LOVE an old house. There is some

I in its very

decay. The dampness that hangs about the parlors, the cracks twisting through the yellow ceiling, and the fearless mice that scratch and scamper behind the wainscot, afford me a satisfaction I never feel in the modern monuments of newly-acquired wealth and vulgar taste, which are fast superseding the solid, comfortable mansions of the last century.

To fulfill its whole duty, your old house must have a ghost and a pretty woman to live in it. But alas, for the back-sliding of the present! We may moan as we will, over the weak eyes and pulmonary disorders that beset men and women-but the degeneration of ghosts is a real affliction.

I knew what would come of it when spectres took to Webster, and spelt their final syllable t-e-r. Who would be afraid of such a spectre as that-or what could he have to communicate that would be at all worth hearing! We should naturally expect such a fellow to exhibit himself for fifty cents (private sittings one dollar), and then deluge us with his awkward flattery and commonplace morality.

But a good honest ghost, who lives in a sober way in a quiet house in the country, commands my entire respect. He has positively no connection with these vagrant apparitions who are flying about the land-visiting "circles" here and there-making their ghastly jokes, preaching their feeble homilies, and blowing their tin fish-horns into the ears of skeptics. No, no, our old-fashioned aristocratic ghost (that it does a man good to believe in) has a hearty contempt for these nomadic impostors. There he lives in his little windy attic, or mopes about his damp cellar, and dreams of the good old times when he used to clank his chain about the house, and frighten the straggler who went up stairs to get a book, or make the little group in the parlor stir the fire and draw more closely together as they heard his solemn tramp in the hall. What thrilling interest gathered about his communications when, after years of awful suspense, he deigned to indicate the old well where he had sunk his treasure, or

revealed (in the strictest confidence) the precise individual who had defrauded you out of your rightful inheritance, and the steps that should be taken for its recovery.

Such a ghost as that was worth knowing. Give me one old fashioned, scholarly phantom, who must be talked to in Latin, who appears at the canonical hour of midnight, and, above all, who is content to remain a permanent fixture in your house and I will resign right, title, and interest, in all and singular tippers, rappers, and trumpeters, that new revelation or old imposture can conjure up.

I believe that Major Wherrey values the highly respectable Shade who is said to haunt those queer old attic passages that twist in and out under the roof of the Bearbrook mansion, quite as much as any of his more tangible possessions.

"My dear Tom," he used to say to me, "at the present day I know of but one criterion by which to examine the claims of our fashionable neighbors to the social position which they claim. The time was, to be sure, when if a man kept a carriage with his arms painted on the door, and a sober coachman to drive him about town, you might have known he was of gentle descent, and had a goodly company of ancestors to vouch for him. But now everything is changed

carriages are kept by people whose fathers drove them, and arms have their market value, and may be purchased of any engraver. There is, however, one thing the rogues cannot counterfeit. So, when you have any doubt of the antiquity and consequent respectability of a dashing family, ask, not if they keep their groom or their coupé, but, whether they keep their ghost;-and if they don't, depend upon it they are not what they pretend to be."

The last time that my uncle thus delivered himself was a year ago last fastday. Mr. Barnard, Kate, and myself, were lounging easily before the fire (we had just come in damp and sleepy from a lyceum lecture) listening to the strange murmurs of the wind as it rattled the tin spout that passed under the eaves, or wandering about the large chimneys, groaned its solemn requiem over all the

glowing hearths and sunny faces that had once beamed upon the oak panneling of the parlor where we sat-and then passed out into the darkness.

"I think we must have another backlog," remarked Mr. Barnard, who was standing in a "gentlemanly attitude" before the fire, and gazing out into the room with his usual complacency. “I don't feel like going to bed after that strong coffee that Mrs. Wherrey made for the Sunday-school children."

"Not for the children but for their teachers," interposed my aunt in correction. I don't know why it is that Doctor Drachma's sewing circle should drink their tea and coffee so very strong; but as long as they get it at other places, I must have it so here."

"The old excuse that would continue every evil in the world," rejoined Barnard. "How fortunate it is there are some people brave enough to act up to their notions of right, without reference to the dicta of the little community with whom fortune has thrown them. Old absurdities, aye, and old iniquities too, linger on the scene when the world is really tired of them, merely because no one has the courage to rise up and push them off."

"But this hardly applies to the use of stimulants or narcotics."

Perhaps not-even if we include in the latter class the lecture we have listened to this evening-the world has not yet outgrown coffee or lyceums, and we may vainly look for such millennium. But there are, nevertheless, many things in which we are prepared for reform, if some one would only begin it. Take, for instance, this very Sunday-school system whose practical workings have been exhibited this afternoon. What possible good can come of such questions as this (I take the first one I see on opening the text-book)-For what are the rats of the East famous ?"

