Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, March 03, 1870, Image 1
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lewis m. hiiisjt. i',-?!?i?.t?r.i ~ ^^i*pm^^mti^*itbsj^r^^ ^ TERMS?$3.00 A TEAB, IX ADVANCE.
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VOL. 16. ~~ "~ ~ ~~ ~ YOEKYILLE, S. C., THIJI^LXV, MAECH 3, 1870. _ ^ .. ? ' NC>. 9. .
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?&e $ton> Irltyt.
HAUNTED HOUSE AT MANORBERE.
It was eight and thirty years ago, and I had
been married five or six years, when I went to
live at Manorbere Lodge. The ship in which
my husband had been first lieutenant was
paid off He had got his rank as commander
but had no immediate prospect of employment
afloat, so his mind naturally turned to
the occupation he loved best next to his profession?fox
hunting; a passion for which ,
sport came to him by nature, as the second
son of a Lincolnshire squire. His younger :
son's portion, with my dowry and his pav,
though altogether making up a comfortable ,
income, would not suffice for that very expen- ,
sive amusement, unless we could find a house ,
in a good situation, at a moderate rent; and ]
we were looking for such a house, when one {
day Dick came in, radiant with expectation, .
to tell me he had heard 'of one beyond the }
dreams of . avarjce; or rather of economy. If (
was in the heart of the shire9, within easy (
L ^w.4 waIa nonhfi nonifol cfo.
rttVCU Ul burn? ill CH IftWJ uuu vu|/iM?A DVM ^
bling, and was all to be let by the year at a
fabulously low rental. . * ]
?It is a maxim with rae that nothing is to be
hacf for less than its value, so I was not quite
so sanguine as Dick; but I agreed with him.
in thinking it worth while that he should run i
down and look at the place. i
He went, and came back delighted. He |
had spared no pains to find out what there }
could be amiss with the house, but had come (
to the conclusion that it was almost faultless. ]
Indeed, it seemed to him such a prize that he
had feared to lose it by delay, and had taken t
it at once for a year, certain. "I am sure we {
will keep it, my love," he said. "It is an old
house, a great deal larger and handsomer than :
we want, but that does not matter." I was
quite content so that h&"pleased himself, and *
a very few days saw us settled at Manorbere.
I found the place all that Dick said it was. j
The house as it now stood had apparently been (
only a wing of the ancient mansion, rart of ,
the principal building had been completely *
burned down, but for some reason or other a T
portion abutting upon the present house had j
been left standing, and was converted, the t
lnwtwTYftrf: into a cart-house. and the first floor L
into a place for carpenter's work,lumber, and-, \
so-fortn.
On the ground floor the communication had
been walled up, where a door had formerly .4
opened upon a passage running nearly the
length of the present house. A similar corri- t
dor ran along the first floor, and hdre the disused
part of the house was divided from the ,
dwelling only by a strong oaken door, heavily *
barred and! bolted. A staircase led up from
the ground floor to this end of the corridor;
but it was seldom used as we inhabited the v
rooms at the other extremity, aild the servants' I
chamber was also reached by a different stair. 1
The door itself looked as if it could resist eV- v
erything exeept treachery in the garrisoned, f
and even a traitor would have had some diffi- J
culty in removing the defences, so rusted were
they in their places. I 5" *
There was nothing at all gloomy about the
house. Hie rooms were large and light, with j1
the ample Windows, characteristic of English *j
houses erected before the imposition of the ?
window tax gave our builders their present
traditions. Toe principal sitting room was a $
very large one on the ground floor, looking ?
nearly soiuth. and catching all the sunshine in r
its Bay^Wfaraows. TBfeeoptoAl on aTaised
terrace, beneath which was a pretty flower
garden, and there was a paddock with fine 81
trees beyond. The stables were of much later 8
date than the house, and were excellent.
Of course, we soon made acquaintance with 8
our neighbors, and the assemblies to see the
hounds throw off on a fine morning were very
pleasant and sociable. We had no close car- ^
riage, and our house was at considerable dis- J
* ^ a ar\ of firaf WO ^
lance irora any visiuvuit iauuu?, ou m u.u>
declined all dinner invitations. But that sort *
of thing never goes on long when those con- 1
cerned are still young, cheerful aud sociable,'
and very soon we got into the way of going *
frequently to dine and sleep at our neighbors' ;
places. At the very first of these dinner par- c
ties, the truth came out about Manorbere. 1
"It is very nice having you and Captain ?
Macn?mara at Manorbere," said a certain live- ;
ly Mrs. Brodrick to tne, when we ladies went x
to the drawing-room after dinner. "I -S so
hate having a house shut up; and, nLJfed, ?
there was a talk last year of its being pulled x
down, since nobody would take it."
"But why would nobody take it? I think i
it so charming," said I. " i
"Well, perhaps it is foolish; but you know
a great many people really do not like living y
in a house that has such a name." 1
"A name for what V' <
"Being haunted."
"Haunted?" v
"Good gracious ! did you not know about
the ghost r'- '
I burst out laughing. "So that is the reason
of. our getting it so cheap ? I am really 1
very muoh obliged to the ghost." " ?
"How odd that you should not have heard t
of it. But I am so sorry I mentioned it. You ?
are so much alone there, I hope it won't t
make you uncomfortable."
"Thank you ; it only makes me laugh. But 1
do tell me the story of the house."
"Hush!" said another lady, "don't talk 1
about it now. Here comes Mrs. Dormer, our 1
hostess, and she never quite likes the subject." ?
My curiosity, however, being aroused, I 1
begged Mrs Brodrick, the first time an opportunity
offered for a tete a tete, to give me par- 1
ticulars as our Hers parti at Manorbere. And \
this is the substance of her narrative. i
"The last family that had lived in the house J
was that of Colonel Fearon, a widower with 5
three daughters. They were a very pleasant 1
cheerful set; hospitable as far as their means,
which were not very large, would allow ; and 1
ready to promote or to join in anything that 1
was proposed in the way qf social amusement.
But unfortunately a few months after their arrival
the Colonel got a bad fall, out hunting,
and became for a time a confirmed invalid.
He recovered, ultimately, but at that period it
was feared that he never would be himself
agaiu. His nervous system was so affected by
the blow he had received on the spine, that he
could bear hardly any noise or company, and
he was so weak as to be reduced to a wheelchair
in which to take air and exercise. The
family had selected for their own occupation
the same set of rooms we had chosen for ourselves,
at the opposite end of the corridor from
the condemned door, and the rooms near to it 1
were reserved for guests. The hitherto gay '
and lively house had, however, for some time j
become quite changed in character, the girls
giving up all society at home, uncomplaining- j
ly, for their father's sake! Eleanor, the eldest, i
thought, however, after a time, that it was a
pity her young sisters, Effie and Lucy, should J
be debarred from taking part in the gayeties
suited to their age, which were going on du-!
