The Wildfire Club - The Emma Hardinge Britten Archive

Entered, --un, to A.c' of Oongreol, In the leer 1861, by 

OHA.RLES J. PETBRS. 

In the Clerk'. OftIce of the DlBtrlct Collrt of the District of MauachusettL 

n.BBOT" •• 1I AT "B. 

B08TOR 8" ••• 0"., •• rOVRDBL

TO TBBB, 

MY MOTHER, 

XY YOUNGEST BRAIN-CHILD COIlES; 

A TOED 01' A. LOft AND GBATITtJDB WWCB WOllDII IlAY liAR, 

• BtIT NBVBR CAN UPBBSS. 

I OIVJ: TBBE THAT WlDOB II TBJNZ 0""' ALBBADY. 

EMMA HARDI'NGE. 

• 

(8) 

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... 

ADDRESS TO THE WILDFIRES. 

WHEN I glance over the names I have included in 

the above ominous title, I feel as if you, 0 my phantom 

people! children of my memory I cherished subjects of 

many a sublime lesson, which your histories have read 

me, deserve some apology for the strange classification 

which I have made of you, beneath the cognomen of 

"The Wildfire Club." Sweet faces, angelic in their 

purity and patience, peep out from my very inkstand, 

and fonn themselves into patterns all over my· paper, in 

silent yet piteous protest against the demoniac name. 

My noble Improvvisst@re, and fair Gabriella, faithful 

Hannah of the Grange, and reverend old Tom Martin, 

gentle Scottish Mary, and Margaret Infelix, can the 

flitting night-fires of oorruption and unreality be gleaming 

on those brows now radiant with light from the 

land of never-setting suns? Let your own life histories 

answer the question - and so let every question be 

settled between humanity and its accusers. Say what 

it will, the world may call names, and give titles, but 

can never create character, or change life" histOl;es. 

Life is too strong for the world's tongue, and the still 

small voice of truth will make itself heard when the 

1* 

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6 ADDRESS TO THE WILDFIRES. 

fires of passion are bnmt out, and the whirlwind of 

slander has spent its fury. And yet whenever the fitful 

light of a half-revealed science flas'fies up from the bogs 

of ignorance, sttaightway the world cries, "Beware! it 

is a will-o'-the-wisp." When some lightning soul cuts 

its way from the clouds of conservatism into the free air 

of investigation, the world regards the fire-streaked footprints 

of the pioneer aghast, and closing doors and 

windows against the Divine Messenger, murmurs from 

behind the shutters of pride and prejudice, "Beware 

the Wildfire!" Whenever the giant arm of reform 

stretches up its mighty proportions to reach the fruit 

which pygmies fail even to discern, the murmurs swell 

to a curse; the anathema of "presumption" is hissed 

against the man of the future, and ostrich-like they 

hide their heads in the sandS" of old opinions, lest they 

should be found bearing witness to the daring feat of 

plucking Heaven's own fruit, the tree of knowledge. 

'Tis chiefly, however, when the 'seal of the last dread 

enemy, DEATH, is broken, that the huma;n pack gives 

tongue. The shape that brings the revelation may be 

fair as thine, sweet Gabriella, - or homely, simple, and 

factarian as poor old patched Tom Martin's,-it matters 

not! Every gleam of light that flashes from the eastern 

sky of aawning science must be measured by the 

quenched lamps of long ago, and, if they be found too 

bright for owlish eyes to bear, must be chased back again 

to Cimmerian gloom with the cry of "Wildfires! Wild. 

fires! " And so, my band of beautiful and true! my 

precious faces gleaming through the rents, which the 

beams of truth have torn in the veil of mystery I be 

content to know that whilst the world will call thee 

" Wildfires," they cannot make thee so. If thou art

ADDRE88 TO TllE WILDPlRE8. 7 

true thyseH; thou'lt live to prove it, and even in the 

shadow of the world's hard thoughts, with gloomy shroud 

of superstitious fear upon thee; thou art enshrined too 

in my heart's dear love; regarded there as angel teachers, 

ministers of flame, with Pentecostal tongues shaking 

the house of death, and marking with living light the 

characters of Life Immortal on that world made up of 

grains as small as the atoms of theRe our revelations. 

Then bear thy brand a while, my !nrniog lamp I 

The day shall come when all shan know thee as thou 

art; and though the glimmering lights of this poor 

"Wildfire Club" shine with no greater force than firefly 

sparkles, they have their part in making up the rays of 

that eternal Slm - TBB INFINITY OF TRUTH - that lives 

forever. And so will these tiny sparks; ay, when the 

pages which now record them are tumed to dust, and 

when every letter, binding, cover, all, are lost in the 

mau80Jeums of the viewless winds, the ages then will 

do my " Wildfires" justice, know and call them by their 

proper namel, - a club of" teaching spirits," -luring 

no more, but; lighting on man's way to that untrodd_cn 

boum in which they're shining - the waming and the 

beacon. But patience, Wildfires! " This will be when 

thought is free," when truth ceases to be ground down 

to the standard of ignorance, when calf binding and 

shecp-8kin covers cease to be thE: only measures of 

knowledge, and the only garments in which science 

deigns to array herself; when printer's ink is washed by 

the perpetuaJ. tlow of the waters of inspiration, then, 

and not till then, will this little club of life pictures. be 

truly known, and the epithet of "the Wildfires" perish 

with the things that are not. 

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CONTENTS. 

I"AO. 

THE PRmcEss: A VISION OF ROYALTY IN THE SPHERES. 11 

THE MONOMANIAC, OR THE SPIRIT BRIDE. • 24 

THE HAUNTED GRANGE, OR THE LAST TENANT: BRmG AN 

ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND TIMES OF MRS. HANNAH 

MORRISON, SOMETIMES STYLED THE 'VITCH OF RoOI(- 

LIFE: A FRAOMENT. 

liARGARET INFELIX, OR A NARRATIVE CONOERNmG A 

lliUNTED MAN •• 

THB IMPROVVIBATORE, OB TORN LEAVES PROM LIFE 

49 

113 

120 

HISTORY. 134 

THE WreCH OF LoWENTHAL. 2,19 

THE PHANTOM MOTHER, OR THE STOltY OF A RECLUSE. 261 

HAUNTED HOUSES. No.1: THE PICTURE SFECTRES. 2i2 

lliUNTED HOUSES. No.2: THE SANDFORD GHOST. 279 

(9)

10 CONTENTS. 

rMl_ 

CJlaUTXU STOaIEII. No.1: THE STJI.AlIIGEa GUEST - Al!r 

IJrClDElI'T F017ll'DED 011' FACT. • • • • • 290 

CllaUTXU SToaIE.. No.2: FAITH, oa M.uiy MAc- 

JlOll'ALD.. • • • .213 

Tllll WILDFIlIlI Cion: A TALE FOVll'DED 011' FACT. • • 3.0 

Non. . . . . . . • • • • . • • • • • . . . 367

THE WILDFIRE CLUB. 

THE PRINCESS. 

A VISION OF ROYALTY IN THE SPHERES. 

-.C$2). 

! MERICA is rich in its spirit mediums, lecturers, writa 

ers, commentators, public and private circles for spirit 

investigation-every facility, in short, exists for ingrafting 

what is termed the" spiritual element" upon the materialityof 

the physical life. In lieu of these aids, however, 

to a knowledge of the interior worlds around us, Europe 

is full of her haunted houses, her fairy groves, and magic 

lakes; her forests and vales, tenanted by the fantasies of 

the demon world. There is hardly an old castle, or timehonored 

pile of brick and mortar, which is not replete with 

its legends of supernatu1'alism. Every ancient house has its 

array of visionary inhabitants, and every distinguished 

family its attendant sprite. 

Following up the law of cause and e1f'ect- in this world 

of traditionary lore, we might find some curiosities in 

spiritual philosophy of which our European neighbors little 

dream, underlying this vast stratum of superstitious absurdity; 

but there are, occasicmallYt isolated cases which bear 

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12 THE "PRINCESS. 

the test of scrutiny, allli present, upon investigation, sufficient 

corroborative evidence of tlpirit communion, to justify 

our belief in the tangibility of certain appearances, in 

contradistinction to mere fables of like character. Such is 

the one which I am about to present. The circumstances 

are well known in the circles where they transpired, but 

they have never obtained sufficient credit to justify their 

narration to the world, except as Plere hearsay; in fact, 

they are too intimately connected with persons now living 

to render their publication, in a direct form, agreeable. 

In the suburbs of the great modern Babylon, London, 

there is a large and splendid old mansion, whose every 

stone teems with historical associations. It has a vast 

grass-grown court in front j a grove of splendid old forest 

trees adorning its park in the rear; there are noble terraces, 

with ancient urns, old-fashioned sun-dial, mouldering 

statues of dead kings and emperors - in short, every 

attribute of the medireval splendor which distinguished the 

abodes of royalty in the middle centuries. There are 

memories in every stone of this now mouldering pile. The 

diamond panes are each consecrated to some fugitive 

monarcn, who was there concealed, or escaped through its 

narrow casement; or reca.ll some fable of midnight spectral 

form, belted knight, or berufl'ed dame, who, with ghostly 

tread and flickering lamp, glances athwart the deserted 

windo\vs at the lone, small hours of night in that abode 

of dim, by-gone memories. 

At the time when I visited this place, it was in possession 

of the widow of a Presbyterian clergyman - a lady 

of austere manners and reserved life; and it is a passage 

in her history which I am about to relate. Her predecessor 

in this house was the celebrated Prinoess A., a scion

24 THE MONOMANIAC, 

THE MONOMANIAC, 

OR THE SpmIT BRIDE.- 

CHAPTER I. 

WERE an entire stranger of the English character to 

journey through the land of Great Britain, with a 

view of determining the leading characteristic of the nation, 

he would • say, .. Assuredly the English are more than 

half of them monomaniaclt." Not that this peculiar phase 

of madness would strike the 'Observer as being so apparent, 

but the opinion would be the necessary inference from the 

assurances of the people themselves. 

The moment any individual assumes to himself the right 

to indulge in a train of thought on any particular subject 

opposed to the educational traditions of his ancestors, 10 ! 

he is at once pronounced a .. monomaniac." Should individuality 

of opinion ramify into more than one channel 

of difference from his fellows, then he is an unqualified 

maniac, and only needs the possession of wealth, or the 

heirship to a title, to justify his instant incarceration in a 

lunatic asylum. 

I remember a very striking instance of this popular rendering 

of a peculiar opinion into "monomania," in the 

person of an old sailor, with whom I once enjoyed a 

highly-cherished acquaintance, and from whose lips I 

• A sketoh from re&llife, orlglnally wrltten fer " Tbe Splrltual Age."

26 THE KONOKANIAC, 

inference; but as I entirely agree with them as to the 

effect, we will not too closely investigate the premises. 

The subject of this monomaniac will also be the subject 

of my little sketch, the actual details of which are as 

fresh in my memory as' when the venerable narrator, in 

his clean, tidy blue shirt and neatly-patched old jacket, 

with his long silver curls, so pure and holy, falling on.his 

ancient shoulders, and the mild, dark eyes looking away, 

away into that distance of which mind alone is the horizon, 

used to sit beneath the wide-spreading shadow of a 

huge oak, and relate to me the visionary history of his 

singular life. 

Ever and anon the patriarchal sailor would raise his 

old tarpauling hat in courteous salutation to a comrade 

or passing acquaintance; and I never yet saw the greeting 

exchanged without far deeper respect on the part of 

the passenger towards the "monomaniac" than could be 

in any way elicited by the appearance of 80 meek but 

humble a figure, without an internal and involuntary impulse 

excited by some far more intense sympathy than 

mere externals could have called forth. Sometimes the 

old man would produce a little blue cotton handkerchief, 

in which his slender store of provisions - bread and 

cheese, with sometimes the luxury of a sausage - would 

be carried olit on a fine day, to dine in state by the side 

of a clear running brook. Those who have shared these 

humble meals with poor Tom have enjoyed a lUXUry which 

monarchs might envy. And there are many such; for the 

generous creature always managed (God alone knows how, 

for he was very poor) to have a little surplus, either to 

share with a friend or bestow on some one poorer than 

himself. 

Tom was born at the seafaring town of Portsmouth. 

"

OR TlIE SPIRIT BRIDE. 29 

permlSSlon to roll himself up in his hammock, and when 

it was found that he actually could do no more work, 

quietly to linger there until he. died. 

"If they dOB't pitch me overboard, as lumber, afore the 

last gasp comes," he would mutter, "it will be a marcy 

indeed, and more than suffin oncommon." . 

'But there was a greater mercy than this intended him, 

which poor old Jack found still more uncommon. This 

was the fact that a young, tender, and sympathizing nurse 

was by his bedside, his rough, thin hands full of little delicacies 

which he had stolen for the purpose and hid about 

the ship, and his low, gentle tones breathing comfort into 

the sufferer's ear during the long, weary watches of the 

night. 

Sometimes Tom could steal nothing to feed his invalid 

charge with; and then he would come with his own mess 

of rough ship beef, cut up small to tempt the sick man's 

appetite, and the hard, stale hiscuit of his own untasted 

portion, sopped in cold water, as the only delicacy which 

the poor watcher oould procure. Hour after hour the 

drudge would sit, when his own heavy eyes were smarting 

and sore for want of rest, spelling out the leaves of a very 

tattered Bible, which old Jack had carried about with him 

all his life, in membry of "the blessed mother" who had 

started him oft' with that and a sea chest, as his only 

inheritance; and now, when he knew .he was for "casting 

anchor in the same road of eternity to which she 

had long since 'Shipped before him," this precious legacy 

seemed, as he said, "to smooth out the rough way before 

him, and give him his true sailing orders for the port of 

heaven." 

It was late one night when the ragged, tired boy had 

stolen down, after a hard day's work, not to 'leep, but to 

3$ 

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30 THE MONOMANIAr., 

beguile his dying charge of the death-fever that was consuming 

him, by spelling out a chapter of' the good book, 

that he found two sailors standing over the old tar's hammock, 

insisting upon it that he should instantly vacate it, 

as they expected a brush with the enemy, and the skipper 

wanted all the hammocks,. and this one especia.lly, to 

heap up round the bulwarks' of the ship.. The old man, 

with the irritability of fever, was feebly uttering a remonstrance 

against being deprived of his death bed, and one 

of the men had already cut the rope which should eject the 

poor tenant, when his cruel proceeding was arrested, for a 

moment, by the unexpected but urgent remonstrance of 

Tom. With a brutal oath, the man struck the young 

sailor from his path, and, hurling the disputed hammock 

from the dying man, added to his brutality a savage kick at 

the "useless old hulk" which lay in his way. The next 

moment he lay insensible by the sick man's side, felled by 

a blow from the weak boy's hand, and only removed, 

stunned and bleeding, by his companion from the spot. 

To re-sling the hammock, and replace the sufferer in his 

bed, was the work of the next few moments; and when 

that was completed, he found himself a prisoner, removed 

to the deck, sentenced to the tender mercies of the boatswain 

and cat-o'"nine-tails; and finally, with bleeding 

back, bleeding heart, and crushed spirit, doomed to an 

ignominious exposure in irons as a malignant mutineer. 

It was a calm, breathless, moonlight night. The expected 

encounter with the enemy had not come off', and all 

on board the ship were at rest, except the necessary watchers 

of her safety. Not a breath of air stirred the sails, or 

fanned the burning cheek of the unhappy prisoner, as he 

sat in dogged silence at the rail to which he was chained, 

alone, desperate, _ and desolate. By an impulse for which

OR THE SPIRIT BRIDE. 31 

he could not account, he raised his eyes to the splendid 

canopy of heaven, bespangled with its myriad fires, and 

radiant in deathless beauty. For a moment a calmer instinct 

passed over his mind; and as he continued to gaze, 

he thought involuntarily, "I wonder if poor old Jack is 

dead yet; and if so, if he is up there - aloft 1 What 

sort of a place can it be? Heaven - 0, what is heaven? 

They say it is rest and happiness. Ah me I I wonder 

if poor sailors get in there! - and what kind of a berth 

old Jack will have? As to me, I shall never get theresartllin; 

cause why? all along of the parsons, who say the 

way is so hard that I could never find it. ° Jack! Jack! 

why did you leave me alone? why did you not carry 

me with you? Sure you know'd the way to heaven, and 

mought have taken a poor, friendless lad along with ye!" 

Then, after a pause, he added, "That's it - that's it! 

When they take these irons off me, I will jump into the 

sea. Then I shall die quick, and perhaps Jack may not be 

so far gone yet but that he may heaye me up, and help 

me into that good port to which it is so mortal sure he is 

bound." 

Just then a sweet, 80ft, unusual air seemed to spring 

up - not around or away from him, but just upon his 

cheek; it seemed, as he often described it, "like as if a 

bird, with sweetly perfumed wing8, were gently fanning 

him, or as if fragrant flowers were waved in his face." 

There was a sound, too - one to which he used to say all 

description was inadequate. It was most like a long chord 

of music, containing an infinite variety of harmonies, but 

all of a ringing, glassy sound, struck in the air, but so far 

off - 0, so far - that, although seeming plain to him, it 

must be an echo from thousands of leagues away in space, 

and eyer; from above!


his "man-a' -war's-man's hat" stuck jantily at the back 

of his head, with a fine, long ribbon streaming! 

Now, glad as Tom felt to see his old comrade in such 

good case, after he had parted with him two hours before 

in the miserable plight above described, Tom was a little 

sore at being, what he called, thus "rigged." He never 

doubted for an instant that he saw his jovial comrade before 

him in strong life, and he was about to taunt. him 

pleasantly for the cheat he had put upon him, when, to 

his utter amazement, he saw the figure before him gradually 

rise from the deck, float upward over the bulwarks, 

and actually pass away from sight, smiling and waving his 

hand to his aghast companion. 

Before the young man's bewildered senses could even 

take cognizance of what he had seen, the sweet, feminine 

voice again sounded: - 

"Tom, dear Tom, old Jack is dead. I am going to 

guard him up to heaven." 

"My God! who speaks?" at length stammered the 

sailor. 

"Your guardian angel and spirit bride," was again 

softly whispered . 

.. You doubt me; but we shall meet again; and till then 

I leave you a token of remembrance. Tell the captain 

that the 'San Carlos' will be upon him this, morning at 

five o'clock, and that a leak is sprung beneath his own 

cabin lamp." 

All was silence, nay, more, darkness - to the astonished 

sailor; for, with the cetlsation of the voice, the light 

of his own life seemed to be suddenly eclipsed. 

Hours of dreamy reverie succeeded - wonder, not fear 

- a joy unknown before - a vision of life such as he 

had never, even faintly, conceived to exist; but all merging

34 THE 1Il0NOlU.NIAC, 

into the intense longing, not for an explanation of, but 

a return of, the voice. 

It was not until what he conceived must be about four 

0' clock in the morning that a footstep passing by aroused 

him from his self-commuuings. By an instinct, of which 

he had never before imagined himself possessed, he felt 

sure it was the captain. His newly-developed intuitions 

gave him strength as well as perception, and he Called 

aloud, - 

"Captain, I've something most particular to say to ye, 

sir." 

A deep oath followed, and the surly brute raised his 

cane to chastise the audacious prisoner who thus dared to 

address him. But the young sailor earnestly added,- 

"Don't strike me, sir, but for God's sake heed what I 

say. The Sal) Carlos will be down upon you at five 

o'clock, and to prove my words, just examine your own 

cabin, and in that very place which is under your cabin 

. lamp you will find the ship has sprung a leak I " 

At the moment when his bold prisoner made these statements, 

the captain, by calculations which he deemed unmistakable, 

believed his much dreaded enemy - the San 

Carlos - to be at least four and twenty hours' sail to leeward; 

and I1S he knew that the poor ship-boy· never could, 

by any possibility, ha,-e had access to his cabin, so he felt 

certain that he was listening to the ravings of insanity, 

and ordered the men, who had just then brought up the 

mortal remains of poor old Jack for interment in the pathless 

cemetery of ocean, to release the" raving lubber," and 

give him some stuff for a fever. 

One hour later, in the dim haze of a misty dawn, the 

buge proportions of the famed Spanish privateer, the San 

Carlos, bore down upon the fated ship; while the distracted

• 

OK Tn .81'IBIT BBIDJ:. 

Dl,Ilster, completely- unprepared for this visitation, but with 

a dim perception of a still greater calamity yet in store, 

ordered some spare hands to try the pumps, with a view 

-of ascertaining whether the second part of the mysterious 

prophecy had, in reality, as terrible a foundation in truth 

as the fir,t. 

The report which he received was appalliDg. The ship 

not only leaked, but was in imminent danger of foundering. 

" To my cabin - beneath the lamp! Search! search I 

search!" cried the distracted skipper. 

But all was in vain. The leak was discovered to have 

originated in the very locality described; but the knowledge 

came too late. 

"One hour earlier would have saved us!" cried the 

sailing master. " 0, why was this secret kept back 80 

long? " 

Between the thunder of the enemy's guns, the roar of 

the booming' ocean, now rising in the wild majesty of a 

terrific storm, the groans of the dying, and the incessant 

clatter of the no,," useless pumps, - in the very fever and 

crash of death, destruction, and despair, -the young 

sllilor, toiling amid blood and carnage, was recalled from 

the hideous fever of life around him, to the better sphere 

of life eternal, by the low but thrilling, long, long chord 

of far-oft' celestial harmony, while the sweet, viewle88 

voice, close to his very ear, made itself heard above the 

din and warfare, murmuring, - 

" Be of good cheer: thou art safe! Thy spirit bride is 

here! " 

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THE 1l01lO01l0NIAC, 

CHAPrEll II. 

ALon on the wide waste of waters -utterly, hopelessly 

alone! Alone on the vast immensity, the boundless, 

tnckleu, unknown region of the fathomless deep! The 

.tonn of war was over - the din, the carnage, the ghastly 

strife or death! For the first time in his life 'fom Martin 

had seen human beings writhing, twisting, and twining 

around each other in the hideous aim to kill- man to 

man, struggling which could tear the life from the other! 

Fellow-men, who would have met in the rough journey of 

the world'. highway, and cheerfully shared their last crust 

of bread to serve each other, now, under the awfulstim. 

ulus of rage, and at the mere bidding of two despots who 

coveted each other's lands, broke their Maker's imsge with 

the ruthless ferocity of wild beasts, and called it "glory" 

- shattered the glorious tabernacle of life which warrior, 

• nor king, nor priest, nor layman could ever again build up, 

and deemed themsel!es "patriot8." But now, all was 

over. The last boom of the mighty cannon had sounded 

the death-knell of brave young hearts, and the curling 

smoke had cleared away to reveal the ghastly faces of the 

dying and the dead, all and each enclosed in one common 

coffin - the shattered but sinking ship! slowly but surely 

in the boiling surge' 8 trough I and now she sinks -lower, 

lower - yet lower - and now, a mighty shriek! the wild 

outcry of a hundred appalled, agonizing hearts - arms 

tossed aloft in the moaning air - wild, starting eyes 

streaming upwards to the receding world of life abovea 

hollow plunge, and the tossing whirlpool of water torn 

and rent by the agony of the· dying, struggling mass be. 

)0 1

38 THB 1I0lfOllANIAC, 

ing himself on his raft, and fixedly, determinately questioning 

himself upon what he saw, he could no longer doubt 

its reality. . 

