pulling a yellow-paneled, cheap, bazar 'rickshaw. In a moment mymind flew back to the previous season and Mrs. Wessington with a senseof irritation and disgust. Was it not enough that the woman was dead anddone with, without her black and white servitors re-appearing to spoilthe day's happiness? Whoever employed them now I thought I would callupon, and ask as a personal favor to change her _jhampanies'_ livery. I would hire the men myself, and, if necessary, buy their coats from offtheir backs. It is impossible to say here what a flood of undesirablememories their presence evoked. 

"Kitty, " I cried, "there are poor Mrs. Wessington's _jhampanies_ turnedup again! I wonder who has them now?"

Kitty had known Mrs. Wessington slightly last season, and had alwaysbeen interested in the sickly woman. 

"What? Where?" she asked. "I can't see them anywhere. "

Even as she spoke, her horse, swerving from a laden mule, threw himselfdirectly in front of the advancing 'rickshaw. I had scarcely time toutter a word of warning when, to my unutterable horror, horse and riderpassed _through_ men and carriage as if they had been thin air. 

"What's the matter?" cried Kitty; "what made you call out so foolishly, Jack? If I _am_ engaged I don't want all creation to know about it. There was lots of space between the mule and the veranda; and, if youthink I can't ride--There!"

Whereupon willful Kitty set off, her dainty little head in the air, at ahand-gallop in the direction of the Band-stand; fully expecting, as sheherself afterwards told me, that I should follow her. What was thematter? Nothing, indeed. Either that I was mad or drunk, or that Simlawas haunted with devils. I reined in my impatient cob, and turned round. The 'rickshaw had turned too, and now stood immediately facing me, nearthe left railing of the Combermere Bridge. 

"Jack! Jack, darling. " (There was no mistake about the words this time:they rang through my brain as if they had been shouted in my ear. ) "It'ssome hideous mistake, I'm sure. _Please_ forgive me, Jack, and let's befriends again. "

The 'rickshaw-hood had fallen back, and inside, as I hope and daily prayfor the death I dread by night, sat Mrs. Keith-Wessington, handkerchiefin hand, and golden head bowed on her breast. 

How long I stared motionless I do not know. Finally, I was aroused by mygroom taking the Waler's bridle and asking whether I was ill. I tumbledoff my horse and dashed, half fainting, into Peliti's for a glass ofcherry-brandy. There two or three couples were gathered round thecoffee-tables discussing the gossip of the day. Their trivialities weremore comforting to me just then than the consolations of religion couldhave been. I plunged into the midst of the conversation at once;chatted, laughed and jested with a face (when I caught a glimpse of itin a mirror) as white and drawn as that of a corpse. Three or four mennoticed my condition; and, evidently setting it down to the results ofover many pegs, charitably endeavored to draw me apart from the rest ofthe loungers. But I refused to be led away. I wanted the company of mykind--as a child rushes into the midst of the dinner-party after afright in the dark. I must have talked for about ten minutes or so, though it seemed an eternity to me, when I heard Kitty's dear voiceoutside inquiring for me. In another minute she had entered the shop, prepared to roundly upbraid me for failing so signally in my duties. Something in my face stopped her. 

"Why, Jack, " she cried, "what _have_ you been doing? What _has_happened? Are you ill?" Thus driven into a direct lie, I said that thesun had been a little too much for me. It was close upon five o'clock ofa cloudy April afternoon, and the sun had been hidden all day. I saw mymistake as soon as the words were out of my mouth: attempted to recoverit; blundered hopelessly and followed Kitty, in a regal rage, out ofdoors, amid the smiles of my acquaintances. I made some excuse (I haveforgotten what) on the score of my feeling faint; and cantered away tomy hotel, leaving Kitty to finish the ride by herself. 

In my room I sat down and tried calmly to reason out the matter. Herewas I, Theobald Jack Pansay, a well-educated Bengal Civilian in the yearof grace 1885, presumably sane, certainly healthy, driven in terror frommy sweetheart's side by the apparition of a woman who had been dead andburied eight months ago. These were facts that I could not blink. Nothing was further from my thought than any memory of Mrs. Wessingtonwhen Kitty and I left Hamilton's shop. Nothing was more utterlycommonplace than the stretch of wall opposite Peliti's. It was broaddaylight. The road was full of people; and yet here, look you, indefiance of every law of probability, in direct outrage of Nature'sordinance, there had appeared to me a face from the grave. 

Kitty's Arab had gone _through_ the 'rickshaw: so that my first hopethat some woman marvelously like Mrs. Wessington had hired the carriageand the coolies with their old livery was lost. Again and again I wentround this treadmill of thought; and again and again gave up baffled andin despair. The voice was as inexplicable as the apparition. I hadoriginally some wild notion of confiding it all to Kitty; of begging herto marry me at once; and in her arms defying the ghostly occupant of the'rickshaw. "After all, " I argued, "the presence of the 'rickshaw is initself enough to prove the existence of a spectral illusion. One may seeghosts of men and women, but surely never of coolies and carriages. Thewhole thing is absurd. Fancy the ghost of a hill-man!"

Next morning I sent a penitent note to Kitty, imploring her to overlookmy strange conduct of the previous afternoon. My Divinity was still verywroth, and a personal apology was necessary. I explained, with a fluencyborn of night-long pondering over a falsehood, that I had been attackedwith a sudden palpitation of the heart--the result of indigestion. Thiseminently practical solution had its effect; and Kitty and I rode outthat afternoon with the shadow of my first lie dividing us. 

Nothing would please her save a canter round Jakko. With my nerves stillunstrung from the previous night I feebly protested against the notion, suggesting Observatory Hill, Jutogh, the Boileaugunge road--anythingrather than the Jakko round. Kitty was angry and a little hurt, so Iyielded from fear of provoking further misunderstanding, and we set outtogether towards Chota Simla. We walked a greater part of the way, and, according to our custom, cantered from a mile or so below the Convent tothe stretch of level road by the Sanjowlie Reservoir. The wretchedhorses appeared to fly, and my heart beat quicker and quicker as weneared the crest of the ascent. My mind had been full of Mrs. Wessingtonall the afternoon; and every inch of the Jakko road bore witness to ourold-time walks and talks. The boulders were full of it; the pines sangit aloud overhead; the rain-fed torrents giggled and chuckled unseenover the shameful story; and the wind in my ears chanted the iniquityaloud. 

As a fitting climax, in the middle of the level men call the Ladies'Mile, the Horror was awaiting me. No other 'rickshaw was in sight--onlythe four black and white _jhampanies_, the yellow-paneled carriage, andthe golden head of the woman within--all apparently just as I had leftthem eight months and one fortnight ago! For an instant I fancied thatKitty must see what I saw--we were so marvelously sympathetic in allthings. Her next words undeceived me--"Not a soul in sight! Come along, Jack, and I'll race you to the Reservoir buildings!" Her wiry littleArab was off like a bird, my Waler following close behind, and in thisorder we dashed under the cliffs. Half a minute brought us within fiftyyards of the 'rickshaw. I pulled my Waler and fell back a little. The'rickshaw was directly in the middle of the road: and once more the Arabpassed through it, my horse following. "Jack, Jack, dear! _Please_forgive me, " rang with a wail in my ears, and, after an interval: "It'sall a mistake, a hideous mistake!"

I spurred my horse like a man possessed. When I turned my head at theReservoir works the black and white liveries were stillwaiting--patiently waiting--under the gray hillside, and the windbrought me a mocking echo of the words I had just heard. Kitty banteredme a good deal on my silence throughout the remainder of the ride. I hadbeen talking up till then wildly and at random. To save my life I couldnot speak afterwards naturally, and from Sanjowlie to the Church wiselyheld my tongue. 

I was to dine with the Mannerings that night and had barely time tocanter home to dress. On the road to Elysium Hill I overheard two mentalking together in the dusk--"It's a curious thing, " said one, "howcompletely all trace of it disappeared. You know my wife was insanelyfond of the woman (never could see anything in her myself) and wantedme to pick up her old 'rickshaw and coolies if they were to be got forlove or money. Morbid sort of fancy I call it, but I've got to do whatthe _Memsahib_ tells me. Would you believe that the man she hired itfrom tells me that all four of the men, they were brothers, died ofcholera, on the way to Hardwár, poor devils; and the 'rickshaw has beenbroken up by the man himself. Told me he never used a dead _Memsahib's_'rickshaw. Spoilt his luck. Queer notion, wasn't it? Fancy poor littleMrs. Wessington spoiling any one's luck except her own!" I laughed aloudat this point; and my laugh jarred on me as I uttered it. So there_were_ ghosts of 'rickshaws after all, and ghostly employments in theother world! How much did Mrs. Wessington give her men? What were theirhours? Where did they go?

And for visible answer to my last question I saw the infernal thingblocking my path in the twilight. The dead travel fast and by short-cutsunknown to ordinary coolies. I laughed aloud a second time and checkedmy laughter suddenly, for I was afraid I was going mad. Mad to a certainextent I must have been, for I recollect that I reined in my horse atthe head of the 'rickshaw, and politely wished Mrs. Wessington "goodevening. " Her answer was one I knew only too well. I listened to theend; and replied that I had heard it all before, but should be delightedif she had anything further to say. Some malignant devil stronger than Imust have entered into me that evening, for I have a dim recollection oftalking the commonplaces of the day for five minutes to the thing infront of me. 

"Mad as a hatter, poor devil--or drunk. Max, try and get him to comehome. "

Surely _that_ was not Mrs. Wessington's voice! The two men had overheardme speaking to the empty air, and had returned to look after me. Theywere very kind and considerate, and from their words evidently gatheredthat I was extremely drunk. I thanked them confusedly and cantered awayto my hotel, there changed, and arrived at the Mannerings' ten minuteslate. I pleaded the darkness of the night as an excuse; was rebuked byKitty for my unlover-like tardiness; and sat down. 

The conversation had already become general; and, under cover of it, Iwas addressing some tender small talk to my sweetheart when I was awarethat at the further end of the table a short red-whiskered man wasdescribing with much broidery his encounter with a mad unknown thatevening. A few sentences convinced me that he was repeating the incidentof half an hour ago. In the middle of the story he looked round forapplause, as professional story-tellers do, caught my eye, andstraightway collapsed. There was a moment's awkward silence, and thered-whiskered man muttered something to the effect that he had"forgotten the rest"; thereby sacrificing a reputation as a goodstory-teller which he had built up for six seasons past. I blessed himfrom the bottom of my heart and--went on with my fish. 

In the fullness of time that dinner came to an end; and with genuineregret I tore myself away from Kitty--as certain as I was of my ownexistence that It would be waiting for me outside the door. Thered-whiskered man, who had been introduced to me as Dr. Heatherlegh ofSimla, volunteered to bear me company as far as our roads lay together. I accepted his offer with gratitude. 

My instinct had not deceived me. It lay in readiness in the Mall, and, in what seemed devilish mockery of our ways, with a lighted head-lamp. The red-whiskered man went to the point at once, in a manner that showedhe had been thinking over it all dinner time. 

"I say, Pansay, what the deuce was the matter with you this evening onthe Elysium road?" The suddenness of the question wrenched an answerfrom me before I was aware. 

"That!" said I, pointing to It. 

"_That_ may be either _D. T. _ or eyes for aught I know. Now you don'tliquor. I saw as much at dinner, so it can't be _D. T. _ There's nothingwhatever where you're pointing, though you're sweating and tremblingwith fright like a scared pony. Therefore, I conclude that it's eyes. And I ought to understand all about them. Come along home with me. I'mon the Blessington lower road. "

To my intense delight the 'rickshaw instead of waiting for us kept abouttwenty yards ahead--and this, too, whether we walked, trotted, orcantered. In the course of that long night ride I had told my companionalmost as much as I have told you here. 

"Well, you've spoilt one of the best tales I've ever laid tongue to, "said he, "but I'll forgive you for the sake of what you've gone through. Now come home and do what I tell you; and when I've cured you, youngman, let this be a lesson to you to steer clear of women andindigestible food till the day of your death. "

The 'rickshaw kept steadily in front; and my red-whiskered friend seemedto derive great pleasure from my account of its exact whereabouts. 

"Eyes, Pansay--all eyes, brain and stomach; and the greatest of thesethree is stomach. You've too much conceited brain, too little stomach, and thoroughly unhealthy eyes. Get your stomach straight and the restfollows. And all that's French for a liver pill. I'll take sole medicalcharge of you from this hour; for you're too interesting a phenomenon tobe passed over. "

By this time we were deep in the shadow of the Blessington lower roadand the 'rickshaw came to a dead stop under a pine-clad, overhangingshale cliff. Instinctively I halted too, giving my reason. Heatherleghrapped out an oath. 

"Now, if you think I'm going to spend a cold night on the hillside forthe sake of a stomach-_cum_-brain-_cum_-eye illusion . . . . Lord ha'mercy! What's that?"

There was a muffled report, a blinding smother of dust just in front ofus, a crack, the noise of rent boughs, and about ten yards of thecliffside--pines, undergrowth, and all--slid down into the road below, completely blocking it up. The uprooted trees swayed and tottered for amoment like drunken giants in the gloom, and then fell prone among theirfellows with a thunderous crash. Our two horses stood motionless andsweating with fear. As soon as the rattle of falling earth and stone hadsubsided, my companion muttered: "Man, if we'd gone forward we shouldhave been ten feet deep in our graves by now! 'There are more things inheaven and earth' . . . Come home, Pansay, and thank God. I want a drinkbadly. "

We retraced our way over the Church Ridge, and I arrived at Dr. Heatherlegh's house shortly after midnight. 

His attempts towards my cure commenced almost immediately, and for aweek I never left his sight. Many a time in the course of that week didI bless the good fortune which had thrown me in contact with Simla'sbest and kindest doctor. Day by day my spirits grew lighter and moreequable. Day by day, too, I became more and more inclined to fall inwith Heatherlegh's "spectral illusion" theory, implicating eyes, brain, and stomach. I wrote to Kitty, telling her that a slight sprain causedby a fall from my horse kept me indoors for a few days; and that Ishould be recovered before she had time to regret my absence. 

Heatherlegh's treatment was simple to a degree. It consisted ofliver-pills, cold-water baths and strong exercise, taken in the dusk orat early dawn--for, as he sagely observed: "A man with a sprained ankledoesn't walk a dozen miles a day, and your young woman might bewondering if she saw you. "

At the end of the week, after much examination of pupil and pulse andstrict injunctions as to diet and pedestrianism, Heatherlegh dismissedme as brusquely as he had taken charge of me. Here is his partingbenediction: "Man, I certify to your mental cure, and that's as much asto say I've cured most of your bodily ailments. Now, get your traps outof this as soon as you can; and be off to make love to Miss Kitty. "

I was endeavoring to express my thanks for his kindness. He cut meshort:

"Don't think I did this because I like you. I gather that you've behavedlike a blackguard all through. But, all the same you're a phenomenon, and as queer a phenomenon as you are a blackguard. Now, go out and seeif you can find the eyes-brain-and-stomach business again. I'll give youa lakh for each time you see it. "

Half an hour later I was in the Mannerings' drawing-room withKitty--drunk with the intoxication of present happiness and theforeknowledge that I should never more be troubled with It's hideouspresence. Strong in the sense of my new-found security, I proposed aride at once; and, by preference, a canter round Jakko. 

Never have I felt so well, so overladen with vitality and mere animalspirits as I did on the afternoon of the 30th of April. Kitty wasdelighted at the change in my appearance, and complimented me on it inher delightfully frank and outspoken manner. We left the Mannerings'house together, laughing and talking, and cantered along the Chota Simlaroad as of old. 

I was in haste to reach the Sanjowlie Reservoir and there make myassurance doubly sure. The horses did their best, but seemed all tooslow to my impatient mind. Kitty was astonished at my boisterousness. "Why, Jack!" she cried at last, "you are behaving like a child! What areyou doing?"

We were just below the Convent, and from sheer wantonness I was makingmy Waler plunge and curvet across the road as I tickled it with the loopof my riding-whip. 

"Doing, " I answered, "nothing, dear. That's just it. If you'd been doingnothing for a week except lie up, you'd be as riotous as I. 

 'Singing and murmuring in your feastful mirth, Joying to feel yourself alive; Lord over nature, Lord of the visible Earth, Lord of the senses five. '"

My quotation was hardly out of my lips before we had rounded the cornerabove the Convent; and a few yards further on could see across toSanjowlie. In the center of the level road stood the black and whiteliveries, the yellow-paneled 'rickshaw and Mrs. Keith-Wessington. I pulled up, looked, rubbed my eyes, and, I believe, must have saidsomething. The next thing I knew was that I was lying face downward onthe road, with Kitty kneeling above me in tears. 

"Has it gone, child?" I gasped. Kitty only wept more bitterly. 

"Has what gone? Jack dear: what does it all mean? There must be amistake somewhere, Jack. A hideous mistake. " Her last words brought meto my feet--mad--raving for the time being. 

"Yes, there _is_ a mistake somewhere. " I repeated, "a hideous mistake. Come and look at It!"

I have an indistinct idea that I dragged Kitty by the wrist along theroad up to where It stood, and implored her for pity's sake to speak toit; to tell It that we were betrothed! that neither Death nor Hell couldbreak the tie between us; and Kitty only knows how much more to the sameeffect. Now and again I appealed passionately to the Terror in the'rickshaw to bear witness to all I had said, and to release me from atorture that was killing me. As I talked I suppose I must have toldKitty of my old relations with Mrs. Wessington, for I saw her listenintently with white face and blazing eyes. 

"Thank you, Mr. Pansay, " she said, "that's _quite_ enough. Bring myhorse. "

The grooms, impassive as Orientals always are, had come up with therecaptured horses; and as Kitty sprang into her saddle I caught hold ofthe bridle entreating her to hear me out and forgive. My answer was thecut of her riding-whip across my face from mouth to eye, and a word ortwo of farewell that even now I cannot write down. So I judged, andjudged rightly, that Kitty knew all; and I staggered back to the side ofthe 'rickshaw. My face was cut and bleeding, and the blow of theriding-whip had raised a livid blue weal on it. I had no self-respect. Just then, Heatherlegh, who must have been following Kitty and me at adistance, cantered up. 

"Doctor, " I said, pointing to my face, "here's Miss Mannering'ssignature to my order of dismissal and . . . I'll thank you for thatlakh as soon as convenient. "

Heatherlegh's face, even in my abject misery, moved me to laugh. 

"I'll stake my professional reputation"--he began. "Don't be a fool, "I whispered. "I've lost my life's happiness and you'd better take mehome. "

As I spoke the 'rickshaw was gone. Then I lost all knowledge of what waspassing. The crest of Jakko seemed to heave and roll like the crest of acloud and fall in upon me. 

Seven days later (on the 7th of May, that is to say) I was aware thatI was lying in Heatherlegh's room as weak as a little child. Heatherleghwas watching me intently from behind the papers on his writing table. His first words were not very encouraging; but I was too far spent tobe much moved by them. 

"Here's Miss Kitty has sent back your letters. You corresponded a gooddeal, you young people. Here's a packet that looks like a ring, and acheerful sort of a note from Mannering Papa, which I've taken theliberty of reading and burning. The old gentleman's not pleased withyou. "

"And Kitty?" I asked dully. 

"Rather more drawn than her father from what she says. By the same tokenyou must have been letting out any number of queer reminiscences justbefore I met you. Says that a man who would have behaved to a woman asyou did to Mrs. Wessington ought to kill himself out of sheer pity forhis kind. She's a hot-headed little virago, your mash. Will have it toothat you were suffering from _D. T. _ when that row on the Jakko roadturned up. Says she'll die before she ever speaks to you again. "

I groaned and turned over on the other side. 

"Now you've got your choice, my friend. This engagement has to be brokenoff; and the Mannerings don't want to be too hard on you. Was it brokenthrough _D. T. _ or epileptic fits? Sorry I can't offer you a betterexchange unless you'd prefer hereditary insanity. Say the word and I'lltell 'em it's fits. All Simla knows about that scene on the Ladies'Mile. Come! I'll give you five minutes to think over it. "

During those five minutes I believe that I explored thoroughly thelowest circles of the Inferno which it is permitted man to tread onearth. And at the same time I myself was watching myself falteringthrough the dark labyrinths of doubt, misery, and utter despair. I wondered, as Heatherlegh in his chair might have wondered, whichdreadful alternative I should adopt. Presently I heard myself answeringin a voice that I hardly recognized:

"They're confoundedly particular about morality in these parts. Give 'emfits, Heatherlegh, and my love. Now let me sleep a bit longer. "

Then my two selves joined, and it was only I (half crazed, devil-drivenI) that tossed in my bed, tracing step by step the history of the pastmonth. 