ring the winter; so the girls took it in turn to \
go out two and two together, some neighbor
ing matron being always ready to act as chap- j
eron, when they joined her at the ball or {
soiree. On one of these occasions two young ;
friends, who had come to the same party from j
some disfcurce on the other side of Manorbere, j
had been offered a night's lodging at the latter (
place to save them the long winter drive after ,
midnight; and also that they might accompany
the Fearons to a ball on the ensuing
evening. Though it was not very late when
the girls returned home, the invalid had retired
to rest, and Eleanor was ready to follow
his example, when she heard her sisters and ,
their friends coming up stairs, and went out in i
her dressing gown to meet them, and see that i
they had all things comfortable in their rooms, i
The girls were in high spirits, and, though sub- <
duing their voices lest they should waken their
father, Eleanor feared trial some incautious (
laugh or exclamation might disturb him ; so \
enjoining silence by a gesture, she led the way i
to the chamber at the further end of the cor- t
ridor which had been prej^red for her guests,
stirred the fire in a bright blaze, lighted the c
candles, and told them now they might laugh ]
and chatter their fill The young folks did
not hesitate to avail themselves of the jperrais- J
sion, and hung over the fire discussing, the
party of that evening, and the prospects of s
the morrow's ball, till Eleanor declared she a
must take her sisters away, or they would talk 1
all night. She had twice risen with this inten- s
tion without getting them to follow her, an,d a
was now standing with the door half open ip a
her hand waiting for them, when they saw her, t
suddenly put her finger on her lips, and peep t
cautiously out; then she set down her candle t
and stepped softly into the passage. The oth-! t
era ceased talking in Amunute,'aad loobedink S
juiringly towardher. "What is it, Eleanor ?" t
whispered Lucy, coming to the door. , p
"The most extraordinary thing! I thought v
[ heard the door open." ?i
"WW said -Rffift. .q
. ''Why, the great barred door." ^ . J {
"My dear Nellie, you must be dreaming, i
[t is time we went to bed, indeed," said Effie, c
aughing, and taking up her candle. Eleanor i
ook hers also, but instead of returning to her 8
room, walked straight up to the door and ex- t
imined it, closely followed by Lucy, who v
ooked at her in smiling wonder. d
"Are you satisfied, dear ?" said she, pointing r
o the cobwebs which in many places stretched s
icross from the door to the lintel. *
"Yes, I must have been mistaken. But it t
a very odd."
"What did you hear, Nellie?" eagerly asked t
he others, coming to their room door. s
"The first time I signed to you to be silent, a
[ thought I heard footsteps coming gently and a
cautiously up the stairs, and fancied it was one
>f the maids. They know I do not allow them n
o sit up so late, and I waited to see who it t
vas, stealing uji this way where they have no p
msiness. But instead of passing by this room f
he footsteps seemed to stop at the top of the b
tairs, and then the door turned slowly on its n
be"." . ; .
"Did you see it 7" asked Lucy. , g
"O, no! It only sounded so. ?
"The wind or something." c
"Perhaps. Now go to bed, children." And f
hey all separated. . j p
The next evening one of their visitors, iBa- *
>el Murray, being rather tired, declined to go "
o the ball, and said she would prefer staying
o keep company with Lucy, whose turn it ^
vas to remain with her father. After he had ?
;one to bed the two girls became so absorbed \
a a game of chess that the time slipped away a
inobserved, and they then bethought them of ^
itting up for their sisters, to give them what ?
3 called in Ireland, "a raking pot of tea," on "
heir'return. The bright idea was iramedi- a
itely carried out. The tea things were set in ^
he guest chamber, the fire was made up, the "
nairla cant frt h/vrl nnrl tlio orirla nn.rf.illl. ^
UU1UU OVMW VV WV*^ HUU HMV _
p undressing, met together wrapped in their ^
lressing-gown8 to enjoy the vigil. They had ^
irought up their chess-board and books, but "
resently agreed that if they took a nap thev
ronld be all the fresher by and by ; so, curl- P
lg up on the sofa, they were soon asleep. ^
defect sileqcj^eig^R^-tiT^a^
na in the room nothing was hearoTbut the ~
oft breathing of the sleepers. Suddenly and Cl
imultaneously, both awoke. Lucy's little dog ?
,t the same time starting from his slumbers jj
,nd pricking his ears. b
"is it the carriage ?" said Isabel Murray. n
"I don't know. Something woke me, but I ^
tan't tell what. Yes, it must be," continued -y
liucy, as the dog went sniffing to the door,
md she opened it and looked out "I hear ^
ootsteps, but there is no light. How quietly j
hey have come in!" ^
Just then Pincher, who had run out when
he door was opened, came cowering back ^
vith drooping tail, and at the same moment ^
lame the grating sound of a door turning on ^
usty hinges, and then quietly closed. Isabel 1
prang to Lucy's side, and, softly closing all
)ut a chink of the door, stood listening, ^
Nothing more was heard. The girls looked at
sach other, and drew a long breath. "There's
lomething wrong here, Lucy," said Isabel. ^
Laicy quickly shut the door, and bolted it.
"O, Xsabel, I am so frightened! Only think a
f anybody can get in here in the dead of the ^
light 1 we may be all murdered!" g
"We must tell Eleanor, and, of course, it ^
nustbe looked to. But the strangest thing :g]
s, that the door seems as if it had not been a
p?ned for a century."
"0 dear! that's nothing. These people are v
ip to all sorts of tricks? ' *(
"What people?" " e
"Why housebreakers and burglars 1" p
"I don't think it can be a burglar," said Isa* 0
)el, "as he has been here already, and nothing c
tppears to have been stolen. Perhaps one of ^
he maids has a folknver whom she lets in by ^
itealtb. What is there on the other side of c
i.i j t?
,nai uuur ; 0
"I don't know. 0 yes, I do! A sort of a
umber-room and carpenter's workroom."
' We ought to go to-morrow and examine it on 9(
hat side. I do not think there is any danger f,
or to-night, as the intruder, whoever he be, ^
seems to have departed. What's become of e
Pincher? Did you shut him out!" v
On examination, the dog was found under v
:he bed, pressed closely against the wall, and ](
[jrembliug all over. Lucy had some difficulty p
in coaxing him out, and even when she had ?
*ot him in her arms her caresses failed to re- j,
store him to his usual spirits. "Is he ill, poor
fellow ?" asked Isabel. a
"Only frightened, 1 think ; but he is usually e
so courageous; I cannot understand it. You u
may be sure he has seen some one who has r
terrified him somehow. I wish the others 0
would come home!" &
After this the "raking pot of tea" was not so ^
jovial an affair as they had intended. The ^
two watchers had not quite got over their c
alarm, and the others heird their account with janxiety
and uneasiness. Eleanor agreed that v
the first thing to do was to scrutinize both r
sides of the door, but cautioned them all to i ]
keep entire silence on the subject meantime. [ j
The next day they made their investigation : 1
of the carpenter's workroom, which was en- \ g
tered by an outside wooden stair. Eleanor !
made the pretence of wanting a piece of old-; c
seasoned wood for a drawing-board, which I e
gave them an excuse for poking about unsus- j j
pected. Not only was the door and all its :
adjuncts as rusty and cob-web tapestried here j
as on the inside, tut they found heaped against'
it a quantity of wood yhich had been cut up I
for making new hurdles. I
"They might be put there ouly for a blind," j
Isabel suggested in a whisper; so the astute
Eleanor put a leading question immediately.