One after another they rose - the men, the boys, the 

fierce combatants, and, last of all, the savage skipper himself. 

He rose by the side of a fair young boy, a nephew 

of his own, and the only being for whom he had evcr 

seemed to feel the kindling of human feeling. Often and 

often had Tom gazed admiringly on this gentle child, and 

many kindly little officcs had been interchanged between 

them. The poor sailor-boy sometimes wished he were so 

fair and so fine, and so well off, that people might speak 

gently to him, and love him as they did Edward; but 

Edward, with a child's tender instinct, realized the desolate 

boy's feeling, and sought of him the little offices of 

good will which he needed of the crew; and now Tom 

beheld him - him, the cherished, beautiful idol of the terrible 

captain; him, whom neither love, nor power, nor 

grandness could save - Hoating upward in the dewy air, a 

lovely but transparent shadow; yet, 0, how real, how 

very, very real did that passing shadow make the whole 

phantom band appear to the gazer! 

On they passed, close by the raft on which he knelt, in 

slow and solemn march, yet seeming to be bome along by 

no volition or movement of their own. They tumed neither 

to the right nor to the left; their COUlse was evidently 

ascending, yet they moved in an angle which brought them 

almost in a sweeping circle ahead of his little raft. They 

spoke not, they stirred not. Their faces were pale, their 

eyes were fixed, the.ir lips were closed, and their forms 

were utterly motionless. In vain he easayed to speak as 

the phantom band swept by him; his parched lips refused 

their office; his choking throat swelled to suffocation; but 

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when the stem captain came in sight, the agony of the 

beholder was redoubled, for there was his precious little 

Edward floating along by his side; and now, 0 Heaven! 

it is all real! then, there! there again! a slight stir in the 

faint breeze actually waves the long curls of golden threads 

which bang around the young child's brow; and nowhe 

waves his band! -his large, loving eyes are turned on 

the lonely lad, and once more the glance of affectionate 

sympathy wakes up in his heart the fine chords of human 

love. The breeze swells, the long curla now fairly dance 

and stream upon its wing; the boy passes away, waving 

bis little bands and peering over his uncle's shoulder to 

smile, - ay, to 8mile upon his friend! 

The spell is broken. Motion among tbat awful company 

of the dead is the·very climax of the terrible vision. 

"Edward, Edward! speak to me!" shrieks the agonized 

sailor, extending his arms, and then once more sink. 

ing into unconsciousness. 

A happy oblivion for many moments sbut out external 

objects from his view. 

When Tom recovered to a perception of his situation, 

his first idea was the tremendous consciousness of being 

alone! - alone upon the mighty world of waters, whose 

depths had never echoed to the plummet line, whose paths 

nor man nor angel had ever marked out; and yet, as he 

repeated tbe terrible word" alone!!' and wrung his hands 

in the depth of his despair, again the sweet, viewless wbisperer 

sounded in his ear,- 

" Courage, courage! Thou art not alone. I am here." 

And he did have courage. He knew her not - this 

spirit bride. It might be an incarnation of Borne sweet 

western gale, or southern breeze; it might be the farfamed 

mermaid of whom legendary lore had so oft told


tales of wonder and mystery. He knew not, he eared not. 

Irresistibly the voice spoke to his heart; a presence, actual, 

tangible, though still viewless, was by his side; calmness 

stole over his spirit; hope was in his heart, and courage in 

his eye. . 

Almost unconsciously to himself he syllabled the words, 

.. How long?" \Vhether he actually spoke, or merely 

thought, he never could determine; but, to his infinite 

rapture, he was instantly answered, in the following 

words :- 

. "Many hours of suffering must elapse ere rescue can 

reach thee, my beloved; but fear not; I will never leave 

thee! " 

And many hours of suffering did elapse, and yet the 

poor waif on the mighty ocean did not fear; neither did 

he ever again feel himself alone. A burning, fervid day, 

and then a long, eternal, endless night followed, and still 

the sailor floated over the broad bosom of the ocean on his 

frail bark of chips. 

Another long, scorching day before him, and still a vast, 

spotless waste of horizon, without a speck of hope or the 

faintest prospect of human aid; and yet the tender whisperer 

was there, and yet the Bailor Buffered and endured 

with strong courage and ever-tranquil joy; for he could no 

longer doubt that he had a companion - one who not only 

read hi. thoughts, but distinctly, lovingly, hopefully an 

Bwered them. Sometimes he would actually forget his 

pain; hunger and thirst were no more, and his miserable 

raft seemed like a floating palace, for the Bweet, precious 

,'oice told him o.f hours so bright and glorious, a destiny 

for man so new and magnificent, and a purpose in human 

suffering so wise, that her astounded auditor forgot the 

whole world in listening to her angelic revealments.

42 THE JlONOJlANIAC. 

on desperate service, and commanded by one of the most 

notorious martinets in the British service. 

o man, man! .. dressed in a little brief authority," how 

small appears the kingdom of thy petty sway, yet what 

mighty consequence to human souls may not the use or 

abuse of that petty sway involve! More especially does 

this apply to the poor sailor. No captive chained to the 

wheel, and shrinking beneath the lash of a tyrant master, 

can be more hopelessly in the power of his fellow-man, 

than is the sailor in the floating prison of a harsh or unjust 

commander. 

The imaginary divinity which hedges in a king extends 

its formidable mantle of power over all human authoritarians; 

and man cringes to the office even where he may 

despise, and would, individually, reject the man. Sea captains 

are monstrous instances of this potential bugbear of 

authority. A sayage nature developing itself amid the 

rough scenes of war and strife on the stormy ocean waves, 

has been known to oppress, maltreat, and even destroy the 

lives of noble fellows, whose strength of mind and body 

would have sufficed, again and again, to crush the inhu. 

man tyrant before whom he bowed, only because he was 

hedged in the magic circle of authority. The principle 

itself is not only wise, but absolutely, arbitrarily necessary, 

in a world of degrees; but it ought at least to impress 

upon man the enormous responsibility which he owes to 

that God who has intrusted him with the weal or woe of 

the helpless human souls who weave their woof of destiny 

within the dominion of his authority. 

At the time of which we write, the high seas reeked 

with the sighs of white slaves, lashed, and tom, and 

crushed into sin and rebellion, beneath the iron rule of 

remorseless sea-kings. It may be better now; I know


he knew and loved the wretched culprit. He imbibed 

the strong magnetism of indignation, shame, and disgust 

which the silent crew all manifested; and, ere he was 

aware of the act he was committing, he stepped up to the 

captain, and, hat in hand, humbly, respectfully, but firmly, 

solicited to be permitted to receive the punishment in 

place of poor little Joe, because he - the said Joe - was 

sick and weakly, and the said Tom was strong and hearty, 

and better able to bear the flogging. The novelty, no 

less than the audacity, of this original request at first 

startled, but finally so delighted, the sea-monster to whom 

it was addressed, that he actually indulged "the lubber's 

fancy;" and the noble seaman was permitted ·to receive 

several dozen of savage stripes, which enabled him to 

retire with bleeding back, shattered frame, and a reputation 

which was dear to the memory of British sailors for 

many, many long years after. 

But this was not all. No sooner had the gallant substitute 

tottered away from the ladder, than the word was 

givep. to tie up the unfortunate lad for whom he had hoped 

to have suffered, the grim captain declaring that if Tom 

loved thrashing, it was a pity he should not have it; but 

that was no reason the culprit should be spared, and 

therefore "justice" demanded, "the play being over, 

that the punishment should begin." 

For one moment Tom stood with an axe in his hand, 

which he had hastily caught up. For one brief moment 

the tyrant's life hung by a thread, and Tom was, in intent, 

a murderer.; the next, the axe fell powerless from his 

grasp, and he stood listening attentively, but sternly, to 

the voice:- 

"Hold, Tom! what would you do? Can two wrongs 

make one right? What if you become a murderer?

OX TH:s SPIXIT RIDE. 

Could your sours perdition change the law which gives 

this man authority? Could your resistance change the 

system, or even save the lad? Look around you: other 

officers, equally cruel, equally powerful, are ready to step 

into his place, and execute his orders; ani!. where would 

you be? - shipwrecked beytJnd my power to save you! 

Henceforth learn to act when you can saue. Speak iD 

the right of manhood ,.hen God and the Right demand; 

but never act unless you can do good, and never speak 

unless you have given yourself time to think. And now, 

Tbm, - dear, dear Tom! - having had time to think, it 

is now time to speak '" 

And speak Tom did, in the might of manhood and the 

name of God, and, with the spirit of his angel bride on 

his lips, he shouted aloud, .. Hold, captaiD! You have 

done enough! The boy'8hall not be flogged!" 

The next instant, as if by magic, ,the air rung to one 

tremendous shout, echoed from the swelling hearts of the 

outraged and indignant crew, and a terrible scene of 

mutiny raged throughout the ship. The officers were 

neither unaccustomed to, nor unprepared for, such scenes. 

Firm and composed they remained at their posts, and, by 

virtue of strong command, some persuasion, and some 

show of determined authority, the riot was soon quelled. 

Still, the unfortunate subject of the mutiny profited by it, 

for he was not flogged, although his generous defender 

was shortly after placed in irons to await his trial for life 

or death. 

That trial never took place. By what means, was· 

never ascertained, - whether by the connivance of the 

officers or the determination of the crew, - certain it 

was, that at midnight the captive's chains were unloosed, 

and he remained concealed in the ship for weeks, fed


and protected 15y his admiring comrades, until a favorable 

opportunity occurred of conveying him secretly on board 

another vessel. 

It boots not now to follow the fortunes of the noble 

seaman further in detail; enough that they led him over 

the length and breadth of the earth, - in storm and tempest, 

in captivity and battle, in sorrow, sickness, poverty, 

hardship, and old age; but never, never again did they 

leave him in loneliness. Ever around him, - in the dungeon, 

on the battle field, in the still hour of calm, in sweet 

communion with the eternal stars, or the "golden, midday 

sun, - in every scene and every vicissitude, the viewless, 

fairy spirit-voice was his constant companion. 

By degrees, the lessons of wisdom, beauty, and refinement 

which she whispered into his ear began to tincture 

his character, habits, and speech. Tom began to be noted 

for a singular and wonderfully learned man; awful as a 

prophet, and wise beyond the simple comprehension of 

his poor, ignorant messmates. He would have been a 

mark, no less of terror than wonder, had he not borne 

those ineffaceable tokens of a pure life and noble purpose, 

which triumphed over fear and wonder, ignorance 

and superstition. At times he \vas heard conversing with 

the fairy presence; and then it was that his comrades 

understood that he was not so much "a great magician," 

as one of those "men of God" of ancient days, whom 

the Bible wrote about, who talked with the angels, and 

learned to converse with the wild sea-gulls and the monsters 

of the deep. 

At times Tom became embarrassed with this "fear 

Bome" reputation. When the tempests roared and the 

angel of destruction hovered over the ships in which he 

sailed, the ignorant and superstitious, who had heard wild

• 


tales of his intercourse with invisible beings, would beseech 

his intercession with the "demons of the storm." 

or threaten him, like Jonah, to be cast into the sea. 

Fondly we linger over the old sailor's magic life, with 

the angel-voice and the spirit-air ever around him, with 

the hands of the Immortal wreathing the blossoJD.8 of 

eternity around his yet mortal footsteps, and breathing 

the fragrance of celestial bowers into the murky atmosphere 

of his toilsome life. Toilsome, did we say? Life 

has been a very blessed boon to him. The darkest shades 

, that ever obscured the vision of humanity have glowed for 

him with the sunlight of heaven; for heaven within his 

soul has never faded away since the hour when the brightest 

of her ministering spirits descended to tell the desolate 

sailor-boy that heaven was the inheritance of man, 

the goal of life. and had its locality within the depths of 

a pure and si,nless spirit. 

Reader, this is the history of a monomaniac. If an 

English jury had been called to decide upon what topic 

Tom Martin was actually mad, they would have been at 

a very considerable loss. Still he was a "monomaniac." 

the proofs whereof being, that he was considerably better 

informed, purer in morals, kinder in disposition, more 

refined in habits. more choice in language, more pious, 

honest, and intelligent than most of his other fellowcreatures; 

and that he, the said Tom Martin, being 

unable to account for the possession of these remarkable 

attributes in a poor, ignorant, unlearned, friendless sailor, 

otherwifle than upon the teaching of " a spirit." the said 

Tom was conceived to be feloniously endued with illegitimate 

knowledge; and yet, not being within the pale 

of the law, he must necessarily be "a monomaniac" ! 

If more proof were wanting, he could unerringly predict

" 

48 7llE llONOJlUIAC. 

future events; and though he ever pertinaciously insisted 

that this insight into the future was likewise derived from 

the communication of his precious spirit-whisperer, the 

learned of the land (Great Britain) decided that "spiritwhiaperers" 

were not held as legal witnesses; that naturals, 

sjmpletons, and even idiots, had been known to be 

possessed of the gift of prophecy; that the faot of their 

being wiser than other people was even deemed sufficient 

evidence of gross deficiency of intellect, or morals; and 80, 

as old Tom Martin had done mnch good service, ,he could 

not reasonably be deprived of his good service-pension 

and home in Greenwich Hospital; and as he was, moreover, 

neither simpleton, natural, nor idiot, but only flagrant 

in the last count, namely, that of being wisei' than other 

people, his case was finally disposed of under the head of 

Monomaniac. 

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THE HAUNTED GRANGE. 49 

THE HAUNTED GRANGE, 

OR THE LAST TENANT. 

BEING AN ACCOUN'r OF THE LU'E AND TIMES OF MRS. 

HANNAH MORRISON, SOMETIMES STYLED 

THE WITCH OF ROOKWOOD. 

CHAPTER I. 

FROM the remarkable pages of the CaustZ Celeb1'a, I 

once read an aecount of a murder, the details of which 

made such a strong impression on my mind, that I am 

enabled to give verbatim one or two extracts from the trial. 

The first is touching the appearance; the second refers to 

the life and reputation of the alleged murderess. They 

are as follows: - 

.. 7116 lamentllbk Murder of LiBUtenant William Roche8tBr, R. N., 

aM the Trial of Dame H6lJter or Hannah Pitcaim for that tDicked 

deed • 

.. The hag, - for surely she is one, and might fain pass for a witch 

that could mar 80 tine a piece of Nature's work as :MBster lieutenant 

Rochester, a goodly YO\Ulg man, and well to do, - the hag 

then came forward, well guarded by constables Higgins and Pell; 

and a terrible sight it was for Christian men to look upon one so 

old and stricken in years; she was, as seemed to be, nigh upon 

eighty, and she portC'd herself mightily, and like one who was no 

ways concerned in this mORt wicked murder; and when she cried 

aloud upon God for a witness to her innocence, she revealed her 

iniquity to all, saying, • My God, help me!' which showed that 

5

OR THE LAST TENANT. 

How many times these trite sentences were uttered in 

the village of Rookwood, (a remote and old-fashioned sub. 

urb to a large metropolitan town in the north of England,) 

during the last century, we cannot correctly state; but we 

have reason to believe that they tcrminated every debate, 

held not less than six times a day upon an average, with 

which the good people of Rookwood were wont to canvass 

the life and times of Mrs. Hannah Morrison, the last tenant 

of Rookwood Grange. 

Few people knew much of the history of Rookwooi 

Grange; fewer still had taken any particular interest in 

thtl sayings and doings of its last inhabitant at the time 

when she might fairly have laid claim to be the subject of 

such interest; but now that she was old, very old indeed, 

and worn and decrepit, and in all likelihood would soon 

pass away from sight and memory altogether, a strangtl 

and universal interest began to be manifested about the 

little remnant of life which she yet had to spin out. It 

was not that she had wealth to leave; poor, old Hannah! 

she was the last and only dependant of a broken family, 

who had died off one after the other in the descending 

scale of prosperity, while the once stately manor house 

had sunk into a ruin, the once high and noble owners of 

the soil had become petty inhabitants, and the owl and the 

bat had shared, with the last threadbare and ruined forms 

of the house of Rookwood, the desolate hearth and 

crumbling halls, which had mice been the pride of the 

"bounty side. But the house was haunted, folks said; old 

Hannah lh'ed there all alone; 'tis true Hhe had lived tkere 

time out of mind; beyond, in fact, the memory of the farfamed" 

oldest inhabitant;" but living there now, when 

not a single creature beyond the aforesaid owls, babl, and 

may be a very abstemious rat or two, such a one as could

52 THE HAUNTED GRANGE, 

live on food more fitted for the imagination than the corporeal 

frame, these being the only recognized companions 

whom old, dreary Hannah was known to entertain in her 

deep solitude, people would talk, would wonder how she 

could bear it, and whether or no she was not in reality 

in some way connected with the vague and undefined 

tales of "glamour" and mystery which had long been 

whispered about the village in connection with either the 

house or its inhabitants, it was not precisely determined 

which. 

The night is bitterly cold, a sharp, driving wind is whirling 

round and round the ruined gables, and whistling in 

long and mournful cadence through the avenue of leafless 

trees which leads up to the desolate old pile. Ruin, every 

where ruin! grass-grown courts, and mouldering walls, 

supported by the very ivy which has so long been eating 

into their joists and stays, and in one remote corner there 

glimmers a feeble light, dim, uncertain, and visionary as 

the old mass of buildings itself. 

Now the moon, gleaming coldly through the wild, tempestuous 

clouds, which ever and anon drh'e across the 

black November sky, reveals all the picturesque points of 

the tumble-down old place, leaving its more painful details 

in the favoring shadow of night. Let us follow the faint 

glimmer of Hannah's lamp, push open the crazy door 

already swinging on its broken hinges to and fro in the bitter 

blast, creep doubtfully tPrough many a dim and mouldering 

passage, and crossing the once bright hall where 

yet the tattered banners wave, and the antlered pride of 

the forest tells the tale of gallant chase and jovial hunt, 

where rusty spear and broken lance repose against the 

crumbling walls in idle memory of dead chivalry and longforgotten 

patriotism, let us enter a small, old-fashioned,

OR THE LAST TENANT. 53 

tapestried room, the only habitable corner of the desolate 

Grange, where sits in lonely state the last tenant of Rookwood 

Grange. She is clad in an uncertain colored garment. 

Doubtless its original shade had been black; it 

was now brown, rusty brown, except where a patch or 

two denoted its proprietor's total disregard of a union of 

colors. Still its threadbare and most meagre appearance was 

redeemed by the snow-white apron-kerchief and coif, which 

had been decorously arranged about the sad figure, giving 

the most touching and delicate evidence that propriety 

and cleanliness had triumphed over age and poverty. Her 

face, pale and worn as that of the dead, denoted extreme 

old age; but there was, nevertheless, something kind and 

affectionate in its wistful lineaments, gentle and womanly 

in its harshest outlines. At the moment when we first 

introduce her to the reader. she had removed her old, worn 

spectacles, and was carefully wiping them, preparatory to 

renewing the task of filling up with pen and ink the sheets 

that were before her. As she resumed her task, she 

sighed, and looked ruefully at the still wet, huge blotswhich 

had poured from her dim eyes to the already somewhat 

obscure page. Old Hannah turned over that leaf 

and many others; but, turn where she would, the same 

evidences of bitter tears and blotted pages met her eyes, 

and, shaking her head with a very doubting smile, she 

muttered, " If he ever finds it, 'tis ten to one if he can 

make it out." One single rap, short, but very distinct, on 

the panel of the door, would have caused anyone but 

Hannah to turn to it interrogatively. She did not heed it, 

however, but went on soliloquizing aloud: "No, indeed; 

he may not find it, but then again he may." This time 

the knock was repeated with two additions. " Very 

likely; well, perhaps I may feel certain he will." Again 

51J 

..


the knocking j surely old Hannah must be deaf, or 80 

unaccustomed to visitors that she never thought of saying, 

"Come in." A long pause ensued, and then she murmured, 

"Shall I ever, 0, shall I ever behold him again on 

earth? " Roused perhaps by the sound of her voice, 

another summons, consisting of three distinct and forcible 

raps on the door, was heard. " Soon?" cried the obtuse 

woman. Again the knocking resounded, and again the 

deaf hermit relapsed into silence j at length she shook her 

withered head, and muttered, "Yes, ever yes - promise, 

promise! but, alas! it will be in another and better world; 

I have waited too long in this in vain." So saying, she 

resumed her stump of a pen, and, carefully tilting the 

broken flower vase that served her for an inkstand, 

scratched away at some old, mildewed sheets that purported 

to be the" real history of Mrs. Hannah Morrison." 

We may look over the old body's shoulder as much as 

we please, for there ill no one there to interrupt us hut a 

poor black cat, almost as Mind and wearied-looking as its 

mistress. Silence and desolation are there, and nought 

disturbs the utter desertion of that lone room but the 

scratching of Hannah's pen and the occasional tap, tap, of 

a still unsatisfied visitor, who often and seemingly vainly 

courted her attention by sundry appeals to the door, walls, 

and even, as it appeared, under the very table at which 

she was writing; and still she wrote on, sometimes raising 

her head and uttering a short sentence, as if actually conversing 

with her unseen visitor, at other times responding 

only by a motion of her lips; and this very eccentric habit 

of talking to herself it was, which, combined with the 

remarkable noises which bats, owls, and other indescribable 

adjuncts to old ruins produced, that procured for Rookwood 

Grange the reputation of being haunted, and for Hannah

66 TIlE HAUNTED GRANGB, 

beautiful, would have found fruition in the ltudy of a better 

and nobler purpose in creation than a mere sojourn on 

the earth, from which his I!pirit longed to flee away and be 

at rest. As it was, he thought bitterly of the fate 'which 

condemned him to uphold a proud name on a scanty fortune, 

broken by extravagance, and saddled with debt, and 

to maintain the show of a landed proprietor on an estate 

swallowed up in mortgages. 

He tumed with disgust from the ever-involved theme of 

his. worldly difficulties; and gazed dreamily on the rushing 

current of the deep and rapid river by whose side he pursued 

his melancholy evening walk. .. One plunge," he 

murmured, II the ODe sharp, fierce struggle between life 

and death, and then - peace, rest, oblivion - • ay, ana 

after! ' Would it be all rest? Could it be oblivion? A 

prick of the finest blade, the sharp tooth of the smallest 

reptile might poison the earthly casket, and let "Out the 

wondrous thing called life; that life that thought and 

breathed, devised plans, and so longed for eternity, could 

that be soul? and how to !"ill tAat so as to insure obli-vion." 

"The soul cannot die," echoed the immortal part 

within him. " The soul never dies," murmured the rushing 

torrent. .. The soul lives forever," whispered the 

dying breeze. "Forever, forever," sang the lone st.ars 

which now began to twinkle forth one by one, repeating 

the tale of creation, and pointing on the dial plate of the 

firmament to the watchword eternity. 

II Eternity! eternity! eternity!" shrieked a human soul, 

breaking from its narrow prison-house in the wild struggle 

of the foaming waters beneath the very feet of the half unconscious 

dreamer. ... suicide! - that suicide a woman! 

- met his horror-struck gaze. 0, the deep lesson which 

the presence of violent. criminal death reads to the most 

Digitized by Google 

, \ 

I 

II


hardened human heart! With a frantic effort to rescue 

the sir.king form, Edward Rookwood dashed into the rh'er, 

struggling with the desperation of a self-convicted murderer 

to save another from the terrible crime which he had 

but a moment before so coolly contemplated. 

