Reminiscences of Virginia life a century ago

Foreword

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In my sketch of John Wilton I have closely followed facts given me by a dear relative, long since gone to her reward.

In ante-bellum times, the period whereof this story treats, this rela¬ tive was a queen in social life, with constant social demands growing out of the hospitable customs of the old plantation life. Many of the incidents related are interesting glimpses of her own personality.

Mary E. Bennett.

Contents

CHAPTERS PAGE

i Cedar Hill. 5

ii The Race. 9

CHAPTER I. Cedar Hill

T WO brick, columns, each surmounted with a huge, white ball, stood by the opened gates that led to the graveled driveway. A driveway bordered on both sides by cedar trees, and extended one mile to the home of Judge Howell on the Potomac river.

This Virginia home was a mansion built of English bricks, by Judge Howell’s ancestors, during the Colonial times.

The parlor, one of the many rooms of this mansion, was on the right of a wide hall, was a large, high-ceiling room, the paneled sides of which were ornamented with old family portraits, some of them more than a century old. Worthy of observation was a handsomely framed sampler embroidered on white satin, representing a “Shep¬ herdess”; the unique work of the late Lady Mildred Howell, wife of Judge Howell, and daughter of the late Sir Roger Berwick, of Eng¬ land. This room, with its highly polished floor, was furnished with two massive mahogany sofas, chairs to match, centre table standing on eagles’ claws, music and flute resting on a small, “spindle-legged” piano. Over the door by the side of the high mantel, hung heavy drapery; and beyond this was the dining-room. When the drapery was opened one could see the large sideboard with glasses, decanters, and old-style silver service thereon.

The parlor-chamber, to the left of the hall, was a room quite as large as the parlor; the great mahogany bed-stead, with high teaster, snow-white valance and counterpane, three carpeted steps by the side, was: “A dream of peace.”

This lovely afternoon of September, 1820, there was not a speck on the clear sky, save those fantastic white clouds which relieved the in¬ tensity of the blue ether. Judge Howell, the owner and master of Cedar Hill estate, was sitting on the veranda, having a social chat with his neighbor, Senator Loft, who was paying him a call.

The Senator was grandly imposing in form with strong individual personality. A very young man to have taken such a prominent part in the “Free states and the states having slaves” question. His ora¬ torical powers made a great impression on the Senate.

The Senator still retained his riding-whip in hand, his large, highcrowned hat lying on the floor by his chair, which was tilted and sup¬ ported by the doric column of the veranda.

After discussing the crops of their respective plantations, they en¬ tered on the subject of the Missouri compromise that had just been adopted. The Senator expressing his admiration for Henry Clay who had been so active in promoting the measure.

Presently the Judge remarked: “The expansion of the nation in population and wealth has indeed been rapid. ’ ’

“It is wonderful”; returned the Senator, “the increase of popula¬ tion has never been equaled in any country, and the prosperity of the carrying-trade from the peace of 1783 until 1806, has enriched the United States beyond calculation.”

“Yes. I recollect,” said the Judge, “when the manfaetures of England were poured in upon us, and the importer could undersell the artist.”

“That is true,” replied the Senator, “and you also recollect, Judge, the War of 1812 had a beneficial effect on the arts; it transported the workshops from England to the United States.”

The proud Judge frowned. Said he: “I presume you know, sir, why our statesmen wished our workshops kept so long in Europe!”

“Of course, I know,” satirically replied the Senator. “It was the fear of corruption; when every one ought to know the whole world is benefited by the mechanic.”

“Yes: in a pecuniary way,” the Judge quietly responded.

“Not only in a pecuniary way, Judge,” said the Senator, rising from his chair.

“Well, that is my opinion,” returned the Judge, also rising.

“I am aware, sir,” said the Senator, “that is the general opinion, nevertheless, it is a mistaken notion. I believe in the old maxim, Judge,” continued the Senator, “when the moral character is found to be correct and substantial, every particle of intelligence tells. It is my opinion,” emphasized the Senator, “that the mechanics and manufacturers of the present day, are as elevated in the scale of morals, as the agriculturist and the professional men of the country.”

The Judge closed his mouth and shook his head; plainly showing he did not agree with the Senator. Although the Judge was exceed¬ ingly polite, he was somewhat silent and unapproachable. To his family, his word was the law.

Hearing the clatter of horses’ hoofs both gentlemen stepped to the front of the veranda to see the riders.

“Miss Marie certainly rides to an advantage,” remarked the Senator.