"But I am in Simla, " I kept repeating to myself. "I, Jack Pansay, am inSimla, and there are no ghosts here. It's unreasonable of that woman topretend there are. Why couldn't Agnes have left me alone? I never didher any harm. It might just as well have been me as Agnes. Only I'dnever have come back on purpose to kill _her_. Why can't I be leftalone--left alone and happy?"

It was high noon when I first awoke: and the sun was low in the skybefore I slept--slept as the tortured criminal sleeps on his rack, tooworn to feel further pain. 

Next day I could not leave my bed. Heatherlegh told me in the morningthat he had received an answer from Mr. Mannering, and that, thanks tohis (Heatherlegh's) friendly offices, the story of my affliction hadtraveled through the length and breadth of Simla, where I was on allsides much pitied. 

"And that's rather more than you deserve, " he concluded pleasantly, "though the Lord knows you've been going through a pretty severe mill. Never mind; we'll cure you yet, you perverse phenomenon. "

I declined firmly to be cured. "You've been much too good to me already, old man, " said I; "but I don't think I need trouble you further. "

In my heart I knew that nothing Heatherlegh could do would lighten theburden that had been laid upon me. 

With that knowledge came also a sense of hopeless, impotent rebellionagainst the unreasonableness of it all. There were scores of men nobetter than I whose punishments had at least been reserved for anotherworld and I felt that it was bitterly, cruelly unfair that I aloneshould have been singled out for so hideous a fate. This mood would intime give place to another where it seemed that the 'rickshaw and I werethe only realities in a world of shadows; that Kitty was a ghost; thatMannering, Heatherlegh, and all the other men and women I knew were allghosts and the great, gray hills themselves but vain shadows devised totorture me. From mood to mood I tossed backwards and forwards for sevenweary days, my body growing daily stronger and stronger, until thebed-room looking-glass told me that I had returned to everyday life, andwas as other men once more. Curiously enough, my face showed no signsof the struggle I had gone through. It was pale indeed, but asexpressionless and commonplace as ever. I had expected some permanentalteration--visible evidence of the disease that was eating me away. I found nothing. 

On the 15th of May I left Heatherlegh's house at eleven o'clock in themorning; and the instinct of the bachelor drove me to the Club. ThereI found that every man knew my story as told by Heatherlegh, and was, inclumsy fashion, abnormally kind and attentive. Nevertheless I recognizedthat for the rest of my natural life I should be among, but not of, myfellows; and I envied very bitterly indeed the laughing coolies on theMall below. I lunched at the Club, and at four o'clock wanderedaimlessly down the Mall in the vague hope of meeting Kitty. Close to theBand-stand the black and white liveries joined me; and I heard Mrs. Wessington's old appeal at my side. I had been expecting this ever sinceI came out; and was only surprised at her delay. The phantom 'rickshawand I went side by side along the Chota Simla road in silence. Close tothe bazaar, Kitty and a man on horseback overtook and passed us. For anysign she gave I might have been a dog in the road. She did not even payme the compliment of quickening her pace; though the rainy afternoon hadserved for an excuse. 

So Kitty and her companion, and I and my ghostly Light-o'-Love, creptround Jakko in couples. The road was streaming with water; the pinesdripped like roof-pipes on the rocks below, and the air was full offine, driving rain. Two or three times I found myself saying to myselfalmost aloud: "I'm Jack Pansay on leave at Simla--_at Simla!_ Everyday, ordinary Simla. I mustn't forget that--I mustn't forget that. " Then Iwould try to recollect some of the gossip I had heard at the Club; theprices of So-and-So's horses--anything, in fact, that related to thework-a-day Anglo-Indian world I knew so well. I even repeated themultiplication-table rapidly to myself, to make quite sure that I wasnot taking leave of my senses. It gave me much comfort; and must haveprevented my hearing Mrs. Wessington for a time. 

Once more I wearily climbed the Convent slope and entered the levelroad. Here Kitty and the man started off at a canter, and I was leftalone with Mrs. Wessington. "Agnes, " said I, "will you put back yourhood and tell me what it all means?" The hood dropped noiselessly andI was face to face with my dead and buried mistress. She was wearingthe dress in which I had last seen her alive: carried the same tinyhandkerchief in her right hand; and the same card-case in her left. (Awoman eight months dead with a card-case!) I had to pin myself down tothe multiplication-table, and to set both hands on the stone parapet ofthe road to assure myself that that at least was real. 

"Agnes, " I repeated, "for pity's sake tell me what it all means. " Mrs. Wessington leant forward, with that odd, quick turn of the head I usedto know so well, and spoke. 

If my story had not already so madly overleaped the bounds of all humanbelief I should apologize to you now. As I know that no one--no, noteven Kitty, for whom it is written as some sort of justification of myconduct--will believe me, I will go on. Mrs. Wessington spoke and Iwalked with her from the Sanjowlie road to the turning below theCommander-in-Chief's house as I might walk by the side of any livingwoman's 'rickshaw, deep in conversation. The second and most tormentingof my moods of sickness had suddenly laid hold upon me, and like theprince in Tennyson's poem, "I seemed to move amid a world of ghosts. "There had been a garden-party at the Commander-in-Chief's, and we twojoined the crowd of homeward-bound folk. As I saw them then it seemedthat _they_ were the shadows--impalpable fantastic shadows--that dividedfor Mrs. Wessington's 'rickshaw to pass through. What we said during thecourse of that weird interview I cannot--indeed, I dare not--tell. Heatherlegh's comment would have been a short laugh and a remark that Ihad been "mashing a brain-eye-and-stomach chimera. " It was a ghastly andyet in some indefinable way a marvelously dear experience. Could it bepossible, I wondered, that I was in this life to woo a second time thewoman I had killed by my own neglect and cruelty?

I met Kitty on the homeward road--a shadow among shadows. 

If I were to describe all the incidents of the next fortnight in theirorder, my story would never come to an end; and your patience would beexhausted. Morning after morning and evening after evening the ghostly'rickshaw and I used to wander through Simla together. Wherever I went, there the four black and white liveries followed me and bore me companyto and from my hotel. At the theater I found them amid the crowd ofyelling _jhampanies_; outside the club veranda, after a long evening ofwhist; at the birthday ball, waiting patiently for my reappearance; andin broad daylight when I went calling. Save that it cast no shadow, the'rickshaw was in every respect as real to look upon as one of wood andiron. More than once, indeed, I have had to check myself from warningsome hard-riding friend against cantering over it. More than once I havewalked down the Mall deep in conversation with Mrs. Wessington to theunspeakable amazement of the passers-by. 

Before I had been out and about a week I learnt that the "fit" theoryhad been discarded in favor of insanity. However, I made no change in mymode of life. I called, rode, and dined out as freely as ever. I had apassion for the society of my kind which I had never felt before; Ihungered to be among the realities of life; and at the same time I feltvaguely unhappy when I had been separated too long from my ghostlycompanion. It would be almost impossible to describe my varying moodsfrom the 15th of May up to to-day. 

The presence of the 'rickshaw filled me by turns with horror, blindfear, a dim sort of pleasure, and utter despair. I dared not leaveSimla; and I knew that my stay there was killing me. I knew, moreover, that it was my destiny to die slowly and a little every day. My onlyanxiety was to get the penance over as quietly as might be. AlternatelyI hungered for a sight of Kitty and watched her outrageous flirtationswith my successor--to speak more accurately, my successors--with amusedinterest. She was as much out of my life as I was out of hers. By dayI wandered with Mrs. Wessington almost content. By night I imploredHeaven to let me return to the world as I used to know it. Above allthese varying moods lay the sensation of dull, numbing wonder that theseen and the unseen should mingle so strangely on this earth to houndone poor soul to its grave. 

 * * * * *

_August 27th. _--Heatherlegh has been indefatigable in his attendance onme; and only yesterday told me that I ought to send in an applicationfor sick-leave. An application to escape the company of a phantom! Arequest that the Government would graciously permit me to get rid offive ghosts and an airy 'rickshaw by going to England! Heatherlegh'sproposition moved me to almost hysterical laughter. I told him thatI should await the end quietly at Simla; and I am sure that the end isnot far off. Believe me that I dread its advent more than any word cansay; and I torture myself nightly with a thousand speculations as tothe manner of my death. 

Shall I die in my bed decently and as an English gentlemen should die;or, in one last walk on the Mall, will my soul be wrenched from me totake its place for ever and ever by the side of that ghastly phantasm?Shall I return to my old lost allegiance in the next world, or shallI meet Agnes loathing her and bound to her side through all eternity?Shall we two hover over the scene of our lives till the end of time? Asthe day of my death draws nearer, the intense horror that all livingflesh feels towards escaped spirits from beyond the grave grows more andmore powerful. It is an awful thing to go down quick among the dead withscarcely one half of your life completed. It is a thousand times moreawful to wait as I do in your midst, for I know not what unimaginableterror. Pity me, at least on the score of my "delusion, " for I know youwill never believe what I have written here. Yet as surely as ever a manwas done to death by the Powers of Darkness I am that man. 

In justice, too, pity her. For as surely as ever woman was killed byman, I killed Mrs. Wessington. And the last portion of my punishment iseven now upon me. 

THE RIVAL GHOSTS

BY BRANDER MATTHEWS

The good ship sped on her way across the calm Atlantic. It was anoutward passage, according to the little charts which the company hadcharily distributed, but most of the passengers were homeward bound, after a summer of rest and recreation, and they were counting the daysbefore they might hope to see Fire Island Light. On the lee side of theboat, comfortably sheltered from the wind, and just by the door of thecaptain's room (which was theirs during the day), sat a little group ofreturning Americans. The Duchess (she was down on the purser's list asMrs. Martin, but her friends and familiars called her the Duchess ofWashington Square) and Baby Van Rensselaer (she was quite old enough tovote, had her sex been entitled to that duty, but as the younger of twosisters she was still the baby of the family)--the Duchess and Baby VanRensselaer were discussing the pleasant English voice and the notunpleasant English accent of a manly young lordling who was going toAmerica for sport. Uncle Larry and Dear Jones were enticing each otherinto a bet on the ship's run of the morrow. 

"I'll give you two to one she don't make 420, " said Dear Jones. 

"I'll take it, " answered Uncle Larry. "We made 427 the fifth day lastyear. " It was Uncle Larry's seventeenth visit to Europe, and this wastherefore his thirty-fourth voyage. 

"And when did you get in?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer. "I don't care abit about the run, so long as we get in soon. "

"We crossed the bar Sunday night, just seven days after we leftQueenstown, and we dropped anchor off Quarantine at three o'clock onMonday morning. "

"I hope we shan't do that this time. I can't seem to sleep any when theboat stops. "

"I can; but I didn't, " continued Uncle Larry; "because my state-room wasthe most for'ard in the boat, and the donkey-engine that let down theanchor was right over my head. "

"So you got up and saw the sunrise over the bay, " said Dear Jones, "withthe electric lights of the city twinkling in the distance, and the firstfaint flush of the dawn in the east just over Fort Lafayette, and therosy tinge which spread softly upward, and----"

"Did you both come back together?" asked the Duchess. 

"Because he has crossed thirty-four times you must not suppose that hehas a monopoly in sunrises, " retorted Dear Jones. "No, this was my ownsunrise; and a mighty pretty one it was, too. "

"I'm not matching sunrises with you, " remarked Uncle Larry, calmly; "butI'm willing to back a merry jest called forth by my sunrise against anytwo merry jests called forth by yours. "

"I confess reluctantly that my sunrise evoked no merry jest at all. "Dear Jones was an honest man, and would scorn to invent a merry jest onthe spur of the moment. 

"That's where my sunrise has the call, " said Uncle Larry, complacently. 

"What was the merry jest?" was Baby Van Rensselaer's inquiry, thenatural result of a feminine curiosity thus artistically excited. 

"Well, here it is. I was standing aft, near a patriotic American and awandering Irishman, and the patriotic American rashly declared that youcouldn't see a sunrise like that anywhere in Europe, and this gave theIrishman his chance, and he said, 'Sure ye don't have 'em here tillwe're through with 'em over there. '"

"It is true, " said Dear Jones, thoughtfully, "that they do have somethings over there better than we do; for instance, umbrellas. "

"And gowns, " added the Duchess. 

"And antiquities, "--this was Uncle Larry's contribution. 

"And we do have some things so much better in America!" protested BabyVan Rensselaer, as yet uncorrupted by any worship of the effetemonarchies of despotic Europe. "We make lots of things a great dealnicer than you can get them in Europe--especially ice-cream. "

"And pretty girls, " added Dear Jones; but he did not look at her. 

"And spooks, " remarked Uncle Larry casually. 

"Spooks?" queried the Duchess. 

"Spooks. I maintain the word. Ghosts, if you like that better, orspecters. We turn out the best quality of spook----"

"You forget the lovely ghost stories about the Rhine, and the BlackForest, " interrupted Miss Van Rensselaer, with feminine inconsistency. 

"I remember the Rhine and the Black Forest and all the other haunts ofelves and fairies and hobgoblins; but for good honest spooks there is noplace like home. And what differentiates our spook--_SpiritusAmericanus_--from the ordinary ghost of literature is that it respondsto the American sense of humor. Take Irving's stories for example. _TheHeadless Horseman_, that's a comic ghost story. And Rip VanWinkle--consider what humor, and what good-humor, there is in thetelling of his meeting with the goblin crew of Hendrik Hudson's men! Astill better example of this American way of dealing with legend andmystery is the marvelous tale of the rival ghosts. "

"The rival ghosts?" queried the Duchess and Baby Van Rensselaertogether. "Who were they?"

"Didn't I ever tell you about them?" answered Uncle Larry, a gleam ofapproaching joy flashing from his eye. 

"Since he is bound to tell us sooner or later, we'd better be resignedand hear it now, " said Dear Jones. 

"If you are not more eager, I won't tell it at all. "

"Oh, do, Uncle Larry; you know I just dote on ghost stories, " pleadedBaby Van Rensselaer. 

"Once upon a time, " began Uncle Larry--"in fact, a very few yearsago--there lived in the thriving town of New York a young Americancalled Duncan--Eliphalet Duncan. Like his name, he was half Yankee andhalf Scotch, and naturally he was a lawyer, and had come to New York tomake his way. His father was a Scotchman, who had come over and settledin Boston, and married a Salem girl. When Eliphalet Duncan was abouttwenty he lost both of his parents. His father left him with enoughmoney to give him a start, and a strong feeling of pride in his Scotchbirth; you see there was a title in the family in Scotland, and althoughEliphalet's father was the younger son of a younger son, yet he alwaysremembered, and always bade his only son to remember, that his ancestrywas noble. His mother left him her full share of Yankee grit, and alittle house in Salem which has belonged to her family for more than twohundred years. She was a Hitchcock, and the Hitchcocks had been settledin Salem since the year 1. It was a great-great-grandfather of Mr. Eliphalet Hitchcock who was foremost in the time of the Salem witchcraftcraze. And this little old house which she left to my friend EliphaletDuncan was haunted. 

"By the ghost of one of the witches, of course, " interrupted Dear Jones. 

"Now how could it be the ghost of a witch, since the witches were allburned at the stake? You never heard of anybody who was burned having aghost, did you?"

"That's an argument in favor of cremation, at any rate, " replied Jones, evading the direct question. 

"It is, if you don't like ghosts; I do, " said Baby Van Rensselaer. 

"And so do I, " added Uncle Larry. "I love a ghost as dearly as anEnglishman loves a lord. "

"Go on with your story, " said the Duchess, majestically overruling allextraneous discussion. 

"This little old house at Salem was haunted, " resumed Uncle Larry. "Andby a very distinguished ghost--or at least by a ghost with veryremarkable attributes. "

"What was he like?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer, with a premonitory shiverof anticipatory delight. 

"It had a lot of peculiarities. In the first place, it never appeared tothe master of the house. Mostly it confined its visitations to unwelcomeguests. In the course of the last hundred years it had frightened awayfour successive mothers-in-law, while never intruding on the head of thehousehold. "

"I guess that ghost had been one of the boys when he was alive and inthe flesh. " This was Dear Jones's contribution to the telling of thetale. 

"In the second place, " continued Uncle Larry, "it never frightenedanybody the first time it appeared. Only on the second visit were theghost-seers scared; but then they were scared enough for twice, and theyrarely mustered up courage enough to risk a third interview. One of themost curious characteristics of this well-meaning spook was that it hadno face--or at least that nobody ever saw its face. "

"Perhaps he kept his countenance veiled?" queried the Duchess, who wasbeginning to remember that she never did like ghost stories. 

"That was what I was never able to find out. I have asked several peoplewho saw the ghost, and none of them could tell me anything about itsface, and yet while in its presence they never noticed its features, andnever remarked on their absence or concealment. It was only afterwardwhen they tried to recall calmly all the circumstances of meeting withthe mysterious stranger, that they became aware that they had not seenits face. And they could not say whether the features were covered, orwhether they were wanting, or what the trouble was. They knew only thatthe face was never seen. And no matter how often they might see it, theynever fathomed this mystery. To this day nobody knows whether the ghostwhich used to haunt the little old house in Salem had a face, or whatmanner of face it had. "

"How awfully weird!" said Baby Van Rensselaer. "And why did the ghost goaway?"

"I haven't said it went away, " answered Uncle Larry, with much dignity. 

"But you said it _used_ to haunt the little old house at Salem, so Isupposed it had moved. Didn't it?"

"You shall be told in due time. Eliphalet Duncan used to spend most ofhis summer vacations at Salem, and the ghost never bothered him at all, for he was the master of the house--much to his disgust, too, becausehe wanted to see for himself the mysterious tenant at will of hisproperty. But he never saw it, never. He arranged with friends to callhim whenever it might appear, and he slept in the next room with thedoor open; and yet when their frightened cries waked him the ghost wasgone, and his only reward was to hear reproachful sighs as soon as hewent back to bed. You see, the ghost thought it was not fair ofEliphalet to seek an introduction which was plainly unwelcome. "

Dear Jones interrupted the story-teller by getting up and tucking aheavy rug snugly around Baby Van Rensselaer's feet, for the sky was nowovercast and gray, and the air was damp and penetrating. 

"One fine spring morning, " pursued Uncle Larry, "Eliphalet Duncanreceived great news. I told you that there was a title in the family inScotland, and that Eliphalet's father was the younger son of a youngerson. Well, it happened that all Eliphalet's father's brothers and uncleshad died off without male issue except the eldest son of the eldest, andhe, of course, bore the title, and was Baron Duncan of Duncan. Now thegreat news that Eliphalet Duncan received in New York one fine springmorning was that Baron Duncan and his only son had been yachting in theHebrides, and they had been caught in a black squall, and they were bothdead. So my friend Eliphalet Duncan inherited the title and theestates. "

"How romantic!" said the Duchess. "So he was a baron!"

"Well, " answered Uncle Larry, "he was a baron if he chose. But he didn'tchoose. "

"More fool he, " said Dear Jones sententiously. 

"Well, " answered Uncle Larry, "I'm not so sure of that. You see, Eliphalet Duncan was half Scotch and half Yankee, and he had two eyes tothe main chance. He held his tongue about his windfall of luck until hecould find out whether the Scotch estates were enough to keep up theScotch title. He soon discovered that they were not, and that the lateLord Duncan, having married money, kept up such state as he could out ofthe revenues of the dowry of Lady Duncan. And Eliphalet, he decidedthat he would rather be a well-fed lawyer in New York, livingcomfortably on his practice, than a starving lord in Scotland, livingscantily on his title. "

"But he kept his title?" asked the Duchess. 

"Well, " answered Uncle Larry, "he kept it quiet. I knew it, and a friendor two more. But Eliphalet was a sight too smart to put Baron Duncan ofDuncan, Attorney and Counselor at Law, on his shingle. "

"What has all this got to do with your ghost?" asked Dear Jonespertinently. 