He succeeds in dragging a human form from the fierce 

torrent, and with much difficulty places it on the green 

bank beside him. A human form! Alas, 'tis but afor", I 

Some fearful change has come over the creature, which a 

minute ago was a temple of an immortal spirit. Nature, 

in her truth and innocence, shrinks from the disorganized 

mass, destitute of the only spark which rendered it lovely. 

Edward Rookwood gazed in awe and terror on the woman 

who had killed her body, and asked where was her spirit 

gone. He felt she was dead; every nerve and fibre crept 

with a cold shudder in response to the spirit within, which 

told him he was looking on one who had rushed headlong 

into the vast abyss of eternity, and, shuddering for the suffering 

soul which he felt was gone to its tmprepared ac- . 

count, he raised the body on his arm with the hopeless 

view· of again searching for the extinguished spark of 

vitality. A low, wailing cry arrested him. He turned 

and gazed on a little ragged, forlorn-looking child, of about 

five years old. 

" 0, mother, mother!" she cried, .. why don't you speak 

to me ? 0, why did you go into the cold river without 

me? 0, mother, mother! do speak to little Hannah; she 

does 10"'e you so, mother! and this good gentleman will 

give us a loaf of bread, alld some pennies to buy gin with, 

if you'll only look up and speak to me." 

What a history did these few words, and the torn rags 

of the miserable little orphan, reveal! He gazed on the 

swollen, bloated features of the corpse; youth, beauty, gin,

OR THE LAST TENANT. :>9 

with the air, fol' no one was ever seen with her, yet ahe 

seemed to be holding conversations with some one. 

"\Vith herself, you mean," cried Mr. Rookwood; .. there 

is nothing very unusual in that, is there ? " 

The matron pshawed and pshawed; no, it was not with 

herself, for she had been known to ask que!!tions, and wait 

and listen as if for an answer; and yet always denied it 

when detected and questioned; but worse still, she predicted 

every thing that happened. 

. .. 'Worse! Excellent, you mean," replied her patroll; 

.. she shall set to work and write an almanac." 

But, above all, her greatest delinquency was a horrible 

power which she possessed of turning people almost to 

stone; for one day the matron had entered the ward unexpectedly, 

and found twelve of her young companions 

ranged up against the wall in a row, all fast asleep; 80 

fast indeed, that she, the matron, could not wake them 

with all her scolding and shaking; and the tE'rrible little 

witch had to run from one to the other, making mysterious 

signs, ere they all woke up; when they declared they had 

seen beautiful sights - of fields, and gardens, and fountains 

- and been so happy that they had even forgotten 

they were parish charges, and were hungry, cold, and 

miserable. 

Despite all these abominable accusations, Mr. Rookwood, 

being a bold man, took the little mystic into his 

nouse, gave her good clothes, kind advice, and a fair 

schooling; let her wait upon his daughter, a child a year 

younger than herself, and found in her the loveliest, kindest, 

most intelligent and affectionate little handmaid that 

ever tended upon princess in a fairy tale. 

Years rolled on, and though Hannah Morrison's eccentricities 

were confirmed facts, her amiability, her beauty,


and her intense attachment to her benefactor and his 

family, rendered her inexpressibly dear to them all. The 

old tumble-down mansion of Rookwood Grange had long 

enjoyed the reputation of being haunted; but since the 

admission of Hannah within its crazy walls, fresh and tangible 

sources of superstitiouo speculation had every where 

presented themselves. Mysterious voices, whisperings 

which seemed to proceed from the viewless air, unaccountable 

lights, and even in the dim gloaming of twilight 

a shadowy form, as of a woman with dripping garments 

and streaming hair, had been identified with the old house 

for some years; and wild stories were in circulation respecting 

the origin of these mysteries, which the family 

disregarded, but which the villagers placed such implicit 

belief in, that Rookwood Grange came at last -to be regarded 

as an infected ship in the midst of a fieet, who 

were all uncertain of the actual reality and nature of an 

evil which they more than suspected, and shrank from 

with terror. 

Within the haunted mansion doubts and misgivings prevailed 

no less keenly than in the circle of village gossips. 

Sights and sounds, alike unaccountable and alarming, 

seemed so pertinaciously to attach themselves to the presence 

of thc hapless Hannah, that nothing but the warm 

affection which subsisted between the Rookwoods and 

herself could have so long maintained their tender intcrcourse. 

The poor girl would at times amuse them with 

impromptu tales of other lands, glowing with beauty and 

delight, which made their pulses beat and their nerves 

shiver in response to her wild strain of inspiration. Sometimes 

she would break out into a rhapsody of delicious poetry, 

and anon sing airs of new and unimaginable beauty, 

in tones whose melting tenderness thrilled every heart.

OR THE LA.ST TENANT. 61 

Where she acquired the knowledge and practice of these 

accomplishments was a profound mystery; but as their 

exhibition W!lS often accompanied by remarkable and 

never-failing predictions, Mr. Rookwood, in his moods 

of dreamy abstraction, would pronounce the girl a modern 

type of the ancient prophetesses of Greece and Rome, and 

bade his children mind what Hannah said, for she was 

always right; then, shutting himself up in his library, 

he would ponder over the history of Cassandra, assure 

himself that there was an exact parallel between her case 

and that of Hannah Morrison, and, gazing down on the 

sleeve of his old dressing-gown, which his affectionate 

and industrious protegee had so neatly patched, wonder 

where the convenient rags were gone into which he had 

been used to stick his pen. 

Mr. Rookwood's family consisted only of one son and 

daughter. The latter, Alice, was engaged to a young 

offioer, who had been recently quartered in their neighborhood; 

and, though both the young people were poor, 

the "aristocratic .plood which ran in their veins rendered 

the match a congenial one to the broken-down gentleman; 

and so he looked complacently upon the preparations 

which the ever-active soul of ·the place - bright, 

cheerful, bustling Hannah - was carrying on with spirit 

enough for the whole family. 

The fair bride herself, gentle, loving, and inanimate, 

looked on in perfect content and passivity, while Hannah, 

no longer her servant, but her friend, contrived and 

arranged, and drew forth from mouldy cupboards and ironbound 

trunks - the dim repositories of moth and mould- 

" stiff brocades and once gorgeous silks, which had rustled 

through the splendors of bygone ages in the adornment 

6 

•

62 THE HA.UNTED GRANGE, 

of dead grandames once as fair and stately as the lovely 

Alice herself. ' 

In these occupations the young girls were often beguiled 

of many a heavy thought which the fast sinking fortanes 

of poor Rookwood engendered, by the hearty laugh and 

buoy.mt glee of young Harry, his only son, and heir to 

the territory of owls and bats, which he was now deeply 

. engaged in effecting a final mortgage upon. Harry was 

a noble, gallant young fellow, a lieutenant in the navy, 

and an honor and credit to his profession and the proud 

name he bore; but young Rookwood was, at the time of 

his sillter's marriage, ignorant of a crushing blow which 

his unhappy father wall unconsciously preparing to inflict 

upon him. He loved Hannah Morrison passionately, devotedly. 

They had been brought up together as brother 

and sister; but from the time when they first felt the 

pangs of separation - that ill, when young Rookwood 

entered the navy, and set off on his first voyage-Hannah 

and Harry knew and appreciated the intense depth 

of their nlutual affection, and their subsequent meetings 

and bitter farewells were all made with a thousand vows 

of love and fidelity - the only balm they could apply to 

the heavy doom of separation. 

Alice was of course iheir confidant, and in all respects 

proved a generous advocate of her brother's unselfish 

choice; yet neither of the young people had as yet found 

courage to communicate their wishes to Mr. Rookwood; 

and he, in the abstraction of his peculiarly absent nature 

and overwhelming family misfortunes, had neycr thought 

of, or even suspected, the little plot that was forming to 

defeat all his arrangements. 

The fair Alice became a bride. Hannah, with mingled 

smiles and tears, sobs and congratulations, hung round


the sun of her life, the 'element of her being, vowing 

allegiance to one whom in her inmost consciousness she 

believed he could not love. 

" I would buy his happiness with the misery of a long 

life," she thought. "I would drink the cup of sorrow to 

the very dregs; I would steep myself to the very lips in 

poverty, suffering,' and want to insure him a life of !lunshine 

and peace. But 0, to meet his haggard eyes, 

turned 80 imploringly to mine, without the power, or even 

now, alas! the right to speak one word of comfort to him! 

o Harry, Harry! I could bear thy loss; but I cannot thus 

endure to witness thf sufferings! " 

Thus, in the depths of her writhing spirit, alone in her 

remote little chamber, reasoned the sorrowful girl, while the 

village bells rung out their merry peals of hollow, mocking 

laughter over the sacrifice of the perjured bridegroom. 

Ding dong! ding dong! on they clash and gibber, 

while the village maids strew pale roses and spotless lilies 

beneath the feet of the fair and haughty bride. Ding 

dong! ding dong! pealing on the tuneful requiem of the 

dead heart of the m\jerable young bridegroom. Ding 

dong! ding dong I they shriek in the ears of the conscience-stricken 

father, who bares his white head to the 

breeze which seems whispering, " Thou hast sold thy child, 

and bartered thy peace of mind for a mess of pottage." 

Weep for the mocking mirth of that sinful wedding day. 

Mourn for the white lips which pronounced falRe oaths at 

the altar dedicated to God and truth. Censure, yet pity, 

the guilty father who conspired to crush out the light of 

life and. hope from two loving young hearts, that he4lIlight 

provide a home and comforts for that doubtful morrow 

which man may never dare to call his own. 

Din:g dong! ding dong! Will the clash of that mock-

68 THE HAUNTED GRANGE. 

ing peal of hollow joy never end? Evening comes. and 

the quiet village sleeps, while the silence of the brokenhearted 

rests on the loud-tongued church steeple. The 

bridal party close round the social board; the old man 

smiles wanly upon the group; the sullen bridegroom plays 

abstractedly with the orange blossoms gleaming through 

the dark tresses of the bride. on whose cold. proud, marble 

features neither sentiment nor passion leaves its trace to 

show that a breathing soul sympathized with its beautiful 

but lifeless casket. 

And around and amidst them all flits the glancing form 

of Hannah; no longer the gleeful chiftl of joy and impulse, 

but a quiet. subdued peing, from whom the freshness of 

youth and the day-spring of hope had departed forever. 

In action she is the Hannah of other days, anticipating 

and providing for the wants of all around her; but the 

Boul within is changed, and its impress weighs down her 

once buoyant step, stamps its rigid lines about the closeset 

lips, and ever and anon gleams forth in flashes of wild 

agony in the strangely bright but restless eyes. 

As the night creeps heavily on. the old man. without 

'attempting to meet her wandering glance, asks her to sing 

one of the songs he much loved to hear. The air is 

named; 'tis a merry strain, full of hope and promise, and 

might shed some kindred warmth over the weary circle. 

Hannah. ever willing to oblige, prepares to accompany herself 

on Alice's lute, and a sweet, gay symphony strikes the 

first ray of gladness to the heart of that bridal party which 

they have known since the sacrifice was consummated. 

But, .ven as she attempts to give utterance to the sparkling 

metre of the song. the fixed and gleaming eyes upturned 

to heaven bespeak a soul rapt and preoccupied; 

her fingers stray unconsciously among the strings; strange.


wild chords herald a new strain, and the following wordsspring 

spontaneously, and, as was evident to all, irresistibly 

from her parted lips, adapted to an air exquisitely pathetic, 

but peculiar, mournful, and thrilling:- 

Hark! the bellI of the village are pealing a atraIu 

or r'll01clog aud gladneu, wb1le over the malu. 

ThlI song Is rei!choed In eadencea rare, 

Come, balte to the bridal of Margaret the fair. 

They are wedded; the bridegroom has Iwom the false oath 

Which hal bound him In fetters his spirit mnst loathe j 

For hll vows of devotion are perjury there, 

And hla haud, not hli heart, II with lIargnret thc fidr. 

0, weep for the bridal, fil-omened and drear, 

Where the false god of Illcre Is hovering near j 

0, weep for the darlmels faat gathering thcre j 

'Til the night of thy young Ufe, 0 Margaret the taIr I 

Never more shall the sunlight of hope on thee shine I 

Never more Ihall the home of aft"ectlon be thine j 

Tjly bridegroom II withering beneath the sad obaIa 

Which has bound bfm for life to the altar of gain j 

Thon shalt drink of the ClUp of bright joy never morel 

Thou Ihalt r8ve11n dreams of Iweet youth never more. 

No angels are near thee thy future to cheer, 

That future' 80 fraught with deep darkness aud fear j 

Thine oll'sprlng In sh8ll1e and aftllctlon 8hall moum 

Thy bridal, and curse the dark hour they were born. 

Hark! the bellI of the vUlage are pealing a straln 

Of warning and sadncss, while over the maln 

'llhls song il rei!choed In cadenoos drear, 

Woe! woe to the bridal of Margaret the fair. 

Confusion and astonishment were in every face; grief 

and terror filled the hearts of all who listened to this illomened 

song; but the prophetess herself heeded them 

not. The ,old man, who had arisen in anger to reprove 

the bitterness of the disappointed maiden, received her in 

his arms insensible; he bore her sadly and tenderly from


such medicines as her skill dictated. This skill was singularly 

enough exercised in the surrounding hamlets, where 

the poor folks came from far and near to get cured of every 

manner of complaint by the wonderfully efficacious touch 

of the good doctress. Even those who were disposed to 

ridicule her curative power, and question with pious awe 

the source from whence these miracles were wrought, could 

not deny the factI that the diseased were made whole, 

and that the simple prescriptions of Hannah Morrison 

acted upon suffering creatures whom the learned alDong 

the medical faculty had pronounced incurable, even as the 

waters of Jordan worked on the frame of the leper in tbe 

days when Jesus of Nazareth bade the dead arise in the 

name of the living God. 

For the honor of human nature we might suppress the 

odium, instead of gratitude, which followed most of these 

exhibitions of the kind Hannah's inspiration; but when 

we remember that they whom Jesus devoted his life to 

healing, teaching, and henefiting, condemned their Saviour 

to an ignominious and shameful death, we cannot wonder 

that the epithet of witch, and isolation from all human 

companionship but such as she dwelt among, were the 

only rewards which the poor physician ever received for 

her bounteous gifts of health and strength diffused with 

generous willingness to all who sought her aid. The exceptions 

to her singular faculty of healing were, alas! 

among those whom she would have given her own life to 

benefit. On the family of her protectors there scemed to 

hang a doom which no human skill or foresight could avert. 

One by one they sunk beneath the fell ravages of consumption. 

In vain did the unhappy Hannah nurse, and pet, 

and caress the little ones whom, as the children of her beloved 

Alice, she cherished as her own heart's core. She


CHAFTER IV. 

FOR some years after the death of the fair Alice, the 

scythe of the destroyer was held suspended, but did not 

descend on the fated house of Rookwood. 

The poor old man, whom Hannah fostered and tended 

like a delicate plant, seemed to exist by a cord which 

strengthened with attenuation, and his old age and many 

sorrows developed noble qualities in his mind whico. lent 

strength and lustre to his ebbing life and faculties. The 

rigid features of the sorrowful" old maid" ever 'expanded 

into a smile of welcome as poor Mr. Rookwood appeared 

at her side. Her faithful arm was his support as they 

passed through the village lanes and fields on errands of 

kindness and healing to the sick and afHicted. It was his 

pride to carry her basket of little stores, and display his 

strength and activity by offering her support when the 

path was rough or difficult. Often they would sit far into 

the night, discoursing in low tones of subjects which in 

some ages would have condemned them both to the stake; 

and if evidence were needed of their dark and dangerous 

communion with the invisible world, the never-silent rap, 

tap, tap, which sounded on panels, floor and door, and the 

patter of unseen footsteps which kept time to their discourse, 

would have been evidence sufficient. 

And they parted after these evening musings, the one 

with a calm, humble, and resigned look, which seemed to 

shed a halo of glory around his silvered head, and the other 

with an expression so exalted and ulRarthly, that her faded 

features seemed to awake into a beauty almost angelic. 

If we have not, in our erratic pursuit of the fortunes of 

7


CHAPTER V. 

FOR two or three years after her first parting from Edward 

Rookwood, Hannah Morrison lived a life out of whose 

deep seclusion many sources of quiet happiness were derived. 

The first pang of separation over, she would gaze 

into the dim vista of the future with bright anticipations 

of the blessed day when he would return. No matter how 

long or uncertain the period of his voyage, Hannah's remarkable 

gift of prescience enabled her to determine the 

weary moments of absence, and calculate with a mother's 

tender interest upon the precious white day of his return. 

Alone, ever alone, as she was, no ope ever heard the desolate 

old woman express a yearning for the boon of human 

companionship. Her affectionate adopted son kept her 

as well supplied with money as his own extravagance, 

fostered by the evil association of his reckless brother, 

would permit. 

This fact was known to many of the surrounding 

villagers, whose business it was to comment upon their 

neighbors' affairs in general, and" old witch Hannah's" 

in particular; hence it was inferred from her miserably 

poverty-stricken mode of life, and extremely threadbare 

appearance, that she had added to the vice of sorcery that 

of being a miser, and on this point, at least, public opinion 

was not quite at fault, for aside from a few purchases of 

the simple medicines which she was ever employed in dispensing 

to the poor, and the worsted and twine with which 

she knitted warm clothes for the barefooted children of 

poverty around her, or nets for. the poor fisher .boys, who 

could not obtain the means to buy them for themselves,


Hannah Morrison was never known to expend a single 

copper on the supply of her own meagre household, or 

necessary wants. Could those who speculated so curiously 

on the disposal of the money, which, it was generally understood, 

young Edward brought home to his foster mother, 

have seen its actual destination, they would have exchanged 

the sobriquet of miser, it may be, for that of prodigal; for 

what other word could embody the profuse generosity with 

which the poor solitary would pour out into her darling's 

hand the accumulated sums which she had carefully heaped 

up in his absence, only to return to him again on the eve 

of his departure for a fresh voyage, when extravagance had 

reduced the young sai.!-or to his last shilling? 

She never asked how . .he bestowed' these sums, but she 

hung with almost childish delight over his new jackets or 

warm dreadnought wrappers; and then, when his sea chest 

was freshly stowed and packed full of new and handsome 

" riggings," she would sigh to think she had no more savings 

wherewith to purchase him a smart purl:1e or a fine 

neckerchief, as a final parting token of her inexhaustible 

love. The young man, whose generous nature was warped, 

but not destroyed, by his brother's injurious inlluence, accepted 

these long-hoarded savings with reluctance, often 

with a sense of shame, but only when he perceived old 

Hannah's settled determination in the appropriation of her 

money, and upon her solemn assurance that she never 

wanted for any thing. It was true :he would look round 

. the desolate ruin which sheltered the faithful prop of his 

fallen house, and sigh when he remembered how far the 

sums he had so prolligately lavished would have gone to 

repair the once stately home of his forefathers. and have 

converted the tottering walls into the life and light C?f longforgotten 

architectural beauty; but it was not to be. There 

8


was a spell upon the old Grange and its last tenants, for 

there were still more than one. 

Edward never failed, on his return from each voyage, to 

spend some days at least at the: Grange; and Hannah 

measured her life by these days. She spent weeks, 

months, even years alone there, but she lived with Edward 

Rookwood; his few days' visit was her life, and so 

she had not yet become the" last tenant." 

It was at the period when we first presented her to the 

reader, that the anticipation began to creep like the im-' 

pending· night of the soul over her that she was at length 

doomed to realize, in her present condition, the terrible 

prediction we have alluded to. To the fierce and bloody 

strife of distant war, the ship of her precious one had long 

since been ordered; and though month aner month glided 

by, poor Hannah looked to the renewal of her life in hi' 

return in nino Was she growing so very, very old, that 

her faculties were quite failing her? or where was her wondrous 

gift of second sight? and why was she-now, as heretofore, 

unable to determine the day of his return, or even the 

fact of his .existence at all? . And yet, this was so; for the 

first time in her life she was uuble to penetrate the deep 

cloud which seemed to thicken around the fate of him on 

whom her own hung. As she Bat in the one habitable 

room in the fast-crumbling ruin. and dimmed her glazing 

eyes oVElr the midnight lamp which streamed on the faded 

characters of his last letter, dated, 0, so many, many,,"eary 

months ago! a promise - ever a promise of hiB returnseemed 

to be communicated to her from sources only known 

to herself; but when? when? The question, unanswered 

stilI, was at length the point in the horizon of her fading 

existence, and when? when? became the watchword of her 

life. Never, never! would spring up from the depths of

88 THE HAUNTED GlUliGE, 

Tap, tap, tap ! The rats and bats are busy to-nigbt, or 

the martins are building beneath Hannah's table; yet she 

writes on. Rap, rap! She raises her head mechanically; 

around her chair several. small knocks are heard; her dim 

eyes fill with tears; she gazes like an insane old creature, 

as she surely is, tenderly and lovingly abroad into the 

darkness of the room, then carefully wiping her spectacles, 

prepares to resume her task. Tap, tap, tap ! cry the invisibles; 

and crash 1 a sound is heard unlike any of the ordinary 

noises of that weird mansion; footsteps! and more 

than one, it would seem, and they pass with sounds of 

violence, slamming of doors, and shuftling feet, stirring 

up the echoes of the old ruin into all manner of fantastic 

sounds. 

Hannah listens. At first the sound of footsteps brought 

her to her feet with a cry of delight almost superhuman; 

a moment's pause, and her -dead heart refuses to vibrate to 

the sound of that unaccustomed tread. It is not he; he 

has passed the passage which leadd to her room, and now 

- some one ascends the stairs. A dead silence; have the 

footsteps passed away, or were they the spectred sounds 

of her own brain? Ah, hark! they resound overhead; 

1I0me portions of the crumbling ceiling, shaken by the 

beavy vibration, fallon the floor beneath. Again all is 

still; a pause, once more a rustling in the passage; uncertain 

steps ring across.the marble hall. Hannah springs 

up with beating heart, rushes to the door; on the threshold 

encounters the staggering form of a man. He enters 

- it is a sailor; she whirls the dim lamp above her head 

in frantic joy, then holds it aloft suspended, in the agony 

of disappointment, as she encounters the malicious and 

drunken glare of William Rookwood. 

"Where is your brother?" she faintly articulated;

0:& TlIl!I LAST TENANT • 89 

.. where is Edward? 0, tell me, for God's sake-! Is he 

well? - is he living? " 

" A pretty reception for the heir of Rookwood Grange," 

shouted the reeling -drunkard; "l1nd a pretty ghost of a 

place yon have made of Rookwood Grange, ()ld haridan !" 

he added. Then, without waiting to answer her appeals 

for information concerning her !larling Edward, the savage 

sot proceeded to reproach the old woman bitterly for the 

dilapidation of what he called his home, and declared that 

he had returned to take possession of his estate, and that 

he would commence by getting rid of the witch who had 

so long infested it. 