The Judge was pleased. “Yes,” he said, “and I have been think¬ ing it was high time they were coming home.” He did not wish the Senator to lose one opportunity to meet his lovely daughter, Marie. Of all the desires of Judge Howell’s selfish heart the greatest was to have the Senator’s vast acres united with his many acres of Cedar Hill. Yet, the Judge was shrewd enough to keep that desire locked within his own breast.

The Senator was not the only gentleman who thought Miss Marie rode to an advantage. Her friend and escort, Mr. John Wilton, had come to that conclusion more than a year ago.

Of the two lovely girls that dismounted and greeted the Senator, it would take a very close observer to detect there was any preference with that gentleman. But the Judge, who was ever watchful, fancied there was a deeper tinge on the face and a brighter sparkling in the eyes of the Senator when he held the hand of Miss Marie. The Judge also wondered why Miss Marie could not see it.

His stern mouth relaxed as he silently watched Marie in her fault¬ lessly fitting, green cloth riding habit, which was in perfect harmony with her blue eyes and profusion of golden hair; tall, willowy, and with dignified bearing. She was kindly saying to the Senator, “Aren’t you and Mr. Wilton going to have your horses put up?”

“Thank you, Miss Marie,” answered the Senator, “we cannot stay this evening. ’ ’

The Judge cordially invited the gentlemen to spend the evening with him.

Mr. Wilton politely declined.

“Thank you, Judge,” echoed the Senator, “it would be a great pleasure both for John and myself if we could stay, but the fact is, We have promised John’s father to be at Wilton Hall tonight.”

The Senator and Mr. Wilton were about to leave when Fannie, the younger daughter of Judge Howell, a beautiful girl of sixteen years, with brilliant, laughing eyes, and dark-brown hair, approached the Senator with quick, elastic step, and said with her usual vivacity:

“Senator, I won a race today with Mr. Wilton. I, now, sir, chal¬ lenge you to race tomorrow afternoon. ’ ’

“Your most obedient servant,” replied the Senator, with a pro¬ found bow. “I shall be delighted, Miss Fannie, provided—” the Senator hesitated.

‘ 1 Provided what ¥ ’ ’ inquired Fannie.

“That the ditches we cross are not hidden by very high fences,” laughed the Senator.

Fannie was known as a fearless equestrienne.

CHAPTER II. The Race

T HE afternoon of the next day the sun was shining and the breezes blowing.

“What a perfect day for the race!” exclaimed Fannie, bright and trim in her close-fitting habit. With gauntlets and whip in hand she walked to the end of the veranda, then quickly returned to the hall and softly called:

“They are coming, Marie!”

“All right, Fannie, I am ready,” was the immediate response. Scarcely had Fannie called Marie when Senator Loft and Mr. John Wilton turned the curve in the road that led to the front of the house.

“How grand they ride!” exclaimed Fannie. “Look, Marie! the horses so close together and the riders sitting so erect. ’ ’

“With perfect military bearing,” Marie proudly returned.

“Few men could acquire the grace that comes so natural with those riders!” volunteered the Judge, who was sitting on the veranda. He laid aside his book and advanced to receive the gentlemen. As he shook the hand of both he slowly and very cordially said:

“How do you do, sir! Come up. Take this chair!” Bowing and waving his hand.

A few moments sufficed the young ladies for arrangements and they were ready to start. Mr. Wilton had assisted Miss Marie to her sad¬ dle, still he lingered a short time by her side to chat.

The Judge, standing on the veranda, gazed into that tall, courtly young man’s face, and he did not fail to detect the look of extreme pleasure that rested there. The Judge was sure he was not mistaken in the nature of the look; but the assurance did not serve to make him happy.

“By heavens!” he muttered. “The Senator is blind.” The Judge frowned and set his thin lips.

Not that the Judge failed to admire Mr. John Wilton, but he thought of the Senator’s many acres adjoining Cedar Hill. Mr. Wilton’s personal appearance, his address, his intelligence and courtesy, won the way to the hearts of all who met him. Although he was a few years the Senator’s junior, they were friends in reality, of the David and Jonathan model.

The happy riders, unconscious of the Judge’s frown, bade him adieu, and gaily galloped down the path.

Reaching the main road they allowed their horses to walk. Victor, the Senator’s horse, showed a disposition to move at a quicker pace.

“I declare, Senator!” exclaimed Fannie, “Victor appears to know we intend to have a race.”

“I believe he is ready for a good run, Miss Fannie,” replied the Senator, holding back his spirited horse. “He has not been out for two days, evidently he is delighted to have a chance.”

