Lewie by Cousin Cicely

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"The old gentleman, it seems, had been on a three days' journey to a
ministers' meeting, and was now returning home, and as he was travelling
in the same direction in which I wished to go, he said it would give
him great pleasure if I would take a seat in his gig, in case my
heaviest trunks could be sent on by stage. This the good-natured
landlord very willingly consented to attend to. The trunks were to be
sent to the care of the old clergyman, who was to ship me for my
destined port, and send my trunks on after me."

"You may be sure I did not hesitate about accepting the old clergyman's
offer, for after jolting along with rough men, over rough roads, as I
had done for many days, I anticipated with much pleasure a ride of two
or three days in a gig, with the kind, pleasant old gentleman. And now
comes the ghost story."

"As we were riding along through this thinly settled part of Western
Virginia, I noticed occasionally large, dark, barn-like looking
buildings, with the wooden shutters tightly closed. After passing two or
three of these buildings, I at length asked my companion for what
purpose they were used."

"'Why, those,' said he, 'are our churches. I had forgotten how entirely
unacquainted you were with this part of the country, or I should have
pointed them out to you.'"

"'Is it possible,' I exclaimed, 'that you worship in those dreary,
dark-looking places! I must go inside of one of them on the first
opportunity.'"

"Soon after I spoke, as we were ascending a hill, some part of the
harness gave way, and we were obliged to alight from the gig, while the
old gentleman endeavored to repair the injury."

"'How long will it take you, sir,' said I, 'to set this matter right?'"

"'Oh, some time--perhaps a quarter of an hour,' he answered."

"'And cannot I help you?' I asked. 'I believe I can do almost anything I
undertake to do.'"

"'Oh, no, no,' he answered; 'you had better not undertake to mend a
harness, or you will be obliged, after this, to say that you have failed
in one thing; besides, I can do this very well alone.'"

"'I have a great mind to take hold and mend it, just to show you that my
boast was not an idle one,' said I; 'but if you are determined to scorn
my offered assistance, I will run back, and take a survey of the
interior of the old church we passed a few moments since.'"

"'You will not see much,' the old clergyman called out after me; 'for,
as you see, the wooden shutters are kept closed during the week, and it
is almost total darkness inside.'"

"However, on I ran down the hill, and was soon at the door of the old
barn-like building. The door was not fastened, and I opened it, and
entered the church. At first, the darkness seemed intense, broken only
by little streaks of sunlight which streamed in through the small,
crescent-shaped holes in the shutters; but at length my eye became
accustomed to the darkness, and I could begin to distinguish the rude
seats and aisles, and even to see, at the end of the church, an
elevation which I knew must be the pulpit. Determined to see all that
was to be seen, I made my way along the aisle, ascended the pulpit
stairs, and had just laid my hand on the door, when a tall, white figure
suddenly rose up in the pulpit, and laid a cold hand on mine. I believe
I shrieked; but I was filled with such an indescribable horror, that I
know not what I did, when a hollow voice said:"

"'Don't be afraid; I will not harm you.'"

"I snatched my hand from the cold grasp which held it, and fled from the
church. I remember nothing more, till I opened my eyes, and found the
old clergyman bathing my face with water. He had become alarmed at my
long absence, and, on coming back to seek me, had found me lying on my
face, on the grass, in front of the old church. We had been riding again
for some time, before I summoned resolution to tell the old gentleman
what I had seen in the church. He complimented me by saying, that though
his acquaintance with me had been short, he was much mistaken in me, if
I was a person to be deceived by the imagination; and he said he much
regretted that I had not mentioned the cause of my fright before we left
the old church, as it was always best to ascertain at once the true
nature of any such apparently frightful object."

"'We have no time to turn back now,' said he, 'as we have already lost
more than half an hour; but the next best thing we can do is to stop at
the first house we come to, and see if we can find out anything
concerning the apparition which appeared to you in the church.'"

"We soon stopped before the door of a small log house, and at our
summons a pleasant-looking woman appeared. To the inquiries of the old
clergyman as to the appearance by which I had been so much alarmed, she
replied:"

"'Oh, it's the crazy minister, sir. He used to preach in that old
church; but he's been crazy for a long time, and often he dresses
himself in a long white robe, and goes and sits in the pulpit of that
old church all day. He's very gentle, she added, turning to me, 'and
wouldn't hurt anybody for the world; but I don't wonder you got a good
fright.' So ends my ghost story; and now, if you are ready for more
horrors, I will tell you my other adventure."