"Have you not been a long time about those
hurdles, Jones?"
"Well, iha'am, the hurdles is ready, and has
been any time these three weeks. It ain't my j ]
fault they bean't put up long ago, and I'd be j i
flad to get 'era out of ray way lumberin' here, j1
'erhaps you'd speak about it ?" | ]
Eleanor promised to do so, aud remarking )
that her father's illness had caused some neg- , 1
lect of out-door worji, gave directions about j 1
her board and withdrew. 11
"No light thrown on the mystery yet," she j <
observed, as they walked away. "That door j.
cannot have been opened for years, I am posi- j i
tive." The Murrays were to leave the Lodge 1'
lext day. "I shall move into that room tonorrow.
When the servants know one of the
amily is close by, they will hardly dare to
arry on any clandestine meeting."
"But that's no good," said Lucy; "if it is
>ne of the servants the man will be let in elsevhere.
Dear Ifellie, do get to the bottom of
t Ira sure if you do not, I never can feel
hat we are safe for a single night."
"My child, it is not proved that anybody
lid come in. On the contrary, it seems imjossible."
..;
"We will watch to-night, anyhow," said
Sffie.
When night came, however, Eleanor deired
her sisters would go to their own rooms,
is she thought so many of them together could
lardly keep quiet enough to avoid giving
ome warning to the mysterious visitor. She
ilso begged the Murrays to go to bed as soon
is they were ready $ and they had done so,
hough they could not sleep. And now, in
he dead of the night, she sat in their room,
he candle closely shaded, and the door ajar,
ireathlessly awaiting she knew not wnat.
iho had, without saying, anythiifc about ft,
?rought with her one of her father's pistols,
[he fire burned low and. fed; and everything
pas profoundly still, when the ominous creakug
struck on their terrified ears. Eleanor
[uickly seized her candle and ran into the
>assage, followed by the other two, who had
nstantiy sprung out of bed. Footsteps were
listinctly audible descending the stairs. "Who
9 there ?" demanded n.ieanor. "Answer, or j.
hall fire!" No voice replied. They ^qld
heir candles over the balustrade, hut no one
pas to be seen. At the same moment Lucy
larted from her room, and came down the coridor
to join the group. "Is it broken, ?" said
he, hurridly,.
"Broken. "What ?" Lucy ran past them to,
he stairs, bidding them follow.
"Look here," said she, showing them a
bread, the two ends of which lay across the
tair. "I tied this to-night to the balustrade,
,nd fastened it into the wall at the opposite
ide. You see it is broken in two."
"My child," said-Eleanor, "a cotton thread
aight easily snap, merely from being stretched
oo tight. This is no proof of any one having
tassed by. Indeed, I am certain nobody did,
or I was out on this landing before he could
y any possibility have got down stairs, and I
aust have seen him.".< .. ?:
"How brave you are, Eleanor !" said Isabel,
lancing at the pistol, and thence to her calm
ace; and shivering with fear and cold she
rept back to bed with her sister. As she careully
bolted her door inside, sne coold not reress
an exclamation of thanksgiving that this
ras to be their last night in Uiat dangerous
ouse.;
Eleanor now declared her conviction that
be mysterious noises were produced by some
ccult vibration or echo, as is not uncommonIr
the cose in ol4 houses, and ^hat they had
eard nothing alarming. Lucy, however,,
rould not be pursuaded. Though she did n.dt
penly assert her incredulity, she venturedfby
erself to the terrible spot next night'v^hen
11 had retired, and tied a packthread firmly
) the balustrade, fastening it with a tacn; to
be opposite wall. 'Waking in the morning
lmost as soon as it was lignt, she immediate*
T ran to look at her trap, aha hurried back ta>
lleanor with the intelligence that the packiread
was broken ! ;
"How those stairs creak, at the end .of the
assage!" said Eleanor to her maid, as she
as dressing her hair that morning; She-had
bogen that moment because, from the pos^otniVfm.
WUkitto \beiL-tfCciip&F'beniiiajlier
hair, her mistress could watch the expression
f her countenance in the looking glass, "I
eard them creaking quite loudly under someody's
footsteps after I came up to bed last
ight. I can't think what took any one that
"None does go that way, never," said Mrs.
Vilkins, emphatically. \
"It is not the proper way, certainly, as
here is the back stair from the offices. But
have heard persons going up, or down, while
he Miss Murrays were here." " X
"I'll undertake to say that you were mifc*iken,
ma'am. Not a servant in the- house
rould go up or down them stairs' after dark,
lot for a thousand pounds, ma'am."
"What do you mean, Wilkins?"
"I mean, ma'am as they hacra bad name,
.'hem's the parts that's haunted."
"Haunted ! Rubbish. Who put that into
our head?"
"You may call it rubbish, Miss Fearon,"
aid Wilkins, resentfully; "but words can't
Iter things. Them stairs is haunted; all that
nows about the place wilftell you as much ; i
hrah, as lived here with a former family, she
new it well. But she don't mind, because i
he says the ghost never did no harm as long I
s it wasn't interfered with."
""I thought you had more sense, Wilkins,"
ras all Eleanor replied, as she left the room
a go down to breakfast The thought, howver,
did come across her that this story had
erhaps been impressed on the minds of the
ther servants by Sarah, in order to'keep the
oast clear of any operations she might wish
o carry on under the rose. What these could
e, Eleanor could not divine, but she did not
sel altogether comfortable. A vague feeling
f eiianifinn and doubt took nossessmn of her.
nd, with that subtle infection which some atribute
to animal magnetism, her uneasiness
seined gradually to spread through the whole
imily, the Colonel alone remained unaffected
y it. Her sisters became silent and abstracted
as if always on the watch. The maids
,-ent about in pairs, and, were found holding
whispered colloquies behind doors. The but2r,
under pretence oT black-beetles in the
iantry, "which he could not abide nohow,"
ot permission to remove his sleeping quarters
a to closer proximity, with the footman.
At last, Eleanor felt it necessary, unwilling
s she was to annoy him, to speak to her fathr
on the subject. Her fears of any ill effect
pon him were soon set at rest. The Colonel's
lervous malady was purely physical, and the
Id habits of ready decision and actiou reasertcd
their force when called upon. He lisened
to his daughter's statement with attenion,
questioned her carefully, and came to the
onclusion that a thorough investigation must
ie made. Without further loss of time he
yrote to the inspector of police for the district,
equesting him to call privately at Manorbere
jodge as soon as he could; and desired that
n the mean time the subject should be entirey
dropped, so that the nocturnal intruder
hould not be put on his guard.
The inspector soon made his appearance,
;ausing himself to be announced as the build:r
from Barton, come to see about certain re
)airs; in this character he was able to go
>ver every portion of the house, after holding
i conversation with the Colonel and the lalies.
Before he left it was settled that two
:onstables should be sent to pass the night at
he Lodge unknown to the servants. They
vereto be let in by Miss Fearon, at a door
>pening from the terrace to one of the sitting
ooms, after the house had been closed for the
light. This was easily effected ; and the
nen with dark lanterns, were stationed one at
;he foot of the stairs, the other on the landing
in If-way up. They had been here in perfect
silence and darkness nearly half an hour,
when the sound of a heavy door grating on
rusty hinges made the one on the landing grasp
liis truncheon and hold his lantern in readiness.