“Isn’t he a beauty!” said Fannie with admiration. “Watch him, Senator!” “One would think he remembered my horse and it has been a long time since they were out together. ’ ’

‘ ‘ Of course, he remembers your horse, Miss Fannie, ’ ’ said the Sena¬ tor, patting the smooth skin of the elegantly proportioned animal. “Victor certainly is a most sagacious creature.” “I think, Miss Fan¬ nie,” added the Senator, “he never forgets anything, nor any place where he has once been. I can trust him the darkest night, he is sure to find his way home, even by a road on which he has never gone before. ’ ’

“Miss Fannie,” interposed Mr. Wilton, “don’t you think it ad¬ visable, when we reach the starting place to call me to the race ? ’ ’

“You?” Fannie hastily inquired.

“Yes, miss.”

“No, sir,” was the emphatic reply. “Why should I do so?”

“Because Victor is full of life today, and he is bound to win,” re¬ plied Mr. Wilton.

“So is my horse full of life today, sir, and I know he is bound to win,” was the quick retort.

“Really, Miss Fannie,” persisted Mr. Wilton, “I would like to try my horse’s speed today.” “Come now, call Victor off.’’

“My goodness, Mr. Wilton!” exclaimed Fannie, “I should think you would be ashamed to suggest such a thing, after your defeat yes¬ terday, sir. Surely you apprehend trouble.”

Mr. Wilton laughed.

“No, John,” advised the Senator, “you and Miss Marie follow the race, and have the pleasure of seeing Miss Fannie defeated this time. ’’

“Thank you, Senator,” said Marie; “I shall never try to follow Fannie in a race. She is too fearless.”

Marie’s nature was altogether different from that of Fannie.

Under the old gum tree, the usual starting place, Victor and Fan¬ nie’s horse stood head to head. After a short pause Mr. Wilton gave warning.

The horses fly. Victor ahead and superbly ridden by the Senator. They reached the long, wooden bridge; the clatter, clatter of the horses’ hoofs on the board floor, roused Fannie’s horse to fresh effort. The struggle was beautiful! Fannie’s horse passed the Senator like a flash of lightning; onj on he flew. He jumped the fence, cleared the ditch, darted over the hill like an arrow shot from a bow.

Victor was close behind tearing at full speed. He jumped the fence—but, oh, to the horror and amazement of Marie and Mr. Wil¬ ton, who were some distance in the rear—Victor fell. The Senator was thrown forward with great force, falling on his face.

“Hold tight, Miss Marie!” cautioned Mr. Wilton, giving her horse and his own a slight cut with his riding whip.

Faster and faster they rode.

In a few minutes, Marie and Mr. Wilton were kneeling on the green grass beside the unconscious Senator. Mr. Wilton supported his head, while Marie gently wiped away the blood that oozed from a deep cut on his forehead.

Presently, a color spread over the Senator’s pale face. He was con¬ scious of the touch of Marie’s soft hand bathing his brow with cool water. He opened his eyes.

‘ ‘ Heigh, old fellow! ’ ’ cried Mr. Wilton. * ‘ Are you all right ? ’ ’

“Yes, John,” the Senator slowly answered. “I am all right, no bones broken.”

“Are you badly hurt, Senator?” Marie asked with tenderness, her hand resting on his head.

“No, I reckon not, Miss Marie, though I struck with considerable force. ’ ’

“I am so thankful you are not seriously hurt,” she said. “When I saw you fall, I thought Mr. Wilton and I would never reach you, the seconds seemed like hours.”

How grateful the noble Senator was for those few tender words. He smiled a strange, wistful smile, but he could not reply.

Mr. Wilton warmly congratulated the Senator on his fortunate escape, and advised him to sit quietly in the shade, while he attended to Victor.

“Never mind, John,” said the Senator, “I shall send Rufus to take care of him.”

“I would rather remove the bridle and saddle now,” returned Mr. Wilton, suiting the action to the word.

“It was soon over with him, John,” said the Senator, trying with all his power to appear calm.

“Yes, poor fellow, he has broken his neck,” sighed Mr. Wilton, raising Victor’s head.

“For mercy sake! What is the matter?” cried Fannie, looking her surprise and springing from her saddle.

“Why, Miss Fannie!” exclaimed Mr. Wilton, “where did you come from? A few moments ago I saw your head disappear behind yonder hill.”

“Of course, Mr. Wilton, I returned to see why the Senator was not following in the race.”