"Our detention near the old church, and the state of the roads, rendered
heavy by late rains, made it impossible for us to reach the town at
which we had hoped to spend the night; and we had made up our minds that
we would stop at the first _promising_-looking establishment we should
see, when the coming up of a sudden storm left us no option, but made us
hail gladly the first human dwelling we came to, though that was but a
rough, rambling old hut, built of unhewn logs."

"There was only an old woman at home when we stopped at the door, and I
fancied she looked rather _too well pleased_ when we asked if she could
accommodate us for the night. I must confess to you, my dear children, I
felt rather nervous after the fright of that afternoon; I, who used to
boast that I was ignorant of the fact of possessing such a thing as
nerves; but I do think I must have been nervous, for very little things
troubled me that evening, and my imagination had never been so busy
before. In a very few moments, an old man, and three strapping,
rough-looking youths, entered, with their axes over their shoulders, and
dripping with rain; and now I began to imagine that I saw suspicious
glances passing between these young men, and I certainly heard a long
whispered conversation pass between two of them and the old woman in the
next room. I looked towards my old friend the clergyman; but he, good,
unsuspicious old soul, was nodding in his chair by the log fire. I grew
more and more uncomfortable, and heartily wished we had jogged on in the
pelting rain, rather than trust ourselves to such very questionable
hospitality. One thing I made up my mind to, which was this--that I
would not close my eyes to sleep that night, but would keep on the watch
for whatever might happen."

"The old woman gave us a very comfortable supper, and soon afterwards
she asked me if I would like to go to bed. Not liking to show any
distrust of my hosts, I assented with apparent readiness, and followed
the old woman into a hall, and up a rude ladder, which I should have
found it very difficult to mount had it not been for my early exercise
in this kind of gymnastics, when searching for hen's eggs in the barn,
at my New England home."

"At the head of the ladder was a small passageway, from which we entered
the room which was to be my sleeping apartment. Whether there had ever
been any door to this room or not I do not know; certain it is there was
no door now; the only other room I could perceive in the upper part of
the house, was a sort of a granary filled with bins to hold different
kinds of grain."

"'Is the old gentleman with whom I came, to sleep in this part of the
house?' I asked in as careless a tone as I could assume."

"'No, he sleeps in the loft of the other part where the boys sleep;'
answered the old woman, and then looking at me with a grin which I
thought gave her the appearance of an ugly old hag, she said, 'Why ye
ain't afeard on us, be ye?'"

"'I told her I had had quite a fright that day, and felt a little
nervous.'"

"'Well,' said she, 'ye can just go to sleep without any frights here. We
shan't do ye no harm, I reckon,' and she left me and descended the
ladder."

"Before going to bed I took my light, and stepping out softly I went to
reconnoitre the other room, the door of which we had passed on the way
to the room in which I was to spend the night: I was obliged to descend
two steps to enter this room, where I found nothing frightful to be
sure, there being only some old clothes hanging up, and the bins of
grain of which I have spoken before. I returned to my room, and with
great difficulty moved a rude chest of drawers, across the place where a
door should be, on this I placed my little trunk, and the only chair in
the room, an old shovel, and a broken pitcher, determined that if any
one did enter the room, it should not be without noise enough to give me
warning. Before this barricade I set my candle, hoping it might
continue to burn all night."

"I laid down without undressing, determined that I would only rest; I
would not even close my eyes to sleep. I had laid thus as I supposed an
hour, listening to the voices of the old people and their sons, as in
subdued tones they talked together below. At the end of that time the
door opened, and I heard stealthy steps ascending the ladder. My heart,
as the saying is, was in my throat, and I could hear its every throb.
The steps came nearer and nearer, and as the first foot-fall sounded on
the floor of the little passage, which led to my room, I shrieked, 'Who
is there? what do you want?'"

"'Bless your soul it's only me; you need not scream so,' said the old
woman. 'I'm only going to the bin for some corn-meal to make mush for
your breakfast.'"

"'I do believe the gal thinks we are going to murder her in her bed,' I
heard her say with a loud laugh as she descended the ladder; 'you ought
to see the _chist_, and the things she's got piled on top of it, all
standing in the door-way.'"