In vain the unhappy Hannah remonstrated; William 

Rookwood insisted upon the .. foul sorceress" quitting the 

house that very night; and finding her arguments and 

entreaties only provoked the inebriated ruffian to the cowardly 

act of striking and thrDwing pieces of broken furniture 

at her, she proceeded, in the depth of a bitter winter's 

night, to quit the roof which had sheltered her for seventy 

years. Fearing that the wretched creature would seek 

refuge in some other part of the building, the sailor, who 

appeared to be possessed with the spirit and vengeance of 

a demon, hounded her out through passage and hall, until 

she had gained the flight of moss-grown steps which led 

,up to the entrance; there he paused, and there too paused 

the objeot of his fury. But while the two stood confronting 

each other, a change seemed to come over the figure 

of the aged woman, which completely arrested young'Rookwood's 

further, aggressions. Her form grew erect, her eyes 

brightened with a sublime fire; a strange light Ileemed to 

play around her withered features, illuming their faded 

outline with a- ghostly shadow of their former loveliness; 

8· 

• 

•

OB THB LAST BIfAn. 91 

him; he knows not what he does." In another moment 

her tall figure was lost in the blackness of night and the 

waving pines of the forest. 

William Rookwood staggered back into the house; the 

crazy door swung to and fro, then closed with a loud and 

startling crash, while' the moaning wind swept like a 

requiem around the ivied tower, and stirred the old green 

moss-covered bell, which, for the first time in many years, 

boomed in hoarse and mournful cadence to the wild wind'. 

shriek. 

CHAPTEB VI. 

WILD and bitter blew the cold winter blast, sweeping 

around the lonely wood through which Hannah Morrison 

took her way on the night of her eJr.pulsion from Rookwood 

Grange. For twenty years she had tra"l"ersed the 

same path, which in one single hour had become suddenly 

strange to her. She had flitted through the mazes of the 

forest paths, when they had covered the ground for many 

miles with the tiny patter of infancy and the elastic step 

of youth; she had seen the giant oak levelled, and ita 

mysterious arches broken, to make way for the habitations 

of man; and she had watched the growth of village 

after village among the green savannas, where she had so 

delighted to bury herilelf in her strange, lonely childhood; 

yet now the footway, so familiar by the intercourse of a 

long life, had changed. The stunned spirit was stronger 

than the associations of many years; and she had to stop 

and recall with a determined effort her feeble memory ere 

she could assure herself that she was travelling the old 

familiar road on that bleak December night. Hannah 

Morrison was in fact the living spirit of the old Grange ; 

Digitized by Google


" Shelter and rest till the morning," she faintly replied. 

" Why, dame," said the trembling host, "are you not 

mistress· of a fine hou,se up yonder, and --" 

" And I have been turned out half an hour ago, to wander 

abroad and seek shelter where I could. If you be a 

Christian man, let me in till morning." 

"I daren't do it, I_daren't do it, woman," replied the 

man, doubly terrified at the tale he heard, the sight of his 

awful visitor, and her appeal in the name of Christianity. 

" I am a good Christian; and so, in the name of God 

and all the saints and angels, witch, woman, or devil, I 

bid ye begone !" . 

Worked up to frenzy by his own exorcism, he banged 

the door violently in the face. of the poor wanderer, and 

retreated to his warm, cosy fireside to pray for protection 

against the wiles of witchcraft, Satan and all his imps. 

How many more doors were shut by the hands of coward 

superstition against the unhappy Hannah that night, 

we will not, for the honor of human nature, relate. A 

stranger descending from a stage-coach, at a cross-road 

which turned off from the highway, in the first cold gray 

peep 'of coming day, found the sorrowful and lonely old 

woman seated under a hedge, sleeping soundly from sheer 

weariness, cold, and heart-sickness. Gently rousing her 

from her unnatural slumber, the man stripped off a thick, 

warm cloak, and enveloped her in it; then, gazing at her 

with anxious scrutiny, and availing himself of her stupor 

and' confusion to examine her features and appearance as 

well as the uncertain light would permit, he threw his 

arm8 tenderly around her, and, with every endearing word 

of affection, old Hannah f

98 THK HAUNTED GB.UI'GE, 

the ignominious death of the gallows. When the usual 

query was put to them as to whether they had any thing 

to say why sentence of dea\h should not be passed upon 

them, young Rookwood gazed tenderly upon his unfortunate 

companion. but replied simply, that if the plain statements 

of his truth and innocence had been unable to save him, 

he had nothing more to urge. 

The unhappy Hannah had, throughout the trial, con. 

ducted herself in a. manner which rather tended to confirm 

than dispel the supposition of her guilt. Her appealing 

glance was perpetually wandering from young Rookwood 

to his judges. Of her own situation she seemed almost 

unconscious. A wild and most uDsatisfactory account ot 

her night's proCieedings was all they could extract from 

her relative to her share in the tragedy; but when they 

spoke of him, her eager eyes seemed to read the souls of 

judge, jury, witness, and counsel, as if her very salvation 

depended on each word they should utter for or against her 

darling. The proceedings of this remarkable trial were 

characterized, we are told, by divers singular noises, em· 

anating, as it would seem, from stationary benches and 

inanimate articles, where no human contact could account 

for the mystery of their sound. Sometimes the tables and 

chairs used by the learned gentlemen of the law would be . 

l;'olently shaken, and it unoccupied, quite overturned; yet 

all this without any visible agency to account for the same, 

except the weird reputation which the female prisoner was 

known to possess. "The gentlemen of the long robe" 

were much perplexed, and it was even thought some· 

what startled, by these mystic signs of an unaccountable 

intelligence; for intelligence it certainly was, since the 

noises (resembling in sound and force the heavy drumming 

of a stick) would seem to emphasize various sentences 

Digitized by Google

102 THE HAUNTBD GRANGE. 

to satisfy justice. Well, well, that is natural enough. 

when I come to think of it; justice is but a murdere88 

herself, and, doubtless, revels in such histories as these. 

It little matters the purpo.e - that is answered, one would 

think, by the knowledge of the perpetrator; but what is 

that compared to the choice relation of the harrowing details? 

Good! good!" she cried, laughing wildly; .. why 

to hear how the murder was committed will be almost as 

good as to see it done; and next to the entertaining spectacle 

of my own murder to-morrow --" 

.. 0, hush, hush! in mercy be silent!" exclaimed the 

unhappy Edward Rookwood, rising from an obscure corner 

of the room where he had sat with his face buried in his 

hands. " Good God, sir! can you derive either profit or 

enjoyment from the hideous details you seek? If the ends 

of justice require this woman's life, take-it and be satisfied 

with your victim; cease thus to gloat over the useless horrors 

of the revoltiag story." _ 

"Be patient, child, yet a moment; child of my love! 

my soul's sun! my Edward!" whispered the captive; 

"and for you, holy sir, you cannot, may not, enjoy this 

ohoice history alone; call in your witnesses, and summon 

all your eager fellow-executioners; I have a most aml,lsing 

scene to enact for their edification, and details to gratify 

the largest possible number with the coveted feast of 

blood." 

Urged by her entreaties and goaded on by her taunts, 

the chaplain summoned various of the jail functionaries to 

the cell, which was soon crowded to excess. Then it was 

that a scene ensued, for the elucidation of which we must 

again have recourse to the pages of the Causa Celebra:- 

"Then the fearsome oldwife, having filled the place 

with these God-fearing men, did, of a /ludden, fall into Q

104 

remembered the point of a knife which was found sticking 

in the corpee, did cauae them to lend a &troug ear to the 

witch wife's story. But when she cried out again, with & 

woful tone, that the sailor's clothes in the bundle were 

&pOtted with blood, all did exclaim, and sigh, and shiver 

like a gust of wind in a forest or leaves. TIlen up spake 

the chaplain, and, forgetting all his dread of sorcery, he 

says,- 

IC' Now ten me, goody, what does the woman do with the 

clothes, and where does she go to herself?' Whereupon 

the prisoner, looking again into the air, albeit her eyes are 

shut, doth respond, - 

" , Go search the pond that lies in the midst of Dingle 

Dell, and there shall ye find the bundle, pistol, and knife. 

See, see! she sinks it; and there, she hath four large 

stones in her hand, which she ties on to the bundle, and 

so it goes down heavily; but search and ye shall find itsearch 

and ye shall find it even at this hour.' 

"Then, being questioned again about the woman with 

the mole, she stops a long spen all silent and a-dread-; but 

waking lip, I!he points to a comer where nought yet appeareth, 

and says, 'She is there! I see her now, and she 

is looking at pictures.' And being asked what pictures, 

she says, 'It is picture money,' which thing meant bills, 

for she described many pictures like bills which were found 

in the dead man's pocket, and stood for money of divers 

foreign lands. On being asked to reckon up the money, 

she does this too with surprising quickness, and counts up 

as much as seven hundred pounds in king's money, which 

young Edward, the murdered man's brother, declares was 

little short of the great sum which his brother should have 

had to bring from sea with him; whereat all present were 

much astonished. Then did they ask, and she tell, the

.o:a THE LA.ST TEIUlfT. lOS 

room, and the street, and the number where the fair woman 

sat counting the picture money; but she could not tell the 

town, only it was near the sea, and had many shops with 

sailor's clothes in it. Then those that were present were 

discontented; and the poor old witch became sorrowful, 

because, says she, • To-morrow she will go in a great ship 

across the sea, for she comes from a far-off' land, and speaks 

with a foreign tongue, and there she will take all the picture 

money for which she killed William Rookwood ;' and 

then she weeps and falls a-lamenting because it was a foul 

lleed, for that he, the murdered man, had loved her, and 

had given her much picture money before. 

" Then these good and merciful gentlemen, not willing 

to take away the life of any fellow-creature in wanton mistake, 

did strive to obtain the king's respite till such time 

as they could search into this wonderful thing ; and though 

they feared the glamour that came from her lips, yet did 

the reverend chaplain quiet them by thinking for them 

- and he, trusting in God, did not fear but that truth 

might come in a vision, even: as in the days of the prophet 

Jeremiah." 

Here we quit the pages of our ancient authority, and 

though strongly tempted to follow out the quaint and ingenious 

details by which the men of law in those days ferreted 

out the hidden mysteries of crime, we must rain skim 

over the succession of wonderful revelations which the clairvoyant 

had brought to light. The sum of all was this: 

Searching the pond in Dingle Dell, and finding a bundle 

containing a ,"uit of sailor's clothes stained with blood, a 

pistol, and a broken clasp-knife exactly corresponding to 

the steel point found in the deceased lieutenant's body, 

the eager authorities, now wild \vith excitement, and 

abetted by crowds of people from all quarters of the land, 

Digitized by Google

106 TUB JL\trKTJ:D GBANGE, 

pUl'8Ued their inquiries with equal vigor and success. The 

coach which had stopped at the hospitable doors of the 

Green Dragon on the night oC the murder, and at the hour 

described by the clairvoyant, 'Was ascertained to have come 

from Portsmouth, and contained but one female ptu,enger. 

Upon questioning the guard and coachman, they testified 

to the fact of her carrying a bundle, having a large and 

remarkable mole on her cheek, and presenting altogether 

such an appearance as the seeress described. This was 

enough. A woman, who had come there on a certain 

night, attired herself in saUor's clothes, visited the Grange, 

and afterwards sunk those clothes, stained with the evidences 

of murder, in an adjoining pond - an array oC 

e\idence which soon became amply substantiated. Then 

commenced the search for the fugitive; and tracing the 

stage-coach female passenger, as having come from Portsmouth, 

the clew as to street and number wa,s followed up 

as given by the clairvoyant, and found accurate in all respects 

- too accurate, indeed, for though such a woman as 

has been described had lodged there, had absented herself 

for a day and night, and was actually traced from Portsmouth 

to the village of Rookwood, in -exact accordance 

with old Hallnah's story, it was found that she had indeed 

left England (in verification of the prediction) for the West 

Indies, and had sailed many hours before the arrival of the 

officers. Once in the right track, the vigilance of justice 

was enabled to trace the whole mysterious thread of the 

mutder with accuracy. 

'Villiam Rookwood had, it seemed, formed an intimacy 

with a woman of some personal attraetionlil, but unparalleled 

wickedness. Being insnared by her wiles and artifices, 

he had foolishly intrusted her with the knowledge 

that he possessed a large sum of money in foreign bank

OR THE LAST TEN,AN'.r. 107 

bills, and that he intended to proceed to the Grange, e'Spel 

its present hapless occupant, and dispense his wealth 

in its adornment and repair for the use of his infamous 

paramour. The latter, revolting, it would seem, from the 

proRpect of a settlement so ill in accordance with her 

vicious life, determined to appropriate her unfortunate 

lover's wealth, even at the cost of his life. Her plan of 

action was found to have been organized with equal cunning 

and cold-blooded determination. She had borrowed 

a suit of clothes from a poor lad of the lieutenant's own 

ship; and as this boy was even that day to proceed to the 

Grange in attendance on his officer, she had clearly designed 

to implicate him in the event of anyone's seeing 

her in her disguise. After a long, patient, and most exciting 

investigation, this singular trial terminated with 

the arrest, confession, and execution of the real murderess; 

the actual restoration of the stolen property, 

which was found in her possession, to young Rookwood; 

and the honorable acquittal of the noble. and self-sacrificing 

Hannah, who had. so bravely condemned herself 

to an ignominious death, rather than the awful charge 

of fratricide should remain unexplained against her foster 

child. . • 

My tale is ended; the two last and only personageR 

whom this wonderful history concerned, were permitted 

to return once more to the mansion of death and mystery-the 

crumbling ruins of Rookwood Grange. The 

last representative of that fallen house - poor Edward 

himself - entered his paternal dwelling with none of the 

joy and satisfaction that a redemption from an ignominious 

fate warranted. During the excitement of the last 

few weeks, his young face assumed the impress of long 

years of care; his fine brow ,vas marked by the furrows

OB THE LAST TENANT. 109 

Dot sunder any affection which is of the &pirit, and not the 

body." 

"Angels are around us, mother, and I feel my brother's 

spirit. 0, why can I not behold him?" cried Edward. 

"Canst thou see thine own soul, my child? Yet it is the 

same to-day as when it shall pass away from its mortal tenement. 

The soul can only be changed by the projection 

of its good or evil tendencies into thought or deed. D08t 

thou not see, my Edward, that there is' nothing in the 

chemical dissolution of the atoms which compose our' clay 

to change the soul within us? That invisible essence, receiving 

its stamp from the deeds of a lifetime, cannot be 

changed in the one moment which suffices to liberate the 

spirit from its casket." 

" But yet, Hannah, if I could but lee him! " 

.. I do," replied Hannah, calmly, "because my physical 

organization is clairvoyant; you cannot, becaulle you are 

not so constituted; but again, I ask thee, child, if thou 

wilt deny the existence of thy own spirit and the influence 

of thy own mind, because thou canst not see, feel, or hear 

it? Thy brother bids me say', then, Wilt thou also deny the 

existence of God, the presence of the stars when the 

clouds of night obscure them from the view, the radiance 

of heat, and the piercing intensity of cold, because neither 

is p'alpable to our external sight? " 

.. Dearest friend, you are ever right," murmured the unhappy 

Rookwood; "but, my brother, can you see him, 

Hannah? And has he no message for me?" 

"Ay, love, and, bi his brightly beaming eye, one of 

. love and consolation." 

The seeress was long silent; then, bending low, she 

whispered in Edward's ear messages of love, and hope, and 

joy, such as the angels of our heart's affections come in 

10

112 TJU HA.UNTED GB..UiGE. 

MANUSCRIPT POEM 

Found in the Rui711 of Rool"fDood Grange, 011 'he Demi8e 

of it, last Tenant, Hannah Morrison. 

A MOTHER parts from her sailor boy; 

Her lone heart knows no hope or joy, 

Although he cries, " To my native shore, 

o mother, rll soon return once more." 

Long hours and days are gone, 

And years roll on; yet still no word 

Of comfort cheers the mother's moan, 

Till one stern voice is heard. 

Weep on, weep on; thy sailor boy 

Is gone to the land of hope and joy: 

Lo! he sleeps 'neath the wave on a foreign shore, 

And he'll now return to thee no more. 

That cold, stern voice has falsely shown, 

For sorrowing hearts are ne'er alone, 

And, wafted from the spirit shore, 

The loved and lost return once more. 

And the lone one's sailor boy 

Is near, and ever hovering round, 

And fondly whispering in her ear, 

"Weep not! thy child is found. 

" An angel is thy sailor boy; 

-:From lands of hope, and love, and joy, 

He comes to say, though life is o'er, 

He now returns to part no more."

L1l'B. 113 

LIFE: A FRAGMENT. 

'TWAS night on the wild, stormy ocean. A noble ship 

heaved· and struggled amidst the tossing billows which 

broke on the tremendous iron-bound rocks whose dark 

forms 'Upheaved on one of the wildest parts of Northumberland. 

A thick pall of impenetrable blackness shadowed 

the wild waste of waters, lifted only by fitful gleams of the 

forked lightning. The demons of the air were shrieking in 

chorus to the hoarse booming of the mighty waves, while 

the roar of heaven's artillery broke in strong and awful cadence 

to the voices which made up the great hallelujah of' 

the tempest. 

At times, amidst the crash of elemental strife, another 

and yet more appalling sound broke through the burdened 

air; - 'twas the heart-stirring cry of human agony - the 

tones of plaintive voices pleading with the God of the darkness 

and the storm for life - life! the precious boon of life! 

There were many doomed souls tossing in their ocean grave 

that night; for at length the dying ship, after many a gallant 

struggle, shivered and parted, and slowly yielded up 

her own last breath in the crushing arms of the mighty 

billows. Her noole crew and despairing passengers were 

launched into the boiling gulf of the' trackless waters. 

None heard their death-shriek - no human eye saw them 

die'- beheld the tossing armR madly grappling with the 

10·

LII'E. 116 

ahe is the daughter of a peer of the realm; she can confer 

honor and distinction with her lightest smile." 

" Honor and distinction are· words which haTe no charm 

in the realm of old ocean," replied the sailor. "If I can 

save, with the sacrifice of my own life, any of this doomed 

company,. it will be yonder unmurmuring humble woman, 

who clasps her infant so heroically to her breast, and asks 

of God life for her babe-no safety for herself." 

"Take all-take every thing, - the hand of a peeress, 

- the wealth of a millionnaire, - houses, lands, rank, station, 

- only save our lives!" shrieked the despairing passengers, 

while the sullen and disgusted crew turned away 

to make their peace with God and prepare for entrance into 

that kingdom where rank and wealth have neither name 

nor place. 

The last signal-gun had sounded; the last crash and dying. 

shriek had sent its lengthening echoes far acr0S8 the 

restless wave; the moaning tempest had hushed itself into 

sleep, and the leaden mists of a heavy morning spread like 

a pall over the now silent expanse of the deep. The noble 

ship and her gallant crew had passed from mortal view forever. 

The secret of their fate was entombed in.the fathomless'depths 

of the ocean, to be revealed only when the 

sea shall give up the mystery of her trackless kingdom of 

death. 

A fine boat's crew of daring men, whose generous hearts 

had responded to the awful signals of woe from the wreck, 

had ventured forth amidst the boiling surf, and shared the 

doom of those' they sought to save. Three human souls 

were all that had escaped the general ruin. These were 

the leader of the boat's crew - a brave old seaman, eiperi-

LIFE. 117 

'Twas midnight, and still the widow watched the moveless 

dead. Her selfish grief enchained her to his bier, and 

the frail ·and delicately-nurtured lady, who, with dripping 

garments and sinking frame, had scarce withstood the action 

of the storm, the late terrific scene and present desolation, 

lay in a corner of the room beneath a thin old rug, while 

her distracted father hung in helpless agony over her evidently 

dying form. Suddenly the red glare of the pine 

torch became extinct, while a light, soft, mellow, and unearthly, 

diffused itself throughout the hu.t, and gilded the 

scene with more than midday power. A low strain of 

music, at first so distant that it sounded like an echo from 

another world, but growing nearer until it filled the whole 

chamber with delicious melody, crept over the listening ear, 

and stilled the mourners into silent transport. And now 

revolving mists floated around, first dimly shadowing every 

object to their view, then forming into a gauzy medium, in 

which they saw reflected a diorama of a scene more fair 

than mortal eyes had ever beheld before. 

The fabled paradise· of Persia, the Elysian fields which 

ancients loved to dream of, no fabled Eden ever was so fair 

all this most radiant landscape; while moving here and 

there were forms of light and joyous faces seen, whom each 

remembered to have perished in the storm. There was the 

patient mother with her smiling babe, the little ship-boy, 

and the captain bold, each gallant mate, and, last of all, 

they saw the strong, brave men who perished in the strife, 

to save the wailing, helpless, shipwrecked crew. The brave 

young fisherman, the w.idow's love, with free, bold step and 

smiling face, was there, and he it was whose soft, low speech 

was heard sounding from out the mist-the voice of one, 

rolling from an illimitable distance, and yet borne, free, 

clear, and bell-like, through the realms of space.

.- 

LIPJI. 119 

with thee the wealth of widows' blessings, grateful orphans' 

tears, or else the life we prayed for is a wreck, more terri. 

ble unto the soul than death or ocean grave." 

The widow trimmed her home and lit her fire, and oft 

she cheered the shipwrecked stranger's heart. Her spiritlove 

she knew was ever near, for soul never died; and 

.. earth-life's but a means" to lead her home where life in 

truth begins, and shipwrecked mariners find port at last.

OR THE HAUNTED MAN. 123 

covered that he.. either communicated with her, or to any 

one who could inform her of the course of his erratic 

mO\"ements. On the contrary, it was at length believed 

that the extreme care with which he strove to envelop 

those movements in mystery was caused by a desire to 

elude the vigilance of his mysterious attendant. If this 

was his object, the failure was certainly signal, for none 

ever remembered, during many years, to have seen Mr. 

H. preach without the presence of his phantom-like auditress. 

Those who most narrowly scrutinized the conduct of 

this singular couple could detect certain evidences in the 

preacher's manner, that the effect upon himself, at least, 

was prejudicial, if not actually ruinous, to health, happiness, 

and intellect. Many who remembered the brilliant 

advent of his short career, were confounded when they 

considered how rapidly he had grown old, how evanescent 

had been the bloom and beauty of youth, how transient 

the glow of lustrous health on the cheek and brow. It 

was sad to watch the deepening furrows and wasting lines 

of cankering care, eating so openly into the thin cheek 

and pallid brow. The light of his eyes looked out from 

"the window of the soul" in troubled, fitful glare, like 

the eager search of an unquiet spirit "seeking rest and 

finding none:' Nothing seemed to escape the rugged 

tooth of the hidden worm that was gnawing its way from 

the depths of his silent, suffering soul to the tell tale 

surface of the tabernacle, but the pathetic tones of his 

melting voice. A deeper cadence, a more passionate inflection, 

a more soul-stirring ring, like a well-strung harp 

responding to the touch of a master-hand, echoing to the 

chords of the deepest of human passions, were the elements 

which seemed to gather power and intensity with

124 XABGABET I!'rFELIX, 

Mr. H. as the presence of some unmistakable cause of 

internal suffering stamped its e\"idences in premature decay 

on other conditions of his organization. As the feeling 

of interest connected with the mystery that surrounded 

him deepened into sympathy, the preacher's popularity 

increased in inverse ratio to the probable duration of his 

ministry. 

It was at a period, however, when the very oil of life 

itself appeared to be nearly expended, and the flame now 

flickering in its socket to be almost on the verge of expiration, 

that the minister was seen for several successive Sundays 

without his veiled attendant. At first the confusion 

which this fact occasioned in the minds of the vanous . 

congregations among whom he was accustomed to appear, 

directed attention from the priest himself; but when the 

curious began to scrutinize the effect which this absence 

would have upon him, great was their astonishment to 

behold the very same phenomena in the conduct of the 

preacher which had invariably marked his manner in the 

presence of the unknown. There was the same anxious 

avoidance of a particular part of different aisles where the 

lady had been accustomed, as if seeking the most conspicuous 

possible position, to appear - the sudden, abrupt 

turning of the head away, which had so often given token 

that his eyes had involuntarily encountered a disagreeable 

object; nay, as he passed down the aisle to change his 

robe previous to the communion service, he was again and 

again observed to move aside and even gather it up, as if 

to avoid contact with what had once occupied a space now 

filled by empty air. 