“Oh, he dropped out, Miss Fannie,” said Mr. Wilton, with assumed indifference.

The Senator, sitting by the tree, smiled.

“Oh, Senator!” Fannie exclaimed with painful uncertainty, “are you hurt ? ’ ’

“Not much, I thank you, Miss Fannie, only a few scratches, and a good shaking up.”

Fannie turned to Victor.

“Oh! my laws, Mr. Wilton!” she cried, “is Victor dead?”

“Yes, Miss Fannie, poor Victor is dead.”

“Do pray tell me!” sobbed Fannie, full of anxiety. “How did it happen ?’ ’

‘ ‘ Please do not grieve at this, Miss Fannie, ’ ’ kindly spoke Mr. Wil¬ ton, “it was an accident. Victor fell at the jump.”

“And broke his neck,” Fannie quickly reasoned. “Oh, it is my fault!” “Poor Victor!” “Oh, Senator, your lovely horse, I am sorry, very sorry! I will never race again.”

“Do not say that, I beg of you, Miss Fannie,” pleaded the Senator,

‘ * accidents will happen to all of us. ’ ’

“Oh, my, my!” Fannie sighed deeply.

Never had she seemed so sweet and gracious, and womanly to the Senator as she stood then in her tucked-up riding habit, her face a little pale with weariness and excitement, her mouth tremulous, her large, dark eyes filled with tears—censuring herself.

“Senator!” said Marie in a solicitous manner, “this cut on your forehead is still bleeding; if you are able, we had better go home and have something done for it. If not properly dressed, it may leave an ugly scar.”

Apparently, the Senator would have agreed to anything Marie might suggest. He quickly replied:

‘ ‘ Certainly, Miss Marie, I am perfectly able. ’’

The Senator attempted to rise.

Mr. Wilton was immediately by his side to assist him. “Senator,” he said, “you mount my horse, and escort the ladies home.”

“And you, John?” eagerly inquired the Senator.

11 Oh, I shall walk back, ’’ was the unhesitating reply.

‘ ‘ Ah! no, sir, ’ ’ said the Senator, ‘ ‘ I will deprive you of that pleas¬ ure ; I shall walk myself. ’ ’

“Great goodness, man!” replied Mr. Wilton, “you cannot walk that distance. Why, you can hardly stand.”

“Ill fix it!” exclaimed Fannie, stepping near to Marie’s horse. “Here, Mr. Wilton!” and Fannie placed her small foot into Mr. Wil¬ ton’s hand, she gave a spring and seated herself behind Marie. “Now t , Senator,” she directed, “you mount my horse.”

The Senator protested, but finally consented, and the sad riders slowly cantered back to Cedar Hill. The cut was dressed, but the Senator carried the ugly scar to his grave.

CHAPTER III. Aspen Grove

UDGE HOWELL appreciated an education and would not tol¬ erate ignorance nor idleness. He would frequently say to William, his only son: “Next to the education of the mind, comes the development and training of the tastes and the sensibilities, both natural and moral. ”

When William was graduated from the William and Mary College, he had no desire to follow a profession. It was then the Judge gave him Aspen Grove, a large plantation on the Potomac River.

When the papers were legally made in William’s favor, the Judge gave them to him and said:

“Well, sir, you have proved yourself a scholar, now we shall see what sort of a planter you make. Aspen Grove and the negroes named herein are yours. I shall supply you with the necessary money now, and I will give you advice whenever you solicit it. One item more, sir,” added the Judge with an austere look, “you will see by this paper,jyou are not at liberty to sell one of these negroes.”

William thanked his father, and said: “I sincerely trust, sir, I may prove worthy of so great confidence. I shall never wish to sell any of them. ’ ’

This was the second year of William’s management. So far, Judge Howell was much pleased with his experiment.

One cold morning in November, Judge Howell, hearing his son giv¬ ing instructions to Sam concerning his horse, hastened to open the breakfast-room door.

“Good morning, sir!” said the Judge. “Come into the fire. The air is cold this morning! ’ ’

After both were seated, the Judge said:

“Well, sir! How is everything moving at Aspen Grove?”

“Pretty fair, sir. The only thing that bothers me now is Aunt Sally (a slave). I fear she is quite sick.”

“Ah!” said the Judge. “What have you done for her?”