Footsteps came softly down and something
seemed to brush softly by. He struck
it it as it passed, and at the same time turned
an his light, calling, "Look out below, mate!"
Nothing was visible. There was a low moaning
cry as he struck, but he felt no resistance.
The man at the foot of the stairs heard the
sound, quickly turned his lantern on in that
direction and rushed down the stairs as if in,
pursuit, followed by the other at full speed.
The noise roused some of the household, .
who, when they had summoned courage, to
appear, were confounded at Ending themselves
met by guardians instead of distnrb&s ofjftie
peace. -s v:.?n??f?iq I ,
The two policemen were utterly putzled.
Both had distinctly heard the great,door open,
and the descending footsteps, as well as the
cry, like theory of some one' in fear of
Sain. Each had felt something flit by, but
oth described it as more like a^cblcl blast1 6f
wind than.any bodily thing; They had; both
run to try and prevent Jts escape^ but on;
reaching the end of the passage, where it was'
crossed by another in the form.of a T, nothing
was to be seen. They were quite certain that
no dobr had beeri opened "on either aide,, and
this part of the house terminated iff the Cross
passage, the only access to theprincipalsifc*' i
ting i rooms .lind vestibule :being through a.
passage-room, or the kitchen, which was built;
fast The"^ rooms were exammedf^^^
traces of any invader were perceptible in
either. While this was going on below, Eleanor,
who sat up in her father^ room, had,
at the first sound of any movement,' gone at
* ' '.J l_il !J_
once'to tne oea rooms occupied dv inemmu?,
every one of whom, including the suspected
Sarah, she found auietly asleep.
" After this signal failure on the part of the
police, the ghost became an established fact,
and the place became uninhabitable. Servant
after servant gave warning ; Mrs. Wilkins;
became hysterical; ,the 'cook took - to'
drinking?' her spiritswas that low," she said ,
in exouse; and except the social Sarah, who
''never kno'wed the ghost to do harm as long
as it was let alone, everybody was more or
less unnerved.' " ' I
A few weeks after these occurrences the
Colonel's medieal attendant having advised
his trying some new galvanic treatment) the
family had to mpye np to town. Effie.anc^
Lucy were glad enough to ;go,. both sharing,
to a certain degree,'ih' the' alarip felt by the
servants, though tech in hte different way.
Effie inclined the soptenatural view,'While
Lucy held fast tb her' burglarious theory, for,
she paid; "How could a ghost, an immaterial
being, break her thread and,string?"
It was now in the Spring, and most of the
neighboring families had left the country; so
.1 4
ine jf earons nau uui umujr auicuo t*j uia&ct
except among the few poor people with whom 1
they held relations, Manorbore being remov
ed from any : closely. inhabited .part of the
country. There was an old bed-ridden woman
to whom the girls hadshowwkindcetfe, and they
went over one morning to pay her their fare'
well, visit. The family .had been much liked,
and their, sudden, departure was a regret to
all "Ah, said the old dame, "1 Keerd'.
hHk)w you was gbi^to flit! Well; it will be
a loss to me, though 1? did not see ye often,1
'bein' at a distance, but'it was something to ,,
think of, that I might ftave a look of yotur
bright feces, when you ^topped in your rides
to say a kind word, or bring me a little dainty
nows and thens. J-'m main sorry to lose
ye, young ladies, buyl aint noways surprised,
pone does stay long at Manorbere. The ghoet
^ivesalfon'em" - ^
aon't seem to believe 'us, when we say
itrioh acapimt of papa's, health tjiatwejire.
goujg away i>ut you know he came totnepe
ptofts expressly tor^unting; and as, since his
-accident, he has il&er becii able .to,OT out,
"Tffi? is nbTh tog ll& 1""' "fc
*'Ah I yes. No aoirt)t there's Yetfttotitii I
There's always reasons. ^But still it comes to J
this, none stay in that hous^; and it's my be
lief the ghost drives 'em away, say what they
will." t__
"But what is the ghost ? What does it do ?
What brings it there? Do1 tell us," said
Effie.
Well, ladies, I can only tell you what I've
heerd. You see the Clendons?the family as
Manorbere belonged to?yras always a badish
lot. They were all wUd;* from father to son,
and the}' drank^^nd^ney gambled, and they
was nrbad'W'ays from year's end to year s
end, and run through most of their money.
And then they would go abroad out of the
way, and tho place was shut up and let go to
rack and ruin. The old.... house was -pulled .
down because it was not worth repairing. (It
had got into the creditors' hands by that.)
Ah! it was & fine place.was the Dodge when
I first remember it, afore the trees was cut
down, and the park ploughed up, and sold off "
bit by bit." .
"How long ago was that ?"
<i A motJn, r\f fiA-w trance nf niorVinr aiYtv
.a. maiw,i ui j j j
maybe. When the last Clendons came back
here to bide, there warn't above half left.
But the- great house was there still; only part
was shut up, because it wasn't sound and safe.
They was a gladsome set, them Clendons, but
the gentry about did not take to them much,
and I don't think they cared whether they did
or no. They had their friends ixom London
staying down here for months together, and
French folks: and the goin's on at the Lodge
was the talk of the country. There was
gaming, and dancing, and playing, it was
said, going on every night; and there was
some new dances they had leanied in France,
and they was thought undecent here in England.
I must say they were pleasant to look
at, all those people,?pretty, and . gay and
merry. I would go out to my gate to see 'em
come by, such a many together, all talking
and laughing, riding and driving, and picnicking
about. They didn't care what they. Bpent,
you see, the Clendon's didn't, for they didn't
pay anybody, and they knew it couldn't last;
so*it was a short and merry one for them.
They lived mostly in the new wing, what is
the house now. It was called new, though I
heerd say more nor a hundred years old; and
they threw two rooms into one to make the!
drawin'-room where they had their dances and
romps. Well, the flearest neighbors ttr&FflV 1
the Perigals, of, Dour Grange.^ Very strict
folks they was, to be sure. Never' no junketings
nor gay doin's.was heerd of in that house;
no laughing nor singing, except if was hymns,
but always grave faces and solemn voices.