"Nothing with that ghost, but a good deal with another ghost. Eliphaletwas very learned in spirit lore--perhaps because he owned the hauntedhouse at Salem, perhaps because he was a Scotchman by descent. At allevents, he had made a special study of the wraiths and white ladies andbanshees and bogies of all kinds whose sayings and doings and warningsare recorded in the annals of the Scottish nobility. In fact, he wasacquainted with the habits of every reputable spook in the Scotchpeerage. And he knew that there was a Duncan ghost attached to theperson of the holder of the title of Baron Duncan of Duncan. "

"So, besides being the owner of a haunted house in Salem, he was also ahaunted man in Scotland?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer. 

"Just so. But the Scotch ghost was not unpleasant, like the Salem ghost, although it had one peculiarity in common with its trans-Atlanticfellow-spook. It never appeared to the holder of the title, just as theother never was visible to the owner of the house. In fact, the Duncanghost was never seen at all. It was a guardian angel only. Its sole dutywas to be in personal attendance on Baron Duncan of Duncan, and to warnhim of impending evil. The traditions of the house told that the Baronsof Duncan had again and again felt a premonition of ill fortune. Some ofthem had yielded and withdrawn from the venture they had undertaken, andit had failed dismally. Some had been obstinate, and had hardened theirhearts, and had gone on reckless of defeat and to death. In no case hada Lord Duncan been exposed to peril without fair warning. "

"Then how came it that the father and son were lost in the yacht off theHebrides?" asked Dear Jones. 

"Because they were too enlightened to yield to superstition. There isextant now a letter of Lord Duncan, written to his wife a few minutesbefore he and his son set sail, in which he tells her how hard he hashad to struggle with an almost overmastering desire to give up the trip. Had he obeyed the friendly warning of the family ghost, the latter wouldhave been spared a journey across the Atlantic. "

"Did the ghost leave Scotland for America as soon as the old barondied?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer, with much interest. 

"How did he come over, " queried Dear Jones--"in the steerage, or as acabin passenger?"

"I don't know, " answered Uncle Larry calmly, "and Eliphalet, he didn'tknow. For as he was in no danger, and stood in no need of warning, hecouldn't tell whether the ghost was on duty or not. Of course he was onthe watch for it all the time. But he never got any proof of itspresence until he went down to the little old house of Salem, justbefore the Fourth of July. He took a friend down with him--a youngfellow who had been in the regular army since the day Fort Sumter wasfired on, and who thought that after four years of the littleunpleasantness down South, including six months in Libby, and after tenyears of fighting the bad Indians on the plains, he wasn't likely to bemuch frightened by a ghost. Well, Eliphalet and the officer sat out onthe porch all the evening smoking and talking over points in militarylaw. A little after twelve o'clock, just as they began to think it wasabout time to turn in, they heard the most ghastly noise in the house. It wasn't a shriek, or a howl, or a yell, or anything they could put aname to. It was an undeterminate, inexplicable shiver and shudder ofsound, which went wailing out of the window. The officer had been atCold Harbor, but he felt himself getting colder this time. Eliphaletknew it was the ghost who haunted the house. As this weird sound diedaway, it was followed by another, sharp, short, blood-curdling in itsintensity. Something in this cry seemed familiar to Eliphalet, and hefelt sure that it proceeded from the family ghost, the warning wraithof the Duncans. "

"Do I understand you to intimate that both ghosts were there together?"inquired the Duchess anxiously. 

"Both of them were there, " answered Uncle Larry. "You see, one of thembelonged to the house, and had to be there all the time, and the otherwas attached to the person of Baron Duncan, and had to follow him there;wherever he was there was the ghost also. But Eliphalet, he had scarcelytime to think this out when he heard both sounds again, not one afteranother, but both together, and something told him--some sort of aninstinct he had--that those two ghosts didn't agree, didn't get ontogether, didn't exactly hit it off; in fact, that they werequarreling. "

"Quarreling ghosts! Well, I never!" was Baby Van Rensselaer's remark. 

"It is a blessed thing to see ghosts dwell together in unity, " said DearJones. 

And the Duchess added, "It would certainly be setting a better example. "

"You know, " resumed Uncle Larry, "that two waves of light or of soundmay interfere and produce darkness or silence. So it was with theserival spooks. They interfered, but they did not produce silence ordarkness. On the contrary, as soon as Eliphalet and the officer wentinto the house, there began at once a series of spiritualisticmanifestations, a regular dark séance. A tambourine was played upon, abell was rung, and a flaming banjo went singing around the room. "

"Where did they get the banjo?" asked Dear Jones skeptically. 

"I don't know. Materialized it, maybe, just as they did the tambourine. You don't suppose a quiet New York lawyer kept a stock of musicalinstruments large enough to fit out a strolling minstrel troupe just onthe chance of a pair of ghosts coming to give him a surprise party, doyou? Every spook has its own instrument of torture. Angels play onharps, I'm informed, and spirits delight in banjos and tambourines. These spooks of Eliphalet Duncan's were ghosts with all the modernimprovements, and I guess they were capable of providing their ownmusical weapons. At all events, they had them there in the little oldhouse at Salem the night Eliphalet and his friend came down. And theyplayed on them, and they rang the bell, and they rapped here, there, andeverywhere. And they kept it up all night. "

"All night?" asked the awe-stricken Duchess. 

"All night long, " said Uncle Larry solemnly; "and the next night, too. Eliphalet did not get a wink of sleep, neither did his friend. On thesecond night the house ghost was seen by the officer; on the third nightit showed itself again; and the next morning the officer packed hisgrip-sack and took the first train to Boston. He was a New Yorker, buthe said he'd sooner go to Boston than see that ghost again. Eliphalet, he wasn't scared at all, partly because he never saw either thedomiciliary or the titular spook, and partly because he felt himself onfriendly terms with the spirit world, and didn't scare easily. But afterlosing three nights' sleep and the society of his friend, he began to bea little impatient, and to think that the thing had gone far enough. Yousee, while in a way he was fond of ghosts, yet he liked them best one ata time. Two ghosts were one too many. He wasn't bent on making acollection of spooks. He and one ghost were company, but he and twoghosts were a crowd. "

"What did he do?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer. 

"Well, he couldn't do anything. He waited awhile, hoping they would gettired; but he got tired out first. You see, it comes natural to a spookto sleep in the daytime, but a man wants to sleep nights, and theywouldn't let him sleep nights. They kept on wrangling and quarrelingincessantly; they manifested and they dark-séanced as regularly as theold clock on the stairs struck twelve; they rapped and they rang bellsand they banged the tambourine and they threw the flaming banjo aboutthe house, and worse than all, they swore. "

"I did not know that spirits were addicted to bad language, " said theDuchess. 

"How did he know they were swearing? Could he hear them?" asked DearJones. 

"That was just it, " responded Uncle Larry; "he could not hear them--atleast not distinctly. There were inarticulate murmurs and stifledrumblings. But the impression produced on him was that they wereswearing. If they had only sworn right out, he would not have minded itso much, because he would have known the worst. But the feeling that theair was full of suppressed profanity was very wearing and after standingit for a week, he gave up in disgust and went to the White Mountains. "

"Leaving them to fight it out, I suppose, " interjected Baby VanRensselaer. 

"Not at all, " explained Uncle Larry. "They could not quarrel unless hewas present. You see, he could not leave the titular ghost behind him, and the domiciliary ghost could not leave the house. When he went awayhe took the family ghost with him, leaving the house ghost behind. Nowspooks can't quarrel when they are a hundred miles apart any more thanmen can. "

"And what happened afterward?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer, with a prettyimpatience. 

"A most marvelous thing happened. Eliphalet Duncan went to the WhiteMountains, and in the car of the railroad that runs to the top of MountWashington he met a classmate whom he had not seen for years, and thisclassmate introduced Duncan to his sister, and this sister was aremarkably pretty girl, and Duncan fell in love with her at first sight, and by the time he got to the top of Mount Washington he was so deep inlove that he began to consider his own unworthiness, and to wonderwhether she might ever be induced to care for him a little--ever solittle. "

"I don't think that is so marvelous a thing, " said Dear Jones glancingat Baby Van Rensselaer. 

"Who was she?" asked the Duchess, who had once lived in Philadelphia. 

"She was Miss Kitty Sutton, of San Francisco, and she was a daughter ofold Judge Sutton, of the firm of Pixley and Sutton. "

"A very respectable family, " assented the Duchess. 

"I hope she wasn't a daughter of that loud and vulgar old Mrs. Suttonwhom I met at Saratoga, one summer, four or five years ago?" said DearJones. 

"Probably she was. "

"She was a horrid old woman. The boys used to call her Mother Gorgon. "

"The pretty Kitty Sutton with whom Eliphalet Duncan had fallen in lovewas the daughter of Mother Gorgon. But he never saw the mother, who wasin 'Frisco, or Los Angeles, or Santa Fe, or somewhere out West, and hesaw a great deal of the daughter, who was up in the White Mountains. Shewas traveling with her brother and his wife, and as they journeyed fromhotel to hotel, Duncan went with them, and filled out the quartette. Before the end of the summer he began to think about proposing. Ofcourse he had lots of chances, going on excursions as they were everyday. He made up his mind to seize the first opportunity, and that veryevening he took her out for a moonlight row on Lake Winnipiseogee. As hehanded her into the boat he resolved to do it, and he had a glimmer of asuspicion that she knew he was going to do it, too. "

"Girls, " said Dear Jones, "never go out in a rowboat at night with ayoung man unless you mean to accept him. "

"Sometimes it's best to refuse him, and get it over once for all, " saidBaby Van Rensselaer. 

"As Eliphalet took the oars he felt a sudden chill. He tried to shake itoff, but in vain. He began to have a growing consciousness of impendingevil. Before he had taken ten strokes--and he was a swift oarsman--hewas aware of a mysterious presence between him and Miss Sutton. "

"Was it the guardian-angel ghost warning him off the match?" interruptedDear Jones. 

"That's just what it was, " said Uncle Larry. "And he yielded to it, andkept his peace, and rowed Miss Sutton back to the hotel with hisproposal unspoken. "

"More fool he, " said Dear Jones. "It will take more than one ghost tokeep me from proposing when my mind is made up. " And he looked at BabyVan Rensselaer. 

"The next morning, " continued Uncle Larry, "Eliphalet overslepthimself, and when he went down to a late breakfast he found that theSuttons had gone to New York by the morning train. He wanted to followthem at once, and again he felt the mysterious presence overpowering hiswill. He struggled two days, and at last he roused himself to do what hewanted in spite of the spook. When he arrived in New York it was late inthe evening. He dressed himself hastily and went to the hotel where theSuttons put up, in the hope of seeing at least her brother. The guardianangel fought every inch of the walk with him, until he began to wonderwhether, if Miss Sutton were to take him, the spook would forbid thebanns. At the hotel he saw no one that night, and he went homedetermined to call as early as he could the next afternoon, and make anend of it. When he left his office about two o'clock the next day tolearn his fate, he had not walked five blocks before he discovered thatthe wraith of the Duncans had withdrawn his opposition to the suit. There was no feeling of impending evil, no resistance, no struggle, noconsciousness of an opposing presence. Eliphalet was greatly encouraged. He walked briskly to the hotel; he found Miss Sutton alone. He asked herthe question, and got his answer. "

"She accepted him, of course, " said Baby Van Rensselaer. 

"Of course, " said Uncle Larry. "And while they were in the first flushof joy, swapping confidences and confessions, her brother came into theparlor with an expression of pain on his face and a telegram in hishand. The former was caused by the latter, which was from 'Frisco, andwhich announced the sudden death of Mrs. Sutton, their mother. "

"And that was why the ghost no longer opposed the match?" questionedDear Jones. 

"Exactly. You see, the family ghost knew that Mother Gorgon was an awfulobstacle to Duncan's happiness, so it warned him. But the moment theobstacle was removed, it gave its consent at once. "

The fog was lowering its thick damp curtain, and it was beginning to bedifficult to see from one end of the boat to the other. Dear Jonestightened the rug which enwrapped Baby Van Rensselaer, and then withdrewagain into his own substantial coverings. 

Uncle Larry paused in his story long enough to light another of the tinycigars he always smoked. 

"I infer that Lord Duncan"--the Duchess was scrupulous in the bestowalof titles--"saw no more of the ghosts after he was married. "

"He never saw them at all, at any time, either before or since. But theycame very near breaking off the match, and thus breaking two younghearts. "

"You don't mean to say that they knew any just cause or impediment whythey should not forever after hold their peace?" asked Dear Jones. 

"How could a ghost, or even two ghosts, keep a girl from marrying theman she loved?" This was Baby Van Rensselaer's question. 

"It seems curious, doesn't it?" and Uncle Larry tried to warm himself bytwo or three sharp pulls at his fiery little cigar. "And thecircumstances are quite as curious as the fact itself. You see, MissSutton wouldn't be married for a year after her mother's death, so sheand Duncan had lots of time to tell each other all they knew. Eliphalet, he got to know a good deal about the girls she went to school with, andKitty, she learned all about his family. He didn't tell her about thetitle for a long time, as he wasn't one to brag. But he described to herthe little old house at Salem. And one evening toward the end of thesummer, the wedding-day having been appointed for early in September, she told him that she didn't want to bridal tour at all; she just wantedto go down to the little old house at Salem to spend her honeymoon inpeace and quiet, with nothing to do and nobody to bother them. Well, Eliphalet jumped at the suggestion. It suited him down to the ground. All of a sudden he remembered the spooks, and it knocked him all of aheap. He had told her about the Duncan Banshee, and the idea of havingan ancestral ghost in personal attendance on her husband tickled herimmensely. But he had never said anything about the ghost which hauntedthe little old house at Salem. He knew she would be frightened out ofher wits if the house ghost revealed itself to her, and he saw at oncethat it would be impossible to go to Salem on their wedding trip. So hetold her all about it, and how whenever he went to Salem the two ghostsinterfered, and gave dark séances and manifested and materialized andmade the place absolutely impossible. Kitty, she listened in silence, and Eliphalet, he thought she had changed her mind. But she hadn't doneanything of the kind. "

"Just like a man--to think she was going to, " remarked Baby VanRensselaer. 

"She just told him she could not bear ghosts herself, but she would notmarry a man who was afraid of them. "

"Just like a girl--to be so inconsistent, " remarked Dear Jones. 

Uncle Larry's tiny cigar had long been extinct. He lighted a new one, and continued: "Eliphalet protested in vain. Kitty said her mind wasmade up. She was determined to pass her honeymoon in the little oldhouse at Salem, and she was equally determined not to go there as longas there were any ghosts there. Until he could assure her that thespectral tenants had received notice to quit, and that there was nodanger of manifestations and materializing, she refused to be married atall. She did not intend to have her honeymoon interrupted by twowrangling ghosts, and the wedding could be postponed until he had madeready the house for her. "

"She was an unreasonable young woman, " said the Duchess. 

"Well, that's what Eliphalet thought, much as he was in love with her. And he believed he could talk her out of her determination. But hecouldn't. She was set. And when a girl is set, there's nothing to do butyield to the inevitable. And that's just what Eliphalet did. He saw hewould either have to give her up or to get the ghosts out; and as heloved her and did not care for the ghosts, he resolved to tackle theghosts. He had clear grit, Eliphalet had--he was half Scotch and halfYankee, and neither breed turns tail in a hurry. So he made his plansand he went down to Salem. As he said good-by to Kitty he had animpression that she was sorry she had made him go, but she kept upbravely, and put a bold face on it, and saw him off, and went home andcried for an hour, and was perfectly miserable until he came back thenext day. "

"Did he succeed in driving the ghosts away?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer, with great interest. 

"That's just what I'm coming to, " said Uncle Larry, pausing at thecritical moment, in the manner of the trained story teller. "You see, Eliphalet had got a rather tough job, and he would gladly have had anextension of time on the contract, but he had to choose between the girland the ghosts, and he wanted the girl. He tried to invent or remembersome short and easy way with ghosts, but he couldn't. He wished thatsomebody had invented a specific for spooks--something that would makethe ghosts come out of the house and die in the yard. He wondered if hecould not tempt the ghosts to run in debt, so that he might get thesheriff to help him. He wondered also whether the ghosts could not beovercome with strong drink--a dissipated spook, a spook with deliriumtremens, might be committed to the inebriate asylum. But none of thesethings seemed feasible. "

"What did he do?" interrupted Dear Jones. "The learned counsel willplease speak to the point. "

"You will regret this unseemly haste, " said Uncle Larry, gravely, "whenyou know what really happened. "

"What was it, Uncle Larry?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer. "I'm allimpatience. "

And Uncle Larry proceeded:

"Eliphalet went down to the little old house at Salem, and as soon asthe clock struck twelve the rival ghosts began wrangling as before. Rapshere, there, and everywhere, ringing bells, banging tambourines, strumming banjos sailing about the room, and all the othermanifestations and materializations followed one another just as theyhad the summer before. The only difference Eliphalet could detect was astronger flavor in the spectral profanity; and this, of course, was onlya vague impression, for he did not actually hear a single word. Hewaited awhile in patience, listening and watching. Of course he neversaw either of the ghosts, because neither of them could appear to him. At last he got his dander up, and he thought it was about time tointerfere, so he rapped on the table, and asked for silence. As soon ashe felt that the spooks were listening to him he explained the situationto them. He told them he was in love, and that he could not marry unlessthey vacated the house. He appealed to them as old friends, and he laidclaim to their gratitude. The titular ghost had been sheltered by theDuncan family for hundreds of years, and the domiciliary ghost had hadfree lodging in the little old house at Salem for nearly two centuries. He implored them to settle their differences, and to get him out of hisdifficulty at once. He suggested they'd better fight it out then andthere, and see who was master. He had brought down with him all needfulweapons. And he pulled out his valise, and spread on the table a pair ofnavy revolvers, a pair of shot-guns, a pair of dueling swords, and acouple of bowie-knives. He offered to serve as second for both parties, and to give the word when to begin. He also took out of his valise apack of cards and a bottle of poison, telling them that if they wishedto avoid carnage they might cut the cards to see which one should takethe poison. Then he waited anxiously for their reply. For a little spacethere was silence. Then he became conscious of a tremulous shivering inone corner of the room, and he remembered that he had heard from thatdirection what sounded like a frightened sigh when he made the firstsuggestion of the duel. Something told him that this was the domiciliaryghost, and that it was badly scared. Then he was impressed by a certainmovement in the opposite corner of the room, as though the titular ghostwere drawing himself up with offended dignity. Eliphalet couldn'texactly see these things, because he never saw the ghosts, but he feltthem. After a silence of nearly a minute a voice came from the cornerwhere the family ghost stood--a voice strong and full, but tremblingslightly with suppressed passion. And this voice told Eliphalet it wasplain enough that he had not long been the head of the Duncans, and thathe had never properly considered the characteristics of his race if nowhe supposed that one of his blood could draw his sword against a woman. Eliphalet said he had never suggested that the Duncan ghost should raisehis hand against a woman and all he wanted was that the Duncan ghostshould fight the other ghost. And then the voice told Eliphalet that theother ghost was a woman. "

"What?" said Dear Jones, sitting up suddenly. "You don't mean to tell methat the ghost which haunted the house was a woman?"

"Those were the very words Eliphalet Duncan used, " said Uncle Larry;"but he did not need to wait for the answer. All at once he recalled thetraditions about the domiciliary ghost, and he knew that what thetitular ghost said was the fact. He had never thought of the sex of aspook, but there was no doubt whatever that the house ghost was a woman. No sooner was this firmly fixed in Eliphalet's mind than he saw his wayout of the difficulty. The ghosts must be married!--for then there wouldbe no more interference, no more quarreling, no more manifestations andmaterializations, no more dark séances, with their raps and bells andtambourines and banjos. At first the ghosts would not hear of it. Thevoice in the corner declared that the Duncan wraith had never thought ofmatrimony. But Eliphalet argued with them, and pleaded and persuaded andcoaxed, and dwelt on the advantages of matrimony. He had to confess, ofcourse, that he did not know how to get a clergyman to marry them; butthe voice from the corner gravely told him that there need be nodifficulty in regard to that, as there was no lack of spiritualchaplains. Then, for the first time, the house ghost spoke, in a low, clear, gentle voice, and with a quaint, old-fashioned New Englandaccent, which contrasted sharply with the broad Scotch speech of thefamily ghost. She said that Eliphalet Duncan seemed to have forgottenthat she was married. But this did not upset Eliphalet at all; heremembered the whole case clearly, and he told her she was not a marriedghost, but a widow, since her husband had been hung for murdering her. Then the Duncan ghost drew attention to the great disparity of theirages, saying that he was nearly four hundred and fifty years old, whileshe was barely two hundred. But Eliphalet had not talked to juries fornothing; he just buckled to, and coaxed those ghosts into matrimony. Afterward he came to the conclusion that they were willing to be coaxed, but at the time he thought he had pretty hard work to convince them ofthe advantages of the plan. "

"Did he succeed?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer, with a young lady'sinterest in matrimony. 