"For-the-length-of-their-tails-and-thespeed-of-their-running,"-responded my aunt, admirably mimicking the false emphasis and hurried utterance with which children rattle off the information they have learned by rote.

Very well," said Barnard, “ now if I were to vary the question a little, and ask you what eastern animal was celebrated for speed and tail, the chances are that you would be utterly perplexed, and complain that there was no such question in the book. Indeed I tried the experiment this afternoon by puzzling a

poor little girl who-before Doctor Drachma could well pronounce the question-What has the camel sometimes been called?-fluently responded-The ship of the desert. But when I asked her what animal had sometimes been called the sh.p of the desert, the dear little thing was terribly confused, began to cry, and rather thought it was an eastern rat.'

"I cannot think Sunday-schools particularly desirable for the class of children to be found in Doctor Drachma's congregation," remarked the major. “They are made to supersede that home instruction and example, which the parents are fully able to give, and without which all public teaching seems a very empty pretence. Of course for the children of the poor and illiterate, it is a very different matter. I always subscribe most heartily to any plan for dispensing religious instruction among them-and tried my best to persuade Kate to teach in one of the ragged schools during our last winter in New York."

"Good!" said Mr. Barnard, "I wish you better success next year; though if you use Drachma's catechism I should certainly advise some additions by way of appendix. Why, I should like to know, is it necessary to keep the rising generation posted up concerning eastern rats, to the exclusion of eastern cranberries. Let us hear how some oriental Sir Joseph Banks undertook to grow cranberries in Palestine, and how inferior they were to those produced by Major Wherrey at Bearbrook."

As any joke touching the precious vegetable production, to the cultivation of which my uncle had devoted so much time and study, was seldom well received -my aunt judged it best to prevent a reply, by sending me into the hall to bring in the back-log that Mr. Barnard had coveted. "I told John he might go and see his cousin at Piccochee to-night," she remarked in explanation, “and as to-morrow is my washing-day the women have gone to bed long ago-so we must help ourselves."

"I am most happy to be of service," said I, advancing to the door, "though I must question John's devotion to his cousin, for his cow-hide boots have certainly been wandering about the entry ever since we came home."

"And by the uncertainty of their movement I should say that John had been drowning his loves or his sorrows in some of his master's punch," drily observed Mr. Barnard.

As I passed out of the room, we all heard a heavy sound, as of some one falling at full length upon the painted canvas floor-cloth;-but nothing was to be seen. The great hall stove threw its dull red light on nothing save the picture of old Judge Wherrey in his wig and gown, and the stiff chair, glittering bravely with its brass-headed nails, that he used to sit upon when on earth.

"John! John!" exclaimed my aunt hurrying after me, and peering upon every square inch of the floor, as if John was a beetle that she feared to crush"Why, bless me, major, the man is not here!"

"No," said my uncle very calmly, "I knew he wasn't there. I could have told you what it was at once-only I was afraid we should offend it, and it would go off. This is very pleasant. I am really much gratified."

"And who or what in the name of wonder do all these its refer to," exclaimed Barnard. "Is it a dog or a monkey that has been making himself so audible?"

"Oh! neither," said my uncle very quietly, "it is only-old Tolliwotte's ghost."

"A ghost!" screamed my aunt, and threw herself into my arms for protection-"Oh! you horrid abominable major-to bring me to this haunted old rat-trap, and then invite ghosts to board, and say you're glad when they come. Oh! dear, dear, where shall I go?"

Upon consideration it struck Mrs. Kate that she might as well stay where she was a decision to which I had no manner of objection. Indeed my faith waxed strong in a spiritual manifestation which could give such a comfortable proof of its reality. Dick Horripitts says (although rather more coarsely) that it is good fun to support a pretty girl while dancing the German; but, for my part, I think it is much better fun to do it standing still. And I earnestly counsel those whose business it is to look after such matters, to consider whether a new figure introducing this slight improvement might not be generally popular.

We hurried back into the parlor-I, with a log under each arm, and Kate (being or pretending to be very much frightened) clinging to my skirts—or rather to the garment that fulfils their purpose in a masculine wardrobe. There is surely nothing more taking than to see

a pretty woman feign excessive timidity; but then she must be really pretty to carry it off-and I cannot recommend one who is not to try so doubtful an experiment. My aunt, however, is quite handsome enough to do as she pleases in this and all other respects-and I am sure you would have fanned, and salted, and soothed her, quite as zealously as Barnard and I did, had you happened in at the crisis.