Many months passed away subsequent to the disappear-. 

ance of the mysterious lady, without any other change in 

Mr. H.'s equally mysterious deportment than an increased

OR THE HA.UNTED :MA.N. 125 

acceleration of that visible and rapid decay of physical 

strength of which we have before spoken. At length it 

happened that Mr. H. was solicited to visit a very distant 

part of the north of England, which it was supposed was 

his birthplace, but which he had never returned to since 

the period when he had left it, converted from a poor curate 

into a rich man. Mr. H. manifested an unusual reluctance 

to visit this place, and it was only at the earnest 

entreaty of a gentleman who had bestowed much medical 

skill and kindness upon him during a long fit of sickness, 

that he could be induced to comply with the requisition 

of the parishioners of Y--, to do duty for their rector 

during his temporary absence. 

On arriving at the church where he was to officiate, his 

restlessness and uncertainty of manner became more than 

usually apparent. His furtive glances were perpetually 

directed towards an empty space directly in front of the 

pulpit, and the distress whi.ch he evidenced in glancing in 

that quarter was so marked that at last the congregation 

began to look as eagerly into the vacancy as himself. On 

passing the spot, too, to the surprise of all, he suddenly 

stopped, as if some one had addressed him, bent his head 

slightly, as if in acknowledgment of a communication, and, 

with an ashy paleness on his face, proceeded to the vestry 

room to change his robes. As he returned again to the 

altar, his unaccountable conduct, combined with the singular 

rumors which prevailed about him, broke through all 

the conventional forms which hedge in such a scene with 

a wall of strict etiquette, and the whole congregation 

simultaneously rose to observe his movements. Without 

paying the least attention to the rustle around him, he 

proceeded up the aisle with the same downcast look which 

ever marked his way, until he arrived at the vacant space, 

11*

Oll TilE llAtrlfTED IlAN. 127 

"Indeed," replied the party addressed, scarcely manifesting 

sufficient interest in the communication to turn his 

head from the open window . 

.. Yes, sir," rejoined the old gentleman; "the family 

of the late Mrs. F. I. have informed me, their uncle, of 

their resolution to dispute your title to the large suma yO\1 

became possellSed of in her name." 

.. The late Mrs. F. I. !" shouted the young man, springing 

up from his chair, and fixing on his companion a look 

which almost froze him to stone . 

.. Ay, air." sta.mmered the other. "Is it posaible you 

can be ignorant of Mrs. F. I.'s decease, nearly eight 

months ago'?" 

" Decea.'e I - eight months ago!" replied Mr. H. 

"Old man, you. rave! " • 

.. Now, sir, if I mistake not greatly, it i. you who 

rave," rejoined the rector. 'f The unhappy course which 

my niece thought proper to pursue, in following you all 

over England, appearing in your presence on every occasion 

of your ministry, while life lasted, has stamped that 

life with too unfortunate a notoriety for me to question 

that you, or anyone connected with her, can be ignorant 

that she expired eight months ago, and now lies not ten 

feet from the spot on which we stand." 

As he spoke. he pointed to a slab of white marble, 

separated from the other graves in the quiet churchyard 

before t;hem by a row of small rose-bushes, which were 

already beginning to form a hedge around the last earthly 

home of her whose remains they sheltered. The old man 

then proceeded to speak of the efforts which some one 

was making to dispossess him of his property; but Mr. H., 

without heeding him, rushed through the window, glanced 

hastily at the slab, on which was simply traced these

· I 

OR THE lUUNTED lIAN. 131 

terrible. One evening, just as I had completed every 

arrangement for my intended journey, I returned to the 

cottage where I had left my wife and a new-born babe, 

scarcely a week old. I returned to find the cottage and 

both its precious inmates a heap of nlins - consumed, as it 

was subsequently made evident, by an incendiary; both 

mother and child had perished in one burning wreck. 

When night came, and the crowd of sympathizing neighbors 

whom the horrible calamity had drawn around me had 

left me to my unutterable woe, a lady entered my apartment, 

whom, to my horror and shame, I recognized as .Mrs. 

F. I. • Edward H.,' she began, • coward, traitor, and 

thief! I am yet but partially avenged - watching the 

favorable moment, I dpstroyed your 'Wife and child! Seek 

not to arrest or convict me; the instruments who served 

me are beyond your reach; their safety and their silence 

are bought by a price which places them forever out of 

your power. Now learn your doom! Go forth and preach 

with lying lips, a seducing tongue, and felon's speech! Go 

forth and teach lessons of virtue and morality; but go 

where you will, do what you will, say what you will, li"ing 

or dead, I 7cill never leave you more! Till the hour of 

doom, when we must part forever, these lips shall never 

address you by word or token, but my presence shall be 

your continual shame, the sight of me your everlasting torment, 

and the consciousness of that presence a fire which 

nought but the death of both can quench.' 0, sir, you 

never can imagine how fearfully that awful denunciation 

has been visiteu upon me. These eyes have never beheld 

her face, that tone of doom has never again sounded in my 

ears until to-day; but the horrible consciousness that she 

was there, the certainty that I could not escape her, the 

hideous prescience by which she seemed able to divine my

. OK THE HAUNTED lIAN. 133 

The newspaper account of the finale to this tragedy announced 

that" the spectre-haunted minister" had suddenly 

died of apoplexy; but none of those who knew the· details 

of his strange history were ever able to decide whether,' 

for eight long months, the veiled lady whom the minister 

saw was the real or ideal Margaret Infelix. 

12

142 THE IK:PBOVVIBATOU,' 

sels and gentle teachings, how much he told them! He 

had an uncle, too, a venerable priest, with whom hia 

mother dwelt. 

The patriarch of a wild and savage district, mostly composed 

of forlorn or desperate characters, the old priest he 

represented as a home missionary from the very courts of 

God to shepherds, herdsmen, and bandits, who, without 

his self-sacrificing life, passed in the midst of such rugged 

. scenes and persons, could never have heard holy word or 

pious prayer. Here, in the free air of vast mountain 

ranges, with no other companionship than his gentle 

mother and reverend uncle, the singer had spent his early 

life - sometimes supplying the humble home with the 

spoils of his daring sportsmanship, and sometimes whiling 

away the hours in tending the meagre Hock of goats, which 

was the chief wealth of the scanty household.. While the 

hill-side and deep ravine reechoed to the strains of his 

wondrous 'll:uice, the rude population scattered about in 

these regions had learned to listen and admire with such a 

fervid appreciation of his fascinating gift, that they had 

been accustomed to assemble together at stated times to 

hold a musical rote, and drink in the tones of melody 

which none but the vibrating chords of Italian hearts could 

truly respond to. 

There, on the purple mountain tops, with the wide range 

of glittering Alpine peaks for a temple, with the crimson 

glories of the sinking sun for a dome, and the far horizon 

of a blue Italian sky for a canopy. the strange, uncouth 

figures of the mountaineers, with their picturesque costumes, 

swarthy features, and wild, Hashing eyes burning 

with the fire of passionate enthusiasm, kindled up by the 

delicious strains of their mountain minstrel, held their 

sacred harmonic meetings in the. holy and regal halls of

OR TORN LEAVES FROM J.IFE HISTORY. 147 

I"ord Ravensworth had now been the unsuccessful wooer 

of this superb prize for upwards of three years. Accustomed 

to buy or command female favor, he had brought all 

the batteries of wealth, flattery, fashion, &c., to bear, in 

the hope of placing the Gabrielle in his cap of conquest, 

as a plume in the tiara of gallantry; but during his long 

efforts to render the prize worthless, himself had surrl!'ndered 

his liberty, and the cold, stern, selfish heart which 

had hitherto been swayed only by fashion, and the narrow 

ambition of reducing a hitherto invincible garrison of 

talent and virtue, had at last bowed beneath the sword of 

the universal conqueror; and to his rage, shame, and dismay, 

he found he loved - ay, actually loved - some one 

better than himself, something better than rank, station, 

wealth or place; and that that something was the very 

being he had so vainly striven to humble; and so, being 

sole master of his own estate and fortunes, in the desperation 

of the sole passion which his selfish nature could ever 

entertain, he had at length become the humble suitor for 

her hand. 

Gabrielle was as ambitious as the peer, and fully as 

proud. She detested the man, but adored the nobleman. 

To be a countess - take precedence of everyone of the 

proud patronesses who stooped to caress the petted flower, 

which, unsunned by success, they would have trampled 

beneath their feet; to blaze in the royalty of courts, and 

flit over the world as its mistress, no more its slavethese 

were splendid images upon which her peculiar fancy, 

or some part of it at least, loved to dwell. Yet she must 

punish the insolent who had dared to traffic for her at any 

less price than the coronet of a countess; and with one 

scornful refusal after another did she finally incite the concentrated 

passion of the haughty peer to swear, th.at, eome

OR TORN LEAVES FROM LIFE HISTORY. 149 

murmured the earl, .. and yet I feel strangely sad; 'tis 

perhaps my utter unworthiness to appreciate the boon you 

have granted me; or it may be the weary probation to 

which you have condemned me; or what it is I know 

not; but for Heaven's sake, sing to me. Your voice would 

dispel the darkness of Tartarus itself. Sing to me, Sappho 

of our modern Grrecia." 

" I have no heart to sing to-night, Edward," replied the 

lady. " The very same gloom seems to oppress me; and 

if I could be sure that stern Fate had an embodied life and 

human form, I should say she was this night standing near 

me, crying, , Woe to Ravensworth! woe to thyself! ' " 

.. Idle dreams, my Gabrielle; visionary as your own fantastic 

beauty. 'Ve make our own future; there is no such 

thing as Fate." 

" Weare the tools that carve our own future, I acknowledge, 

Edward," she replied; "but whose is the hand that 

wields us I have not yet determined. I know I have a 

will within me, but I never yet have been able to define 

what that will is. Impulses so strong that they force me 

into action before I well know what I am even going to do, 

have made me all my life a mere machine. I do not think 

or plan, I do not reflect, as others do; but a springing 

thought within seems to waken up my power of motion for 

no other purpose than to use me as the instrument of some 

unseen volition, and lo! the deed is done, or word spoken, 

ere Gabrielle, the actor, knows herself has done it. Is this 

myself, or Fate? " 

"It is your own impulsive nature, child," chimed in the 

sweet, kind tone of her adopted mother, Mrs. Martin, who 

had risen from a distant part of the room, and now joined 

them; for be it known to American readers, either the 

matrons of England think so highly of their daughters' 

13oJt.

OR TORN LEAVEll I"'llox LIFE JlIS'tORY. 1.')1 

sion to Omniscient Wudom. Remember, Gabrielle, there 

are such things as evil promptings, as well as good; and 

though these may appeiU to the leading characteristics 

within, it were vain for us to be endowed with the PO'lDf!A" 

of discriminating between good and e1il, if we are not to 

use it; vain the knowledge, if not to apply it; vain the 

possibility of improvement, if a blind fate governs us as 

mere instrumentilities, either to be forced upward or 

violently repelled backward. For my part, I deem the 

faculty to improve, and the constant suggestion or attraction 

to do so, constitutes the sovereignty of man, and de:. 

fines the action of Omniscient Good. But enough of this; 

you speak of inspiration and fate as one and the same. I 

think them widely different - inspiration, as one of the 

agents of man's improvement, being directly antagoDistic 

to that fatality which mocks at the possibility of progression; 

and by way of illustration I want you to tell me 

what you have done with that wonderful singing beggar 

you picked up some three weeks ago." 

"Good Heavens! " cried the erratic beauty, clapping her 

hands; .. why, I have forgot all about my poor improvvisatore. 

I gave him in charge to Signor. Luigi to clothe, 

board, educate, and civilize; and, in strict expectance that 

he is to become the primo tenore of the whole world, I 

persuaded the poor savage to apprentice himself to the 

politic signor on the very night when we were all introduced 

to each other, just three weeks ago this very day." 

.. Gabrielle," replied her lover, .. do you remember that 

my good uncle, General Kalozy, was wrecked in the Santa 

Cecilia, and only rescued by the noble efforts of one of the 

crew? He left the poor fellow sick at a fisherman's hut, 

and when he returned to seek him, found he was gone. 

Two days ago he told me, with unbounded joy, he had met

152 THE UlPllOVTISATOllE, 

him in the streets of London, and that he was now study. 

ing to be an opera singer. You tell me your singing beg. 

gar was one of those saved from that very wreck; what if 

my good uncle's rescuer should turn out to be this very 

same hero?" 

"General Kalozy, Signor Luigi, and Signor Rossi," was 

the announcement of a butler; and the next moment three 

gentlemen entered the room - the two first, the Hungarian 

(an uncle by the mother's side of the noble earl, and a 

highly distinguished old officer) and Lwgi the manager, 

were known to and saluted by the whole party; but Dot 

until lights were brought did they recognize that the third 

comer was no other than the" singing beggar," now Luigi's 

apprentice - the brave youth who, in the terrible wreck 80 

often alluded to, had rescued the Hungarian general at the 

peril of his own life, and now stood before the dwellers of 

the cottage so metamorphosed that not even the keen eyes 

of feminine scrutiny and tact could have recognized him. 

The rags exchanged for a plain modem suit, the shaggy 

beard for a small mustache, and the elf locks for short, 

thick, luxuriant brown curls; the white, thin, hungry 

face, radiant with health and strength, and the superb eyes, 

beaming with lustrous gratitude, compelled the whole 

party (under the influence of widely-varying sensations) 

to the conviction of gazing on one of the noblest forms and 

faces that was ever dignified by the Dame of man. 

" Curses on the handsome vagabond! What brings him 

here?" thought the peer . 

.. How could that poor mountain mother part with such 

a noble son?" thought the gentle matron. 

"I have found my beau ideal at last! - Ravensworth 

and the 'sjnging beggar' - Beauty and the Beast!" 

thought La Gabrielle. 

•

OR TORN LEAVES FROJ( J.IFE HISTORY. 153 

And. so "Beauty" Bang, as they desired him, strain 

a,fter strain of his wild, but most delicious, melodies, till 

the night was far spent, and the listening stars looked down 

like pale worlds shivering in the dewy cold of the coming 

dawn, yet spe!J-bound to the wondrous minstl'elsy that 

echoed through the sweet summer night, like voices from 

lovely, distant, unfamiliar worlds. "Beast" 'was silent, 

spell-bound, too, but cold, distrustful, unhappy. Was the 

shapeless phantom of the future sailing with its baleful 

shadow through the sky once more, that his heart was so 

chilled by the sweet singer's presence? 0, drooping, 

white-winged Peace, wast thou a mere mookery whilst tpe 

song of hope but a. few short hours before seemed chiming 

from thy pleasant lips? Where art thou now? Gonegone' 

forever! The home of Ga.brielle will never guest 

thee more. 

Many weeks elapsed, during which the rude mountaineer 

studied hard to acquire both the arts of civilized life and 

musical training. In the first he succeeded admirably. 

Poets, painters, and all children of intellectuality, are innately 

refined. Nature has made them gentlemen, and 

conventional training can do Ilothingmore than impress 

them with external forms. The true artist can neither be 

rude nor vicious. The love of the beautiful is the shape 

in which good most commonly externalizes herself; but 

alas for the mathematical forms in which th(' cultured 

vooalist is to bind up the tendrils of his melodious fancy! 

Either some volition, exceeding in strength the power of 

the human will to carb, shot ahead of all instruction, or 

the poor improvvisatore was too dull to learn training at all 

Not one single strain that required memory to repeatnothing, 

in a word, in the shape of rep.etition at all- could 

masters or friends impress upon the unretentive brain of

154 THE IKPROVVISA.TORE, 

the disheartened student. No sooner would he strive to 

fix: his mind upon the lesson which he must commit to 

memory. than this same unruly will. which Gabrielle considered 

to be so clearly under the control of some or any 

volition rather than her own, would fix his magnificent 

eyes upon an unseen, far-away horizon - kindle up the 

beaming face with the wild fire of ecstasy, and part the lips 

in unpremeditated song. which, although so provokingly 

unlike the lesson, would take every captive ear, and carry the 

listeners off to the dream land of inspiration, with which 

alone the strain seemed to have kindred. 

Month after month did the puzzled masters of song strive 

to treat what they deemed a morbid case of vocal indisposition 

with all the nostrums of art and the iron fetters 

of stereotype science. It was nothing to them that delighted 

crowds hung on the strange minstrel's unpremeditated 

lays. Where Gluck, Cherubini, Porpora, had laid 

down the law, it 'was sheer heresy to delight the world by 

any other mode. There is a Bible in art and scienee as 

well as in theology, and this same Bible - this same terrible 

landmark, against which the floods of human progress 

would dash forever in vain - is the say-so of the fathers, 

the ipse dixit of some age so removed from the fair field 

of present investigation that an unreasoning faith is all that 

can bind us to it. It is the heaviest clog which can fetter 

the onward chariot wheels of unfolding thought; and 

never would it be endured but for the idle and degenerate 

habit of yielding up our judgment to any tyrannical usurper 

whose antiquity places it out of the pale of criticism, and 

whose dogmatic authority saves us the trouble of doing 

our own thinking. But the progressive element in man's 

nature is forever crying for more light; and whilst the 

spheres of inspiration are perpetually responding to the

158 THE IJlPROVVISATOBE, 

admiration, there was something unusually cold, and even 

stern, in his kindly face. He was well, and even fashionably, 

dressed; and with the plasticity of his gentle and 

refined nature, had easily caught all the graces which must 

externally polish the, gem ere it is deemed worthy to shine 

in the repertoires of fashion. The change in him, then, 

since ten months before he had stood, ragged, sick, and 

famishing, before the prima donna's gate, can scarcely be 

estimated; but deeper far was the change in the heart 

of his companion. For the first time in her young life 

she loved. Wealth, rank, ambition, all that had hitherto 

lured her on the road of life, had now become but idle 

gauds, compared to the luxury of listening to his dear 

voice, of gazing into his deep, soul-like eyes. 'Vhatever 

of hidden depths were within that wild, impulsive nature 

had all welled up into this wealth of love for him. With 

a fancy brilliant and spiritual, and a nature which seemed 

to hold strange communion, or rather be under constant 

impression from an unseen world of power, Gabrielle believed 

she saw in this strange, visionary improvvisatore the 

human embodiment of that unseen world of which she 

dreamed and fully persuaded herself she was the tool. 

Yes, yes, Ernest was her fate - the incarnation of all her 

visions of beauty, genius. and a better world, and she 

would, must love him; "her spirit compelled her - her 

human destiny alone rebelled." 

Without any apparent effort to resist or yield to the 

unmistakable interest the fair cantatrice manifested for 

him. the gentle, dreamy singer seemed to occupy quite 

naturally the place she assigned him. Affectionately grateful 

for her kindness, delighted with her talent and beauty, 

and tenderly interested in her unqualified affection for himself, 

he loved her as much as - she sometimes bitterly

OR TORY LEA. VES FROM: LIFE HISTORY. 161 

CHAPTER III. 

"GA.BRIELLE, can you remember your home? Ah no! 

I recollect - you have told me you never knew a childhood's 

home. Then, sweet one, you have never known 

what first love is. The spot of ground associated with 

your youth's earliest memories is the mistress of your 

heart. You may love again. Other scenes and other 

things - friend, lover, child - these may engross manhood's 

strong devotion; but the love of childhood's home 

is more nearly the love of self than any later feeling. 

Such was mine. There, where the first dawnings of consciousness 

were awakened, I either drew thought out of 

the surroundings, or else I so imprinted thought with 

them that the scene - eaeh crag, and glen, flower, and 

brooklet - became a part of my very self. My home, 

too, was worthy of my devotion - so wild, lonely, yet 

grandly beautiful. Every shape of loveliness which Nature 

delights to fashion in other lands seemed here patterned 

out as if to heap up models for all her fantastic moods. 

Somehow the hills seemed grander there; the vast amphitheatre 

which their large black summits formed, loomed 

more majestic than in other places; the deep rayines and 

rushing torrents, all were lighted up with deeper sunlit 

gold; and never moonbeam fell on lake of more placid 

beauty, deeper blue, or fringed with grander woods, than 

this dear home, so well remembered, showed. One spot, 

more dear than all, was the rocky, outstretched arm of 

one vast giant mountain. No foot less sure than my firm 

boyish tread could have carried out the human form on 

Buch a dizzy ledge; yet when I had gained the edge, what 

14*

OR TORN LEAVES PROM :LIFE HISTORY. 163 

seen her. Balanced like 'a rocking bird, on s.unbeam, 

moonbeam, or cold ether car, she'd come to me, and face 

to face we talked, as we talk now. 

"1 know 1 was half dreaming; for, strange to say, 1 

never questioned her or sought to know who or whence 

she was. 1 knew she was a spirit, blest and true; and 

this was aU. 1 never knew when first we met, or how; 

nor can 1 recollect my mountain home or early life without 

her. She told me of the future; and 1 speaking oft her 

words again, -1 knew not why, except 1 could not help 

it, - they called me Seer and Prophet. 1 caUed her 

, Eulalie,' - 1 knew not why; and when 1 erred, her 

.: dreamy eyes, so' sad, so unreproachful, yet so full of woe, 

revealed the mystery of her dear presence ever. She 

knew my inmost soul, my secret thought, my hidden ways, 

and spirit's wandering flight. She was my second self, 

or guardian angel; advised me, cheered me; taught me 

bright views of life, and brighter heavens; controlled my 

wayward fancy, guiding it to immortality's bright realms, 

to which 1 felt she had herself attained." 

"What was this mist wreath like, dear Ernest?" inquired 

Gabrielle, for the first time interrupting the rhapsody 

of the improvvisatore, in a tone between jest and 

interest. 

"One day," he rejoined, scarcely seeming to heed her 

question, "a young comrade, who had been a pupil of 

my uncle, the priest, and the only associate whom in my 

life 1 ever cared to call friend, came to revisit his old master, 

and our boyish intimacy was renewed. He was an 

artist; but the world's hard hand had dealt somewhat too 

rudely with 'a very fragile constitution, and, bending beneath 

the chill bla!!t of consumption, he had come to our 

home of beauty and fascination ostensibly to seek health,

164 THE I)[PROVVIS.A.TORE, 

in reality to make his bed of death. To the poor pilgrim 

so rapidly nearing the visionary shores of spirit-land, I 

sometimes ventured to speak of what anyone else would 

have termed my straDge hallucination. I know not why 

he believed me so readily, but this he did; and I have 

since attributed it to the clear perception of spiritual realities, 

which I believe to be constantly pervading this dull, 

sensuous world of ours, and into which the eyes of the 

dying can so readily look. Yes, he believed me; and 

whilst I had the satisfaction of finding one ear into which 

I could pour the tale of my visionary but life-long association, 

the remarkable accuracy of my sprite's predictions, 

and the occasional low breathing of delicious music which 

in the long hours of night often rang through the chamber 

which he shared with me, soothing with its exquisite pathos 

the feverish unrest ·of the poor sufferer's vigils, convinced 

him that a something beyond my own human intelligence 

inspired my prophetic utterances, and made music in the 

lonely mountain when every mortal slept. 