And as to plays or dancings or cards, or, for
the matter of that, games of any sort; thought
them things was so many traps laid by the
Devil to catch souls. It was always preaching
and praying that went on there; so yoimay
suppose, ladies, what the Clendons ani
-* * -il. T> 1 ! j
their (101118 was 10 uieiiu mr. rerigai saiu
'they stauk in their nostrils,' and he alwayi
looked as if they did; and the more the
Manorbere people racketed, the closer. the
j Perigals kept to their strict ways. As ill luct
j would have it, just afore this time Mr. Perii
gal's sister-in-law died, and her daughter bein'
left an orphan, come to live with her unci
and auut at the Grange. Poor child! I did
pity her. She was a bit flighty in her ways,
nut she had always been used to a cheerful
home and young folks for companions, and
the Grange was no better than a prison to
her. To make a long story short, she somehow
got knowledge of the Clendon ladiesa It
was quite innocently at first She met tiem
j driving out, in a lance where they fegfl got
into some srait with the ponies, or lost thair'
i way, I think. She tried to direct them, flity
jthey didn't understand quite, so they te&ftd
her to get into the pony-chaise, and go aldlg
I o' them, and show them, and she did.
j was a pretty creatur, and taking, and to we?
i they, to do them justice; and when ;she g<4j
! down and left them, they said they hojfcd t#
i see her again. Lu'J o-Ti
"Hor uncle and aunt were in a Bad way
when they heard what had chanced. She diA
not make any concealment abou^t at first!
ai (H'dothhik she was drtiv to it after along
o' their bein' so very strict and hard upon
h< "atfhume. She did lead a dreary life of
iSt ' She was never trusted out alone after
tl RT She was not strong in her health, and
iBl 2 had a pony to ride which was almost her
oi lypleadire; but she never went out withoi
t the old man-servant behind; to see her
<k ihe to no harm) unless Mr. Perigal was
w tkher himself One day who should she
fa I jn with, but. a picnic party from Manorb<
re, and;the ladies she had met the day they
lo t themseIv68 come up so free and pleasant,
ai i ashed her to join their lunch. She come
no ind old Richard with her pretty coaxing
Wi yn to keep ' it secret from her guardians ;
ai i'SQ by little and little she got to make
m etings with her iiew friends. . . Bad friends
th jy . was to her, but I don't think they meant
hd-any harm. THey liked her and thought
tp ij&Use her: only they led. her, into deceit
ways. One of the' :jroung ,gentl4Udfen
with her pretty face, and got
aJ^sthejlPnhingof her ;-and one day when
gSU^^dandng; on the grass, he wanted her
though she was used to fiance in her own
home, and. cotild foot it in a couhtr^'i&nce
with the best of 'em. Bless her, she was as
lissom as a &iry! ** So, then, they said they
zanit teach her; and she took to it like natur,'
anrt mM tioro nfcxror n'aa emu thin or an ftalirrht,
HiI\4V(?U? 7UV?V ^w.f V*. Iimr j MV T"?p*""
ful. ^ Then they told her they. practiced it
cVery night at the Lodge, and she must come,
there and make one of them.. For a .little
time she stood oht that Bhe' indsh't, and' she
dursn't, and what would come:'df it if uncle
and aunt found out! Well, and, if they did
they can send you to Bogey/ said > Clendon,
who never feaje$. God nor devil. ? And they,
all laughed , at her, and persuaded of her, so
at last it wassettled how it should be. After
she was gdne'ti) her room at night?there was
prayerrEt the Grange1 at half-past 'nine, and
when over , the house was Shut-tip,'and all
the lights Was-put.out, and every body went
to bed?she was to, slip; out by her window;
and her young man vpas to meet her, and take
her to Manoroere/and in by the old part.of
the house, and through the door at the top of
the steirea? (what's barred up this matiy a
year now) and so down to the dancing room-;
and when their jinks was over, some on 'em
took her home again, all on the sly.
^"1 dpn'thiqm kmg this went on, Ifcit
npt-piany.times I should think, or she'd likely
got caught It would haye been best for
her if sheTiad, poor thin?! But one nigty as
she was whirling rohnd and found with her
lover, and his-ana round her, he felt her lean
heavyall of >at sudden, and then slide away
to the ground. They all stopped in a fright,
and lifted her to the sofa; biit no burnt feathers
nor vinegar, nor anything else, try what
they might, would 'bring her to. -Ehey rode
off like mad for a doctor, and he come galloping
back with 'em; but he coold do nothing.
She was dead!" - ? . ' '
i "Good heavens! how shocking!'' cried
Kffie.
MAli f mil mftv ontr-un > i?nfc rtff like
that in themidst of Iier sins!'': : >u / .1 <<
"Therc/is no sin in dancing," said Lucy.
1 "But there is in disobedience, miss, and deceit!
The doctor hdsaid it was disease of
the heart; bbt Mr. Perigal; he never. woiild
beflemiadedibut what it was a judgment on
hejwld he cursed the fJlendoris and alt their
imps misleading the unwamore
strict and serious,than
at the Grange, and the house
R^npnrarliece after their fashion, anu they
jpoked oti her aS a lost soul. Though for my
part I can't help tliinking the Almighty
might mayhap, have mercy on a poor misguided
child!" ' ) ' ' 1;| |
' ' "You are a better Christian than they were,"
said Lucy; "but what waS the fate of the
Clendons ?" she asked. "Well,
even thev seemed sobered like by
that shocking night s work. The party broke
up soon after; and all went away fori. good.
The fapaily neve* .come back, and; I've heerd
as how the last on em died in forrin parts.
The creditors come and took possession, and
the property was cut up and sold off. Several
duFerent families has had the house, but
none for long. They do 9ay, that of a night
when all is quiet, that old door is heerd to
open softly, creak, creak, and then by and
by, they come oreeping up again, and sounds
as if it was to shut to. But nothing is ever
sepn."'"* *" '*' t .
T Effie listened to this recital with a sort of
fascinated terror, and repeated it, with all its
minor particulars to her father and Eleanor
wtyn they got home. ... j
***?4And you really believe it is a ghost, going
to ab^l, do. you, my credulous little I^ffip ?"
said the Colohel, pulling her ear playfully.
Brrt *the noises, papa ! " We. nil heard
them." :
"I have no doubt you did, and that the noises
exist, though We have not been able to account
for. them. But don't you see, my dear
girh, that it was the noises that were the cause
of die ghost; not the ghost that was the cause
of the hoises ?"
When we got home, of course, I told all
this to Captain Macnamara, who, likeall sailors,
loved a ghost story. . But neither of us
was troubled with nervous terrors. On inqui3j
we found that the sad story of the poor lite
truant girl was substantially true; and
thm the matter passed from our minds. It
a' *i ^<* it' , j
was now April, very nne weamer, ana warm
for the time of year. Tempted by the beauty
of one fragrant evening we had lingered on
the terrace, on returning from a stroll in the
gaiden after our usual late dinner, till I was
gu;te tired. So leaving Dick to finish his last
eigptr/I stepped into the drawing-room by the
window, and sat down to the pianof forte. It
wa3 quite dusk in doom, but I did not care to
ring for lights till he came in, so I continued
ttwing little bits of soft music by heart, till
I fell^rpoa one of an old set of Beeth.waltzes,
which had not come into my
Bead for tflong iirae. While I was playing, I
heard the door to which my back was turned
open gently; but no one came in. I thought
it was my husband, and that he was stopping
to listen, as the waltz was an old favorite of
his. . > ...f . , :
"Is that you, Dick ?" said I. "Will you
order tea T'
No answer. I turned: round, and there,
looking in at the half-opened door, as if the
person were standing behind it, I saw a face
so strange, so wan ana wistiui loaning, mat 1
uttered an involuntary cry. In a moment,
Dick sprang in at the window, and I pointed
at the door. "Who is it?" said I, faintly.
He went to the door. "There is- no one here."
It opened into an ante-room, which he crossed,
and looked out into the corridor.
. "What was it, dear ?" said he, coming back.
"You look scared." I told him what it was.
"The housemaid coming to see whether the
room wao put to rights, I suppose."