“I gave her blue-mass last night, and she drank a bowl of camo¬ mile tea; but this morning she was not feeling any better. I stopped and asked the doctor to go over and prescribe for her.’ ’

“Well,” returned the Judge, “I suppose the doctor said he would have to bleed her. ’ ’

“Yes, father,” William replied, “the doctor intends to bleed her, and he said, ‘If her stomach appeared loaded with bile, a gentle dose of Ipecacuanha may be administered with advantage.’ ”

Aunt Sally, like many other slaves, survived the usual remedies, she was soon well and ready to serve her not over active master.

“What is going on at the Court House this morning?” asked the Judge.

“That ghost has created considerable excitement down there,” Wil¬ liam replied.

“What!” exclaimed the Judge in a disdainful manner. “That silly rumor of Henry Brown’s farm creating excitement?”

“Why, father,” said William, “I was told a number of men both white and black went over there last night to watch for the ghost.”

“Pshaw!” exclaimed the Judge with a toss of his head. “Well,” he said, ‘ * were they rewarded for their trouble ? ’ ’

“Indeed, sir,” replied William, “you would think so if you could hear them talk. I heard several reliable men say they saw a man come out and walk around the house, clothed in a white shroud. Some one told how the night before, the ghost carried his head in his hand, the teeth grinning, and the eyes flashing fire. Then fearful groans would intervene between the rattling of heavy chains.”

“Such nonsense!” impatiently exclaimed the Judge. “No wonder the negroes are frightened. I shall send for Senator Loft to come over tomorrow afternoon; we can then form some plan to investigate this annoyance. It has been going on too long now,” added the Judge.

“I saw the Senator at the Court House today,” said William. 44 This excitement of the people seems to annoy him very much. ’ ’

“What did he say about it?” asked the Judge.

44 The Senator told me privately,” began William, “that Joe Adams was down at the Court House early this morning, giving a full de¬ scription of the ghost, with the fearful groans he had heard. And closed his talk by saying: 4 The whole damned farm is haunted. There will be nothing but bad luck fol any one who buys it. ’ ”

“What does the Senator think of that?” the Judge inquired.

“He has concluded there is something wrong with Joe Adams,” William replied.

“Aha!” said the Judge. “I want to know why Joe Adams is so anxious to buy a farm he declares is haunted and positively means bad luck for the owner. ’ y

“Well, we shall soon find out, father,” said William. “But I must go now.”

At that moment Marie entered the breakfast room.

“Why brother!” she exclaimed. “Surely you are not putting on your gloves to go! ”

“Yes, sister,” he answered. “I sent Dr. Smith over to prescribe for Aunt Sally this morning. I am obliged to see him before I go home. ’ ’

“ Home! brother, why say home ? This is your home. Aspen Grove is a mere place of business. ’ ’

“Well,” drawled William, “I reckon I have two homes, now.”

“No, sir,” said Marie, “this is your only home, the home of your childhood. ’ ’

“Ah, sweet sister!” drawing her to him. “Come what will,” he said, “the wings of fancy will always bear me to my early childhood home. ’ ’

In response to a small bell, Marie rang that was on the table. Eliza, a neat, pleasant-faced negro girl, the maid and special prop¬ erty of Marie, entered the room.

“Eliza,” said Marie, “Master William wishes Sam to bring up his horse. ’ ’

“Yes, miss,” replied Eliza, with a slight courtesy, and left the room.

“Father,” said William, when mounted, “I shall be here tomorrow afternoon to hear what the Senator has to say in regard to Henry Brown’s farm.”

“Very well, I shall certainly look for you.” Then with a stately bow and a wave of his hand the Judge said:

‘ ‘ Good morning, sir. ’ ’

CHAPTER IV. Haunted House

T HE next morning Marie and Fannie lingered in the dining¬ room, where Marie had been conferring with her cousin, Betty, concerning the domestic affairs. Cousin Betty had always been a capable little woman and cared for the welfare of Judge Howell’s family since the Judge brought Lady Mildred to Cedar Hill, a bride.

That evening when Marie and Fannie entered the parlor, they found the Judge, Senator Loft, and their brother, William, in an animated conversation. The Judge was quoting:

“Mankind in the early time felt the inspiration of something above them; they bowed to the power of prophecy; they nourished the un¬ earthly dream, and produced—what? Superstition!”

“A superstitious person,” said the Senator, “has an utter disre¬ gard for reason, under the false supposition of enjoying a direct guidance from on High.” “And such persons have existed long be¬ fore the time of the ancient seers, who thought that in the stars our chronicles were writ. But in the present age,” added the Senator, “there are numerous slave-holders who shift the responsibility of enlightening the negro—whose very life is superstition; fearing the present generation may pass away before any good resulted from their labor. They think life is too short to undertake it.”