" Two days before he died, one balmy summer evening, 

I found him lying on the little mountain shelf of which I 

have spoken, and which no inducement of mine could before 

urge him to attempt reaching. By his side were hiB 

brushes and pallet, and to my amazement and delight, in 

his hand, drooping with exhaustion, he held a faithful miniature 

likeness of my fairy. 

" , Take it, Ernest,' he said; 'it is my dying gift. Do 

not thank me; I am well repaid, for I too have seen her. 

She stood here in what seemed to me bodily presence before 

me - I know not how long. I know not how I came here, 

nor why I brought my colors. I know she bade me paint, 

and I obeyed her. My task is ended, and she in gratitude 

will pilot me across the unknown sea. She comes to take 

me home.'

166 THE IXPBOTV1S.A.TOBE, 

should it not find organs better suited to its use than this 

poor clay? And when it's done with that, why not speak 

to you precisely as it now does through this clay?" 

.. I cannot argue with you, Ernest," replied the lady; 

.. I think and feel you're right, but fear to use my reason 

lest I prOfJe it true, and proving that, prOfJe more tlum my 

religion would allow. Your words, however, only give 

expression to what I've felt, or, may be, dreamed of, all 

my life. The air to me is full of shapes. No creature 

approaches me but his shadow . precedes him, sometimes 

close to him, sometimes a few minutes in advance. I see 

these shapes outside of every creature, and know who is 

coming near; and those who are going to die, I know by 

something which I can't express, but see it stamped upon 

their ,hapes. I do not speak of these things much; the 

world will not believe me; and yet how common is this 

power! Scarcely a village, town, or hamlet, but has some 

old muttering crone, supposed to be a witch, or shunned as 

evil, who IIOnverses with the air, sees shapes of persons, 

and on those shapes diseases, characteristics, and oftentimes 

eYents, which, proving true, prove also something, 

telling mind more than the body sees. The world believes 

this too, it is so common, provided you will only call it 

,trange. But when you search for causes, they say 'tis 

• superstition,' or • illusion.' What is illusion? How 

grew superstition? But tell me, Ernest, what was your 

phantom like? Your friend, you say, could see her, and 

preserved her image. I'll be sworn that precious picture 

was not shipwrecked with yourself." 

.. It was though, Gabrielle, shipwrecked with me, but 

also saved with me; and now for the strangest part of all. 

Would you choose to see that face, my Gabrielle? Can 

you bear to look upon it ? "

OR TORN LEAVES FROJ( LIFE HISTORY. 167 

"Why not, Ernest? Can I be jealous of a sprite? 

Show it me. Of. course you have it with you, nestling 

close to your heart." 

" 'Tis here." 

" 0 Heaven! 'tis myself! " 

The moonbeam, shining out almost as bright as day, fell 

full upon the picture which he held, displaying a face 

enveloped in misty wreaths, but unmistakably the image 

of Gabrielle. 

Quietly returning the portrait to his vest, he replied, 

"Do you wonder why I started, Gabrielle, when I first 

saw you at your own gate, and beheld in mortal form the 

image of my fairy Eulalie ?" 

" I had a twin sister once, Ernest," murmured Gabrielle • 

.. When we were both very little children, our poor mother 

travelled with us through those mountains where your home 

was. This noble woman, whom I now call mother, journeying 

with her husband the same way, found her and one 

poor infant perished in the snow. My hapless self still 

living, she took and warmed me into life. Since then 

I've been her own. Could I but deem the spirits of the 

dead, like mortal children, lived, and grew, and bore the 

impress of their earthly mould, I might almost deem your 

phantom friend my lost young sister's spirit j and yet I 

know not-" 

And thus the 10"ers wore the hours away. The jealous, 

watchful eyes of Ravensworth were far away. Called suddenly 

on political business into the north of Scotland, he 

had not even time to set his usual espionage upon his unacknowledged, 

but not undiscovered, rival; and so this 

secret tryst was the longest and freest they had ever 

known. Both endowed with the powers at whose possession 

we have slightly glanced, - namely, of conversing

... 

168 TJU: DU'ROVVISATOBE, 

with a shape, a voice, a something whispering round them 

more than mortal ken could see or knOW. - they met this 

night, assured, by their strange far-seeing eyes, no dange! 

'threatened, no human foot was near.- 

And now they spoke of subjects of much deeper interest, 

at least to them - their future. Gabrielle. whilst professing, 

ay, and feeling also, the most fervid affection for her 

friend, was so indoctrinated into the world's cODventionalisms, 

that she deemed she should be drawing her lover to 

ruin if she allured him to any fate short of the wealth and 

fame which she at present enjoyed. She knew the desperate 

lind fierce resolve of Ravensworth to call her his ; 

she knew his power by rank and wealth to bring revenge 

the direst on the heads of all who should thwart him; and 

whilst, with an eye of habitual devotion for the world's 

gauds! she gazed upon the brilliant vista which he opened 

to her as Countess of Ravensworth, she regarded with 

equal terror the possibility of his vengeance thrul1ting lWrself 

and the fascinating object of her life's first love out of 

the pale of romance into poverty and disgrace. And yet 

she loved, adored, this strange, fantastic, gentle singer. 

For the first time she knew how sweet it was to love; .and 

life without this love, and him on woom she poured it 

* in a tale written some months since for the Spiritual Age, and entitled, 

a8 far as I ean remember, .. Second Sight," I gave a sUght sketch of the 

prevailing popular oploiou, or, as the phrase goes ... superstition," concern 

Ing that faculty, more recognized in Scotland, Wales, and Boltcmia, than 

any wh.".e els9. The condition called cllrirvoyanee, Or the capacity to per 

""Ive, with the spiritual eye, scenes, distant objects, and persons, which 

could by no possibility come within the range of the natural vision, ia 

commonly defined as B. perception of past or passing objects. I consider 

that the future Is eqnally susceptible of coming within the range of spiritual 

vision. '.rhls faculty I. common enough In England and many other 

places, where, however, It Is orthodox to caU it .. strange," but heterodml: 

to ealiit " spirltunl."

170 TIlE JllPROVVISATORE, 

Telling his useful, pliant cousin of his will, Colonel Kalozy 

had a commission to offer Ernest, in token of friendship 

for saving the life of his father from shipwreck-a cemmission 

in his regiment; and all the glorious consequences 

of the noble warfare, which, either in the shape of speedy 

preferment, or honorable and of course accidental death, 

might be expected so naturally to follow. 

And so the last pale star of night and first of dawning 

found too lovers striving to bend their eyes prophetic on 

their own next day. What should they do? Their love 

they could no longer hide. The politic earl affected ignorance; 

but Gabrielle only the more surely felt the rocking 

of the earth beneath the fair, smooth surface. She pleaded 

with all her gifts of grace that he would haste, like a gallant 

knight, to win his lady-love by deeds of fame and arms. 

This, she said, would give them time to think, himself a 

name and place in life, and both probation of their new-felt 

passion. He, half a savage still, murmured of peaceful 

home among his mountains, the tranquil day and sacred 

evening hymn; but silence closed his lips when he looked 

on her - so proudly beautiful, so worshipped, and so 

sought - such a lot for her! he dare not speak it; and so, 

with dim forebodings, and a plastic mind swayed like the 

summer grass by passing winds, he bade her cheer; he 

would go forth and do her bidding, be her minstrel knight, 

earnfame at least for her, if not gold doubloons. And so 

they parted that dear summer night, when in those few 

hours they had lived an age. Their hearts' deep secrets 

read, their souls unlocked, one fate, one hope, should now 

be common with them; and in that long "good night" 

they felt " we're one forever! " 

Farewell, moonlight trysts and tales of love, for Ensign 

Rossi. New scenes, new hopes, companions, occupations.

172 THE JJlPBOYTI.8ATOBE, 

foremost in unselfish, daring enterprises; and notwithstanding 

the scanty field for honor and renown which an intestine 

struggle against oppression afforded, speedy promotion 

and high laudation heralded ·his name from place to place 

as one of freedom's champions. 

It is Dot our purpose to touch on any of the political conditions 

of the time. We are simply following the fortunes 

of an individual, not narrating particulars of a party, cause, 

or nation. We know· such a one as our improvvisatore 

took part, fought, bled, and suffered, in many of the bitter 

struggles in which an oppressed people armed for defence 

against oppression, or strove to break a chain too heavy for 

human sufferance. The man, and not the cause, ia ours at 

present. They said his comrades. loved him, and despite 

the promotion which his gallantry so rapidly insured, none 

envied or grudged the kind young man his honors - hon- 

. ors borne so meekly and gained so well, that love, not 

rivalry, seemed only possible with him. There was, besides 

his tender sympathy for suffering and friends, another quality 

that endeared him to his comrades; - this was his 

sweet, wild voice, and readiness to sing his wondrous 

strains, so full of soothing power. No hearts are so susceptible 

to music as those in whom the presence of danger 

kindles up constant excitement. Thus the sailor, soldier, 

captive, and mourner hang on the tones of music as an echo 

to the feverish throbs of their own excited heuts. At 

night, wben they sat by the watcb-fires, or laid them down 

beside the balf-dug trenches which each felt might be bis 

grave to-morrow, the minstrel soldier sang to them lays 

coined in the burning realms of inspiration. And never 

did trumpet's crash or clarion's shriek, sbrill pibroch or 

"spirit stirring drum," wake to such martial fire, such 

warlike heat, or Boothe the soul with half sucb tender calm,

OR TORN LEAV.ES FROM LIFE" HISTORY. 173 

as did the voice of the improvvisatore, amidst the campgrounds 

of poor captive Hungary. Sometimes he sang of 

home and lady's love, and then the stern gray warriors 

wept, and noble young hands drew their glittering blades, 

flashed them in the moonlight, kissed the cross, and swore 

to die for her whose glancing form, evoked by the spirit of 

music, flitted amongst them, bearing their burning words 

like pledges to the courts of love and honor. How they 

loved to listen to his lays, these death-doomed men, forgetful 

of their fate whilst rapt in the air of melody! The 

common soldiers loved him, too, he was so kind, considerate, 

and merciful; and when he sang, they wept like little 

children. Sometimes he told of heaven and heaven's queen, 

and then the kneeling forms sighed out their hearts, in echo 

to his plaintive, low-toned hymn, "Ora pro nobis" - Virgin 

Mother, hear us ! 

Never did prayer float on the dewy night with deeper 

soul-felt pleading, than at those times when he - the soldier 

singer-thus prayed for them. 

And where was Kalozy, Ravensworth's wily cousin? 

Why is it that evil deeds require greater nerve and more 

encouragement for their commission than good ones? 

Either it is easier to be good (as it certaiJlly pays better) 

than to be otherwise, or the current of the world's opinion 

sets in so dead against cruelty and vice, that it requires a 

stronger mind to stem the tide than float with it. Kalozy 

either really liked his noble young subaltern, or else was 

afraid to harm him-afraid (when he saw the generous 

thing called popular opinion hanging so lovingly around the 

favorite) to injure that which never sought to injure another, 

and therefore, not meriting, seemed incapable of expecting, 

injury himself! 

This was the state of things when one evening Lieuten- 

15*

174 THB IIPlWTTUATOBB. 

ant Rossi was employed by his colonel writing. in his tent. 

Xalozy sat at some distance, reading letters and dictating 

certain memoranda upon which the young man (who had 

received a lair education from his uncle the priest) was employed 

in transcribiI;g. The night was warm, the curtains 

of the tent undrawn; suddenly a rush of balmy ak aeemed 

to pass over the brow of the scribe, and a dim shadow fen 

across the tent door. 

" Eulalie !" muttered the young soldier; and for a moment 

an impulse to spring away, into the wide, wide realma 

of air, away forever, seemed to possess him; the next, 

the still, dreamy ecstasy of France; and then'he saw Kalozy 

- who sat directly behind him - placed like a picture 

on his very table. He saw him knit his brow, contract his 

lip, and then, with a face all seamed with discontent, draw 

from his vest a letter, reading thus: - 

.. You have either milltaken me or betrayed my trust, friend Hermann. 

I told you I would have that beggar killed; and you send 

home, or lI1l1I'er home to come, accounta of hill wondrous bravery 

and prowess, until all those who read news of this war, and bulletins 

of your most cursed imubordinate rebellious country, begin 

to think the Italian organ grinding Ernest RolBi is going to tum 

out another Bonaparte, and convert a handful of beggarly Hungarian 

hordes, into a second imperial army • 

.. I know, my worthy cousin, it matters little to you on which 

!ride you fight. The bread that ill the best buttered tastes the be&t 

to you, whether it be baked in Austria, Germany, or Hungary. 

Must I tell you again, then, that whilst I am paying you handsomely 

to do my work, that work ill to get Ernest RoIBi decently 

killed, and not made a captain and a hero of'. Look at it, therefore; 

unleu you can ftnd a better paymaster amongst the Austrians, 

and as I am in more earnest than ever, the day that sends me 

home news of the death and burial ot this interesting vagrant.. shan 

Iign the deed which makes you master ot the long-coveted estate 

and manor of Wallingford. So now choose, and that without

OR TORN LEAVES FROlll LIFE HISTORY. 176 

further falteriug, which 'you will _, the God oC battles who presides 

over the destiny of your hapless country, or the Mammon 

who has the honor of subscribing himself . 

"Your loving cousin, EDWARD lUTl!NIWORTB." 

.Twice did the visionary Bcene, passing behind the seer, 

recross his entranced eyes; and twice did the shadowy 

finger of the shining apparition in the tent door point, letter 

by letter, to the pictured page of the billet, which Kalozy 

was at that very moment perusing with his natural, and 

Ernest Rossi with his spiritual, eyes. When both had 

concluded the reading, the colonel put up his letter. The 

curtains of the tent slightly waved; a low, long sigh, like the 

night wind's wail, passed over the cold, damp brow of the 

seer. A shudder, a blank. He looked out into the campground 

beyond. All was still. The stars were out for 

him, for she was gone. 'Twas mortal night once more. 

"Colonel, have you nothing more for me to write? I 

await your orders." 

"No more, Ernest, now. To-morrow I'll call on you 

again." 

"To-morrow, colonel! Never again. Good night!" 

CHAPTER IV. 

WITH the egotism of human nature generally, we are 

apt to suppose, when we perceive, for the first time, some 

manifestation of the existing order of things, either that 

we have made a new discovery, or that we are the subjects 

of Borne special revelation. Such has been the view with 

which many of the investigators of modern spiritualism, 

magnetism, and clairvoyance have deluded themselves; 

whereas the fact is, that all these things, and many others 

/

176 THE IJll'BOTVISATORE, 

of the same character, have been the familiar practice of 

the ancients, and a constantly attending evidence of mental 

materiality in all times 4nd in all plaus where the 

physical materiality of religion or science did not proscribe 

its study. On the continent of Europe and in countries 

where schools of philosophy have been established, these 

sciences, especially the two last, have been identified with 

every search into the curiously abstruse phenomena of 

nature. It is English and Americans alone who have not 

recognized their manifestations; and therefore their exhibition 

as portions of the phenomena of spiritualism has 

appeared as a new revelation of nature to them. The 

German, Bohemian, and French 8avans ridicule the idea 

of any new revelation in these sciences, while every nation 

of the East is familiar with their practice, if not with their 

identity with the agency of departed spirits. 

Having said thus much, we need add no more in apology 

for antedating the ducovery of the application of 

clairvoyance in America, by introducing scenes, the details 

of which are derived from actual fact, although the time, 

place, and names of the actors are all disguised in the 

license of fictional composition. 

The moon was gleaming brightly over the camp-ground 

of the Hungarians, and picturing her fair face on many a 

gleaming bayonet point as the moveless sentinels returned 

the slight salute which Ernest Rossi gave them, passing 

from point to point ere he gained the remote quarter 

where he shared with a young lieutenant of his own age 

the shelter of a rude tent. The quiet scene, where slumbering 

masses lay outstretched in that peaceful rest which 

might know but one more earthly waking; the sight of 

so many groups of noble forms and gallant hearts all press-

OR 1:0RN LEAV.E8 FRO1\( LIFE HISTORY. 177 

ing forward to the mysterious portals of untimely death; 

or, it may be, the doom of dragging a mutilated form 

through the penance of a suffering life, impressed the kind 

heart of, the young soldier with the tenderest sympathy. 

" Would I could die for them!" he murmured; "or 

rather, would it had pleased the great Dispenser of life to 

. teach men what a sacred thing it is ! This frame, so wonderfully 

and fearfully fashioned, with such skill, ingenuity, 

and beauty, - why should this be torn and rent by tiger 

men, destroying what God has designed so well and 

nature has outwrought so patiently, - and all for the possession 

of a few feet of earth in this particular section of 

the globe? What vast waste lands are yet unclaimed 

which these greedy ones could possess! What wealth 

within the giant bosoms of yet unwrought mountains, 

with which they might enrich themselves, without this 

cruel butchery of each other - and all to satisfy the avaricious 

yet sluggard spirit which would rather steal another's 

possessions than toil to obtain them himself! Where are 

the spirits, too, of the slaughtered dead? 0 starry homes! 

they cannot enter you; they arc not ready; earth has not 

yet done with them, nor they with earth. Their mission 

unfulfilled, some vast mid-region must receive them, the 

poor, unresting dead! Your tranquil, peaceful rest, 0 

stars and suns! where happily spirits dwell; may not 

receive the waifs whom God has sent to earth to grow, 

unfold, and become fit blossoms for the gardens of eternity, 

but which rude man cuts down before the fruit is 

ripe, and crushes out of life ere half the work is done. 

Murder, - thou last, worst crime! thou greatest wrong 

the undeveloped soul of man can e'er suffer! - what 

sophistry can gild thee? what law of man's contrivance 

redeem the stain of foolish, useless, but irreparable wrong?

178 TJIE mI'ROVVISATORE, 

What fantastic names, as Honor, Patriotism, Fame, or 

Justice, can repair the hideous breach that murder makes 

in nature, or give back to God, who made it with sllch 

skill and care, the flowers of life, which men, like idle, 

spiteful children, tear to pieces out of mere revenge?" 

"Ernest, Ernest, my child, 0, save me ! " Such was 

the wild, shrill cry that, three times repeated, clear, distinct, 

and close beside his ear, broke on the startled soldier's 

meditations - a pause between the repetitions. The 

language that of his native land, the tone unmistakably 

that of his mother, left him no room for doubt. Rushing 

to his tent, he aroused his sleeping comrade - one who, 

as friend and confidant of the young man's most secret 

thoughts, was well accustomed to the exhibition of his 

strange spiritual perceptions. 

" Augustine, wake!" he cried. "Some terrible event 

befalls my mother, OT like a sword impends upon our heads." 

For several minutes his agitation prevented his resorting 

to that far-seeing faculty which he was daily accustomed 

to employ for the amusement or to satisfy the 

curious speculations of his frip-nds. His companion, however, 

whose mind was well balanced and commanding, at 

length succeeded in soothing him, and after several ineffectual 

attempts to concentrate his powers for the exercise 

of his clairvoyant vision, he produced a letter which 

he had lately received from his mother, which he at last 

found was the one link wanting to bring him in rapport 

with her. 

This letter contained an account of the death of her 

brother, the old priest, the breaking up of their little 

household, and the subsequent determination on the part 

of the poor mother to set out in quest of her son. She 

had received frequent and dutiful communications from 

.. 

•

OR TORN LEAVES FRO]\[ LIFE HISTORY. 179 

him, was appraised of his whereabouts, and resolved to 

join him. She had accomplished the greater part of her 

long and perilous journey, when she found she had entered 

within the lines of the much dreaded Austrian army. To 

avoid this, she had entered on a wild mountain tract, 

where she ent::ountered the family of a noble AustJ:ian, 

who was then in deepest agony of mind, vainly seeking 

to discover the retreat of some of the bandits so famous in 

those districts, who had recently carried off his young and 

only son. The gentle heart of Madame Rossi, deeply 

sympathizing with the grief of the parents, urged her to 

aid them by the exercise of her 'wondrously accurate faculty 

of clairvoyance. By this means the retreat of the 

kidnappers was discovered, and the precious child ransomed 

and restored to the arms of his kindred. In deeply 

grateful appreciation of the service she had rendered them, 

the Austrian furnished her with money and a safe conduct 

through the Austrian lines, on the verge of which she 

hoped to meet her son. 

It was to this point that the letter to her son conducted 

her little history. What she could not tell was the dire 

treachery of the woman-flogging nation, who no" sooner 

ascertained that a woman was in their midst, possessed of 

the wondrous gift of "clairvoyance, and that she was alone, 

still young and very beautiful, than they, by some paltry 

evasion, contrived to fasten upon her the character of a 

spy, and, despite of her friend's pass, to detain her a 

prisoner. At first they sought to win her to their service 

by offers of large" bribes and promotion for her son, if she 

would induce him to join their ranks; but when she found 

that the service required of her was no other than the 

exercise of her clairvoyant powers for the detection of 

their enemies' plans, she indignantly refused the treach-

180 THE IXPBOVV18ATORE, 

erous part they assigned her, and by thus manifesting 

open antagonism to their interest, excited their enmity, 

and even in the mind of the base and cowardly general 

officer who had covertly detained her, as much fear of her 

strange gift, as anxiety to avail himself of it. 

Colonel Kalozy had not been altogether mindful of his 

patron the Earl of R&vensworth's interest, moreover. The 

service of the Hungarian patriots was more remunerative in 

honor than wealth, while that of the Austrians was exactly 

the reverse. To reconcile himself to both, and appropriate, 

if possible, the spoils of both, he had long professed himself 

an open champion of the tattered banner of liberty, 

whilst he in reality acted as a secret agent beneath the 

golden standard of oppression. For many past months, it 

had been evident to the patriots that 80me undetected 

treachery was at work amongst them. Their best laid 

plans were thwarted, and their most secret operations so 

obviously under the espionage of their enemies that all 

their efforts were bent to discover the traitor. 

Just at this time came missive after missive from Lord 

Ravensworth, insisting upon the destruction of the hapless 

minstrel. Availing himself of his knowledge of Austrian 

tactics, the double traitor, Kalozy, contrived to reveal 

some of their manreuvres to the Hungarians, and then 

apprised the Austrians that the secret had been disclosed 

through the instrumentality of the famous clairvoyant, 

whom the Hungarian officers availed themselves of, as he 

insinuated, to procure surreptitious information. Thus 

stimulating alike their vengeance and their Buperstition, 

Kalozy hoped that the indignant Austrians would save 

him the trouble of doing the executioner's work upon his 

young lieutenant; but when he heard the poor patriots, 

driven to desperation by the constant disclosure of their

IS4 TJlB IJlPBOTVl.SHOBE, 

lOul of the agonized man, for the first time awakened to 

the thirst for human blood and quenchless nngeaDce. 

gleamed through the lnstroua eyes of the seer . 

.. Farewell, Augustine. I go to rescue or avenge my 

mother," were his first words. But he could not part 

thus, and that Augustine knew. Nearly a hundred miles 

intervened between himself and the scene of the tragedy 

he had witnessed. The road was lined with Austrian 

troops, /lnd by daybreak of the morrow the command had 

been given to the rebel Hungarians, by their leaders, to 

advance to the taking of an important position which they 

confidently hoped to secure. This last consideration more 

than all the rest, together with the cherished desire of 

being permitted to lead a forlorn hope in the course of the 

engagement, finally prevailed in restraining the unhappy 

son from rushing off in the midst of all impossibilities to 

attempt the rescue of his mother, supposing that she should· 

survive the shameful cruelties to which she had been exposed. 