"I suppose it must have been. But, 0 Dick,
you can't think how weird, and ghostly and
odd; the face looked 1" .
"Why, so does yours at this moment, love ;
and most faces do look pale and queer at twilight,
especially peeping in at the door. Let
us have lights." '
He rang the bell. The servants came in
with the lamps and tea, and I persuaded myself
I had been mistaken. But somehow I did
not like to think of that face at the door; and
I shunned making the inquiry, whether the
?hensemaid had looked in.
A few weeks later, we were to go up to town
i;o spend the London season with my parents,
who had taken a house there; and we had engaged
to pay visits to various relations in the
country afterward^ before returning to Manor- 1
bere for the club-hunting in September. The
members of the hunt who happened to be still
remaining in the neighborhood had got up a
parting dinner, at which Captain Macnamara
was to make one. It took place at Barton, a
town five or six miles from us, and at an early
hour, because some of the party had a long '
ride home afterward. I dined alone at our
usual time. I walked in the garden a littler '
with our favorite terrier, Fussy, and then I
sat lazily enjoying my tea and a new book till '
I found myself beginning tdtfdc^ -: Looking at
my watch, I saw it was already eleven o'clock j
and knowing that ray husband might be expected
home in half an' hourjar so, I preferred
waiting for him to going to bed; so I went to
the piano to rouse myself. Fussy, who was
very fond of music, sat up, stretched Himself, j
and followed me to tne. instrument, where he
placed himself at my feet. After playing several
pieces/ the old Beetbovten waltzes recur- '
red to my ndemory, aad:I began them. ' , ,
I must'make the confession that after the j
that very unjdeasaat^ace had j
facing any one who might come to the door. ,
There was only one lamp in the room; on my ,
reading-table, so the other end of the spacious j
apartment was imperfectly lighted. Looking
up as I played, to my astonishment) I saw in' r
the distance what I. thought to be two whit^ ^
mice capering about on the floor. I lefj the ]
piano and went to the spot, but nothing was omd
TVi?a /1J/? nrtf nnmrioA m<?. or nat
urally the timid creatures would runaway at
the slightest movement; but being Very fond
of animals I wanted to discover them, and 1
sought under the sofa aud chairs, and in eve- *
xy corner of the room. All in vain..
At. last, hoping that if I kept qifiet they ,
might come pgain, and wondringat the music ,
seeming to. attract them, I sat down ontje more j
to my Waltzes. In an instant, they were again '<
going round and round with the greateH reg- j
ularity ; but the moment I stopped playing, or
moved from my place, they were gone, j
This happea^d. three or four times, and the ^
oddest thing was that Fussy, who was rabid j
after rats and mice, instead of flying at these (
little creatures crept close*to me and crouched ,
trembling by my side. I was glad of it, for !
I (Jid not wish to have the pretty dancers killed (
anfl I had just recommenced my tube fourth ']
time when the door opened, and my husband j
entered and waltzed up the room toward me, j
while the little creatures kept time with him ,
perfectly, seeming to follo.w qis steps.
j'Dick! Dick I" saicf I, Without stopping my j
music;' "looktherel ' Did you ever see any- ']
Ihmgso "curious P'-7 .*(T"? thu/, 1 .? 1
pe paused, looked in the-direction indicated j
by my eyes, and thezi; ih a' tone bf titter amaze- ,
ment, exclaimed? \ r. .'i. c'
j'Feetl byheaven.!" . : .h . ]
; ^What?" cried I, starting up. i
jHe stood as if petrified. Nothing was to be ,j
seoi of the strange apparition. I told him
what had happened, ana thatl believed them
to be white mice that I bad seen. : r ''
fMioe!'; said he. '"As sure as I stand here, '
if Was a little pair of feet in white satin shoes. :
Gdback and play.* .{ > i i ' i .
I did so.
in: TThere ineyare again,by heavens! Come
quickly. . . ; , ',
Iran to the &ha bf tHe room, but no trace
oflhem appeared.' ' korf
mnmino' we started for London in the
fad expectation, of returning to Manorbere
eajy in September' But we were summoned
mlfie aouuiito-trtisrpfov-'ed
Ito be tne death-bed of my dear father, and
changes in the family arrangements consequent
upon that event kept us some weeks away..
During this time an uncle of my husband's
was appointed to the governorship of a colony
and wrote to offer hit nephew the post of naval
aidrde-eamp, which he gladly accepted. Before
the year was out, we had sailed for our
new destination. When we, came back' to
Enjgland, the haunted house had ceased to exist.
A railway company had bought it and
ruit its iron road clean across the pretty garden.
The house was razed to the ground, the'
trees were felled; and corn now grows on the
s'ceheof t^e ghost's waitz, ..
For some time;Dick and I kept the story of
the; ghost's waltz strictly to ourselves; but the
public mind is now so well prepared for the
reception of marvels, that! have no hesitation
in desiring its acceptance of this ari ^hentic
little story. ' Accustomed, -as every one is,nowadays,
to hear?though certainly not-to
see?how gentlemen who print their indisputable
experiences can elongate themselves, flatten.
themselves, graze themselves against ceilr
in^s, and flit in and* out of three-pair-pfts.tair
windows; how instrnments of music'can play
for their own amusement in odd corners out 1
of humanity's reach, or fly about in the air/ *
while human beings float among them; bow
hands,, unattached (like retired colonels) can
gather flowers and crown poets; and how
spiritual beings can return from the grave, to
enioy a game of romps under a loo-table, or
talk more dreary nonsense than they talked in
life, if possible; there surely can be no difficulty
in believing the simple fact of a poor
little pair of feet in white satin shoes returning^
this world, at the summons of a favorite
tune, to finish a dance unexpectedly cut
short by ruthless Death!
' "V
How Cannibals Cook.?Some French
soldiers were lately taken prisoners by cannibals
in the South Sea Islands, and one of them
was killed and eaten. His comrades describe
the process: The Kanakas first decapitate-.
their victim ; a matter of .no small difficulty, r
considering the bluntness of their hatchets. 1
Ten or fifteen blows are necessarv. The body
is then hung up to a tree by the' feet, and the
blood allowed to run out foran hour. Meanwhile
a bole a yard a"tad a half deep and a 1
yard vide, is dug in the ground. The hole
is linedwith stones, and in the midst of them
a great fire is lit. When the wood burns
down a little and glows with heat, it is covered
over with more stones. The man is then
cleaned out and divided into pieces about a foot
long, the hands and feet being thrown away
as worthless. .; The pieces of the man are
placed on the leaves of a large rose tree peculiar
to the tropics. The meat is surrounded
with cocoa nuts, bananas, and some other
plants, noted for their delicate flavor. The
whole is then tied together firmly, the fire is
removed from the pit, the meat is placed in
i among the hot stones, and this, carefully
covered, is left to cook for an hour. Women
do not partake of this warrior's feast. Men
alone are permitted to enjoy so great an honor
and so rare a delicacy, which is another
striking instance of the tyranny of the male
sex, and demands the appearance of some
South Sea Stanton or Anthony to claim'equal
rights for the women.