"At this the men's voices joined in the laugh, and they sounded horribly
to me. 'Yes,' I thought to myself, 'how easy it would be for them to
murder us in our beds, and there would be no one to tell the tale.' Soon
after this, in spite of my resolution to keep awake, sleep must have
overpowered me, for I was awakened by a tremendous crash, as if the
house was falling, and I opened my eyes to find myself in total
darkness, and to hear soft footsteps in my room."

"Oh, how I shrieked this time! I believe I cried 'help! help! murder!'
and I soon heard footsteps approaching, and saw a light gleaming up the
ladder way, and soon the old woman's night-cap appeared over the chest.
'What _is_ the matter now?' she cried with some impatience, 'you
certainly are the most _narvous_ lodger I've ever had yet.'"

"'Matter enough,' said I, 'there is some one in my room. Didn't you hear
that awful crash?'"

"'Pshaw! it's only our old black cat!' said the old woman; 'he always
comes up to this room to sleep, but we thought we had shut him out.'"

"'Can he climb the ladder?' I asked."

"'Just like a _human_,' said the old woman; and, pushing aside the
chest, she seized the cat, and raising the only window in the room,
threw him out."

"Again weariness overpowered me, and I slept; only to awake to new
horrors; for now I heard cautious footsteps and whispered voices, and
outside the grindstone was at work making something very sharp. Then the
door opened, and a smothered voice said, 'Mother, is the water hot?'"

"'Yes, bilin',' answered the old woman; 'are the knives sharp?'"

"'All ready,' answered the young man; 'where's father?'"

"'He's gone to the loft,' said the old woman; and then came some
whispered words, which I could not catch. You will most probably laugh
at me, but my mind was now so worked up by all the agitation I had
experienced, that I had not the smallest doubt that we were now to be
murdered, and that the dreadful work was already going on in the loft,
my kind old friend being the first victim. Still I thought I might be in
time to save him yet, and there might be a bare possibility of our
escape. Springing from my bed in great haste and agitation, I hurried on
my shawl, and cautiously descended the ladder; but my blood froze with
horror, as just then I heard a piercing shriek. In the passage below I
encountered the old woman; she had just come into the house, and had an
old shawl over her head, and a lantern in her hand, I thought she gave a
guilty start when she saw me, as she exclaimed:"

"'Why, bless me, gal! what are you down at this time in the morning
for?'"

"'What are _you_ all up so early in the morning for?' I asked, in a
voice which I meant should strike terror to her heart."

"'Why, my old man and the boys had determined to kill hogs this
morning,' she answered; 'but we tried to keep so quiet as not to
disturb ye. I was afeared, though, that the squealing of the hogs would
wake ye.'"

"The relief was so sudden, that I could hardly refrain from putting my
arms round the old woman's neck, and confessing all my unjust
suspicions, but the fear of hurting her feelings prevented. With a
tranquil mind I again climbed the ladder, and sought my humble bed, and
was soon in such a sound slumber, that even the squealing of the hogs,
in their dying agonies, failed to rouse me."

"Seen by the morning light, as we were seated around the breakfast
table, these midnight robbers and murderers of my fancy appeared a
family of honest, hardy New Englanders, who had bought a tract of land
in Western Virginia. They showed us, at a little distance, a clearing
where they were just erecting a larger and more comfortable log
dwelling; and the old woman assured us that if we would stop and visit
them, if we ever passed that way again, we should not have to climb a
ladder, for they were going to have a 'reg'lar stairway in t'other
house.'"

"When the time came for parting with our kind hosts, and we offered to
remunerate them for their trouble, they rejected the proffered money
almost with scorn."

"'No, no,' said the old man, 'we haven't got quite so low as that yet;
and I hope that I nor none of mine will ever come to taking pay for a
night's lodging from a traveller. We don't keep _tavern_ here.'"

"The old woman's parting advice to me was to try and 'git over my
_narvousness_; and she thought I hadn't better drink no more strong
green tea.'"

"'I think your tea _was_ strong last night, my friend,' said I; 'and
that, together with the sight of the ghost, of which I have been telling
you, made me very uneasy and restless.'"