And the morrow's SUD shone down upon a dreadful 

field of carnage, in which no hand drew so red or reckless 

a sword as he who a few short hours before had 

mourned before moon and stars the delltruction of a single 

human life. 

"Lead us not into temptation." Does God tempt us 'I 

If not, what does? These are fearful queries, full of dreadful 

meaning too; for none can deny that the human heart, 

swelling with loving, generous impulses under the gentle 

rule of peaceful surrounding, has become, if not an absolute 

traitor to itself, yet so wildly fierce, 80 hard, relentless, 

almost savage beneath the impetus of opposite influences, 

that we again demand, by whom and why are we 

thus tempted? 0, life! dost thou demand, for the evolvement 

of all thy purposes, that the secret depths of human

OR TORN LEA.VES FROM LIFE HISTORY. 189 

on the part of the members of the human family to torture 

each other; but when newspaper Christians and conventionally 

pious citizens prate about the blessings and humanizing 

effects of Christianity, these inevitable appendages 

to every monastic institution, every religious order, and 

every feudal dwelling under the Christian rule for at least 

sixteen hundred years after the humanizing system was 

. first established, seem to send up their mournful echoes 

from the broken hearts, wasted energies, and crushed limbs 

of the victims, whom human authority in general, and 

spiritual authority in particular, has condemned to pine 

-away within them. 

It is pleasant to sit through the long winter's evening by' 

the cheerful fire and the mellow lamp, and, while the storm 

roars without, draw the crimson curtain closer, and, tuming 

to the happy circle within, to hear the one read out, 

while others work or listen, the tale of piteous captivity, 

of long imprisonment and fearful wrong inflicted on helpless, 

fettered human creatures. Young ladies sigh, and old 

ones shake their heads. Young men cry, " Stuff!" and old 

ones go to sleep. Do any ever pause to think these things 

are true? They have been; and though modified in practice 

now, the spirit still remains, and would enact such 

horrors over again if it but dared. Oppression, the law 

of strength against the weak, and persecution for opinions, . 

- these are the causes which have, which do, and will 

continue to, (unless you make men just, humane, and 

Christ-like, instead of merely" Christian,") impale each 

other, coward-like, by force of strength, in far more 

tortures than these pleasant fictions show. 

It cannot be supposed that Austria, Germany, or Russia 

(Christian countries all) could be, in any part of them, 

without the. glorious institution of dungeons deep and

190 THE IllPROVVISATORB, 

noisome; and so poor Ernest Rossi found, when, struck 

down, but not killed, by Kalozy, he became a prisoner to 

the Austrians. It might have been supposed that they 

would have taken advantage of their gallant young foeman's 

presence amongst them to destroy him, in vengeance 

for what they had been taught by Kalozy to deem were his 

magical practices against them; but the governor of the 

town, into whose hands he had fallen, was an ignorant, 

superstitious, and cruel tyrant; and while his sa'\'age 

.nature suggested no other mode of dealing with his victim 

than by torture, his superstition impelled him to believe he 

might attain to superhuman privileges in communing with 

the invisible world through the agency of the far-famed 

seer. The indignation of the Austrians had been so vehement 

against the supposed magician, that the governor had 

great difficulty in rescuing Ernest from instant and deadly 

·retaliation; but under the pretext of reserving him for 

trial, and a more orderly mode of execution, he at last con- . 

trived to possess himself of the person of the captive, with 

whom he now determined to deal for his own private and 

special purposes. As he soon found his efforts to bend 

his unfortunate captive to his will unavailing, and fearing 

to put him to death, lest his disembodied spirit should be 

even more potent than his suffering mortal frame, he had 

no means of satisfying his hatred aJld cowardice but by 

the lowest species of retaliation he could devise, namely, 

insult and miserable captivity. Sometimes he effected this 

in deep cells where the light of the blessed sun never 

came, where noisome things ran round the narrow space, 

and the dripping of dank dews constantly irritated the 

nerves with their weary vibrations; sometimes in cribs 

contrived like the cage of the famous Cardinal Baillieu, too 

low to allow the inmate to stand up - too narroW to allow 

•

OR TORN LEAVES FROl( LIFE HISTORY. 193 

to utter them; but when they found he did not comprehend 

them, stared with a half-sane look that warned of madness, 

they let him sing, and," standing by hIs side, the viewless 

spirit cheered him to his task. Perhaps she (deeper read 

in human life than we poor mortals are) knew this exercise 

would save his wavering mind, and keep the strings of 

sense from snapping or preying on itself. In cells remote, 

and many a dungeon deep, the sweet, wild cadence rang 

like echoes from a distant world., The shivering captives 

heard it, dreamed of choiring angels keepiI?-g watch over 

poor mortals' woe, blessed God, and slept in peace. The 

jailers listened, and, with awe-struck souls, told their beads 

in quick succession, muttered a prayer, and curses on the 

singer. The wandering peasant heard it as he crept along 

the frowning walls, drew his rough hand across his eyes, 

and cried, "God help the poor, lone maniac!" Far out 

at sea the lonely ship-boy heard it. Rocked on the "giddy 

mast by rushing winds, he thought sqJlle angel's song came 

on the blast - a messenger from sainted friends in heaven. 

He listened, bowed his head, thought of his home, and 

wept. 

" Ave Maria!" sang the fisherman upon the shore; and 

.. Ave Eulalie !" replied the echo. 

" Santa, keep and guard us !" "Hush," they whispered. 

"The spirits of the murdered dead wail round the castle 

of the dark, bold keeper." 

One ear alone, with perfect understanding, marked the 

strain. This was Augustine's, poor Ernest's noble comrade. 

Safe from the skirmish, where he had lost his friend, the 

young soldier followed in the course of duty the fugitive 

warfare of his unhappy countrymen. This had at length 

led him and them in the very neighborhood of the prison 

where his friend was lodged. Dear as their improvvisatore 

17

194 THE UIPROVVISATORE, 

had been to the Hungarians, they had made no effort to 

search for him, convinced that he had fallen into hands too 

sange and vengeful to spare his life. 

The death of the beautiful peasant woman, (the mother 

of Ernest,) in a very short period after the atrocious act of a 

semi-public :flogging, was soon noised abroad, and excited 

lIuch universal indignation, that the perpetrators were 

obliged to excuse themselves on the plea that she had been 

punished for the attempt to practise magical and heretical 

arts - forbidden alike by the holy Catholic religion, and 

baneful to the safety and morality of the camp, while passing 

through which she had been arrested. This brought 

up again the question of the lost improvvisatore and his 

well. known but mysterious gift of clairvoyance; and although 

his body had not been found, his captors deemed it 

safest, after having subjected him to the routine of their 

hateful prisons, to protest that he had perished beneath 

heaps of slain at the breach. 

This story was generally believed by all but the faithful 

friend who had seen him fall. After the most hazardous 

but minute search for his body, the warm-hearted young 

man resolved that his efforts should be extended to find the 

living and not the dead Ernest; and when at last the course 

of the campaign brought him beneath the walls of a castle 

from whence the well-remembered tones of a voice which, 

once heard, was never to be forgotten, came, borne on favoring 

winds, he became persuaded the spirit of his friend still 

spoke to him, but spoke in mortal song. 

4-nd where was Gabrielle? Once more let us seek her; 

and once again we find her shining in the halls of luxurybeneath 

the stately roof of pride - enveloped in the glistening 

robes of splendor, and :floating in the very atmosphere 

of wealth, but not, as of old, in the unpretending cottage of

OR TORN LEA. YES FROM LIFE lUSTORY. 195 

an artiste. Reposing on a velvet couch, with lofty dome 

above and stately statues round her, we find her now the 

mistress of Ravensworth Castle. Gabrielle, Countess of 

Ravensworth, we now must greet her. But 0, how changed! 

Her form is still as graceful, her brow is still as fair; but 

her eye has lost its lustre, and her cheek its rose. Her 

sweet, glad voice now speaks in cold, imperious tone; her 

buoyant step is stately, proud, and measured. 

The story of the change is quickly told. When first she 

parted from her heart's young love, she watched for his career, 

and marked its rise with secret joy and pride. She 

heard his name and read its mention in the journals of the 

time wi t\l honor, praise, and promotion ever associated; 

and in her deep, wild passion, she strengthened herself 

by such accounts against the fulfilment of her pledge with 

Ravensworth. 

At length came the death tale, and with it came the story 

of the breach, the loss, the capture. Sick at heart, bend- . 

ing beneath the blight that thus unexpectedly fell upon her, 

the sounds of music became distasteful to her ear, her profession 

unendurable. The applause of the crowd seemed 

to mock her misery; and to fly from herself, her grief, and 

the odious thrall of serving a public with smiles alld winning 

ways, whilst her secret heart was breaking, she determined 

to ,vithdraw from public life, and seek seclusion to 

indulge her grief. Gabrielle fled from the world, but not 

from herself. Her grief pursued her; with it too, ambition, 

the proud, deep craving for command and splendor, more 

restless in her solitude than in her grief. She did not find 

the balm within herself, and nothing but the world could 

drown the sorrow she could not kill. 'N e only do her justice 

when we admit she did love Ernest; and had that love 

had sway, not been divided with the splendid world, but

1!}6 THE IMPROVVISATORE, 

centred on him alone, - had she yielded to his own and 

her heart's pleadings, married and not parted with him,that 

love would have unquestionably triumphed over every 

minor and baser purpose. It was divided, however. She 

thought not of his danger, but only of the honorable name 

he might bestow upon her. She thought not whether he 

might ever return, but only when he did, that he should 

bring her some better title than that of a beggar's wife. 

She contemplated what she deemed an immense sacrifice, 

when she proposed to resign the earl, castles, station, and 

wealth of Ravensworth. The countess of this brief, sandgrain 

of life shone far more brightly to her fancy than the 

obscure wife fitting herllelf and partner for eternity. And 

so she parted with her soldier-love, lost him, deplored him, 

sickened of the world, then sickened for it - 

came a countess. 

and s? be 

And now, by a revulsion common enough among the ariso 

tocratic " parties" of European life, Gabrielle, after yawing 

at the altar to love, honor, and obey the man who bestowed 

on her title, wealth, and station, hated both her lord and 

her surroundings. Without the restraining grace of fixed 

and noble principles, to teach her grateful gentlenesll, even 

if she could not feign love, - with nothing more to gain, 

and loss of liberty added to her loss of love, - she scornfully 

avowed her detestation of her husband, and in open defiance 

of his really just indignation, set up the picture of her 

loYer, whi.::h she had long concealed, and worshipped this 

among her saints. 

It would be desecration to call 'the passion which Lord 

Ravensworth entertained for Gabrielle love. Yet passion 

it was - the one great passion of his life - with its dark 

shadow, jealousy. No change in her could touch him; she 

was all life to him; and therefore hate - hate of the thing


that stood between his love and her - this was the only - 

thought that now possessed him. 

Here is one of. the pictures of a marriage contracted on 

any foundation except mutual affection, confidence, respect:, 

and t:daptation. Allied to her husband from none of these 

motives, Gabrielle presented the shameful spectacle of a 

?Doman sold for hire; for such are all women, married, 

bound up, either in the most holy, or the most loathsome 

and basely sensual of all associations, unless the tie be 

formed of naturc's solemn compact, which joins for all eternity 

two souls - djvided halves - and makes them one. 

Amongst the numerous sinecures" which noblemen in 

England enjoy is the office of postmaster-general. At the 

time of which we write, this lucrative and onerous nothingto-do 

office was held by Lord Ravensworth. The name and 

rank of the lady he had married were, of course, a popular 

theme of comment; and therefore one of the numerous sub- . 

ordinates belonging to the postal institution, whose duty it 

was to take charge of letters for whom no owners could be 

found, humbly waited on his lordship one day with a letter, 

doubtless designed for her ladyship, the countess, and written 

by some blockhead who was Gothic enough not to have 

heard of her ladyship's marriage, since it was directed to 

.. La Signorina Gabrielle," at the suburban retreat which in 

her maiden days she used to occupy. Carelessly taking the 

letter, Lord Ravensworth thanked the bearer. Glancing at 

the postmark, and seeing that it came from L--stadt, 

the scene of the Austrian and Hungarian operations, his 

lordship presented the bearer with a guinea, and the prom- 

." SInecure." A word lignifying a l'Ommilalon to do nothing, or hold 

an otlloo with no duties thereto attached, except to receive a large aa1ary ; 

naually lupposed to be a deUcate way which the EngUah ·natlon hel or beetowIng 

handsome Incomel on Ita nohllity, .. a means or dlabnrllng the 

heavy anm. collected In taxes on the common, fl'"UrJtd. people. 

17* 

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OR TORN LEAVES FRO. LIFE HISTORY. 199 

space. The earl would have given his life to hold her to 

his heart, and call her" Love;" but the cold gaze of scorn 

she turned on him half froze him, and changed his feelings 

into a corresponding channel with her own . 

.. And so your ladyship has seen a spirit, I am told," he 

said, with cutting irony. .. May I be bold to ask, madam, 

if it 'v ore a Hungarian uniform?" 

"Edward," replied the lady, in a calm, low tone, from 

which all passion or scorn was e;or:.cluded, addressing him, 

too, by that name for the first time in many months -" Edward! 

on my salvation as a Christian, last evening. at this 

very hour, in this very room and spot, as I lay here, not 

sleeping, nor disposed to sleep, there where you stand. 

there rose. it seemed from out the very ground, a pale and 

lovely woman. She neither looked at me nor did she 

speak; but walking to that table, opened, just where you 

see it, yonder Bible; stooped over the book a while, and 

seemed to write; then coming back, stood for a moment 

fixed; then seemed to sink, just as she rose, and disappeared. 

Her dress might have been a nun's, or travelling 

pilgrim's, yet seemed to fall off from one of her fair shoul- 

. ders; and, as she stooped, I saw what seemed to be a deep 

red stripe across it. Her head was bate; her hair fell 

loosely round her in long, black curls, Now, Edward, look. 

That book stands open; its huge gold clasps, yourself have 

told me, have not been undone since, in your early childhood, 

your father died. Look, too, at the writing. Mark 

it well, and tell me, is that fancy? If not, who did it?" 

Crossing the room, the earl, by the waning light, gazed 

steadfastly at the book. It was an immense family Bible, 

with heavy clasps grown far too stiff and rusty by disuse 

for the delicate fingers of his fair wife to open. He remembered 

noticing this' very book closed when he had

200 

TBB UIPllOVV1SATO:aE, 

"Visited his lady's apartment a very few minutea before her 

shrieks aummoned him back to her aide on the previoue 

evtlning, when she declared ahe had bllen terrified by an 

apparition, and in consequence ahe was attacked by a succession 

of fits. There, on the open pllge, he perceh'ed 

heavy marks in ink, underscoring the following lines trom 

the 12th chapter of St. Luke: .. For there is nothing 

coyere!i that shall not be revealed, neither hid that shall 

not be known." On the margin, at the end of this passage, 

was written, in a fine, female hand, the single word 

.. Beatrice." 

Without making a single comment on her story, the earl 

returned to the couch, spoke a few affectionate words of 

warning concerning her health, and, promiaing to be back 

very 1I00n, - encouraged, it would seem, by her subdued 

and softened manner, - he stooped and imprinted several 

kisses on her cold, impassiye face. What moved him then, 

none can eyer say; but as he rose again, he drew out his 

handkerchief, buried his face in its folds, and left the room. 

The lady lay in long and silent contemplation. The full 

moon rose at length, and, shining through the window, 

threw the shadow of its deep arches and diamond panes 

upon the floor; anll Gabrielle was soothed, liS, idly tracing 

its fantastic reflections, she began counting the shimmering 

squares - one, two, three --. What breaks the image ? 

The moonbeam gleams on something white and square; it 

is a letter i my lord has surely dropped it. Quitting the 

couch, she takes it up and hastens to the bell. It is sealed i 

it may be of consequence. He'll doubtlcss not be gone; 

or. if he is, some groom must overtake him. Her maid 

enters with a light, and, ere she speaks, the lady glances 

at the cover. A pause. Had this been on the stage, the 

lady should have shivered, quivered, stroked her hair, or


of every evil, or all are seeds of good, just in proportion to 

the ground they are sown in, or training they are subjected 

to. And so Lady Ravensworth discovered - as first with 

her rank and power she commanded service, and next with 

her wealth secured it.· Not many days had elapsed since 

the Earl of Ravensworth's departure from his home, and 

mal-apropos neglect in dropping the very letter he designed 

to confide to his accommodating post office subordinate, in 

his wife's apartment, ere the lady had turned the discovery 

it afforded her to very prompt and efficacious uses. First 

she despatched certain trusty messengers to the war office, 

with various missives to different persons from whom f1he 

expecl:4Jd aid in case her other measures failed her. She 

next sent still more trusty persons to the scene of Ernest's 

captivity; some of whom she placed under the direction 

of his friend Augustine, and others she equipped with letters 

and means to procure all the additional force (should 

that be needed). which she conceived the case demanded. 

To the gentleman whom Lord Ravensworth designed to 

.honor with the choice epistle quoted in our last chapter, 

the countess wrote, in brief but peremptory tone, and in 

her own name, demanding the instant release of the captive 

in return for a large sum which she tendered as ran 

Som. She knew this man was Kalozy's cousin, and, 

gathering from the correspondence she had so daringly 

broken into, that her husband had promised a grant of 

land, which he had been about to confer on the dead 

Kalozy for the governor's service as executioner to his 

captiTe, she boldly confirmed this promise as the result .of 

his immediate liberation; adding that as Lord Ra'Denswortll 

was dead, the governor's only chance of securing 

the ransom and the grant was by his compliance with hf!l1' 

will. Should he refuse, "a thousand English yeomen, her

206 THE IMPROVVISATORE, 

With curious wonder she would trace the falling masses 

of some giant rock tom by the miner's powder from its old, 

primeval bed, and speculate upon a crushed and mangled 

form beneath, so it might be her husband's. Sometimes 

she would picture a carriage plunging over a precipice her 

very soul would shrink to dream of. Shrink? not she; 

she would trace its downward crash - down, down, lower, 

lower yet - tumbling over and over; while in secret joy 

she saw its pale, dead inmate, all crushed and tom, dead 

- dead! 0 that he were dead! The assassin's knife, or 

poison by mistake - ah, yes, such things had been before. 

Age after age, good men had died - torn, bruised, drowned, 

poisoned, every way they had died, - ,vhy should not bad 

ones die? And one, too, every way abhorrent in her path 

- that path all clogged with ruin, if he lioed. 

She had acted with such open desperation that now she 

had no retreat. He· must not, cannot live. Something 

will kill him. Ay, but what? In thought, at least, that 

something might be murder; for she had murdered him in 

thought and wish a thousand, thousand times.· And now, 

when doleful winds sighed "murder II in her ear, the 

thought embodied in this awful word seemed hateful. She 

almost shrieked and started from herself-ran over rocks 

and woods to fly from self. And when at last she sat her 

down, oppressed and out of breath, beneath the shadow of 

the ivied tower, no sooner was she composed, than once 

again she wished that he was there, and that the tower 

might fall and crush him; she would look on, gaze on his 

mangled ferm, and mourn for him. The wotld would 

sympathize and honor the noble widow, and all her woes 

would end. And Ernest - he would come; and shebut 

hark! The deep bells chime eleven. She counts the 

beats. The last one sounds out" murder." She sleeps; 

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OR rORN LEAVES FROM LIFE HISrORY. 207 

and every gallery is dark in midnight's sombre robe. Beneath 

each marble form and ghostly bust a shapeless something 

seems to lurk, waiting a signal to creep forth, and 

do a deed she cannot name, and yet she knows 'tis .. murder." 

And all these galleries are full 2,f things waiting 

for her husband. She starts, and wakes. The cold moonbeam, 

with pallid fingers, writes upon the window, " Murder." 

She turns and turns the long and weary nightthe 

night - the ages in one night. Sure it must be many 

long years, that dreary, livelong night; for how many old 

and bygone histories she recalls of wretched ladies forced 

by fate on crime - the hapless Cenci's dark and fearful 

mystery- the dreadful Borgias, and even the Hebrew 

Judith; ay, it was a noble deed - a brave, fair woman 

ridding the earth of monsters, not fit to live. Now she 

is in France beside the fair Brinvilliers; how skilfully she 

knew the trade of poisoning! It was world-wide, the 

knowledge how to let life out, and yet she, this wretched 

wife, so wrotiged, with a serpent in her way so dire they 

could not both live - one must kill the other; slle knew 

nought of poisoning. 

Thank God, it was morning. Last bitter night she had 

prayed for darkness; now she longed for light. Another 

hour and she would say, "Would God it were night! " 

0, miserable lady! Hark! The skylark sounds its matin 

in the sky; the small birds twitter, and the thrush awakes. 

Alas, they all cry, "Murder, murder!" By day or night 

some phantom in her ears holloes in ocean's roar or booms 

in thunder, howls in the winds or murmurs in the breeze, 

chants in the voice of birds or sighs in flowers -" Murder, 

murder." " Nothing else but murder." 

Had you asked her why she thought of murder, she would 

have turned on you a piteous glance, and told you of evil

OR TORN LEAVES FROK LIFE HISTORY. 209 

merit of victory when we resist the tempter? Think you 

our Ood abandons us to the dark and evil prompter on the 

left? Is there no white-robed angel on the right, stretching 

out a hand as strong? pointing, with footprints quite 

as deep, a better way, and whispering "conquer" in a 

tone as loud? We say we're yirtuous, strong, triumphant, 

when we conquer sin; nor do we ever think of robing 

our better angel in our plumes of victory; but when we 

fall, we're victims to our fate, " controlled by evil spirits," 

subjects merely of their all-ruling power. When another 

bears the penalty of our ill deeds, or another wears the 

trophies of our good, - when happiness or misery, life or 

death, can be endured for us by proxy,-then may we say, 

" A tempter made me sin," or else, " My better angel would 

not let me." 

Wretched Gabrielle! She thought a crime, then wished 

it. Her strong, bad thought called up a thousand strong, 

bad Rouls around her. These pictured through all her nature 

her own foul wish; but let it be remembered, 'twas 

her wish. She made the substance, they but reproduced 

its shadow. Hers was the voice that first produced the 

red word" murder." The thousand voices that she heard 

around were only echoes. . 

Seven days were over; still he came not. Did she rejoice 

at this, and wish, and pray that he might not come 

yet? Something might detain him - perhaps his guardian 

angel; in mercy to his now fast flickering life. And 

where was hers? Close by her side, or hanging round his 

way, whispering in her ear, "Mercy, forbearance j" in his, 

" Beware." 

So he lingered, and so she had time; and yet she 

feared, but only that he would not come. Many weeks 

rolled on. From time to time she heard of Ravensworth; 

IS'"

OR TORN LEAVES FIlOM LIFE HISTORY. 211 

But again the loathing soul of Gabrielle responded, 

" Ernest! .. 