*
Power of Music.?The effect of music on
the senses was oddly and wonderfully verified
during the mourning for the Duke of Cumberland,
uncle of George III. A tailor had an
order for a great number of black suits, which
were to be finished in a very short space of
time. Among his workmen was a fellow who
was always singing "Rule Britania," and the
rest of the journeymen joined in the chorus.
The tailor made his observations, and found
that the alow time of the tune retarded the
work; in consequence, he engaged a blind
fiddler, and placing him near the workshop,
made him play constantly the lively tune of
"Nancy Dawson."' The design had the desired
effect the tailors' elbows moved obedient
to the melody, and the clothes were sent home
within the prescribed period.
jjpgfMroMttig j^ggjai
rm> rwenv^;f^eiu.r '} ; ; ' 3 rf.
WIVES AND THEIR HOMES.
There are few passages in any periodical
that afford more pleasure in their perusal
than "Our Saturday Night" Few sketches
from any pen' contain more gems of sweet
thought, more hefkrt-quiveringg than the reverie
entitled "Worth of Woman's Love." I/?t
the world censure as it may the editor of The
Democrat, we, irnd die who is ''monarch of
borne?queen .of hearts," will not believe the
heart utterly depraved that cap guide the pen
to. trace, "women would be better andhhppier
if men loved them better and were more true,
[f men wohld strive as much to make home
happy as they do to seek happiness elsewhere,
thie world would be better." Those seem
strange words to come from a man's pen?but
they are true. And. many a meek-eyed, sadhearted
woman has left such thoughts crowding
heart And brain, as, day by day, she
treads the dreary round of duty; performs
protect a^ lone as life shall last,'* if she ishappy,
and he ?ill almost consider you insane, or
^T^bytmntend to insult him.
"Happy? Why, of coursq; I never refused
a request she over made; and she is surrounded
hy all that wealth can procure.
Who is there to prevent her happiness ?"
Ah, when will men learn. that surrounding
with all that wealth can procure, bestowing
now and then costly jewels or Sumptuous fare,
jannot make a woman happy ? There are
many wives in our great land"?and many
nappy, cheerful, loving, and loved ones, who
make sunshine in heart and home. But there
ire many, too many, in cabin and palace, who
inly exclaim when the night shades fall,
'Thank God, another day ended. One less
in this dreary journey of life 1" And why ?
Is it not woman's duty to be a good baker of
bread, and darner of socks ? And should she
sot be cheerful and happy that she has
some, one to give he^a shelter from the
flriving stdrm, andJt<r'provide her with food
wkl clothing? Is it not he^jfluty and pro*
mce to keep the house he h?f-provided in
srder ? To see that the fire is burning brightly
afid the hearth cleanly swept ? Yes; but
is there not a duty due her?'. Wheif at the
boly altar, did he promise to "love?cherish
ind protect" a mere housekeeper, ntuaeyymaid
and Vftolr? Not so, saith He who'*gave
the command divine?but "We will make for
bim ft helpmeet and companion." And is'it
taking qf her a companion when he enters
the home over which she presides, simply to
eat'of the "bread" her hands have prepared,
without thinking to say "good morning," or
bestow one Sn?9e or caress. Ail the day long
she has been bending over the needle?stitch,
stitch?until heart and brain have grown
weary ; or'walking untiringly up and down
the quiet room to loll , the restless moanings of
A sick infant. JNot only all the day, hut
through the long nights/gently husking the
okniil/) /^tolnvlwl Pni
Lauib WJj Jvoit OilUUIVI MV UMVUt WVU. ?L/UV
be comes and goqp, and stops not to whisper
those 'Useless words" that fell from loving
lips, and bfeathe: worlds of rbeanihg to the
fond heart. t?nd make life less dark. Loving
yprcU and fond,:ceases. cost, so little! why
ate they so sparingly given tojhose who would
prize them1 more than the brightest gem or
costly attire ? ' iBF
IiDo men wonder that the rosy cheek has
l?t^HJTO?mr-^the dark efe
Is it nothing to spend the long day in toff/
preparing some new surprise for the one dearer
than life, and then to greet him with joyful
smile, only quivering for the soft sweet words
of love and thanks?his approval all the reward
desired?and: at last receive a htlrried
"Oh 1 don't bother me. I am tired enough
now ?' That is all, but enough; and it is thus
a woman's hope and life go out : \
All the day long map is in the busy thoroughfare,
meeting new faces, passing through
new scenes, having, none will deny, his own
bUrdens to bear. But if he has trials and perplexities,
he has also opportunities to forget
them. But her own household is a woman's
thoroughfare; and if husband speaks a harsh,
unlipd ^rord, or hastily slams the front door
without a nod or a smile, she has naught to
banish die remembrance, But it follows in the.
nursery, and the kitchen; glistens in the
bright tears that fall upon the little garment
she is quietly stitching. 1 -1 '7*
Yet this daily routine of home duties would
be to her the holiest, happiest of tasks-did she
know that when the twilight shadows fell one
would come withjbrave words of cheer, crowning
he^wlt!|riteye "anti happiness, ana strengthening'her
anew for the morrow's harden, with
soft words of praise. She fetens in vain for
the fall of loving footsteps ?Uhe door, and a
sudden, "For mercy's sake cilfl never enter
this house without hearing tnw child cry?
Seems to me it does nothing but ^squall I" or
may-be some such words as these: "Mary,
will you sit forever over that needle? You
certainly must be the slowest iewer in the
world, for you are always stitchipg, stitching,
and never seem to accomplish much."
Never accomplish mucn! Open these bureau-drawers,
lift the lid of that great trunk,
and see the piles of well madfe and carefully
folded garments and ask whose busy fingers
have done them all. Waal that remark kind
to address to the patient, untiring woman who
sits alone day after day, with not a moment
to rest or read the nfany books and papers for
which she is craving ? Oh, how earnestly she
longs for the da^r, when "the hurry is passed,"
she.devote a few hours at least to thecultivauonSrtfctf'higher
faculties of brain. But
no?the temptation is resisted, and she says,
sijnply i "Duty first?then pleasure."
Is it for this she bade farewell to father and
mother, honor and love ? Is this the realization
pf her girlish day-dreams? Ah, no!
The bright pictures traced by Fancy's pencil,
were a cosy fireside, a happy home, of which
she was "queen" indeed, and a "manly form
at her side she saw," from whose lips fell only
words kind and loving. Eargerly the hours
were counted, until he should be home, after
the bumr hours spent in the great, bustling
world, peyond almost the.influence of home;
for when the "little mpon dropped behind the
western sky," he was hers?hers alone. How
gladly she closed the blinds and drew the cur
tains, to shut out all sounds from the noisy
world outside, in which she then had no part.
How swiftly flew the bright golden hours, as
she sat besiae him, listening: to the loved voice
reading the daily news, or passages from some
favorite author I Ah, that "were an Eden indeed
; and there-would be such, "if men would
Btrive as much to make home happy as they
do to seek happines* elsewhere."
Life is too short to be wasted in coldness and
loneliness; our loved one* stay with us but a
short while at most Then love them more?
make home-happier for them while they are
here. 80 soon as you have hastily eaten supper,
don't take your hat and huriy off "down
town," to spend the evening chatting or "euchre
playing," at the club, never thinking of
how the long, weary hours are passing to her
who sits at home alone. .