"'Well,' said the old woman, 'I hope ye won't be so suspicious of us
next time ye come; for it's a _cartain_ fact, that we never murdered any
_human_ yet. We do kill _hogs_; that I won't deny.' And she laughed so
heartily, that I felt quite sure she had seen through all my fears and
suspicions of the night before. So ends the murder story."

"I wish you could have heard my old clergyman laugh, as I related to him
all the horrors of the night; and when I came to mistaking the last
squeal of a dying pig for his own death groan, I thought he would have
rolled out of the gig. That night, which was _last_ night, found us in
the old gentleman's hospitable home, where his kind lady gave me as
cordial a welcome as I could desire. Here I am still with these good
friends, only waiting for my trunks; and then, with God's blessing, two
days more will find me in the home of my own dear brother.--And here,
with many kind remembrances to the dear ones at Brook Farm, Miss
Edwards' letter closed."

VIII.

Bitter Disappointments.

"Oh! art thou found?
But yet to find thee thus!"

VESPERS OF PALERMO.

It may be as well for us to continue the history of Miss Edwards here,
though its sad sequel was not known to the family of Mr. Wharton till a
long time after she had left them. The letter with which the preceding
chapter closes, was the last heard from her for many weeks. Various were
the surmises in the family as to the reasons for her unaccountable
silence, but at length they settled down in the belief that she must
have fallen a victim to some of the diseases of a new country; though
why they should not have received some tidings of her fate from her
brother, still remained a mystery.

At last, after many weeks, there came a letter from her, but it was
short, and sad, and unsatisfactory in all respects. She had had a
terrible disappointment she said, but her friends must have forbearance
with her, and excuse her from detailing the events of the past few
weeks. She was now at Springdale with her kind old friend, the
clergyman, and was just recovering from a long and tedious illness; she
hoped soon to be able to be at work again, and a little school was ready
for her, as soon as she should be sufficiently restored to take charge
of it. Not one word was said of her brother, or of her reasons for
returning to the home of the old clergyman.

"She is evidently very unhappy," said Mr. Wharton, "and perhaps her
funds are exhausted. She must return to us, and for this purpose I will
send her the means without delay."

But still Miss Edwards did not come, and her letters were few and far
between. At length there came one written in much better spirits, and in
her old cheerful style, in which she informed them that she was engaged
to be married to a young physician of that place. She seemed now very
happy, and full of bright anticipations, not the least cheering of
which, was the prospect of visiting her kind friends once more, when she
should travel to the east on her bridal tour. And this was the last
letter they ever received from Miss Edwards.

That same summer a package came to Mr. Wharton, directed in an unknown
hand, from a place, the name of which he had never heard before. It was
from a physician, and ran thus:

SIR,--I was called a few weeks since to attend a young lady, who was
lying dangerously ill, at the only tavern in our little village. I found
her raving in delirium, and your name, and the names of many whom I
suppose to be members of your family, were constantly mingled with her
ravings. She had stopped at the tavern the night before in the stage;
and when the other passengers went on was too ill to proceed with them.
I attended her constantly for a week or ten days, and at the end of that
time, I had the happiness to find that her fever had entirely left her,
and her mind was quite restored. She was, however, extremely weak, and
feeling assured, she said, that she should never be able to reach the
home of her kind friends, (mentioning the name of your family,) she
begged earnestly for writing materials, and though I remonstrated and
entreated, I found it impossible to prevent her writing. She said she
had a communication which it was due to you that she should make, and
she charged me over and over again, to remember your direction, and send
the package to you in case she did not leave that place alive. She was
busily engaged in writing one day, when the noise of wheels attracted
her to the window, which she reached in time to see a gentleman alight
from a chaise, who proceeded to hand out a lady. A person in the room
with her, saw her put her hands to her head, and then she rushed from
the back door of the house, and did not stop till she reached the woods.
When found she was a raving maniac, and is so still. We have been
obliged to place her in the county house, where she is confined in the
apartment devoted to Lunatics, and is as comfortable as she can be made
under the circumstances. The accompanying package I found just as she
left it, when she dropped her pen and hastened to the window, and I now
comply with her earnest request and enclose it to you.

With respect, &c.

JAMES MASTEN.