"He did, " said Uncle Larry. "He talked the wraith of the Duncans and thespecter of the little old house at Salem into a matrimonial engagement. And from the time they were engaged he had no more trouble with them. They were rival ghosts no longer. They were married by their spiritualchaplain the very same day that Eliphalet Duncan met Kitty Sutton infront of the railing of Grace Church. The ghostly bride and bridegroomwent away at once on their bridal tour, and Lord and Lady Duncan wentdown to the little old house at Salem to pass their honeymoon. "

Uncle Larry stopped. His tiny cigar was out again. The tale of the rivalghosts was told. A solemn silence fell on the little party on the deckof the ocean steamer, broken harshly by the hoarse roar of thefog-horn. 

THE DAMNED THING

BY AMBROSE BIERCE

I

ONE DOES NOT ALWAYS EAT WHAT IS ON THE TABLE

By the light of a tallow candle which had been placed on one end of arough table a man was reading something written in a book. It was an oldaccount book, greatly worn; and the writing was not, apparently, verylegible, for the man sometimes held the page close to the flame of thecandle to get a stronger light on it. The shadow of the book would thenthrow into obscurity a half of the room, darkening a number of faces andfigures; for besides the reader, eight other men were present. Seven ofthem sat against the rough log walls, silent, motionless, and the roombeing small, not very far from the table. By extending an arm any one ofthem could have touched the eighth man, who lay on the table, faceupward, partly covered by a sheet, his arms at his sides. He was dead. 

The man with the book was not reading aloud, and no one spoke; allseemed to be waiting for something to occur; the dead man only waswithout expectation. From the blank darkness outside came in, throughthe aperture that served for a window, all the ever unfamiliar noises ofnight in the wilderness--the long nameless note of a distant coyote; thestilly pulsing thrill of tireless insects in trees; strange cries ofnight birds, so different from those of the birds of day; the drone ofgreat blundering beetles, and all that mysterious chorus of small soundsthat seem always to have been but half heard when they have suddenlyceased, as if conscious of an indiscretion. But nothing of all this wasnoted in that company; its members were not overmuch addicted to idleinterest in matters of no practical importance; that was obvious inevery line of their rugged faces--obvious even in the dim light of thesingle candle. They were evidently men of the vicinity--farmers andwoodsmen. 

The person reading was a trifle different; one would have said of himthat he was of the world, worldly, albeit there was that in his attirewhich attested a certain fellowship with the organisms of hisenvironment. His coat would hardly have passed muster in San Francisco;his foot-gear was not of urban origin, and the hat that lay by him onthe floor (he was the only one uncovered) was such that if one hadconsidered it as an article of mere personal adornment he would havemissed its meaning. In countenance the man was rather prepossessing, with just a hint of sternness; though that he may have assumed orcultivated, as appropriate to one in authority. For he was a coroner. Itwas by virtue of his office that he had possession of the book in whichhe was reading; it had been found among the dead man's effects--in hiscabin, where the inquest was now taking place. 

When the coroner had finished reading he put the book into his breastpocket. At that moment the door was pushed open and a young man entered. He, clearly, was not of mountain birth and breeding: he was clad asthose who dwell in cities. His clothing was dusty, however, as fromtravel. He had, in fact, been riding hard to attend the inquest. 

The coroner nodded; no one else greeted him. 

"We have waited for you, " said the coroner. "It is necessary to havedone with this business to-night. "

The young man smiled. "I am sorry to have kept you, " he said. "I wentaway, not to evade your summons, but to post to my newspaper an accountof what I suppose I am called back to relate. "

The coroner smiled. 

"The account that you posted to your newspaper, " he said, "differs, probably, from that which you will give here under oath. "

"That, " replied the other, rather hotly and with a visible flush, "is asyou please. I used manifold paper and have a copy of what I sent. Itwas not written as news, for it is incredible, but as fiction. It may goas a part of my testimony under oath. "

"But you say it is incredible. "

"That is nothing to you, sir, if I also swear that it is true. "

The coroner was silent for a time, his eyes upon the floor. The menabout the sides of the cabin talked in whispers, but seldom withdrewtheir gaze from the face of the corpse. Presently the coroner lifted hiseyes and said: "We will resume the inquest. "

The men removed their hats. The witness was sworn. 

"What is your name?" the coroner asked. 

"William Harker. "

"Age?"

"Twenty-seven. "

"You knew the deceased, Hugh Morgan?"

"Yes. "

"You were with him when he died?"

"Near him. "

"How did that happen--your presence, I mean?"

"I was visiting him at this place to shoot and fish. A part of mypurpose, however, was to study him and his odd, solitary way of life. Heseemed a good model for a character in fiction. I sometimes writestories. "

"I sometimes read them. "

"Thank you. "

"Stories in general--not yours. "

Some of the jurors laughed. Against a somber background humor shows highlights. Soldiers in the intervals of battle laugh easily, and a jest inthe death chamber conquers by surprise. 

"Relate the circumstances of this man's death, " said the coroner. "Youmay use any notes or memoranda that you please. "

The witness understood. Pulling a manuscript from his breast pocket heheld it near the candle and turning the leaves until he found thepassage that he wanted began to read. 

II

WHAT MAY HAPPEN IN A FIELD OF WILD OATS

". . . The sun had hardly risen when we left the house. We were lookingfor quail, each with a shotgun, but we had only one dog. Morgan saidthat our best ground was beyond a certain ridge that he pointed out, andwe crossed it by a trail through the _chaparral_. On the other side wascomparatively level ground, thickly covered with wild oats. As weemerged from the _chaparral_ Morgan was but a few yards in advance. Suddenly we heard, at a little distance to our right and partly infront, a noise as of some animal thrashing about in the bushes, which wecould see were violently agitated. 

"'We've started a deer, ' I said. 'I wish we had brought a rifle. '

"Morgan, who had stopped and was intently watching the agitated_chaparral_, said nothing, but had cocked both barrels of his gun andwas holding it in readiness to aim. I thought him a trifle excited, which surprised me, for he had a reputation for exceptional coolness, even in moments of sudden and imminent peril. 

"'O, come, ' I said. 'You are not going to fill up a deer withquail-shot, are you?'

"Still he did not reply; but catching a sight of his face as he turnedit slightly toward me I was struck by the intensity of his look. Then Iunderstood that we had serious business in hand and my first conjecturewas that we had 'jumped' a grizzly. I advanced to Morgan's side, cockingmy piece as I moved. 

"The bushes were now quiet and the sounds had ceased, but Morgan was asattentive to the place as before. 

"'What is it? What the devil is it?' I asked. 

"'That Damned Thing!' he replied, without turning his head. His voicewas husky and unnatural. He trembled visibly. 

"I was about to speak further, when I observed the wild oats near theplace of the disturbance moving in the most inexplicable way. I canhardly describe it. It seemed as if stirred by a streak of wind, whichnot only bent it, but pressed it down--crushed it so that it did notrise; and this movement was slowly prolonging itself directly toward us. 

"Nothing that I had ever seen had affected me so strangely as thisunfamiliar and unaccountable phenomenon, yet I am unable to recall anysense of fear. I remember--and tell it here because, singularly enough, I recollected it then--that once in looking carelessly out of an openwindow I momentarily mistook a small tree close at hand for one of agroup of larger trees at a little distance away. It looked the same sizeas the others, but being more distinctly and sharply defined in mass anddetail seemed out of harmony with them. It was a mere falsification ofthe law of aerial perspective, but it startled, almost terrified me. Weso rely upon the orderly operation of familiar natural laws that anyseeming suspension of them is noted as a menace to our safety, a warningof unthinkable calamity. So now the apparently causeless movement of theherbage and the slow, undeviating approach of the line of disturbanceswere distinctly disquieting. My companion appeared actually frightened, and I could hardly credit my senses when I saw him suddenly throw hisgun to his shoulder and fire both barrels at the agitated grain! Beforethe smoke of the discharge had cleared away I heard a loud savage cry--ascream like that of a wild animal--and flinging his gun upon the groundMorgan sprang away and ran swiftly from the spot. At the same instant Iwas thrown violently to the ground by the impact of something unseen inthe smoke--some soft, heavy substance that seemed thrown against me withgreat force. 

"Before I could get upon my feet and recover my gun, which seemed tohave been struck from my hands, I heard Morgan crying out as if inmortal agony, and mingling with his cries were such hoarse, savagesounds as one hears from fighting dogs. Inexpressibly terrified, Istruggled to my feet and looked in the direction of Morgan's retreat;and may Heaven in mercy spare me from another sight like that! At adistance of less than thirty yards was my friend, down upon one knee, his head thrown back at a frightful angle, hatless, his long hair indisorder and his whole body in violent movement from side to side, backward and forward. His right arm was lifted and seemed to lack thehand--at least, I could see none. The other arm was invisible. At times, as my memory now reports this extraordinary scene, I could discern but apart of his body; it was as if he had been partly blotted out--I cannototherwise express it--then a shifting of his position would bring it allinto view again. 

"All this must have occurred within a few seconds, yet in that timeMorgan assumed all the postures of a determined wrestler vanquished bysuperior weight and strength. I saw nothing but him, and him not alwaysdistinctly. During the entire incident his shouts and curses were heard, as if through an enveloping uproar of such sounds of rage and fury as Ihad never heard from the throat of man or brute!

"For a moment only I stood irresolute, then throwing down my gun I ranforward to my friend's assistance. I had a vague belief that he wassuffering from a fit, or some form of convulsion. Before I could reachhis side he was down and quiet. All sounds had ceased, but with afeeling of such terror as even these awful events had not inspired I nowsaw again the mysterious movement of the wild oats, prolonging itselffrom the trampled area about the prostrate man toward the edge of awood. It was only when it had reached the wood that I was able towithdraw my eyes and look at my companion. He was dead. "

III

A MAN THOUGH NAKED MAY BE IN RAGS

The coroner rose from his seat and stood beside the dead man. Lifting anedge of the sheet he pulled it away, exposing the entire body, altogether naked and showing in the candle-light a claylike yellow. Ithad, however, broad maculations of bluish black, obviously caused byextravasated blood from contusions. The chest and sides looked as ifthey had been beaten with a bludgeon. There were dreadful lacerations;the skin was torn in strips and shreds. 

The coroner moved round to the end of the table and undid a silkhandkerchief which had been passed under the chin and knotted on the topof the head. When the handkerchief was drawn away it exposed what hadbeen the throat. Some of the jurors who had risen to get a better viewrepented their curiosity and turned away their faces. Witness Harkerwent to the open window and leaned out across the sill, faint and sick. Dropping the handkerchief upon the dead man's neck the coroner steppedto an angle of the room and from a pile of clothing produced one garmentafter another, each of which he held up a moment for inspection. Allwere torn, and stiff with blood. The jurors did not make a closerinspection. They seemed rather uninterested. They had, in truth, seenall this before; the only thing that was new to them being Harker'stestimony. 

"Gentlemen, " the coroner said, "we have no more evidence, I think. Yourduty has been already explained to you; if there is nothing you wish toask you may go outside and consider your verdict. "

The foreman rose--a tall, bearded man of sixty, coarsely clad. 

"I should like to ask one question, Mr. Coroner, " he said. "What asylumdid this yer last witness escape from?"

"Mr. Harker, " said the coroner, gravely and tranquilly, "from whatasylum did you last escape?"

Harker flushed crimson again, but said nothing, and the seven jurorsrose and solemnly filed out of the cabin. 

"If you have done insulting me, sir, " said Harker, as soon as he and theofficer were left alone with the dead man, "I suppose I am at liberty togo?"

"Yes. "

Harker started to leave, but paused, with his hand on the door latch. The habit of his profession was strong in him--stronger than his senseof personal dignity. He turned about and said:

"The book that you have there--I recognize it as Morgan's diary. Youseemed greatly interested in it; you read in it while I was testifying. May I see it? The public would like----"

"The book will cut no figure in this matter, " replied the official, slipping it into his coat pocket; "all the entries in it were madebefore the writer's death. "

As Harker passed out of the house the jury reëntered and stood about thetable, on which the now covered corpse showed under the sheet with sharpdefinition. The foreman seated himself near the candle, produced fromhis breast pocket a pencil and scrap of paper and wrote ratherlaboriously the following verdict, which with various degrees of effortall signed:

"We, the jury, do find that the remains come to their death at the handsof a mountain lion, but some of us thinks, all the same, they had fits. "

IV

AN EXPLANATION FROM THE TOMB

In the diary of the late Hugh Morgan are certain interesting entrieshaving, possibly, a scientific value as suggestions. At the inquest uponhis body the book was not put in evidence; possibly the coroner thoughtit not worth while to confuse the jury. The date of the first of theentries mentioned cannot be ascertained; the upper part of the leaf istorn away; the part of the entry remaining follows:

". . . Would run in a half-circle, keeping his head turned always towardthe center, and again he would stand still, barking furiously. At lasthe ran away into the brush as fast as he could go. I thought at firstthat he had gone mad, but on returning to the house found no otheralteration in his manner than what was obviously due to fear ofpunishment. 

"Can a dog see with his nose? Do odors impress some cerebral center withimages of the thing that emitted them? . . . 

"Sept. 2. --Looking at the stars last night as they rose above the crestof the ridge east of the house, I observed them successivelydisappear--from left to right. Each was eclipsed but an instant, andonly a few at the same time, but along the entire length of the ridgeall that were within a degree or two of the crest were blotted out. Itwas as if something had passed along between me and them; but I couldnot see it, and the stars were not thick enough to define its outline. Ugh! I don't like this. " . . . 

Several weeks' entries are missing, three leaves being torn from thebook. 

"Sept. 27. --It has been about here again--I find evidences of itspresence every day. I watched again all last night in the same cover, gun in hand, double-charged with buckshot. In the morning the freshfootprints were there, as before. Yet I would have sworn that I did notsleep--indeed, I hardly sleep at all. It is terrible, insupportable! Ifthese amazing experiences are real I shall go mad; if they are fancifulI am mad already. 

"Oct. 3. --I shall not go--it shall not drive me away. No, this is _my_house, _my_ land. God hates a coward. . . . 

"Oct. 5. --I can stand it no longer; I have invited Harker to pass a fewweeks with me--he has a level head. I can judge from his manner if hethinks me mad. 

"Oct. 7. --I have the solution of the mystery; it came to me lastnight--suddenly, as by revelation. How simple--how terribly simple!

"There are sounds that we cannot hear. At either end of the scale arenotes that stir no chord of that imperfect instrument, the human ear. They are too high or too grave. I have observed a flock of blackbirdsoccupying an entire tree-top--the tops of several trees--and all in fullsong. Suddenly--in a moment--at absolutely the same instant--all springinto the air and fly away. How? They could not all see oneanother--whole tree-tops intervened. At no point could a leader havebeen visible to all. There must have been a signal of warning orcommand, high and shrill above the din, but by me unheard. I haveobserved, too, the same simultaneous flight when all were silent, amongnot only blackbirds, but other birds--quail, for example, widelyseparated by bushes--even on opposite sides of a hill. 

"It is known to seamen that a school of whales basking or sporting onthe surface of the ocean, miles apart, with the convexity of the earthbetween, will sometimes dive at the same instant--all gone out of sightin a moment. The signal has been sounded--too grave for the ear of thesailor at the masthead and his comrades on the deck--who neverthelessfeel its vibrations in the ship as the stones of a cathedral are stirredby the bass of the organ. 

"As with sounds, so with colors. At each end of the solar spectrum thechemist can detect the presence of what are known as 'actinic' rays. They represent colors--integral colors in the composition oflight--which we are unable to discern. The human eye is an imperfectinstrument; its range is but a few octaves of the real 'chromaticscale. ' I am not mad; there are colors that we cannot see. 

"And, God help me! the Damned Thing is of such a color!"

THE INTERVAL[J]

BY VINCENT O'SULLIVAN

From _The Boston Evening Transcript_

Mrs. Wilton passed through a little alley leading from one of the gateswhich are around Regent's Park, and came out on the wide and quietstreet. She walked along slowly, peering anxiously from side to side soas not to overlook the number. She pulled her furs closer round her;after her years in India this London damp seemed very harsh. Still, itwas not a fog to-day. A dense haze, gray and tinged ruddy, lay betweenthe houses, sometimes blowing with a little wet kiss against the face. Mrs. Wilton's hair and eyelashes and her furs were powdered with tinydrops. But there was nothing in the weather to blur the sight; she couldsee the faces of people some distance off and read the signs on theshops. 

Before the door of a dealer in antiques and second-hand furniture shepaused and looked through the shabby uncleaned window at an unassortedheap of things, many of them of great value. She read the Polish namefastened on the pane in white letters. 

"Yes; this is the place. "

She opened the door, which met her entrance with an ill-tempered jangle. From somewhere in the black depths of the shop the dealer came forward. He had a clammy white face, with a sparse black beard, and wore a skullcap and spectacles. Mrs. Wilton spoke to him in a low voice. 

A look of complicity, of cunning, perhaps of irony, passed through thedealer's cynical and sad eyes. But he bowed gravely and respectfully. 

"Yes, she is here, madam. Whether she will see you or not I do not know. She is not always well; she has her moods. And then, we have to be socareful. The police--Not that they would touch a lady like you. But thepoor alien has not much chance these days. "

Mrs. Wilton followed him to the back of the shop, where there was awinding staircase. She knocked over a few things in her passage andstooped to pick them up, but the dealer kept muttering, "It does notmatter--surely it does not matter. " He lit a candle. 

"You must go up these stairs. They are very dark; be careful. When youcome to a door, open it and go straight in. "

He stood at the foot of the stairs holding the light high above his headand she ascended. 

The room was not very large, and it seemed very ordinary. There weresome flimsy, uncomfortable chairs in gilt and red. Two large palms werein corners. Under a glass cover on the table was a view of Rome. Theroom had not a business-like look, thought Mrs. Wilton; there was nosuggestion of the office or waiting-room where people came and went allday; yet you would not say that it was a private room which was livedin. There were no books or papers about; every chair was in the place ithad been placed when the room was last swept; there was no fire and itwas very cold. 

To the right of the window was a door covered with a plush curtain. Mrs. Wilton sat down near the table and watched this door. She thought itmust be through it that the soothsayer would come forth. She laid herhands listlessly one on top of the other on the table. This must be thetenth seer she had consulted since Hugh had been killed. She thoughtthem over. No, this must be the eleventh. She had forgotten thatfrightening man in Paris who said he had been a priest. Yet of them allit was only he who had told her anything definite. But even he could dono more than tell the past. He told of her marriage; he even had theduration of it right--twenty-one months. He told too of their time inIndia--at least, he knew that her husband had been a soldier, and saidhe had been on service in the "colonies. " On the whole, though, he hadbeen as unsatisfactory as the others. None of them had given her theconsolation she sought. She did not want to be told of the past. If Hughwas gone forever, then with him had gone all her love of living, hercourage, all her better self. She wanted to be lifted out of thedespair, the dazed aimless drifting from day to day, longing at nightfor the morning, and in the morning for the fall of night, which hadbeen her life since his death. If somebody could assure her that it wasnot all over, that he was somewhere, not too far away, unchanged fromwhat he had been here, with his crisp hair and rather slow smile andlean brown face, that he saw her sometimes, that he had not forgottenher. . . . 

"Oh, Hugh, darling!"

When she looked up again the woman was sitting there before her. Mrs. Wilton had not heard her come in. With her experience, wide enough now, of seers and fortune-tellers of all kinds, she saw at once that thiswoman was different from the others. She was used to the quickappraising look, the attempts, sometimes clumsy, but often cleverlydisguised, to collect some fragments of information whereupon to erect aplausible vision. But this woman looked as if she took it out ofherself. 

Not that her appearance suggested intercourse with the spiritual worldmore than the others had done; it suggested that, in fact, considerablyless. Some of the others were frail, yearning, evaporated creatures, andthe ex-priest in Paris had something terrible and condemned in his look. He might well sup with the devil, that man, and probably did in some wayor other. 