Do you think her human nature never
yearns for companionship? Never wearies
of solitude ? Do not marvel that some become
devotees of fashion, or heartless coquettes; it
is often, too often, to stifle that starving cry
of their human hearts for the love and homehappiness
you deny them. . If you would be
happier, have, them "happier and better,"
be more true, more gentle, and loving to
those entrusted to your care. Love more
* m
within the influence ox nome-woriu, nuu uie
.great world beyond will soon cease to charm.
7 < - ; IOLKE.
<>j?i .*'? >
The White House Stables.?The executive
stably near the F<5y Department, are
fitted up with every comfort and luxury f*
the equine members of the Presidential establishment.
There are twelve animals of varions
degrees of beauty and value kept here
for the use of the President and his family, ,
with four carriages, besides an array of (men
wagons, buggies and other equippsges. The
horses include coach teams, trotters, racers,
saddle horses, and two Shetland ponies for the
exclusive use of the executive's juveniles.
The aristocratic looking Nubian who has the
honor of presiding over this establishment
takes delight in showing visitors through, and
in descanting upon the merits of the different
animals. But not the least attractive feature
is the stunning liveries of this same Ntibian
and his worthy coadjutor, who ocoupies the
position of footman. The coats are of a rich
* ? M. 1 .J : ..HI J J
Olive Drown, wiut oroaa iappeu?, cuss, iou
g^gye?, the^whok ^rofaaely^overed
are encased, render attention to the character \
of the pantaloons unnecessary. Blach stoveXbats,
with broad bands and silver buckles, I .
n the heads of these servants of presi*
dential grandeur, and complete their outfit.
All the carriages bear the initials "U. S. 6.,"
in monogram on the panels.?N. Y. Sun.
.RatherNeatly Done.?A distinguished
and accomplished burglar, confined in jail in
New York was recently so nnfbrtnnate as tofall
into the unrelenting hands of an industrious
newspaper reporter, who tints depicts
His senses were very keen. His nerves
never shook. His touch was delicate and his
step as light as air: He: related one of his '
exploits. In New York he got into a house
one night, and made his way to-the bedroom
where the owner and his wire were sleepingin .
bed. Beside the-bed was a child's crib. iBy
accident he overturned the crib and spilled
the child out on the floor. The young one
began to cry. He was in a fixiafraid the pa-;
reuts would: awakem i Hcdecided instantly
what to do, and did it He picked up the '
child tenderly,, foiycaiA- )hc,"fc;iriifiiriad me
of my own darlings*" and replacing ft in the '
cot, he rocked it to sleep again;/ This performance
occupied half an hour, for the child
was restless. He then went through the room
and raked up $5000. 1 >
All this, i mark you, without "incidental
musiq," unless .one might include under that
head the vocal remonstrances of timinctignant '
baby. { /
fT ^ ' I1 y,
iUAHV JUAMJB XWATJSUr A iMJIM.?~JX IUUN
remarkable escape from instant death occurred
a short time once, at theNew York Mine, in
Marquette county,, Michigan.. The Mwmg
Journal says: One of the miners was engaged
in charging aa immense hole, fourteen feet in
depth, in which he had to put a charge of
eleven kegs of powder, to wfcphwas attached
a fuse, thought to be of sufficient length to enable
the man to make good his retreat when
fired. By Some mishap the fuse coiled at the1
instant it was ignited, tnefire coning ift contact
with and igniting the fuse at the hole.
The consequence was an instantaneous explo-; .
8|on, throwing out, as estimated, euite300 tons ,vJ
of rock. The man that touched off! the fuse
^e"of and 4
in the midstof masses of rock.thrown out by
the blast Singular,as well as fortunate to relate,
with the exception of a slight scratch on
| two of his fingers, he was entirely uninjured.
The man maintained a remarkable coolness
and presence of mind under the circumstances,
evinced by his singing out to his oomra'
des to keep back, as they were running op to
the scene, expecting to find' him blown to
atoms. "Keep back," said he, "perhaps it
hasn't all gone off yet, and you'll get. hurt"
-?? ? i '
How to Choose Black Silk.?As this is
a point upon whi8H most ladjies.possess little
or no information, the following correct test
will be found advantageous: When a woman
is about to choose black silk, it is well to pull
a thread out of the "tram" or "filling."' She
must try the strength of the thread. If it
breaks easy the examination has gone far
enough; it is*wisdom to look farther. We
will suppose the thread has been tried, and
| that it indicates some backbone. Then it is
I necessary, if the woman is right brave, and
dares to do such a thing with a handsome
pair of clerk's eyes bearing down on her like '
a privateer upon a poor little merchantman,
to seize the silk by the comer and rob it just
as the washerwoman would'do when She intends
to remove a stain. If this awftfi ordeal
be performed to perfection?remember some
muscle must be brought to play?the silk is
honest and legitimate. If it is heavy with
dye, if held up to the light, slight traces of
disaster may oe discerned. The
Power of Monosyllables.?'To one
whose attention has not been drawn particularly
to the subject, it will be surprising to call '
to mind how many of the most sublime and
comprehensive passages in the English lanmmiM
/lAnmrf. nlinllv nr r4iipflv ftf mnnnovlln.
w??' j ?
Dies. Of the sixty-six words competing the
Lord's Prayer, forty-eight are of one syllable.
Of the seventeen words composing the Golden
Rule, fifteenth are of one syllable. The most
expressive idea of the creative power of Jehovah
is expressed entirely in monosyllables :
"And Goa said let there be light, and there
was light." One of the moet encouraging
promises of Scripture is expressed in fifteen
words, all but one monosyllables: "I love
them that love me, and those that seek me
> early shall find me."
i. . , +
A Model Town.?"The town of Berkley,
Bristol county, Massachusetts," says the Taunton
Republican, "has no gambling house, no
rum hole, no habitual' drunkards, young or
old ; no lawyer, and but one physician, but
one constable, with fees hardly sufficient to
feed a mouse; two churches, two Sabbath and
six day schools. No town in the county, according
to population, has furnished a greater
number of liberally educated professional
men, nor more competent teachers, male and
female, than Berkley. There are but four
paupers, who nearly earn their own living on
a good farm owned by the town. Taxes are
light, with a small town debt There is not a
family in town but has a comfortable home
and comfortable food and clothing."
An Eye to Business.?An Illinois undertaker
sent the following entertaining note to
a sick man: "Dear Sir?Having positive
proof that you are rapidly approaching
death's gate, I have therefore thought it not
imprudent to call your attention to the enclosed
advertisement of my abundant stock
of ready-made coffins, and desire to make the
suggestion that you signify to your friends a
wish for the purchase of your burial outfit at
it)
my esiaDusnmeuw
A Bad Label.?Tom bought a gallon of
gin to take home, and by way of a fable,
wrote his name upon a card, which happened
to be the seven of clubs, and tied it to the
handle. A Mend coming along and observing
the jug, quietly remarked: 'That's an
awful careless way to leave that liquor)"
"Why?' said Tom. "Because somebody
!might come along with theeight of clubs and
take it"
.'Vji
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