"And who was old Tolliwotte, and what business has his ghost here?" inquired Barnard, when our fair patient was in a condition approaching convalescence.

"Colonel Tolliwotte "--responded my uncle, in the precise and measured tone of a man who has a story to tell-and who knows it-" Colonel Tolliwotte was the ancestor of Captain Simon Tolliwotte, who owns the farm just over the river. He is described by one of his contemporaries as 'a man who did picke out a way to thrive in grace, and had much power of godliness to the fattening of leane churches.' He is also mentioned as 'one who loved well Our New England Ordinances, and ever veered his tongue against foreigne ladies, apeheaded pullets, and all fashions.' These unprofitable classes of society he seems to have dosed with a composition the old chronicler calls 'syrrope of reformation;' but his most famous exploits were against the Indians, of whom it is related that he did often kill as many as six after supper, and was greatly discipli nated in grace.' It can hardly be surprising that a gentleman of such singular accomplishment should have captivated the affections of Dorcas Wherrie, the daughter of old Retribution Wherrie, who built this house. I have never been able to ascertain any particulars concerning their courtship; but the melancholy event that brought it to a conclusion is vividly depicted by contemporaneous authority. It seems that poor Tolli wotte went out one evening to take his customary diversion with the Indians -and promised to call upon Dorcas on his way home. He did call; but the hapless lady never had so unwelcome a visitor. In fact, the savages had at last got the better of him, and he entered the house scalped (that was no great matter, for he wore a wig), and pierced with several disagreeable instruments in several vital parts of his body. staggered about the hall for some time-just as we have heard those mysterious

He

boots do this evening-and finally fell with a crash--just such a crash, Tom, as we heard when you opened the doorand lay bathed in blood at the feet of his own Dorcas."

My uncle paused for a moment, to give due effect to this dismal picture, and thus continued:

"Ever since that day there has been a tradition in our family that the colonel was in the habit of returning to earth to rehearse the painful scene with which his life terminated. Indeed the truth of this story was placed beyond a doubt by the testimony of my grandfather, who, upon returning one evening from a supper-party at the tavern, actually surprised the colonel, Miss Dorcas, and old Betribution, going through their affecting exhibition in the front entry. Of late years, since the house has been more opened to the world, I regret to say that this interesting party have been forced to hold their meetings in the attic, where they have much annoyed my cookswho cannot be made to understand the great privilege of entertaining such aristocratic company. But the little event of this evening gives me good hopes that they have returned to the original scene of their sufferings, and that they will continue to repeat their satisfactory, though somewhat melancholy, performances every evening during the season."

"It seems strange," observed Barnard, "that these ghosts should always wish to go over their most painful experiences when on earth. One would certainly suppose that the colonel would prefer to repeat the felicitous moment, when he rose from his knees the accepted lover of Dorcas, or when he had the luck to bag a brace of Indians at a shot. But this seems to be characteristic of all manifestations, ancient and modern. I have seen mediums thrown into all sorts of convulsions to represent the final moments of the spirit who professed to animate them."

"I think it is almost sacrilege," said my uncle, "to mention these authentic and respectable apparitions in the same breath with an imposture so transparent and silly as modern spiritualism."

"You speak like one who has not examined the matter, but is ready to take up the cry of the street or press about a subject of which he is wholly uninformed," retorted Mr. Barnard. "Spiritualism may be, and in my opinion is, a delusion; but an imposture it certainly is not. The alleged phenomena, though

in many cases exaggerated and distorted, do undoubtedly take place. And we have no right to call our neighbor weak or silly, because his mind is convinced by evidence that fails to satisfy our own. I am acquainted with many spiritualists, as I am with many Catholics and Calvinists, whose peculiar tenets of faith I can by no means accept, yet upon whose judgment and information in indifferent matters I have the greatest reliance. Nay, more; I can feel the highest respect for men who are brave enough to advocate what they conceive to be the truth, undeterred by loss of social caste, or the jeers and mockery with which the world always receives those who seek its improvement in any novel or unauthorized way."

"Well! I shall hear of you as a confirmed believer in all these signs and wonders. When people begin to talk so about it, they soon come boldly up to the mark, and swallow any absurdity a diseased imagination can invent."

"I will not say that I shall never be converted to spiritualism, because, with a certain amount of evidence, I believe I could be converted to that, or anything else. But I will say this-that after having carefully read every book of any note devoted to the advocacy of the new revelation-after having done a goodly amount of that "investigating" for which spiritualists clamor so loudly-I am infinitely further from believing, than I was before beginning my inquiries. And this is not because I have not seen many instances of that clairvoyant thought-reading which must be accepted as an established fact, but- Well, it is not worth while to detail all my reasons just now, and just here, so they shall be kept for some long morning, when you ask for them."