But this was a little fat, weary-faced woman about fifty, who only didnot look like a cook because she looked more like a sempstress. Herblack dress was all covered with white threads. Mrs. Wilton looked ather with some embarrassment. It seemed more reasonable to be asking awoman like this about altering a gown than about intercourse with thedead. That seemed even absurd in such a very commonplace presence. Thewoman seemed timid and oppressed: she breathed heavily and kept rubbingher dingy hands, which looked moist, one over the other; she was alwayswetting her lips, and coughed with a little dry cough. But in her thesesigns of nervous exhaustion suggested overwork in a close atmosphere, bending too close over the sewing-machine. Her uninteresting hair, likea rat's pelt, was eked out with a false addition of another color. Somethreads had got into her hair too. 

Her harried, uneasy look caused Mrs. Wilton to ask compassionately: "Areyou much worried by the police?"

"Oh, the police! Why don't they leave us alone? You never know who comesto see you. Why don't they leave me alone? I'm a good woman. I onlythink. What I do is no harm to any one. " . . . 

She continued in an uneven querulous voice, always rubbing her handstogether nervously. She seemed to the visitor to be talking at random, just gabbling, like children do sometimes before they fall asleep. 

"I wanted to explain----" hesitated Mrs. Wilton. 

But the woman, with her head pressed close against the back of thechair, was staring beyond her at the wall. Her face had lost whateverlittle expression it had; it was blank and stupid. When she spoke it wasvery slowly and her voice was guttural. 

"Can't you see him? It seems strange to me that you can't see him. He isso near you. He is passing his arm round your shoulders. "

This was a frequent gesture of Hugh's. And indeed at that moment shefelt that somebody was very near her, bending over her. She wasenveloped in tenderness. Only a very thin veil, she felt, prevented herfrom seeing. But the woman saw. She was describing Hugh minutely, eventhe little things like the burn on his right hand. 

"Is he happy? Oh, ask him does he love me?"

The result was so far beyond anything she had hoped for that she wasstunned. She could only stammer the first thing that came into her head. "Does he love me?"

"He loves you. He won't answer, but he loves you. He wants me to makeyou see him; he is disappointed, I think, because I can't. But I can'tunless you do it yourself. "

After a while she said:

"I think you will see him again. You think of nothing else. He is veryclose to us now. "

Then she collapsed, and fell into a heavy sleep and lay theremotionless, hardly breathing. Mrs. Wilton put some notes on the tableand stole out on tip-toe. 

 * * * * *

She seemed to remember that downstairs in the dark shop the dealer withthe waxen face detained her to show some old silver and jewelry and suchlike. But she did not come to herself, she had no precise recollectionof anything, till she found herself entering a church near PortlandPlace. It was an unlikely act in her normal moments. Why did she go inthere? She acted like one walking in her sleep. 

The church was old and dim, with high black pews. There was nobodythere. Mrs. Wilton sat down in one of the pews and bent forward with herface in her hands. 

After a few minutes she saw that a soldier had come in noiselessly andplaced himself about half-a-dozen rows ahead of her. He never turnedround; but presently she was struck by something familiar in the figure. First she thought vaguely that the soldier looked like her Hugh. Then, when he put up his hand, she saw who it was. 

She hurried out of the pew and ran towards him. "Oh, Hugh, Hugh, haveyou come back?"

He looked round with a smile. He had not been killed. It was all amistake. He was going to speak. . . . 

Footsteps sounded hollow in the empty church. She turned and glanceddown the dim aisle. 

It was an old sexton or verger who approached. "I thought I heard youcall, " he said. 

"I was speaking to my husband. " But Hugh was nowhere to be seen. 

"He was here a moment ago. " She looked about in anguish. "He must havegone to the door. "

"There's nobody here, " said the old man gently. "Only you and me. Ladiesare often taken funny since the war. There was one in here yesterdayafternoon said she was married in this church and her husband hadpromised to meet her here. Perhaps you were married here?"

"No, " said Mrs. Wilton, desolately. "I was married in India. "

 * * * * *

It might have been two or three days after that, when she went into asmall Italian restaurant in the Bayswater district. She often went outfor her meals now: she had developed an exhausting cough, and she foundthat it somehow became less troublesome when she was in a public placelooking at strange faces. In her flat there were all the things thatHugh had used; the trunks and bags still had his name on them with thelabels of places where they had been together. They were like stabs. Inthe restaurant, people came and went, many soldiers too among them, justglancing at her in her corner. 

This day, as it chanced, she was rather late and there was nobody there. She was very tired. She nibbled at the food they brought her. She couldalmost have cried from tiredness and loneliness and the ache in herheart. 

Then suddenly he was before her, sitting there opposite at the table. Itwas as it was in the days of their engagement, when they used sometimesto lunch at restaurants. He was not in uniform. He smiled at her andurged her to eat, just as he used in those days. . . . 

I met her that afternoon as she was crossing Kensington Gardens, and shetold me about it. 

"I have been with Hugh. " She seemed most happy. 

"Did he say anything?"

"N-no. Yes. I think he did, but I could not quite hear. My head was sovery tired. The next time----"

 * * * * *

I did not see her for some time after that. She found, I think, that bygoing to places where she had once seen him--the old church, the littlerestaurant--she was more certain to see him again. She never saw him athome. But in the street or the park he would often walk along besideher. Once he saved her from being run over. She said she actually felthis hand grabbing her arm, suddenly, when the car was nearly upon her. 

She had given me the address of the clairvoyant; and it is through thatstrange woman that I know--or seem to know--what followed. 

Mrs. Wilton was not exactly ill last winter, not so ill, at least, as tokeep to her bedroom. But she was very thin, and her great handsome eyesalways seemed to be staring at some point beyond, searching. There was alook in them that seamen's eyes sometimes have when they are drawing ona coast of which they are not very certain. She lived almost insolitude: she hardly ever saw anybody except when they sought her out. To those who were anxious about her she laughed and said she was verywell. 

One sunny morning she was lying awake, waiting for the maid to bring hertea. The shy London sunlight peeped through the blinds. The room had afresh and happy look. 

When she heard the door open she thought that the maid had come in. Thenshe saw that Hugh was standing at the foot of the bed. He was in uniformthis time, and looked as he had looked the day he went away. 

"Oh, Hugh, speak to me! Will you not say just one word?"

He smiled and threw back his head, just as he used to in the old days ather mother's house when he wanted to call her out of the room withoutattracting the attention of the others. He moved towards the door, stillsigning to her to follow him. He picked up her slippers on his way andheld them out to her as if he wanted her to put them on. She slipped outof bed hastily. . . . 

 * * * * *

It is strange that when they came to look through her things after herdeath the slippers could never be found. 

FOOTNOTE:

[J] Copyright, 1917, by The Boston Transcript Co. Copyright, 1918, byVincent O'Sullivan. 

"DEY AIN'T NO GHOSTS"[K]

BY ELLIS PARKER BUTLER

Once 'pon a time dey was a li'l' black boy whut he name was Mose. An'whin he come erlong to be 'bout knee-high to a mewel, he 'gin to gitpowerful 'fraid ob ghosts, 'ca'se dat am sure a mighty ghostly locationwhut he lib' in, 'ca'se dey's a grabeyard in de hollow, an' aburyin'-ground on de hill, an' a cemuntary in betwixt an' between, an'dey ain't nuffin' but trees nowhar excipt in de clearin' by de shantyan' down de hollow whar de pumpkin-patch am. 

An' whin de night come' erlong, dey ain't no sounds _at_ all whut kin beheard in dat locality but de rain-doves, whut mourn out, "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!" jes dat trembulous _an'_ scary, an' de owls, whut mournout, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" more trembulous an' scary dan dat, an' dewind, whut mourn out, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" mos' scandalous' trembulous an'scary ob all. Dat a powerful onpleasant locality for a li'l' black boywhut he name was Mose. 

'Ca'se dat li'l' black boy he so specially black he can't be seen in dedark _at_ all 'cept by de whites ob he eyes. So whin he go' outen dehouse _at_ night, he ain't dast shut he eyes, 'ca'se den ain't nobodycan see him in de least. He jest as invidsible as nuffin'. An' who know'but whut a great, big ghost bump right into him 'ca'se it can't see him?An' dat shore w'u'd scare dat li'l' black boy powerful' bad, 'ca'seyever'body knows whut a cold, damp pussonality a ghost is. 

So whin dat li'l' black Mose go' outen de shanty at night, he keep' heeyes wide open, you may be shore. By day he eyes 'bout de size obbutter-pats, an' come sundown he eyes 'bout de size ob saucers; but whinhe go' outen de shanty at night, he eyes am de size ob de white chinyplate whut set on de mantel; an' it powerful' hard to keep eyes whut amde size ob dat from a-winkin' an' a-blinkin'. 

So whin Hallowe'en come erlong, dat lil' black Mose he jes mek' up hemind he ain't gwine outen he shack _at_ all. He cogitate' he gwine stayright snug in de shack wid he pa an' he ma, 'ca'se de rain-doves teknotice dat de ghosts are philanderin' roun' de country, 'ca'se dey mournout, "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!" an' de owls dey mourn out, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!"and de wind mourn out, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" De eyes ob dat li'l' blackMose dey as big as de white chiny plate whut set on de mantel by side declock, an' de sun jes a-settin'. 

So dat all right. Li'l' black Mose he scrooge' back in de corner by defireplace, an' he 'low' he gwine stay dere till he gwine _to_ bed. Butbyme-by Sally Ann, whut live' up de road, draps in, an' Mistah SallyAnn, whut is her husban', he draps in, an' Zack Badget an' deschool-teacher whut board' at Unc' Silas Diggs's house drap in, an' apowerful lot ob folks drap in. An' li'l' black Mose he seen dat gwine beone s'prise-party, an' he right down cheerful 'bout dat. 

So all dem folks shake dere hands an' 'low "Howdy, " an' some ob dem say:"Why, dere 's li'l Mose! Howdy, li'l' Mose?" An' he so please' he jesgrin' an' grin', 'ca'se he aint reckon whut gwine happen. So byme-bySally Ann, whut live up de road, she say', "Ain't no sort o' Hallowe'enlest we got a jack-o'-lantern. " An' de school-teacher, whut board atUnc' Silas Diggs's house, she 'low', "Hallowe'en jes no Hallowe'en _at_all 'thout we got a jack-o'-lantern. " An' li'l' black Mose he stop'a-grinnin', an' he scrooge' so far back in de corner he 'mos' scroogefrough de wall. But dat ain't no use, 'ca'se he ma say', "Mose, go ondown to de pumpkin-patch an' fotch a pumpkin. "

"I ain't want to go, " say' li'l' black Mose. 

"Go on erlong wid yo', " say' he ma, right commandin'. 

"I ain't want to go, " say' Mose ag'in. 

"Why ain't yo' want to go?" he ma ask'. 

"'Case I 's afraid ob de ghosts, " say' li'l' black Mose, an' dat departicular truth an' no mistake. 

"Dey ain't no ghosts, " say' de school-teacher, whut board at Unc' SilasDiggs's house, right peart. 

"'Co'se dey ain't no ghosts, " say' Zack Badget, whut dat 'fear'd obghosts he ain't dar' come to li'l' black Mose's house ef deschool-teacher ain't ercompany him. 

"Go 'long wid your ghosts!" say' li'l' black Mose's ma. 

"What' yo' pick up dat nomsense?" say' he pa. "Dey ain't no ghosts. "

An' dat whut all dat s'prise-party 'low: dey ain't no ghosts. An' dey'low dey mus' hab a jack-o'-lantern or de fun all sp'iled. So dat li'l'black boy whut he name is Mose he done got to fotch a pumpkin from depumpkin-patch down de hollow. So he step' outen de shanty an' he stan'on de door-step twell he get' he eyes pried open as big as de bottom obhe ma's wash-tub, mostly, an' he say', "Dey ain't no ghosts. " An' heput' one foot on de ground, an' dat was de fust step. 

An' de rain-dove say', "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!"

An' li'l' black Mose he tuck anudder step. 

An' de owl mourn' out, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!"

An' li'l' black Mose he tuck anudder step. 

An' de wind sob' out, "You-_you_-o-o-o!"

An' li'l' black Mose he tuck one look ober he shoulder, an' he shut heeyes so tight dey hurt round de aidges, an' he pick' up he foots an'run. Yas, sah, he run' right peart fast. An' he say': "Dey ain't noghosts. Dey ain't no ghosts. " An' he run' erlong de paff whut lead' byde buryin'-ground on de hill, 'ca'se dey ain't no fince eround datburyin'-ground _at_ all. 

No fince; jes de big trees whut de owls an' de rain-doves sot in an'mourn an' sob, an' whut de wind sigh an' cry frough. An' byme-bysomefin' jes _brush'_ li'l' Mose on de arm, which mek' him run jes a bitmore faster. An' byme-by somefin' jes _brush'_ li'l' Mose on de cheek, which mek' him run erbout as fast as he can. An' byme-by somefin'_grab'_ li'l' Mose by de aidge of he coat, an' he fight' an' struggle'an' cry' out: "Dey ain't no ghosts. Dey ain't no ghosts. " An' dat ain'tnuffin' but de wild brier whut grab' him, an' dat ain't nuffin' but deleaf ob a tree whut brush' he cheek, an' dat ain't nuffin' but de branchob a hazel-bush whut brush he arm. But he downright scared jes de same, an' he ain't lose no time, 'ca'se de wind an' de owls an' de rain-dovesdey signerfy whut ain't no good. So he scoot' past dat buryin'-groundwhut on de hill, an' dat cemuntary whut betwixt an' between, an' datgrabeyard in de hollow, twell he come' to de pumpkin-patch, an' herotch' down an' tek' erhold ob de bestest pumpkin whut in de patch. An'he right smart scared. He jes de mostest scared li'l' black boy whutyever was. He ain't gwine open he eyes fo' nuffin', 'ca'se de wind go, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" an' de owls go, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" an' derain-doves go, "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!"

He jes speculate', "Dey ain't no ghosts, " an' wish' he hair don't standon ind dat way. An' he jes cogitate', "Dey ain't no ghosts, " an' wish'he goose-pimples don't rise up dat way. An' he jes 'low', "Dey ain't noghosts, " an' wish' he backbone ain't all trembulous wid chills dat way. So he rotch' down, an' he rotch' down, twell he git' a good hold on datpricklesome stem of dat bestest pumpkin whut in de patch, an' he jesyank' dat stem wid all he might. 

"_Let loosen my head!_" say' a big voice all on a suddent. 

Dat li'l' black boy whut he name is Mose he jump' 'most outen he skin. He open' he eyes, an' he 'gin' to shake like de aspen-tree, 'ca'se whutdat a-standin' right dar behint him but a 'mendjous big ghost! Yas, sah, dat de bigges', whites' ghost whut yever was. An' it ain't got no head. Ain't got no head _at_ all! Li'l' black Mose he jes drap' on he kneesan' he beg' an' pray':

"Oh, 'scuse me! 'Scuse me, Mistah Ghost!" he beg'. "Ah ain't mean noharm _at_ all. "

"Whut for you try to take my head?" ask' de ghost in dat fearsome voicewhut like de damp wind outen de cellar. 

"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me!" beg' li'l' Mose. "Ah ain't know dat was yo'head, an' I ain't know you was dar _at_ all. 'Scuse me!"

"Ah 'scuse you ef you do me dis favor, " say' de ghost. "Ah got somefin'powerful _im_portant to say unto you, an' Ah can't say hit 'ca'se Ahain't got no head; an' whin Ah ain't got no head, Ah ain't got no mouf, an' whin Ah ain't got no mouf, Ah can't talk _at_ all. "

An' dat right logical fo' shore. Can't nobody talk whin he ain't got nomouf, an' can't nobody have no mouf whin he ain't got no head, an' whinli'l' black Mose he look', he see' dat ghost ain't got no head _at_ all. Nary head. 

So de ghost say':

"Ah come on down yere fo' to git a pumpkin fo' a head, an' Ah pick' dat_ix_act pumpkin whut yo' gwine tek, an' Ah don't like dat one bit. No, sah. Ah feel like Ah pick yo' up an' carry yo' away, an' nobody see youno more for yever. But Ah got somefin' powerful _im_portant to say untoyo', an' if yo' pick up dat pumpkin an' sot in on de place whar my headought to be, Ah let you off dis time, 'ca'se Ah ain't been able to talkfo' so long Ah right hongry to say somefin'. "

So li'l' black Mose he heft up dat pumpkin, an' de ghost he bend' down, an' li'l' black Mose he sot dat pumpkin on dat ghostses neck. An' rightoff dat pumpkin head 'gin' to wink an' blink like a jack-o'-lantern, an'right off dat pumpkin head 'gin' to glimmer an' glow frough de mouf likea jack-o'-lantern, an' right off dat ghost start' to speak. Yas, sah, dass so. 

"Whut yo' want to say unto me?" _in_quire' li'l' black Mose. 

"Ah want to tell yo', " say' de ghost, "dat yo' ain't need yever beskeered of ghosts, 'ca'se dey ain't no ghosts. "

An' whin he say dat, de ghost jes vanish' away like de smoke in July. Heain't even linger round dat locality like de smoke in Yoctober. He jesdissipate' outen de air, an' he gone _in_tirely. 

So li'l' Mose he grab' up de nex' bestest pumpkin an' he scoot'. An'whin he come' to be grabeyard in de hollow, he goin' erlong same asyever, on'y faster, whin he reckon' he 'll pick up a club _in_ case hegwine have trouble. An' he rotch' down an' rotch' down an' tek' hold ofa likely appearin' hunk o' wood whut right dar. An' whin he grab' dathunk of wood----

"_Let loosen my leg!_" say' a big voice all on a suddent. 

Dat li'l' black boy 'most jump' outen he skin, 'ca'se right dar in depaff is six 'mendjus big ghostes, an' de bigges' ain't got but one leg. So li'l' black Mose jes natchully handed dat hunk of wood to datbigges' ghost, an' he say':

"'Scuse me, Mistah Ghost; Ah ain't know dis your leg. "

An' whut dem six ghostes do but stand round an' confabulate? Yas, sah, dass so. An' whin dey do so, one say':

"'Pears like dis a mighty likely li'l' black boy. Whut we gwine do fo'to _re_ward him fo' politeness?"

An' anudder say':

"Tell him whut de truth is 'bout ghostes. "

So de bigges' ghost he say':

"Ah gwine tell yo' somefin' _im_portant whut yever'body don't know: Dey_ain't_ no ghosts. "

An' whin he say' dat, de ghostes jes natchully vanish away, an' li'l'black Mose he proceed' up de paff. He so scared he hair jes yank' at deroots, an' whin de wind go', "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!" an' de owl go', "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" an' de rain-doves go, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" he jestremble' an' shake'. An' byme-by he come' to de cemuntary whut betwixtan' between, an' he shore is mighty skeered, 'ca'se dey is a wholecomp'ny of ghostes lined up along de road, an' he 'low' he ain't gwinespind no more time palaverin' wid ghostes. So he step' often de road fo'to go round erbout, an' he step' on a pine-stump whut lay right dar. 

"_Git offen my chest!_" say' a big voice all on a suddent, 'ca'se datstump am been selected by de captain ob de ghostes for to be he chest, 'ca'se he ain't got no chest betwixt he shoulders an' he legs. An' li'l'black Mose he hop' offen dat stump right peart. Yes, _sah_; right peart. 

"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me!" dat li'l' black Mose beg' an' plead, an' deghostes ain't know whuther to eat him all up or not, 'ca'se he step' onde boss ghostes's chest dat a-way. But byme-by they 'low they let him go'ca'se dat was an accident, an' de captain ghost he say', "Mose, youMose, Ah gwine let you off dis time, 'ca'se you ain't nuffin' but amisabul li'l' tremblin' nigger; but Ah want you should _re_mimimber onething mos' particular'. "

"Ya-yas, sah, " say' dat li'l' black boy; "Ah'll remimber. Whut is dat Ahgot to remimber?"

De captain ghost he swell' up, an' he swell' up, twell he as big as ahouse, an' he say' in a voice whut shake' de ground:

"Dey ain't no ghosts. "

So li'l' black Mose he bound to remimber dat, an' he rise' up an' mek' abow, an' he proceed' toward home right libely. He do, indeed. 