The manuscript, when opened, was found to be in Miss Edwards' well known
hand-writing, though the fingers that held the pen, had evidently
trembled from weakness and agitation. It was with the saddest emotions,
that those who had loved her so tenderly, read the following
communication:

"Painful and harrowing to my feelings as the task must be which I have
undertaken, I feel that it is due to my kind and ever sympathising
friends, to make them acquainted with the sad trials through which I
have passed, and the bitter disappointments I have met with. I have
tried to bear up with the spirit of a Christian, and to feel that these
trials are sent by One who orders all things in justice and
righteousness; I do submit; I am not inclined to murmur; I hope I am
resigned; but heart, and flesh, and mind, are weak, and these alas! are
all failing."

"With the fondest anticipations I reached the village, where I expected
to be received in the arms of my long lost brother. Oh, how my heart
bounded, as the prolonged sound of the stage-horn told me we were
approaching the end of my journey! and how my imagination pictured the
joyful meeting, the cordial welcome, the fond embrace once more of my
own loved kindred! I was much surprised that my brother was not at the
tavern to meet me, and more so when, on asking for his residence, the
landlord hesitated, as if perplexed."

"'Edwards! Edwards!' said he; 'there is but one person of that name that
I know of in all the village; but he can't be brother to such a lady as
you.'"

"'Perhaps you have not been here long,' I said."

"'O yes, ma'am, nearly fifteen years,' he answered."

"'And what is the name of this man of whom you speak?'"

"'Richard, I think; they always call him Dick Edwards about here,'
answered the landlord."

"I did not tell him that was my brother's name, but with a trembling
heart I asked him to point me to the house of this Richard Edwards of
whom he spoke."

"There was something of pity in the tone of the landlord's voice, as he
told me to turn down the second lane I should come to, and go on to the
last hut on the right hand. 'But I advise you not to go,' he continued,
'for I'm sure there must be some mistake.'"

I was too heart-sick to answer, but, taking my travelling-bag on my arm,
I followed the directions of the landlord, and picked my way as well as
I could through the mud of the miserable, filthy lane he had mentioned
to me, all the time saying to myself, 'It cannot be--there surely must
be some mistake,' and yet impelled irresistibly to go on.

"As I approached the door of the hut at which I knew I was to stop, I
heard the sound of singing and shouting; and as I came nearer, the words
of a low drinking chorus sounded on my ear. I paused before the door,
and a feeling of faintness came over me. I thought, 'I will turn back,
and give up the attempt. Better never to find my brother, than to find
him here, and thus.' But again something impelled me to tap at the door.
It would be such an inexpressible relief, I thought, to find myself
mistaken."

"It was some time before I could make myself heard above the noise of
drunken revelry which sounded within the hovel; but at length the door
was opened by a wretched, frightened-looking woman, and a scene of
indescribable misery was presented to my eyes. Around a table were
seated three or four brutish-looking men, with a jug and some glasses
before them. On the table was a pack of greasy-looking cards; but those
who surrounded the table were too far gone to play now; they could only
drink, and sing, and shout, and drink again; and one of them, in
attempting to rise from the table, fell, and lay in a state of utter
helplessness on the floor."

"The man of the house was not so far gone as the rest; and when he came
staggering forward, a few words sufficed to explain the reason of my
appearance."

"His answer seemed to seal my fate."

"'Ho! you're Rhoda, then! I wrote to you. I thought likely enough you'd
got some money. We're pretty hard up here.' This was said with a silly
laugh and hiccough, which filled me with an indescribable loathing."

"And was this miserable, bloated wretch my brother--that brother whom I
had so longed and prayed once more to see, of whom I had thought by day,
and dreamed by night, for so many long years! I turned to go without
another word, but fell at the door, and lay, I know not how long,
without sense or motion. When I revived, I found the woman (who, I
suppose, was my sister-in-law) bathing my face. I have a dim
recollection, too, of seeing some dirty, miserable-looking children, and
of being asked for _money_. I laid all that I had about me on the table,
and, while they were eagerly catching for it, I left the wretched place;
and grasping by the fence to steady my feeble footsteps, I made my way
back to the inn. I took the next stage, and then the boat, for the home
of my kind old friend at Springdale, and arrived there ill in body and
mind. From there I wrote you, when partially recovered. As soon as I was
able, I began my school, and before long became much interested in my
little scholars; and in the hospitable home of my kind old friends,
regained tranquillity of mind, and after a time even cheerfulness. But
other trials awaited me. My head is weary, and I must rest before I
relate to you the remainder of my melancholy story."

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