"It is very strange we have not had the spirits here yet," said my uncle. "They had a great run at South Wexford and Ponkussett; but they seem to have skipped Bearbrook."

"They will be upon you some time or other when you least expect them," rejoined Barnard. "The whole town will be thrown into a state of furious excitement. People will abandon their business and their pleasure and tip the tables from morning to night. Doctor Drachma will preach a series of sermons against it, and five or six families will become indignant and sell their pews. One or two people may possibly become insane from over-excitement-and then the epi

demic will gradually pass off like the small-pox or yellow-fever, and the world will go on very much as before. I have seen matters take precisely this course in more places than one."

"Well, well, all is, whenever we are favored, I shall expect you and Tom to come down here. Your experience will be of infinite use in interrogating our visitors."

We both promised the major that we would certainly come, and were about to expatiate on the satisfaction we should take in such a visit, when my aunt, with an exclamation of terror, called our attention to a mysterious singing, that appeared to come from the cellar immediately beneath us.

"Doubtless it is one of the men chopping wood," said the major.

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"It can be no man," exclaimed my aunt, for I locked the cellar-door and have the key in my pocket. I knew that John would be out to-night and did not think it was best to leave it open."

"It can surely be no ghost," said Barnard, for I never heard of one who sang, except the ombre di Nino in Semiramide."

"Be still a minute, and let us try to distinguish the words," urged the major. "If it has any connection with the apparitions of this evening, it will doubtless be some old Gregorian chant."

"Du dar, du dar," sang the voice beneath, "I went to the race with a pocket full of tin, but soon come back with my hat knocked in. Oh, du dar da."

"Why, good gracious, it's old Netleswing," cried my aunt. "He must have been locked up there all the afternoon. Why doesn't he knock to get out?"

"Du dar, du dar," ascended in reply. "Somebody ought to go and let him up," said Kate-and she looked hard at me. "I'm sure I can never go through that entry again!"

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"And I can never find the cellar-door alone," I responded. Among all those queer, dark passages that lead out of the kitchen, I should not discover the right one in a twelvemonth."

"Suppose we all go in a body," advised Barnard, " we shall then be able to defy Tolliwotte, even if he brings all his Indians along with him."

The major thought the suggestion a good one, and volunteered to lead the forlorn hope as bearer of the astral lamp. Barnard and myself marched as aids-decamp to my aunt; and in this order we passed into the entry.

"I don't see any blood," said my uncle, pausing to examine the pattern of the floor-cloth. "It would have been very satisfactory if Tolliwotte could have left a few drops-just to show that it was really him."

"Perhaps he is coming back to supply the omission," said Barnard. "There is certainly a most extraordinary blowing and scraping at the other end of the entry."

We stood aghast as the mysterious sounds alluded to struck our ears; and my aunt very nearly fainted, as a square portion of the floor a few feet from where we stood rose from its place, and admitted a bushel basket of cranberries into the hall. The cranberries were followed by the head and shoulders of Mr. Netles wing, who was gradually continued, until we surveyed a pair of cow-hide boots, very similar to those Colonel Tolliwotte must have had on during his last interview with Dorcas.

"Well, now, who would ha' thought o' this?" said Netleswing, rather startled at finding so many spectators to his ascent. Why, Lord bless me, I thought you'd all gone to lectur' and carr'd off the cellar key, so I've been tuggin at this pesky old trap-door that hasn't been used for mor'n twenty year, just to get at them cranberries, that wanted pickin' over like all time. Cranberries I s'pose you know, Mr. Tom, when they're just a little mite touched and can't keep, is about the most fattenin' thing for hogs there is a-going. Why, them sars'ges sent down to you last November were made out o' cranberry-fed pork, and they were just-well, I'll say they couldn't be beat, nohow!"

The mysterious steps, the crash (possibly the trap-door as it descended över the head of Mr. Netleswing), admit a certain sort of explanation. But if the reader is willing to accept that explanation, and give up Dorcas and her lover, and old Retribution, for Netles wing and a basket of cranberries-he is not the man I take him to be. When Barnard attempted to account for the curious phenomena of the evening in some such manner, we treated him with the contempt he deserved.

A gentleman interested in spiritual literature borrowed my uncle's notebook, and prepared and published an elaborate account of the whole matter; though I feel it my duty to correct two slight errors that have crept into his otherwise authentic narrative, by assur