An' he gwine along jes as fast as he kin' whin he come' to de aidge obde buryin'-ground whut on de hill, an' right dar he bound to stop, 'ca'se de kentry round about am so populate' he ain't able to go frough. Yas, sah, seem' like all de ghostes in de world habin' a conferinceright dar. Seem' like all de ghosteses whut yever was am havin' aconvintion on dat spot. An' dat li'l' black Mose so skeered he jes fall'down on a' old log whut dar an' screech' an' moan'. An' all on a suddentde log up and spoke to li'l' Mose:

"_Get offen me! Get offen me!_" yell' dat log. 

So li'l' black Mose he git' offen dat log, an' no mistake. 

An' soon as he git' offen de log, de log uprise, an' li'l' black Mose hesee' dat dat log am de king ob all de ghostes. An' whin de king uprise, all de congregation crowd round li'l' black Mose, an' dey am about lebenmillium an' a few lift over. Yes, sah; dat de reg'lar annyul Hallowe'enconvintion whut li'l' black Mose interrup'. Right dar am all de speritsin de world, an' all de ha'nts in de world, an' all de hobgoblins in deworld, an' all de ghouls in de world, an' all de spicters in de world, an' all de ghostes in de world. An' whin dey see li'l' black Mose, deyall gnash dey teef an' grin' 'ca'se it gettin' erlong toward dey-all'slunch-time. So de king, whut he name old Skull-an'-Bones, he step' ontop ob li'l' Mose's head, an' he say':

"Gin'l'min, de convintion will come to order. De sicretary please notewho is prisint. De firs' business whut come' before de convintion am:whut we gwine do to a li'l' black boy whut stip' on de king an' maul'all ober de king an' treat' de king dat disrespictful'. "

An' li'l' black Mose jes moan' an' sob':

"'Scuse me! 'Scuse me, Mistah King! Ah ain't mean no harm _at_ all. "

But nobody ain't pay no _at_tintion to him _at_ all, 'ca'se yevery onelookin' at a monstrous big ha'nt whut name Bloody Bones, whut rose upan' spoke. 

"Your Honor, Mistah King, an' gin'l'min _an'_ ladies, " he say', "dis ama right bad case ob _lazy majesty_, 'ca'se de king been step on. Whinyivery li'l' black boy whut choose' gwine wander round _at_ night an'stip on de king ob ghostes, it ain't no time for to palaver, it ain't notime for to prevaricate, it ain't no time for to cogitate, it ain't notime do nuffin' but tell de truth, an' de whole truth, an' nuffin' butde truth. "

An' all dem ghostes sicond de motion, an' dey confabulate out louderbout dat, an' de noise soun' like de rain-doves goin', "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!" an' de owls goin', "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" an' de windgoin', "You-_you_-o-o-o!" So dat risolution am passed unanermous, an' nomistake. 

So de king ob de ghostes, whut name old Skull-an'-Bones, he place' hehand on de head ob li'l' black Mose, an' he hand feel like a wet rag, an' he say':

"Dey ain't no ghosts. "

An' one ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l' black Mose turn' white. 

An' de monstrous big ha'nt whut he name Bloody Bones he lay he hand onde head ob li'l' black Mose, an' he hand feel like a toadstool in decool ob de day, an' he say':

"Dey ain't no ghosts. "

An' anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l' black Mose turn' white. 

An' a heejus sperit whut he name Moldy Pa'm place' he hand on de head obli'l' black Mose, an' he hand feel like de yunner side ob a lizard, an'he say':

"Dey ain't no ghosts. "

An' anudder ob de hairs whut on de head ob li'l' black Mose turn' white_as_ snow. 

An' a perticklar bend-up hobgoblin he put' he hand on de head ob li'l'black Mose, an' he mek' dat same _re_mark, an' dat whole convintion obghostes an' spicters an' ha'nts an' yiver-thing, which am more 'n amillium, pass by so quick dey-all's hands feel lak de wind whut blowouten de cellar whin de day am hot, an' dey-all say, "Dey ain't noghosts. " Yas, sah, dey-all say dem wo'ds so fas' it souun' like de windwhin it moan frough de turkentine-trees whut behind de cider-priss. An'yivery hair whut on li'l' black Mose's head turn' white. Dat whuthappen' whin a li'l' black boy gwine meet a ghost convintion dat-away. Dat's so he ain' gwine forgit to remimber dey ain't no ghostes. 'Ca'seef a li'l' black boy gwine imaginate dey _is_ ghostes, he gwine beskeered in de dark. An' dat a foolish thing for to imaginate. 

So prisintly all de ghostes am whiff away, like de fog outen de hollerwhin de wind blow' on it, an' li'l' black Mose he ain' see no ca'se forto remain in dat locality no longer. He rotch' down, an' he raise' up depumpkin, an' he perambulate' right quick to he ma's shack, an' he lift'up de latch, an' he open' de do', an' he yenter' in. An' he say':

"Yere's de pumpkin. "

An' he ma an' he pa, an' Sally Ann, whut live up de road, an' MistahSally Ann, whut her husban', an' Zack Badget, an' de school-teacher whutboard at Unc'-Silas Diggs's house, an' all de powerful lot of folks whutcome to de doin's, dey all scrooged back in de cornder ob de shack, 'ca'se Zack Badget he been done tell a ghost-tale, an' de rain-dovesgwine, "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!" an' de owls am gwine, "Whut-_whoo_-o-o-o!" andde wind it gwine, "You-_you_-o-o-o!" an' yiver-body powerful skeered. 'Ca'se li'l' black Mose he come' a-fumblin' an' a-rattlin' at de do' jeswhin dat ghost-tale mos' skeery, an' yiver'body gwine imaginate dat he aghost a-fumblin' an' a-rattlin' at de do'. Yas, sah. So li'l' black Mosehe turn' he white head, an' he look' roun' an' peer' roun', an' he say':

"Whut you all skeered fo'?"

'Ca'se ef anybody skeered, he want' to be skeered, too. Dat 's natural. But de school-teacher, whut live at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, she say':

"Fo' de lan's sake, we fought you was a ghost!"

So li'l' black Mose he sort ob sniff an' he sort ob sneer, an' he 'low':

"Huh! dey ain't no ghosts. "

Den he ma she powerful took back dat li'l' black Mose he gwine be souppetish an' contrydict folks whut know 'rifmeticks an' algebricks an'gin'ral countin' widout fingers, like de school-teacher whut board atUnc' Silas Diggs's house knows, an' she say':

"Huh! whut you know 'bout ghosts, anner ways?"

An' li'l' black Mose he jes kinder stan' on one foot, an' he jes kindersuck' he thumb, an' he jes kinder 'low':

"I don' know nuffin' erbout ghosts, 'ca'se dey ain't no ghosts. "

So he pa gwine whop him fo' tellin' a fib 'bout dey ain' no ghosts whinyiver'body know' dey is ghosts; but de school-teacher, whut board atUnc' Silas Diggs's house, she tek' note de hair ob li'l' black Mose'shead am plumb white, an' she tek' note li'l' black Mose's face am decolor ob wood-ash, so she jes retch' one arm round dat li'l' black boy, an' she jes snuggle' him up, an' she say':

"Honey lamb, don't you be skeered; ain' nobody gwine hurt you. How youknow dey ain't no ghosts?"

An' li'l' black Mose he kinder lean' up 'g'inst de school-teacher whutboard at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, an' he 'low':

"'Ca'se--'ca'se--'ca'se I met de cap'n ghost, an' I met de gin'ralghost, an' I met de king ghost, an' I met all de ghostes whut yiver wasin de whole worl', an' yivery ghost say' de same thing: 'Dey ain't noghosts. ' An' if de cap'n ghost an' de gin'ral ghost an' de king ghostan' all de ghostes in de whole worl' don' know ef dar am ghostes, whodoes?"

"Das right; das right, honey lamb, " say' de school-teacher. And shesay': "I been s'picious dey ain' no ghostes dis long whiles, an' now Iknow. Ef all de ghostes say dey ain' no ghosts, dey _ain'_ no ghosts. "

So yiver'body 'low' dat so 'cep' Zack Badget, whut been tellin' deghost-tale, an' he ain' gwine say "Yis" an' he ain' gwine say "No, "'ca'se he right sweet on de school-teacher; but he know right well hedone seen plinty ghostes in he day. So he boun' to be sure fust. So hesay' to li'l' black Mose:

"'Tain' likely you met up wid a monstrous big ha'nt whut live' down delane whut he name Bloody Bones?"

"Yas, " say' li'l' black Mose, "I done met up wid him. "

"An' did old Bloody Bones done tol' you dey ain' no ghosts?" say ZackBadget. 

"Yas, " say' li'l' black Mose, "he done tell me perzackly dat. "

"Well, if _he_ tol' you dey ain't no ghosts, " say' Zack Badget, "I gotto 'low dey ain't no ghosts, 'ca'se he ain' gwine tell no lie erbout it. I know dat Bloody Bones ghost sence I was a piccaninny, an' I done metup wif him a powerful lot o' times, an' he ain' gwine tell no lie erboutit. Ef dat perticklar ghost say' dey ain't no ghosts, dey _ain't_ noghosts. "

So yiver-body say':

"Das right; dey ain't no ghosts. "

An' dat mek' li'l' black Mose feel mighty good, 'ca'se he ain' lakghostes. He reckon' he gwine be a heap mo' comfortable in he mind sencehe know' dey ain' no ghosts, an' he reckon' he ain' gwine be skeered ofnuffin' never no more. He ain' gwine min' de dark, an' he ain' gwinemin' de rain-doves whut go', "Oo-_oo_-o-o-o!" an' he ain' gwine min' deowls whut go', "Who-_whoo_-o-o-o!" an' he ain' gwine min' de wind whutgo', "You-_you_-o-o-o!" nor nuffin', nohow. He gwine be brave as a lion, sence he know' fo' sure dey ain' no ghosts. So prisintly he ma say':

"Well, time fo' a li'l' black boy whut he name is Mose to be gwine up deladder to de loft to bed. "

An' li'l' black Mose he 'low' he gwine wait a bit. He 'low' he gwine jeswait a li'l' bit. How 'low' he gwine be no trouble _at_ all ef he jesbeen let wait twell he ma she gwine up de ladder to de loft to bed, too. So he ma she say':

"Git erlong wid yo'! Whut yo' skeered ob whin dey ain't no ghosts?"

An' li'l' black Mose he scrooge', and he twist', an' he pucker' up hemouf, an' he rub' he eyes, an' prisintly he say' right low:

"I ain' skeered ob ghosts whut am, 'ca'se dey ain' no ghosts. "

"Den whut _am_ yo' skeered ob?" ask he ma. 

"Nuffin', " say' de li'l' black boy whut he name is Mose; "but I jes feelkinder oneasy 'bout de ghosts whut ain't. "

Jes lak white folks! Jes lak white folks!

FOOTNOTE:

[K] Copyright, 1913, by The Century Company. 

SOME REAL AMERICAN GHOSTS

THE GIANT GHOST

(Philadelphia _Press_, Sept. 13, 1896)

A case in point is the Benton, Indiana, ghost, which is attracting muchattention. It has been seen and investigated by many people withreputations for intelligence and good sense, but so far no explanationof the strange appearance has been found. 

A farmer named John W. French and his wife were the first to see thisapparition. They live in the country near Benton, and were driving homeone night from a neighbor's. The road passed an old church, moss-coveredand surrounded by a graveyard, overgrown with shrubbery and filled withthe bones of hundreds who once tilled the soil in the locality. Tenyears ago an aged man who lived alone not far from the old church andvisited the graveyard almost daily to pray over the resting place ofsome relative was foully murdered for the store of gold he was supposedto have hidden about his hermit abode. The robbers and murderers escapedjustice, and the luckless graybeard was buried in the graveyard where hespent so much time. Just as French and his wife drew within sight of thewhite headstones in the churchyard the horses reared back on theirhaunches and snorted in terror. French was alarmed, and suspectinghighwaymen had been scented by the horses, he reached for a shotgunwhich lay in the bottom of the wagon for just such an emergency. Butbefore his hand touched it he was startled by a scream from his wife. Clutching his arm she pointed straight ahead and gasped: "Look, John, look!"

Far down the road, just beside the glimmering monuments of the oldgraveyard, he saw an apparition. It was that of a man with a long whitebeard sweeping over his breast. The figure appeared to be eight feet inheight and in one hand it carried a club, such as the brains of the oldman had been beaten out with ten years before. Slowly raising one armthe ghost with a majestic sweep beckoned French to come ahead. He wastoo startled to do anything except try to restrain the prancing horses, which were straining at the harness in attempts to break away and run. Acold sweat started out all over the body of the farmer as he realizedthat he was at last looking at a ghost, and then the sound of his wife'svoice came to him begging him to return the way they had come and escapethe doom which seemed impending. French was still too much scared andexcited to control the horses, and as he gazed steadfastly at thefearful white object in the road it slowly began to move toward thewagon. The club was now raised to its shoulder, as a soldier carries arifle, and it seemed to move forward without touching the ground, like awinged thing. 

Then the farmer recovered his faculties and, whirling his team around, he lashed the horses into a run and began the trip to the house of thefriend he had just left. When they arrived there both the man and hiswife were almost fainting from fright. 

The next man to see the ghost was Milton Moon. He had the reputation forbeing not only a man of intelligence but one without fear. Hisexperience was much the same as that of the Frenches and it broughtabout several investigations by parties of citizens. In each case theysaw and were convinced of the actual presence of the ghost without beingable to discover any satisfactory explanation. 

SOME FAMOUS GHOSTS OF THE NATIONAL CAPITOL

(Philadelphia _Press_, Oct. 2, 1898)

The Capitol at Washington is probably the most thoroughly hauntedbuilding in the world. 

Not less than fifteen well-authenticated ghosts infest it, and some ofthem are of a more than ordinarily alarming character. 

What particularly inspires this last remark is the fact that the DemonCat is said to have made its appearance again, after many years ofabsence. This is a truly horrific apparition, and no viewless spectersuch as the invisible grimalkin that even now trips people up on thestairs of the old mansion which President Madison and his wife, Dolly, occupied, at the corner of Eighteenth Street and New York Avenue, afterthe White House was burned by the British. That, indeed, is altogetheranother story; but the feline spook of the Capitol possesses attributesmuch more remarkable, inasmuch as it has the appearance of an ordinarypussy when first seen, and presently swells up to the size of anelephant before the eyes of the terrified observer. 

The Demon Cat, in whose regard testimony of the utmost seemingauthenticity was put on record thirty-five years ago, has been missingsince 1862. One of the watchmen on duty in the building shot at it then, and it disappeared. Since then, until now, nothing more has been heardof it, though one or two of the older policemen of the Capitol forcestill speak of the spectral animal in awed whispers. 

Their work, when performed in the night, requires more than ordinarynerve, inasmuch as the interior of the great structure is literallyalive with echoes and other suggestions of the supernatural. In thedaytime, when the place is full of people and the noises of busy life, the professional guides make a point of showing persons how a whisperuttered when standing on a certain marble block is distinctly audible atanother point quite a distance away, though unheard in the spacebetween. 

A good many phenomena of this kind are observable in various parts ofthe Capitol, and the extent to which they become augmented instrangeness during the silence of the night may well be conceived. Thesilence of any ordinary house is oppressive sometimes to the leastsuperstitious individual. There are unaccountable noises, and a weirdand eerie sort of feeling comes over him, distracting him perhaps fromthe perusal of his book. He finds himself indulging in a vague sense ofalarm, though he cannot imagine any cause for it. 

Such suggestions of the supernatural are magnified a thousand fold inthe Capitol, when the watchman pursues his lonely beat through the greatcorridors whose immense spaces impress him with a sense of solitariness, while the shadows thrown by his lantern gather into strange and menacingforms. 

One of the most curious and alarming of the audible phenomena observablein the Capitol, so all the watchmen say, is a ghostly footstep thatseems to follow anybody who crosses Statuary Hall at night. It was inthis hall, then the chamber of the House of Representatives, that JohnQuincy Adams died--at a spot indicated now by a brass tablet set in astone slab, where stood his desk. Whether or not it is his ghost thatpursues is a question open to dispute, though it is to be hoped that thevenerable ex-President rests more quietly in his grave. At all events, the performance is unpleasant, and even gruesome for him who walksacross that historic floor, while the white marble statues of deadstatesmen placed around the walls seem to point at him with outstretchedarms derisively. Like the man in Coleridge's famous lines he

 "--walks in fear and dread, Because he knows a frightful fiend doth close behind him tread. "

At all events he is uncertain lest such may be the case. And, of course, the duties of the watchman oblige him, when so assigned, to patrol thebasement of the building, where all sorts of hobgoblins lie in wait. 

One of the Capitol policemen was almost frightened out of his wits onenight when a pair of flaming eyes looked out at him from the vaultsunder the chamber of the House of Representatives where the wood isstored for the fires. It was subsequently ascertained that the eyes inquestion were those of a fox, which, being chevied through the town, hadsought refuge in the cellar of the edifice occupied by the nationalLegislature. The animal was killed for the reason which obliges a whiteman to slay any innocent beast that comes under his power. 

But, speaking of the steps which follow a person at night across thefloor of Statuary Hall, a bold watchman attempted not long ago toinvestigate them on scientific principles. He suspected a trick, and sobought a pair of rubber shoes, with the aid of which he proceeded toexamine into the question. In the stillness of the night he made abusiness of patrolling that portion of the principal Government edifice, and, sure enough, the footsteps followed along behind him. He corneredthem; it was surely some trickster! There was no possibility for thejoker to get away. But, a moment later, the steps were heard in anotherpart of the hall; they had evaded him successfully. Similar experimentswere tried on other nights, but they all ended in the same way. 

Four years ago there died in Washington an old gentleman who had beenemployed for thirty-five years in the Library of Congress. The quartersof that great book collection, while housed in the Capitol, weredistressingly restricted, and much of the cataloguing was done by theveteran mentioned in a sort of vault in the sub-cellar. This vault wascrammed with musty tomes from floor to ceiling, and practically no airwas admitted. It was a wonder that he lived so long, but, when he cameto die, he did it rather suddenly. Anyhow, he became paralyzed andunable to speak, though up to the time of his actual demise he was ableto indicate his wants by gestures. Among other things, he showed plainlyby signs that he wished to be conveyed to the old library. 

This wish of his was not obeyed, for reasons which seemed sufficient tohis family, and, finally, he relinquished it by giving up the ghost. Itwas afterward learned that he had hidden, almost undoubtedly, $6000worth of registered United States bonds among the books in hissub-cellar den--presumably, concealed between the leaves of some of themoth-eaten volumes of which he was the appointed guardian. Certainly, there could be no better or less-suspected hiding-place, but this wasjust where the trouble came in for the heirs, in whose interest thebooks were vainly searched and shaken, when the transfer of the libraryfrom the old to its new quarters was accomplished. The heirs cannotsecure a renewal of the bonds by the Government without furnishing proofof the loss of the originals, which is lacking, and, meanwhile, it issaid that the ghost of the old gentleman haunts the vault in thesub-basement which he used to inhabit, looking vainly for the missingsecurities. 

The old gentleman referred to had some curious traits, though he was byno means a miser--such as the keeping of every burnt match that he cameacross. He would put them away in the drawer of his private desk, together with expired street-car transfers--the latter done up in neatbundles, with India-rubber bands. 

Quite an intimate friend he had, named Twine, who lost his grip on theperch, so to speak, about six years back. Mr. Twine dwelt during theworking hours of the day in a sort of cage of iron, like that ofDreyfus, in the basement of the Capitol. As a matter of fact, Dreyfusdoes not occupy a cage at all; the notion that he does so arises from amisunderstanding of the French word "case, " which signifies a hut. 

However, Twine's cage was a real one of iron wire, and inside of it hemade a business of stamping the books of the library with a mixture madeof alcohol and lampblack. If the observation of casual employees aboutthe Capitol is to be trusted, Mr. Twine's ghost is still engaged atintervals in the business of stamping books at the old stand, though hisindustry must be very unprofitable since the Government's literarycollection has been moved out of the Capitol. 

Ghosts are supposed to appertain most appropriately to the lowerregions, inasmuch as the ancients who described them first consignedthe blessed as well as the damned to a nether world. Consequently, it isnot surprising to find that phantoms of the Capitol are mostly relegatedto the basement. 