The Judge nodded his head in approval.

“Still,” continued the Senator, “there are some who have neither that fear nor think it a hopeless task. You know I have already made the assertion, that it is not only to the interest of posterity, but to the slave-holder himself to keep in mind what will promote the welfare of his slave.”

The Judge walked silently across the room with his head down, and his hands clasped behind him, then facing the Senator, he said:

11 That is all very true, sir, but this present trouble is what provokes me. It is scandalous that a community like this can be so greatly exercised over a rumor that is as ridiculous as it is false. ’ ’

“It is astonishing with what rapidity such news will spread, re¬ marked William. “I received a letter from Mr. Miller, asking about the rumor. He has been informed, not only the blacks but many of the white folks of this section are greatly alarmed.

“I hope, sir,” said the haughty Judge contemptuously, “I am not included with those white folks. ’ ’

“Father!” ventured Fannie, “I reckon this rumor accounts for the absence of the neighbors from church Sunday afternoons, they are afraid to drive past that farm, going home, after sundown.”

“Madam!” said the Judge in his austere manner, “I credit them with better judgment.”

Fannie, not daunted, turned to the Senator, and said:

“What do you intend to do with the ghost, if you capture him?”

“We shall have him securely fastened under lock and key,” ans¬ wered the Senator. “Miss Fannie,” he said, “I suppose that if, im¬ plies some doubt on your part.”

‘ ‘ Doubt! ’ ’ laughed Fannie, ‘ ‘ that you gentlemen who are going out tonight on a ghostly errand will be successful? Why, really, to me it is amusing.”

“Now,—now, Fannie,” bantered William. “And not at all alarm¬ ing that Henry Brown’s father haunts his old home?”

“You can rest assured, brother,” Fannie replied, “I am not the least bit alarmed; neither by this talk nor the excitement the people have aroused.” Fannie paused and pointed—“Just look at that ghost!” she cried.

Every eye in the room was directed towmrd the opposite sofa, where Marie was partially reclining, her manner one of perfect content, and unconsciously, perfect grace. She looked up and smiled, a deep flush spread over her quiet, but usually pale face.

“Now!” exclaimed Fannie, satisfied with her experiment, “the ghost looks more substantial.”

‘ ‘ Miss Marie, what do you think of this rumor ? ’ ’ asked the Senator.

“My reason tells me, Senator,” she replied, “that disembodied spirits never become so undignified as to run around a farm dragging heavy chains, moaning and groaning. Spiritual beings cannot touch anything human much less deal in such display Moreover,” con¬ tinued Marie, “if the moans and groans are really heard, they are uttered by some living person, and that person has some object in view. Perhaps wishing to depreciate the value of the farm.”

“Exactly my idea, Miss Marie,” said the Senator. “And we all know such reports will greatly depreciate the value of property.”

“One night last week,” continued the Senator, “I questioned the men in regard to the movements of Joe Adams, while they watched for the ghost.”

“Do you think the men surmised your motive for inquiring?” eagerly interrupted the Judge.

“No, sir, I am quite sure they did not.”

“It could be possible,” said the Judge.

“But my questions were too well guarded, sir,” said the Senator. “However, I learned that Joe Adams was not seen on the road, or on the farm until the ghost had disappeared. Saturday morning, at the Court House, I said to him in a disinterested manner, ‘ Mr. Adams, how was it, you were not out to see the ghost last night.’ He was more than a trifle confused and stammered some incoherent reply. As I was about to leave him, he said, ‘You know, Senator, my wife is an invalid; she had a bad spell last night and I did not care to go out.’ I complimented him, and said no more about the ghost.”

The Senator looked at his watch. “While we are waiting for the time to pass, ’ ’ said he, ‘ 1 and, if agreeable to you all, I will relate my experience of last Monday night. ’ ’

“We shall be delighted to hear it, sir,” said the Judge, taking a seat nearer the Senator.

“Well,” began the Senator, “I presume you remember Monday night was fearfully dark. About nine o’clock it had ceased to rain, I then concluded to ride over to Henry Brown’s farm and see for my¬ self the cause of this excitement. It was so dark when I rode through the woods I could not see my horse’s head; and the awful stillness was more unpleasant than the darkness. Just before I reached the crossroad, the mournful cry of an owl greeted me; many times I have heard an owl hoot, but I never felt just like I did at that moment. Judge' you know the large gate at the top of the lane, the one that opens to the carriage drive?” asked the Senator.