Exceptions are made in the case of Vice-President Wilson, who, as willbe remembered, died in his room at the Senate end of the building, andalso with respect to John Quincy Adams, whose nocturnal perambulationsare so annoying to the watchmen. Mr. Wilson is only an occasionalvisitor on the premises, it is understood, finding his way thither, probably, when nothing else of importance is "up, " so to speak, in thespiritual realm which now claims him for its own. It is related that onone occasion he nearly frightened to death a watchman who was guardingthe coffin of a Tennessee Senator who was lying in state in the SenateChamber. The startle was doubtless uncontemplated, inasmuch as theSenator was too well bred a man to take anybody unpleasantly bysurprise. 

There was a watchman, employed quite a while ago as a member of theCapitol police, who was discharged finally for drunkenness. No faith, therefore, is to be placed in his sworn statement, which was actuallymade, to the effect that on a certain occasion he passed through the oldHall of Representatives--now Statuary Hall--and saw in session theCongress of 1848, with John Quincy Adams and many other men whose nameshave long ago passed into history. It was, if the word of the witness isto be believed, a phantom legislative crew, resembling in kind if not incharacter the goblins which Rip Van Winkle encountered on his trip tothe summits of the storied Catskills. 

But--to come down to things that are well authenticated and sure, comparatively speaking--the basement of the Capitol, as has been said, is the part of the building chiefly haunted. Beneath the hall of theHouse of Representatives strolls by night a melancholy specter, witherect figure, a great mustache, and his hands clasped behind him. Who heis nobody has ever surmised; he might be, judging from his aspect, aforeigner in the diplomatic service, but that is merely guess. Watchmenat night have approached him in the belief that he was an intruder, buthe has faded from sight instantly, like a picture on a magic-lanternslide. 

At precisely 12. 30 of the clock every night, so it is said, the door ofthe room occupied by the Committee on Military and Militia of the Senateopens silently, and there steps forth the figure of General Logan, recognizable by his long black hair, military carriage, and the hat hewas accustomed to wear in life. 

Logan was the chairman of this committee, and, if report be credited, heis still supervising its duties. 

A GENUINE GHOST

(Philadelphia _Press_, March 25, 1884)

DAYTON, O. , March 25. --A thousand people surround the grave yard inMiamisburg, a town near here, every night to witness the antics of whatappears to be a genuine ghost. There is no doubt about the existence ofthe apparition, as Mayor Marshall, the revenue collector and hundreds ofprominent citizens all testify to having seen it. Last night severalhundred people, armed with clubs and guns, assaulted the specter, whichappeared to be a woman in white. Clubs, bullets and shot tore the air inwhich the mystic figure floated without disconcerting it in the least. Aportion of the town turned out en masse to-day and began exhuming allthe bodies in the cemetery. 

The remains of the Buss family, composed of three people, have alreadybeen exhumed. The town is visited daily by hundreds of strangers andnone are disappointed, as the apparition is always on duty promptly at 9o'clock. The strange figure was at once recognized by the inhabitants ofthe town as a young lady supposed to have been murdered several yearsago. Her attitude while drifting among the graves is one of deepthought, with the head inclined forward and hands clasped behind. 

THE BAGGAGEMAN'S GHOST

"The corpses of the passengers killed in the disaster up at SpuytenDuyvil was fetched down here and laid out in[1] The room was darkenedand I could just make out the out that storage room, " said a GrandCentral depot baggageman. "That's what give it the name of morgue. Someof the boys got scared of going in after that, 'specially in the dark;and a lot of stories was started about spooks. We had a helper (adrunken chap that didn't know whether he saw a thing or dreamed it), andhe swore to the toughest of the yarns. He says he went in to get atrunk. It was a whopper, and he braced himself for a big strain; but, when he gripped it, it come up just as if there wasn't nothing in itmore'n air or gas. That unexpected kind of a lift is like kicking atnothing--it's hurtful, don't you know?"

"I should think so. "

"Well, Joe felt as light-headed as the trunk, he says, but he brought itout. When he was putting it down he was stunned to see a ghost sittingstraddle of it. "

"What did the ghost look like?"

"Joe was so scared that he can't tell, except that it had grave-clotheson. And it went out of sight as soon as he got out into thedaylight--floated off, and at the same instant the trunk became as heavyas such a trunk generally is. Some of us believe Joe's story, and somedon't, and he's one of them that does. He throwed up his job rather thango into the morgue again. "

DRUMMERS SEE A SPECTER

(St Louis _Globe-Democrat_, Oct. 6, 1887)

[The last man in the world to be accused of a belief in the supernaturalwould be your go-ahead, hard-headed American "drummer" or traveling-man. Yet here is a plain tale of how not one but two of the westernfraternity saw a genuine ghost in broad daylight a few years ago. --ED. ]

JACKSON, MO. , October 6. At a place on the Turnpike road, between CapeGirardeau and Jackson, is what is familiarly known as Spooks' Hollow. The place is situated fours miles from the Cape and is awfully dismallooking where the road curves gracefully around a high bluff. 

Two drummers, representing a single leading wholesale house of St. Louis, were recently making the drive from Jackson to the Cape, whentheir attention was suddenly attracted at the Spooks' Hollow by a whiteand airy object which arose in its peculiar form so as to be plainlyvisible and then maneuvered in every imaginable manner, finally taking azigzag wayward journey through the low dismal-looking surroundings, disappearing suddenly into the mysterious region from whence it came. 

More than one incident of dreadful experience has been related of thisgloomy abode, and the place is looked upon by the midnight tourist andthe lonesome citizen on his nocturnal travels as an unpleasant spot, isolated from the beautiful country which surrounds it. 

DR. FUNK SEES THE SPIRIT OF BEECHER

(New York _Herald_, April 4, 1903)

While he will not admit that he is a believer in spiritualism, the Rev. Dr. Isaac Funk, head of the publishing house of Funk & Wagnalls, is soimpressed with manifestations he has received from the spirit of HenryWard Beecher that he has laid the entire matter before the BostonSociety for Psychical Research, and is anxiously awaiting a solution orexplanation of what appears to him, after twenty-five years' study ofthe subject, the most remarkable test of the merit of the claims ofspiritualists that has ever come within his observation. 

Although he has resorted to every means within his power to discover anyfraud that may have been practiced upon him, he has been unable toexplain away not only messages to him from the great minister, but theactual appearance to him of Mr. Beecher in the flesh. 

Dr. Funk and Mr. Beecher were intimate friends, and it would bedifficult to practice deception as to Mr. Beecher's appearance. When theapparition appeared to Dr. Funk at a séance a short time ago Dr. Funkwas less than three feet distant from it, and had plenty of opportunityto detect a fraud if it was being perpetrated, he believes. 

"Every feature stood out distinctly, " Dr. Funk said yesterday, indescribing his experience, "even to the hair and eyes, the color of theskin and the expression of the mouth. [1] lines of the body, but it wasstill light enough to make the face plainly visible. I had a shortconversation with the embodied spirit, and then it appeared to sink tothe floor and fade away. "

MYSTERY OF THE COINS

Dr. Funk was especially anxious to have an opportunity to see and talkwith Mr. Beecher, in the hope that light would be thrown on the mysterywhich surrounds a previous manifestation. Through the spirit of one"Jack" Rakestraw, who says he used to lead the choir in one of Mr. Beecher's churches, but frankly admits that he cannot remember exactlywhere the church was located--even spirits have a way of forgettingthings, spiritualists declare--Dr. Funk was informed that Mr. Beecherwas troubled because the publisher had failed to return a coin, known asthe "widow's mite, " which he had borrowed some years ago, from the lateProfessor Charles E. West, a well known numismatist, to make a cut toillustrate a dictionary. Dr. Funk supposed the coin had been returned along time ago, but upon looking the matter up found it in a drawer of asafe, among some old papers, exactly as Mr. Rakestraw maintained. 

When Mr. Beecher appeared to him in person, so far as he coulddetermine, Dr. Funk asked him several direct questions, to which thereplies, he admits, were somewhat sublime. Although Dr. Funk has foundthe long-lost coin--which, by the way, is said to be worth $2, 500--he isnot certain to whom it should be returned, now that Professor West isdead and his collection of coins sold. Should the "widow's mite" go toProfessor West's heirs or to the purchaser of the collection? is aquestion which has as yet remained unanswered. 

"That is a matter I am leaving to be determined by the Society forPsychical Research and Mrs. Piper, who ought to be able to learn fromthe spirit world what disposition Professor West wishes to have made ofthe coin, " said Dr. Funk. It is at any rate a matter that does notappear to concern the spirit of Mr. Beecher. 

MR. BEECHER APPEASED

"When what seemed to be Mr. Beecher's embodied spirit appeared to me, "Dr. Funk said, "I asked that very question. He smiled and replied thatit was not a matter that concerned him especially, and that the wholething was in the nature of a test, to prove to me that there actuallyare spirits, and that it is possible to have communication with themwhen all the conditions are favorable. He remarked that he was glad theold coin had been found, but seemed to consider the disposition of it amatter of minor importance. He told me he was glad I was taking interestin the subject, as he believed it would result in good for the world, and then, excusing himself on the ground that he had an engagement whichit was necessary for him to keep, the apparition disappeared. "

Dr. Funk borrowed the coin from Professor West's collection, as alighter colored one he already had was of doubtful authenticity. Bothcoins were sent to the government expert in Philadelphia and the lighterone was declared to be the genuine one. By the spirits it is nowdeclared, however, that a mistake was made and that the darker onebelonging to Professor West has the greater value. 

"I found both the light and the dark one in the drawer, " said Dr. Funk, "and remembered distinctly that it was the darker of the two which I hadborrowed from Professor West. I went to the next séance, and whenRakestraw's spirit arrived I asked him to find out which one was to bereturned. After a brief interval his voice came to me. 

"'Return the dark one, of course, ' he said. 'That is the genuine coinand is the one you borrowed from Dr. Beecher's friend. '

"While I do not wish to be classed as a believer in Spiritualism, Icertainly am open to conviction after what has come under my personalobservation, " Dr. Funk concluded. "I am confident that no fraud waspracticed on me at the séance at which I was told about the old coin. The medium is an elderly woman living in Brooklyn, who never appears inpublic, and the only persons present were members of her family andknown to me. But none of them knew any more about the coin being in mysafe than I did. "

MARYLAND GHOSTS

(_Baltimore American_, May, 1886)

For forty years the Rev. Dr. B. Has been the rector of a prominentparish on the Eastern Shore. He had, when the scenes recorded belowhappened twenty-two years ago, a mission charge sixteen miles distantfrom the town in which he resided, and he was therefore constantlytraveling between these two places. About six miles distant was thecountry residence of Judge S. , a well-known and venerable parishioner ofthe worthy doctor. The sod had been turned above this gentleman's graveonly about six weeks, when Dr. B. Chanced to be returning from hismission charge in company with a friend. It was broad daylight, justabout sunset, and not far from Judge S. 's gate, when a carriage, drawnby a white horse, passed them rapidly from behind and was soon out ofsight. 

"That fellow must be in a hurry to reach C. , " remarked the doctor. 

"Did you notice anything peculiar about that vehicle?" inquired hiscompanion. 

"Only that it moves very quietly. I heard no sound as it went by. "

"Nor did I, " said his friend. "Neither rattling of wheels nor noise ofhoofs. It is certainly strange. "

 * * * * *

The matter, however, was soon forgotten in other conversation, and theyhad traveled perhaps a mile, when suddenly, the same horse and carriagepassed them as before. Nothing was discernible of the driver except hisfeet, the carriage curtains hiding his body. There was no cross road bywhich a vehicle in front could possibly have got behind without making acircuit of many miles and consuming several hours. Yet there was not theshadow of a doubt as to the identity of the vehicle, and the twogentlemen gazed at each other in blank amazement, and with a certaindefined sense of awe which precluded any discussion of the matter, particularly as the horse was to all appearances the well-known whitehabitually driven by the deceased Judge. A half mile brought them insight of Judge S. 's gate, when for the third time the ghostly teamdashed by in the same dreadful mysterious silence. This time it turnedin full view into the gate. Without a word of comment the doctorquickened his horse's speed, and reached the gate only a few yardsbehind the silent driver. Both gentlemen peered eagerly up the long, open lane leading to the house; but neither carriage nor wheel-track wasvisible, though it was still clear daylight, and there was no outletfrom the lane, nor could any vehicle in the time occupied accomplishhalf the distance. The peculiar features of this strange incident arethat it was equally and simultaneously evident to two witnesses, bothentirely unprepared for any such manifestation, and differing widely intemperament, habits of life, mental capacity and educationalattainments, and by mere accident making this journey together, and thatto this day both of them--witnesses, be it noted, of unimpeachablecredibility--attest it, and fully corroborate each other, but withoutbeing able to suggest the slightest explanation. 

THE GHOST OF PEG ALLEY'S POINT

Peg Alley's Point is a long and narrow strip of wooded land, situatedbetween the main stream of Miles river and one of the navigable creekswhich flow into it. This little peninsula is about two miles long, fromfifty to three hundred yards in width and is bounded by deep water andis overgrown with pine and thick underbrush. There is extant a traditionto the effect that many years ago a party of Baltimore oystermenencamped on the point, among whom was a man named Alley, who hadabandoned his wife. The deserted woman followed up her husband, andfound him at the camp. After some conversation had passed between them, the man induced her, upon some unknown pretext, to accompany him into athicket. The poor wife never came out alive. Her husband cruellymurdered her with a club. The point of land has ever since been known byPeg Alley's name, and her perturbed spirit has been supposed to hauntthe scene of her untimely taking off. About twelve years ago a gang ofrail-splitters were at work on the point, and one day the foreman flatlyrefused to go back, declaring that queer things happened down there, andthat he had seen a ghost. Mr. Kennedy, his employer, laughed at him anddismissed the matter from his mind. Some time after this Mr. Kennedy hadoccasion to ride through the woods to look after some sheep, there beingbut one road and the water on either side. As he approached the pointhis horse started violently and refused to go on, regardless of whip orspur. Glancing about for the cause of this unnatural fright, he saw awoman rise up from a log, a few yards in advance, and stand by theroadside, looking at him. She was very poorly clad in a faded calicodress, and wore a limp sun-bonnet, from beneath which her thin, jet-black hair straggled down on her shoulders; her face was thin andsallow and her eyes black and piercing. Knowing that she had no businessthere, and occupied in controlling his horse, he called to her somewhatangrily to get out of the way, as his animal was afraid of her. Slowlyshe turned and walked into the thicket, uttering not a syllable andlooking reproachfully at him as she went. With much difficulty he forcedhis horse to the spot, hoping to find out who the strange intruder mightbe, but the most careful search failed to reveal the trace of any one, although there was no place of concealment and no possible way ofescape, for which, indeed, there was not sufficient time. 

AN APPARITION AND DEATH

The old family seat of the T. 's, one of the most prominent names in thecommunity, is not far from the scenes of the above-mentioned adventure. In all this region of lovely situations and charming water views, itssite is one of the most beautiful. The brick mansion, with all thestrangely mixed comforts and discomforts of ancient architecture, rearsits roof up from an elevated lawn, while the silvery thread of aland-locked stream winds nearly around the whole. Over the further bankdance the sparkling waters of a broad estuary, flashing in the glance ofthe sunshine or tossing its white-capped billows in angry mimicry of thesea. The gleam of white sails is never lacking to add variety andpicturesqueness to the scene. In the dead, hushed calm of a summerevening, when the lifted oar rests on the gunwale, unwilling to disturbwith its dip the glassy surface, one has a strange, dreamy sense ofbeing suspended in space, the sky, in all its changing beauties, beingaccurately reflected in illimitable depth by the still water, until thecharm is broken by the splash and ripple of a school of nomadic alewivesor the gliding, sinuous fin of a piratical shark. In this lovely home itwas wont for the family to assemble on the occasion of certain domesticcelebrations, and it was at one of these that the following incidentoccurred: All were present except one member, who was detained bysickness at her residence, fifteen miles away. It was in early afternoonthat one of the ladies standing at an open window, suddenly exclaimed:"Why, there's Aunt Milly crossing the flower garden!" The partyapproached the window, and beheld, in great surprise, the lady, in herordinary costume, slowly strolling among the flowers. She paused andlooked earnestly at the group, her features plainly visible; then turnedand disappeared amidst the shrubbery. No trace of her presence beingdiscoverable, it was natural that a gloom fell upon the company. A fewhours later a messenger arrived with the intelligence of her death. Thetime of her apparition and the time of her death coincided. 

AN IDIOT GHOST WITH BRASS BUTTONS

(Philadelphia _Press_, June 16, 1889)

In a pretty but old-fashioned house in Stuyvesant square--ghosts likesquares, I think--is another ghost. This house stood empty for severalyears, and about six years ago a gentleman, his wife and little daughtermoved in there, and while fitting up allowed the child to play aboutthe empty attic, which had apparently been arranged for a children'splayroom long ago. There was a fireplace and a large fireboard in frontof it. 

When the house was about finished down stairs the mother began to paymore attention to the little girl and tried to keep her down there withher, but the child always stole away and went back up stairs again andagain, until finally the mother asked why she liked to go up there somuch. She replied that she liked to play with the funny little boy. Investigation showed that it was utterly impossible for any person, manor child, to get in that place or be concealed there, but the littlegirl insisted and told her parents that he "went in there, " pointing tothe fireboard. 

The parents were seriously concerned, believing that their daughter wastelling them an untruth, and threatened to punish her for it, but sheinsisted so strongly that she saw and played with a "funny little boy, with lots of brass buttons on his jacket, " that they finally gave upthreatening and resolved to investigate. 

The father, who is an old sea captain, found out that this house hadbeen occupied by an Englishman named Cowdery who had had threechildren--two boys and a girl. One of the boys was an idiot. This idiotwas supposed to have fallen into the East River, as his cap was foundthere, and he had always shown a liking for the river when his nursetook him out. Soon after this Mr. Cowdery moved West. 

This was enough for my friend's friend, who had the fireboard takendown, and short work in the wall by the side of the chimney brought thebody of the unfortunate idiot boy. The back of his skull was crushed in. He still had the dark blue jacket on, with four rows of buttons on thefront. The poor little bones were buried and the affair kept quiet, butthe captain left the house. 

A MODEL GHOST STORY

(Boston _Courier_, Aug. 10)

A very singular story which forms one of the sensational social topicsof the day is the best authenticated of the many stories of thesupernatural that have been lately told. Only a short time ago a youngand well-known artist, Mr. A. , was invited to pay a visit to hisdistinguished friend, Mr. Izzard. The house was filled with guests, buta large and handsome room was placed at his disposal, apparently one ofthe best in the house. For three days he had a delightful visit;delightful in all particulars save one, he had each night a horribledream. He dreamed he was--or was really--suddenly awakened by someperson entering his room, and in looking around saw the room brilliantlylighted, while at the window stood a lady elegantly attired, in the actof throwing something out. This accomplished, she turned her face towardthe only spectator showing a countenance so distorted by evil passionsthat he was thrilled with horror. Soon the light and the figure with thedreadful face disappeared, leaving the artist suffering from a frightfulnightmare. On returning to his city home he was so haunted by thefearful countenance which had for three consecutive nights troubled him, that he made a sketch of it, and so real that the evil expression seemedto horrify every one who saw it. Not a great while after, the artistwent to make an evening visit on Mr. Izzard; that gentleman invited himto his picture gallery, as he wished to show him some remarkable, oldfamily portraits. What was Mr. A. 's surprise to recognize among them, inthe likeness of a stately, well-dressed lady, the one who had sotroubled his slumbers on his previous visit, lacking, however, therevolting, wicked expression. Soon as he saw it he involuntarilyexclaimed, "Why, I have seen that lady!" "Indeed!" said Mr. I. , smiling, "that is hardly possible, as she died more than a hundred years ago. Shewas the second wife of my great-grandfather, and reflected anything butcredit on the family. She was strongly suspected of having murdered herhusband's son by a former marriage, in order to make her own child heirto the property. The unfortunate boy broke his neck in a fall from awindow, and there was every reason to believe that he was precipitatedfrom the window by his stepmother. " The artist then told his host thecircumstances of his thrice-repeated experience, or dream, and sent forhis sketch, which, so far as the features were concerned, was identicalwith the portrait in Mr. Izzard's gallery. The sketch has since beenphotographed, but from its hideous expression is not very pleasant tolook upon. 

A GHOST THAT WILL NOT DOWN

(Cincinnati _Enquirer_, Sept. 30, 1884)

GRANTSVILLE, W. VA. , September 30. --The ghost of Betts' farm will notlay. Something over a year ago the _Enquirer_ contained an account or anoccult influence or manifestation at the farm house of Mr. CollinsBetts, about three miles below this town, in which story were delineateda number of weird, strange instances of ghostly manifestations, all ofwhich were verified by the testimony of honest, brave and reliablecitizens, the names of many of whom were mentioned. That story went therounds of newspapers all over the country and resulted in the proprietorof the place receiving hundreds of letters from all over the country. 

Since then the old house has been torn down, the family of Mr. Bettsrebuilding a home place on a different portion of the farm. This act, itwas believed, would lay or forever quiet the ramblings and queer doingsof the inexplicable mystery. But such has not been the case. Since thebuilding has been razed the mysterious manifestation has made itselfvisible at places sometimes quite a distance from the scene of itsformer domicile. 

At a distance of several hundred yards from the old Betts place aneighboring farmer had erected a house in which he intended to reside, and in fact did reside a short time, but the "Cale Betts ghost, " as themanifestation is commonly called for a distance of many miles, was norespecter of persons and oblivious of distance, and it so annoyed andfrightened the farmer and his family at untoward times that he hasremoved his house to the opposite end of the farm, leaving his garden, orchard and all the improvements usually made about a farm-house to takecare of themselves. 

This in itself was considered strange enough, but the ghostly visitantdid not stop there. The high road, running some distance away, has beenthe theater of almost numberless scenes of frights and frightfulappearances. Among those who have lately seen the ghost is a young mannamed Vandevener, whose father had once been frightened nearly to death, as related in a former letter. Young Vandevener had frequently madesport of the old man's fright, but he does so no more--in fact, theyoung man is willing to make affidavit that the old man's story wasmildly drawn. 

The young man was driving along quietly one night about half a mile fromthe Betts place, when he saw a strange being, which, in the pale lightof the moon, he took to be a man walking at the head of his horses. Afew minutes later the man, or whatever it was, glided, without making aparticle of noise, around the horses' heads and got into the wagon andtook a seat by his side. 

Young Vandevener says it rode along with him several hundred yards, andspoke to him. It first told him not to be afraid, as it did not intendto injure him in the least. What it said he will not tell, except thatit admonished him not to say anything about it until a certain time. After it had spoken to him Vandevener says it got up and glided off intothe woods and disappeared. He says the shape was that of a headless man, and that while it was with him he felt a cold chill run over him, although it was a warm evening, and this chilly feeling did not leavehim until the disappearance of the shape. 

Since then Vandevener can not be induced to go over the ground afternight. He still persists in the same story, and as he is a truthfulyoung fellow, the people who know him are satisfied that he really sawwhat he claims to have seen. 

Only one day last week another young man, Henry Stephens I believe, onhis way past the same place, saw a peculiar shape rise out of the brushby the side of the road and glide along by the side of the wagon. Stephens got out of his wagon and gathered together a handful of rocks, which he threw at the object. Some of the stones appeared to go throughit, but did not seem to affect it in the least. It still continued tofloat along at a short distance away until Stephens became frightenedand whipped up his horses until they flew at a two-minute gait down theroad, the object following at some distance until quite away from thescene of its first appearance, when it disappeared like a cloud ofvapor. There are dozens of authentic stories of the ghostlypeculiarities of the Betts ghost which are new and peculiar. 

It appears, since the destruction of the Betts homestead, to have takenup its quarters near the highway, and here it appears to people who havegenerally scoffed and laughed at the former stories. That it isbullet-proof does not need testimony, located, as it is, in a section ofcountry which has for years been noted for its fearless men--such as theDuskys, Downs and others of national fame as sharp-shooters, scouts, etc. , during the late war. None of these men have succeeded in "laying"or putting a quietus to it. There is a story that a couple of men hadbeen murdered or disappeared in this vicinity, and that the ghost is theuneasy spirit of one of these men, but there is no real evidence thatanybody was ever killed there. 

There is no doubt that Calhoun County has a mystery which neither time, bullets, courage nor philosophy can either drive away or explain. It hascome to stay. If you meet a Calhouner just mention it, and he will tellyou that the "Betts ghost" is a county possession which it will gladlydispose of at any price. 

TOM CYPHER'S PHANTOM ENGINE

(Seattle _Press-Times_, Jan. 10, 1892)

Locomotive engineers are as a class said to be superstitious, but J. M. Pinckney, an engineer known to almost every Brotherhood man, is anexception to the rule. He has never been able to believe the differentstories told of apparitions suddenly appearing on the track, but he hadan experience last Sunday night on the Northern Pacific east-boundoverland that made his hair stand on end. 

By the courtesy of the engineer, also a Brotherhood man, Mr. Pinckneywas riding on the engine. They were recounting experiences, and thefireman, who was a green hand, was getting very nervous as he listenedto the tales of wrecks and disasters, the horrors of which weregraphically described by the veteran engineers. 

The night was clear and the rays from the headlight flashed along thetrack, and, although they were interested in spinning yarns, a sharplookout was kept, for they were rapidly nearing Eagle gorge, in theCascades, the scene of so many disasters and the place which is said tobe the most dangerous on the 2, 500 miles of road. The engineer wasrelating a story and was just coming to the climax when he suddenlygrasped the throttle, and in a moment had "thrown her over, " that is, reversed the engine. The air brakes were applied and the train broughtto a standstill within a few feet of the place where Engineer Cypher methis death two years ago. By this time the passengers had become curiousas to what was the matter, and all sorts of questions were asked thetrainmen. The engineer made an excuse that some of the machinery wasloose, and in a few moments the train was speeding on to herdestination. 

"What made you stop back there?" asked Pinckney. "I heard your excuse, but I have run too long on the road not to know that your excuse is notthe truth. "

His question was answered by the engineer pointing ahead and sayingexcitedly:

"There! Look there! Don't you see it?"

"Looking out of the cab window, " said Mr. Pinckney, "I saw about 300yards ahead of us the headlight of a locomotive. "

"Stop the train, man, " I cried, reaching for the lever. 

"Oh, it's nothing. It's what I saw back at the gorge. It's Tom Cypher'sengine, No. 33. There's no danger of a collision. The man who isrunning that ahead of us can run it faster backward than I can this oneforward. Have I seen it before? Yes, twenty times. Every engineer on theroad knows that engine, and he's always watching for it when he gets tothe gorge. "

"The engine ahead of us was running silently, but smoke was puffing fromthe stack and the headlight threw out rays of red, green, and whitelight. It kept a short distance ahead of us for several miles, and thenfor a moment we saw a figure on the pilot. Then the engine rounded acurve and we did not see it again. We ran by a little station, and atthe next, when the operator warned us to keep well back from a wildengine that was ahead, the engineer said nothing. He was not afraid of acollision. Just to satisfy my own mind on the matter I sent a telegramto the engine wiper at Sprague, asking him if No. 33 was in. I receiveda reply stating that No. 33 had just come in, and that her coal wasexhausted and boxes burned out. I suppose you'll be inclined to laugh atthe story, but just ask any of the boys, although many of them won'ttalk about it. I would not myself if I were running on the road. It'sunlucky to do so. "

With this comment upon the tale Mr. Pinckney boarded a passing cabooseand was soon on his way to Tacoma. It is believed by Northern Pacificengineers that Thomas Cypher's spirit still hovers near Eagle gorge. 

GHOSTS IN CONNECTICUT

(N. Y. _Sun_, Sept. 1, 1885)

"There is as much superstition in New-England to-day as there was inthose old times when they slashed Quakers and built bonfires forwitches. " It was a New York man who gave expression to this ratherstartling statement. He has been summering in Connecticut, and he aversthat his talk about native superstition is founded on close observation. Perhaps it is; anyhow he regaled the _Times's_ correspondent with someentertaining incidents which he claims establish the truth of hissomewhat astonishing theories. 

Old Stratford, the whitewashed town between this place and Bridgeport, made famous by mysterious "rappings" many years ago, and more recentlycelebrated as the scene of poor Rose Clark Ambler's strange murder, ismuch concerned over a house which the almost universal verdictpronounces "haunted. " The family of Elihu Osborn lives in this house, and ghosts have been clambering through it lately in a wonderfullypromiscuous fashion. Two or three families were compelled to vacate thepremises before the Osborns, proud and skeptical, took possession ofthem. Now the Osborns are hunting for a new home. Children of the familyhave been awakened at midnight by visitors which persisted in shakingthem out of bed; Mrs. Osborn has been confronted with ghostlyspectacles, and through the halls and vacant rooms strange footsteps arefrequently heard when all the family are trying to sleep; sounds loudenough to arouse every member of the household. Then the manifestationssometimes change to moanings and groanings sufficiently vehement andpitiful to distract all who hear them. Once upon a time, perhaps a dozenyears ago, Jonathan Riggs lived in this house, and as the local gossipsassert, Riggs caused the death of his wife by his brutal conduct andthen swallowed poison to end his own life. The anniversary of themurderous month in the Riggs family has arrived and the manifestationsare so frequent and so lively that "the like has never been seenbefore, " as is affirmed by a veteran Stratford citizen. There is noshadow of doubt in Stratford that the spirits of the Riggses are sprylycavorting around their former abode. 

Over at the Thimble Islands, off Stony Creek, is an acre or two of soilpiled high on a lot of rocks. The natives call it Frisbie Island. Notmore than a hundred yards off shore it contains a big bleak lookinghouse which was built about twenty years ago to serve as a Summer hotelwhen Connecticut capitalists were deep in schemes to tempt New Yorkersto this part of the Sound shore to spend their Summers. New Yorkersdeclined to be tempted, and the old house is rapidly approaching decay. It has recently assumed a peculiar interest for the residents of StonyCreek. Midnight lights have suddenly appeared in all its windows atfrequent intervals, fitfully flashing up and down like the blaze in theLong Island lighthouses. Ghosts! This is the universal verdict. Nobodydisputes it. Once or twice a hardy crew of local sailors havevolunteered to go out and investigate the mystery, but when the time forthe test has arrived, there somehow have always been reasons forpostponing the excursion. Cynical people profess to believe thatpractical jokers are at the root of the manifestations, but such aprofane view is not widely entertained among the good people who havetheir homes at Stony Creek. 

Over near Middletown is a farmer named Edgar G. Stokes, a gentleman whois said to have graduated with honor in a New England college more thana quarter of a century ago. He enjoys, perhaps, the most notable bit ofsuperstition to be found anywhere in this country, in or out ofConnecticut. He owns the farm on which he lives, and it is valuable; notquite so valuable though as it once was, for Mr. Stokes's eccentricdisposition has somewhat changed the usual tactics that farmers pursuewhen they own fertile acres. The average man clears his soil of stones;Mr. Stokes has been piling rocks all over his land. Little by little theweakness--or philosophy--has grown upon him; and not only from everypart of Middlesex County, but from every part of this State he has beenaccumulating wagonloads of pebbles and rocks. He seeks for no peculiarstone either in shape, color, or quality. If they are stones that issufficient. And his theory is that stones have souls--souls, too, thatare not so sordid and earthly as the souls that animate humanity. Theyare souls purified and exalted. In the rocks are the spirits of thegreatest men who have lived in past ages, developed by some divinityuntil they have become worthy of their new abode. Napoleon Bonaparte'ssoul inhabits a stone, so does Hannibal's, so does Cæsar's, but poorplebeian John Smith and William Jenkins, they never attained suchimmortality. 

Farmer Stokes has dumped his rocks with more or less reverence all alonghis fields, and this by one name and that by another he knows and hailsthem all. A choice galaxy of the distinguished lights of the old daysare in his possession, and just between the burly bits of granite atthe very threshold of his home is a smooth-faced crystal from the RockyMountains. This stone has no soul yet. The rough, jagged rock on itsleft is George Washington. The granite spar on the right is glorifiedwith the spirit of good Queen Bess. The smooth-faced crystal one ofthese days is to know the bliss of swallowing up the spirit of goodFarmer Edgar Garton Stokes. It was not until recently that mystifiedneighbors obtained the secret of the vast accumulation of rough stoneson the Stokes farm. Mr. Stokes has a family. They all seem to beintelligent, practical business people. There may be a will contested inMiddletown one of these days. 

THE SPOOK OF DIAMOND ISLAND

(St. Louis _Globe-Democrat_, Sept. 18, 1888)

HARDEN, Ill. , Sept. 18. --For some time past rumors have been circulatedin Hardin to the effect that Diamond Island, in the river about twomiles from this place, was the home of a ghost. The stories concerningthe movements of the alleged spook were, of course, not given anycredence at first, but later, when several reputable citizens of Hardinannounced that they had positively seen an uncanny looking object movingabout on the island at night, the rumors were more seriously considered. Now, after investigation, the mysterious something is no longerconsidered a myth. 

Along toward midnight a peculiar light is seen at the foot of theisland. It has the appearance of a huge ball of fire, and is about thesize and shape of an ordinary barrel. 

A few nights ago a party of young men from this place determined tovisit the island and fathom the mystery if possible. Equipped withrevolvers, knives, shotguns, and clubs, the party secured a boat andwere soon cutting through the water at a good speed for a point on theisland near where the specter usually made its appearance. Arriving atthe landing place, the skiff was hauled up on the shore and the youngmen took up a position in a clump of trees close at hand to watch andwait. 

Suddenly the whole point of the island was illumined as a bright redobject rose apparently from the water and glided up into the air. Ascending probably to a height of forty yards, the watchers saw thelurid ball fade away. The investigating party had seen all they wanted. They made a mad rush for the boat, but, just as they reached the placewhere it had been left, they were horrified to see the little craftmoving out on the water from the island. At first its only occupantseemed to be the red ball of fire, but the next moment the watchers sawthe crimson object gradually take the form of a man, and they saw him, too, dip the oars at regular intervals and pull a long, steady stroke. The man's features were fully concealed by a wide-rimmed slouch hat, which was drawn over his face. A peculiar light illumined the boat andthe waters around it, making the craft and its mysterious occupantperfectly discernible to the party on the shore, who stood paralyzedwith fear, unable to speak or move, their eyes riveted by somemysterious influence they could not resist on the spectral object beforethem. 

The boat was now about in midstream, and suddenly the group of watcherssaw the skiff's occupant change again into the crimson ball. Then itslowly began to move upward, and when it was about parallel with thetops of the trees on the island it disappeared. Next instant thewatchers looking across the river saw nothing but the flickering lightsin Hardin. 

The cries of the crowd on the island awakened a sleeping fisherman onthe opposite side of the river, and he kindly pulled across and rescuedthe ghost-seeking youths. The fiery spook, it is said, still makes itsnightly trips to Diamond Island, but no more investigating parties haveventured across to solve the mystery. 

It is said that some years ago a foul murder was committed on thisisland, and by the superstitious the crimson object is believed to bethe restless spirit of the slain man. 

THE GHOST'S FULL HOUSE

(N. Y. _Sun_, April 10, 1891)

The Bleecker street ghost drew as large a "house" last night as Barnum'sCircus or any of the theaters. There was a bigger crowd about"Cohnfeld's Folly" than there was three weeks ago when the flames guttedthe buildings from Mercer to Greene streets and did damage away up inthe millions. The wraith was not due till midnight, but the street waspacked with watchers as early as 9 o'clock. The crowd was so dense thatpedestrians with difficulty forced their way through it and twice asquad of blue-coats descended on the mob and routed it. Five minutesafter the police had retired the street was as impassable as before. 

In the midst of the ruins of the big fire a single wall towers awayabove the surrounding brick partitions. It looks feeble and almosttottering and the shop-keepers in the vicinity say that when there is ahigh wind it sways to and fro and threatens to come down in a heap. After dark the outlines of the summit of this wall are very indistinct. The detail of the wreck could not be made out even in last night'sbright starlight. There is a sheet of tin, however, on the top of thewall, which was probably a cornice before the fire. Only one side of itis attached to the brickwork, and when there is any wind it trembles inthe breeze and rattles with an uncertain sound. It may have been thatthe sheen of the tin in the starlight or a windy night first suggestedthe idea of a ghost to some weird imagination. 

There is an old Frenchman living in the vicinity, however, who aversthat three nights ago he saw with his own eyes a lady in white standingout against the darkened sky on the very summit of the tottering wall. Her long, flowing robes fluttered in the breeze, and even while hewatched there came a low, wailing sound, and the wraith dissolved intoair. He kept his eye fixed on the spot for a full minute, but the visiondid not reappear, and as he turned to walk away he thought he heardgroaning as of a lost spirit. The sound, he says, made his blood runcold and kept him shivering the whole night through. 

The alleged appearance of the ghost has set the whole neighborhood atalking, and some of the "old residenters" have recalled a murder whichtook place in the vicinity many years ago, when A. T. Stewart lived thereand the street was one of the fashionable places of residence of thetown. There was a wealthy old gentleman of foreign birth who lived inthe street and was quite a recluse. He would pass the time of day withhis neighbors when he met them in the street, but he was never known toenter into conversation with any one. The blinds were always drawn inhis front windows, and at night there was not a ray of light to be seenabout the house. His only servants were a couple somewhat advanced inyears, who were as foreign and uncommunicative as himself. The master ofthe house would be away for months at a time and the neighbors had allsorts of theories as to his disappearances. Some thought he was engagedin unlawful business, others suggested that his absence might beattributed to the supernatural, but those who were less flightyconcluded that he simply went off on periodical visits to his nativeland. 

On his return from one of these visits, however, the old gentlemanbrought with him a beautiful young girl. She was little more than achild in appearance, and had the soft eyes, olive complexion and lithe, graceful figure of a Spaniard. She was never seen alive after she passedthe shadow of the old man's doorway. A few weeks later the old gentlemandisappeared as mysteriously as if he had been snatched up into theclouds. The old couple who kept his home walked away one day and neverreturned. There was an investigation, and in a hole dug in the cellarwas found the body of the beautiful young girl. There were no marks onher body, and it was supposed she had been smothered. The exact date ofthis tragedy is not fixed. Inspector Byrnes says that if it everoccurred it was before his time. 

The ghost, if ghost there is, is undoubtedly the spirit of thisunfortunate and nameless young woman. A _World_ reporter watched theBleecker street ruins with the crowd last night and was there at themidnight hour, but never a sign of a ghost did he see. There were thosein the crowd, nevertheless, who thought or pretended to think that theydid. Once there was a rattling sound in the ruins, which caused acommotion among the lookers-on, but it was only because a small boy hadshied a brick at the old wall. The living spirits boomed the liquorbusiness in the saloons of the vicinity. A skull and cross-bones overone of these bars was surmounted with the somewhat appropriate legendfreshly painted:

"In the midst of life we are in debt. "

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FOOTNOTE:

[1] Transcriber's Note: The original is missing text following thismark. Both it and a reprint of the same were searched and were printedin this way. 

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Transcriber's notes:

 Obvious printing punctuation errors were repaired. 

 On pages 50-51, the top paragraph had a printing problem in the page gutter. From the letters that were left, the following changes were made in the text. (Changes noted by **)

 Nothing more chanced for the rest of the night. Nor, indeed, had I long to wait before the dawn broke. Nor till it** was broad daylight did I quit the haunted house. Before I did so, I revisited the little blind room in which my servant and myself had been for a time imprisoned. I had a** strong impression--for which I could not account--that

 On page 51:

 nothing in refutation of that conjecture; rather, I suggest it as one that would seem to many persons the most probable solution of improbable occurrences. My belief in** my own theory remained unshaken. I returned in the evening to the house, to bring away in a hack cab the things I** had left there, with my poor dog's body. In this task I was not disturbed, nor did any incident worth note befall me, except that still, on ascending and descending the stairs, I** heard the same footfall in advance. On leaving the house, I went to Mr. J. 's. He was at home. I returned him the keys, told him that my curiosity was sufficiently gratified, and was about to relate quickly what had passed, when he stopped me, and said, though with much politeness, that he had no longer any interest in a mystery which none had ever solved. 

 I determined at least to tell him of the two letters I had** read, as well as of the extraordinary manner in which they** had disappeared, and I then inquired if he thought they** had been addressed to the woman who had died in the

 Page 62, "weding-party" changed to "wedding-party": (so merry a wedding-party)

 Page 63: "sad" changed to "said" (and said, in a suppressed tone)

 Page 72: "hed" changed to "had" (had ever passed his lip. )

 Page 73: "woful" changed to "woeful" (woeful condition)

 Page 102: "frace" change to "face" (from his face)

 Page 147: "be" changed to "he" (But he kept his title?)

 Page 172: "breathd" changed to "breathed" (she breathed heavily)