Amidst the pale moonlight wave the laurel trees; clese 

and thick. they grO\V, polished, cold, and gloomy as Plato's 

Academic groves of old. Crouching amidst their shadow, 

inhaling the faint but baleful aroma they send forth, steals 

the closely shrouded form of Gabrielle. Three months of 

study in the hideous school of poisoning had taught her 

how to weave the amaranthine wreath of immortality more 

surely out of laurels gathered at moonlight, distilled in midnight 

dews, dtank fresh and fasting, than victory's red arm, 

or death in battle, had ever done for warriors. 

The will once formed, the way was soon made plain; 

and now she stands triumphant in her studio, pale as a 

Pythoness, before her laurels, putting the dreadful science 

she had studil!d into practice. 

'Tis midn.ight of the second day since Ravenswortb retnrned. 

Coldly reserved, but studiously calm, the unhappy 

pair had met, conversed, and even laughed together. His 

lordship had been engrossed by receiving visits from hiB 

stewards, bailiffs, and men of business. As yet no one 

had come to tell the tale she knew of The evil hour, and 

with it the full disclosure, (at least as she thought,) was 

yet postponed: 

At night, before they separated, they walked together 

on the terrace that surrounded the castle. The nightingale 

sang her liquid notes of unimaginable tenderness in 

the thick groves of myrtles.' The silent stars and gracious 

moon looked down in softened light upon a far extended 

landscape of wondrous, varied beauty. The breath of rose 

and orange blossom perfumed the tranquil air. There 

stood the noble castle full of gems of art, wealth, power, 

and every attribute, to bless its owner and scatter blessings 

,

OR TORN LEAVEI El101\( LIFE RIS'J:ORY. 213 

eyes, and wept. Along the noble corridor they pass. Now 

pausing at her chamber door, the earl still holds her hand. 

With courtly grace he raises it to his lips . 

.. Cruel lady, if We needs must part, good night." 

"Good night, my lord j to-night we needs must part," 

the,lady slightly murmurs; t.hen, passing within her chamber, 

adds, .. Must pan to meet no more." 

From the deepest and most dreamleBS slumber that had 

ever sealed up his eyes, I.ord Ravensworth suddenly awoke 

just as the castle clock was sounding two. 'Twas yet quite 

dark, and at first he felt impressed that the deep-mouthed 

time-teller had awaked him j yet sleep on the instant 

seemed as effectually banished from his eyes, as if it were 

broad daylight. He could not distinguish the actual contact 

of any substance, and yet neither could he divest himself 

of the feeling that a strong arm was holding him foreibly 

down, and a heavy hand was on his lips. He saw 

nothing, though the moon's rays shone full into the room. 

He felt nothing sensuously, yet e1Jery thiltg sensatio"tdly ; 

and thus it was that, with eyes half closed, and seemingly 

fixed as by a vice of iron, he beheld the door of his dressing 

room (which was the only private means of communication 

with Lady Ravensworth's apartments) ''erY cautiously 

and noiselessly opened, whilst Gabrielle herself, iIi 

a loose robe, crept into the room, and stealthily as a spirit 

glided to the side of the bed. 

Arrested by the same trance-like yet conscious power 

that bound his form but left perception free, the earl 

neither spoke nor moved. And yet he felt, and partially 

beheld her stoop over him, listen to his breathing, paBS her 

hand before his eyes to try if they would open;' then he, 

with sidelong glance, beheld her, as rapidly as thought, 

take up the night glass standing on his table, and for the

214 

glaN rontaiDing clear cold water, which it was his custom 

to lWallow every morning on first awakening. IUbstitote 

one which, he had &eeIl from the first, she carried in her 

hand. Thi. done, the stealthy figure moved away, gently 

drew back the door, and would have pused; but notbe 

spell was broken. A hand was on her shoulder - a 

hand of iron. Back it dragged her into the room she had 

lcl't, shut the dividing door and locked it, held her in its 

sinewy strength till other doors were locked, then bore her 

to tbe bed, placed her upon it, and then released her. And 

there sbe sat, white and silent as tbe grave, whilst before 

her .tood Lord Ravensworth, pale as herself, but silent 

now no longer. 

Taking the glass which .he had IUb.tituted, he beld it 

to her lips, and simply pronounced the single word 

.. Drink! " But one word; but 0, what a world of destiny, 

despair, and agony hung on that word, again and 

again repeated! Her pleading look, her wild and haggard 

eye., her white and speechless lips, all, alas! bore their 

fatal testimony to her guilt, but ouly added point to the 

deep and unflinching purpose with which he echoed again, 

and yet again, - 

" Drink! deeper yet, my lady! Pledge thy lord even to 

the very dregs; drink deep! drink all! " 

.. Edward, Edward! mercy!" 

The shrinking victim's now upon her knees, the balf 

unfinished draught within her hand . 

.. Drink!" shouted the earl. .. Drain the glass to 

Ernest! " 

"To Ernest!" gasped the countess, and set the glass 

down empty. 

Once more the Lord of Ravensworth led his lady through 

the noble corridor where three hours earlier they'd parted. 

i 

1 

,. ,


Once more before her chamber door he paused; and once 

again, but now in solemn mockery, he stooped and kissed 

her hand. 

" Farewell, my gentle lady love," he said. " When we 

meet, 'twill be --" 

" In judgment, Edward; and may God have mercy on 

our guilty souls! " 

CHAPTER VII. 

'TwAS cold, gray morning; the dawn of such a day as 

seems to wrap itself within the shroud of night, hiding 

the warm sun in its stony bosom, and to creep through 

time arrayed in the gray panoply of mourning for the departed 

stars. Lord Ravensworth was up by earliest streak 

of dawn. Till near midday he paced the long galleries of 

his splendid dwelling, uncertain what to do or where to 

go. Fifty times he had asked for Lady Ravensworth. 

They told him she was ill, - not alarmingly 80; no leech 

was sent for. She was simply" indisposed," - could not 

be seen. He did not ask to see her; yet, with a strange 

and morbid curiosity, he kept on questioning how she was, 

end why she did not come abroad. At length he said 

" he'd go." 

His valet asked him where. 

He could not tell. " Pack up some things." 

" For how long a time, my lord? " 

He did not know. 

"The carriage? post horses? stage coach? What 

would his lordship choose?" 

"Any thing - something! A horse; the fleetest one 

in all the stud! A valise - no more; no groom, no 

valet. I must be alone."

• 

218 rUB Dll'.aOVVISA'IORE, 

home, where never care, or 8in, or· suffering came, and 

where she first saw Ernest! 

Here we drop the veil. Let no human eye behold the 

writhings of that suffering face, the torture of that soul 

tom from its moorings, and cast upon the sea of wildest 

passion, without the pilot, principle, or captain of all salvation, 

God, to trust in, - passion, adoration for her 

human idol, generous but fervid impulses, her only guides. 

They had trained her in the gorgeous Roman church. 

Imagination, senses; taste, all these drank in their fill. 

But Gabrielle unhappily had a mind, a wide and deep 

capacity to think. When thought, directed by her clear 

and lucid reason, strove to find, amidst the incense, thrilling 

tones and sights of beauty, aught of reality or truth to 

rest on, she lost her way in falsehood, doubt, and inconsistency. 

In deep bewilderment she questioned, "What 

is truth?" 

Her priest responded, "Daughter, what I tell you." 

Her strong, clear mind suggested, "But God's works-It 

The priest replied, "Are all profane until I consecrate 

them." 

" Alas! " the votary murmured, "my wandering thoughts 

still will reach forth in search of evidence." 

.. Give them to me," the churchman still insists. "Satan 

tempts men to think. Who dares to ask for evidence of 

what the sacred church teaches, or says, or does? Of all 

the snares the evil one has laid, nothing is half so dangerous 

8S reason. Think, and you doubt; doubt, and 

you are lost, unless you buy your soul back with your fortune; 

Nothing in heaven is half so dear, or cosu so much 

to save, 8S souls who dare to exercise their reason." 

·And now the wretched lady found that reason's voice 

had drowned the priest's. God's work is at odds with

O:R TORN LEAVES FROM LIFE HISTORY. 219 

what, men call "his word." She had no knowledge, 

therefore no belief. She knew slle had seen a spirit; so 

she' knew that she, a spirit, must survive the grave. But 

what or where that world was, where her spirit fast was 

tending. only the dreadful tales of fear and superstition 

shadowed forth; and now, when her despairing feet were 

pressing to it, horror and chill dread dogged every footprint. 

Honr after hour elapsed alone. 0, 'twas agony to be 

alone! She could not bear it. Why did no one come? 

She would call her maid; but no, - her cold and. 'Unimpassioned 

face would bring no comfort to her aching 

heart-aching for love, for pity, for some oheering bosom, 

where she might sob her ebbing life away. 

At last a footstep hastens to her door. It opens, ando 

joy! her mother's arms enclose hef. 

The reader will not have forgotten Gabrielle's adopted 

mother, • Mrs. Martin. This good and truthful friend was 

cogniaant of her daughter's petulant and wayward fancies. 

She knew how she loved Ernest; how she disliked Lord 

Ravensworth. With the unsophisticated idea (chiefly promulgated 

by very old fashioned persons or very pure and 

strait.laced spirits) that marriage should be the union of 

two congenial souls, s('parated in their birth, but twin in 

their natures, and destined to 'grow into one life, in all 

eternity, good Mrs. Martin had firmly opposed the marriage 

of expediency with the earl. 

Shocked by her daughter's violation of one of her strongest 

principles, they parted on the eve of the fatal wedding 

day. This was their next meeting. 

By early dawn that day two fiery riders had issued from 

the castle gates; the wretched lady knew her doom, and 

these expresses had gone forth to summon_ to her side her

OK TOKN LEAVBI nOli( LIF!: lIISTOKY. 235 

Before he. came, the very name of clairvoyance suggested 

to the ignorant minds of self-conceit nothing but charlatanism 

or the dreams of lunacy. In his presence, something 

like respect mingled with awe prompted every tongue. 

to hush the sneer or change it into admiration. To every 

question he gave such simple, yet straightforward answers, 

that the te'stimony of his friend Augustine seemed to loom 

out in obstinate defiance of all power to shake. And once 

more the nonplussed jurors gazed at each other with looks 

that· clearly asked, '.What's next to do, or say?" 

Up to this point Lord Ravensworth had remained in profound 

silence, and half concealed by the drapery of a window 

from the searching eyes of the curious. Now, however, 

bending forward;he asked with a quivering lip anl voice, 

which shook despite his efforts to conceal his agitation beneath 

a sneer of absurd indifference, "If the gentleman 

expects to convict an English peer of murder, upon the 

faith of his magical powers, may it not be fair to demand 

some evidence that his wondtous facility for prying into 

other people's concerns. is not the result of collusion with 

my servants, or even my late unhappy lady?" . 

A murmur of assent ran through the court, emboldened 

by which the earl proceeded: "Pray, Mr. Ernest Rossi, 

eouId you (being, as you have shown, at that time at 

Dover) see where I was yesterday at noon? - a:cu;tly, 

mark / at noon 1 " 

" In Bevis wood," replied the seer, " and tying up your 

horse to the third oak tree on the left of the forest gate." 

The earl changed color. yet proceeded: .. Where is that 

horse then DOW, mty I ask? for, truth to Ray, I had forgotten 

him, and left him there." 

" Then you did 80 tie him up, my lord. and at that hour ?" 

interrupted one of the keenest jurors.

OR TORN LBATES FRO. ldFE HISTORY. 237 

oner, servants were despatched to search the thicket, and 

under the guida.nce of a map of the way hastily traced out 

by the imprornsatore, the earl's footprints were found, and 

measured, and the scrap of torn linen actually discovered 

hanging, as the seer had described it, in an almost impenetrable 

part of the thicket - when this, compared with the 

earl's dress and found to match, was considered, in addition 

to conclusive testimony that the witness was, at the 

very time of the occurrence, two hundred miles away, and 

never could have had an opportunity of visiting the spot in 

question, and no other footprints than the earl's were 

found, clearly demonstrating that no human watcher could 

have passed that spot - the investigation, complex as it 

appeared to grow from the admixture of the supernatural 

in its details, gained in interest what it lost in comprehensibility 

.. 

" Would that the dead could speak I" exclaimed one of 

the harassed jurors. "Lieutenant Rossi, could you not 

tell us something of the lady? some surer token by which 

we might connect this most mysterious and unhappy death 

with him whom you accuse?" 

" The dead! There are no dead. She lives and stands 

amongst us." Such was the startling response which fell 

from the lips of the seer, as, with fixed eyes and rapt, unnatural 

glare, he seemed to gaze on vacancy. 

The twilight was now fast thickening round the court j 

the waves of gloom seedl\3d pouring over the high carved 

ceiling of the vast, dim hall; stags' heads and branching 

antlers loomed from the walls like fabled goblins; the 

:flickering light came fitfully from huge, high Gothic windows, 

falling on the suits of armor ranged against the panels, 

until they looked like frowning phantoms of the knights 

of old, ready to step from their dark recesses, and do bat-

OR l'ORN LEA TES FROM LIFE HISTORY.. 239 

moved jurors resumed their painful task. On further inquiry 

it was remembered that Lady Ravemlworth had worn 

another plain gold ring, besides her weddding one. This 

on the corpse was missing; yet although her attendants, 

Mrs. Martin, and all who had approached her since the 

night of the alleged tragedy, had failed to remark any 

thing particular in her right hand - though she had never 

complained or mentioned the uuury to a single creatureupon 

the suggestion of the above recorded broken sentences, 

the right hand of the unfortunate lady was examined, when 

it was found that the third finger had been recently dislocated, 

while the skin was torn and scathed as if by violence. 

The discovery of the missing ring, too, just where 

"the third soft footprint" revealed the presence of the 

earl in the deep and swampy thicket, completed the chain 

of this most marvellous evidence. And yet, what did- it 

all amount to ? 

Lady Ravensworth was dead, poisoned; that was clear. 

But the old adage, that "the dead tell no tales," was not 

to be set aside for the ravings of a " crack.brained visionary 

" - especially when the honor of a rich and noble 

lord, a statesman, landlord, aud a powerful peer, were all 

to be called in question. What if his lordship did spend 

the day from noon to eve in wandering in deep thickets,hiding 

his lady's former lover's ring, - and late at night 

returning so abstracte. that he left behind him his favorite, 

lleetest horse, tied to a tree at least some ten miles from 

the place where he must have wandered on foot? What 

if ambitious maids of low degree wed haughty lords, and 

die like blighted flowers - crushed out of life when their 

purchasers are weary of them? The broken finger, like 

the poisoned cup, .were secrets belonging to eternity. 

Dreadful only and most preiumptuous was that mysterious 

•

OR TORN LEAVES FROll LIFE HISTORY. 243 

of the villagers., although excited by partial intoxication, 

were equally unprepared for. this savage movement, and 

.... indisposed to further it. Most of these drew back in 

terror, whilst the magistrates and some of the constables 

- not all- proceeded to rerWer prompt assistance to the 

helpless prisoners. It was amongst the strangers chiefly 

(some of whom, with slouched hats and besmeared visages, 

wore the evident appearance of disguise) that the cries and 

uproar came. It seemed, too, as if they hoped, by 8houts, 

frantic gestures, and an appeal to the superstitious feelings 

of the people, to goad them to attack the prisoners. The 

whisperers were nowhere to b@ seen; but now the effect 

of their words was clearly to be tested; for while the 

chiefs of the ruffian mob began to drag the captives from 

the carriage, and even to attack their defenders with sticks 

and stones, the villagers (especially those who had been 

present at the trial) repeatedly exclaimed, "I don't believe 

one word of it. That fine young fellow only told the 

truth; and if there's magic in it, 'tis nearer home than 

with that noble foreigner." 

The crowd was divided then; and perhaps a reaction 

among the better thinking of the mass might not only have 

protected the prisoners, but even have set them free, when 

a sudden flash from a diRtant clump of trees lighted up the 

scene with a momentary glare - then a loud report - and 

Ernest Rossi, springing from the ground, fell back on his 

friend Augustine's arm, his last earth battle fought. 

The strife was -hushed; a deathly stillness reigned; 

when in the midst of the affrighted group Lord Ravenswor.tIt, 

white as his dying foe, appeared upon the scene. 

. "In the na.me of the king and justice," he cried, without 

a falter in his loud, harsh tone, "I command you, one 

and all, to point out to me the man who fired that shot!

" 

OR TORN LEA.VES FROM LYE HISTORY, 245 

began from where that cold, white marble closed above 

her clay. 

On the lone hill-side, where, high above the ocean wave, 

the wild, free sea winds swept, one wretched, heart-wrung 

mourner followed the humble shell that held the broken 

casket of the good, the brave, and loving Ernest Rossi. 

No priest was there to mutter formal prayers. "He needs 

them not," his lonely comrade thought':. "For such as he 

the heaven of rest was made. His loving lips are pouring 

forth the waves of song in happier, brighter climes, or immortality 

is all a fiction." 

The mariners who brought him to that shore du,g his 

quiet grave and laid him in it. The wild winds sang his 

funeral requiem. The lone stars kept their silent watch 

by night, and fluttering sea-birds hovered near by day. 

The very daisies loved to cling around the pure and peaceful 

ashes of the good. 

The fishermen and timid village maids, who shrank 

from mournful churchyards in affright, when evening hours 

stole on and moonbeams slept upon the gentle minstrel's 

parting dust, came lovingly and sat upon the stone, and 

listened through the livelong night to hear the angel music 

which full often stole in thrilling cadence far across the 

sea. None thought of him with fear, or heard the air 

vibrate to viewless minstrel's melting tones when near that 

grave, with terror. Sometimes they said they saw, when 

moon and stars made glorious pageantry of summer night, 

- when all things lovely smiled, and happy thoughts came 

in the hallowed radiance of such nights, - two glancing 

forms, more splendid than the dreams of ,poet's wildest 

vi.sions, float on the waves of balmy summer air, or gleam 

like flashing mete,ors through the night. A third was 

there, more shadowy, pille, and sad, like the last gleam 

21 if

THE WITCH OF LOWENTHAL. 251 

sculptor's art had drawn down from heaven to animate his 

superb monument. 

In these statues the final destiny of the house had been 

typified. Its history was here ended, and the secret of its 

desolation revealed; the sculpture itself stood at the head 

of a large slab of pure white marble, which was sj.mply 

inscribed, "To the memory of Clara, last Baroness of 

Lowenthal." From the various legends in currency respecting 

the fate of the subjects of these sculptures, we 

gather the following sketch. 

Towards the close of the seventeenth century, a young 

Englishman of noble family, but broken fortunes, who had 

been sent abroad in the hope of i.proving a fascinating 

exterior and accomplished manners into fortune by marriage 

with some wealthy heiress, happened to meet at /1. 

fashionable watering place with the Baron Franz Von 

Lowenthal. The baron was a widower, had the reputation 

of being immensely rich, and blessed with an only 

daughter. The heiress, although livil}g in strict. seclusion, 

,as said to be very beautiful; and as the baron appeared 

to form a sudden and violent attachment to the young Englishman, 

it was in visions of a union with a paragon of 

beauty and.wealth in perspective, that the handsome adventurer 

yielded to the baron's pressing solicitations that 

he would visit his Castle of Lowenthal.-· Arrived there, all 

his wildest imaginings seemed realized. The castle was 

. superb, the hunting superlative, the wine incomparable; 

but above all, the heiress more beautiful than the rising 

sun, and more mild, coy, yet loving, than the tender beams 

of a summer moon. 

" By Heaven, she is mine already!" ejaculated the bold 

fortune-hunter, as, on the third day of his residence at the 

castle, the compliant father began to joke him upon the

THE WITCH OF LOWENTHAL. 253 

much provoked as perplexed at what he called her intrusive 

pertinacity. 

The wedding day at length arrived, however, and though 

the silent, phantom.J.ike Gertrude was a necessary appendage 

to all the day's movements, the husband triumphantly 

reflected that the hour of this triune association must at 

length cease. . Great, therefore, was his chagrin, and even 

indignation, when he found that even in the bridal chamber 

itself, a veiled alcove had been set apart for the occupation 

of the inseparable companion. Remonstrances, 

prayers, and even threats were resorted to by the incensed 

bridegroom in vain. The young baroness declared, with 

floods of tears, that she had never been separated from her 

foster sister from her birth - that her very life depended 

on her presence, and that if, in short, the trinity must be 

broken up, the separation must be between the married, 

not the single pair. 

Finding both bride and friend, and, stranger still, the 

father, too, inflexible, the puzzled lord had to endure this 

now hated companionship as best he could. 

The young baroness protested that from a cbild she had 

always been vastly terrified of "evil spirits;" many were 

known to linger round the castle; strange sigbts and flitting 

forms had been seen within its halls and chambers; 

low moans and dismal noises, too, were heard; the tables 

moved unbidden, doors shut and opened; and, as witches 

were known to be abroad, and many trials in this very 

district had lately given victims to the flames, so the lady 

argued that Gertrude, by her superior sanctity and courage, 

had ever been her shield against this much dreaded influence, 

and must continue still, unless her lord desired to 

part 'with her or lose her life. 

Unsatisfactory as this explanation was, the young man 

22

HE WIrCH OF LOWENTHAl .. 269 

hand, not ours, is heavy on her now. She is my wifebeloved, 

adored by me. She must not, shall not die! I 

cannot lose her! Almighty Father, 0, forgive the. wrong! 

The witch must live, the innocent must die! " 

From far and wide, from mountain, forest, glen, town, 

village, hamlet, thousands on thousands came to see the 

famous Witch of Lowenthal expiate her fearful crime by 

fire. The sun that day glared like a huge, red ball of 

angry fire. The distant thunder boomed, and, flashing 

fire, shivered the pine trees in the thick, black woods. 

Hoarsely the sighing winds swept over the hill on which 

the witch's funeral pile was built. In virgin white the 

noble victim came, her head sublime with constant faith 

erect; her foot was firm; her sternly-chiselled lips moved 

not nor parted till the white-robed priest, with agonizing 

prayer, held up the cross, and bade her, on its all-atoning 

emblem, confess her crime, and speed her soul to grace. 

Taking the cross, with simple piety, she whispered, 

"Father, forgive them; they know not what they do." 

On holy Stephen's face theTe never shone a look more 

shining, angel light more pure, than on that dying martyr 

girl's white brow. To Heaven her full soul, in her lustrous 

eyes, looked out; her brave and sinless life she freely gave 

to save the timid one whom she called friend- whom, 

more than all the world, she knew to be the real cause of 

all. In shame and mystery she'd lived to guard her - in 

fire and agony she died to save her. To save her! No, to 

meet with her in heaven. Ere high the ascending flames 

had wreathed her head, like some old saint of old, with 

halo of great light, the wretched wife laid down her golden 

head upon her husband's strong, supporting arm - one 

look upon her friend, her father, beaven, -one moment 

given to sigh the name of Gertrude, the next her fluttering

280 THE WITCH 0"' LOWEN1'H .. U .. 

spirit oped the gate of that bright land of souls whereto 

• her hand gave the first welcome to the enfranchised soul 

of her most wronged and yet most happy victim .. 

"My Gertrude, friend! - my martyred saint, come 

home!" . 

.. My sister Clara, art thou there before me ? " 

The gates of light wide . opened to admit them, while 

spirit legions thronged to meet the victims of superstitious 

error, ignorance, and wrong .. 

They laid the noble baroness in state - bewitched e'en 

unto death, the story ran - beneath the splendid marble 

which recalled her fate; and by her crumbling form two 

sorrowing men, in secret. -and at midnight's lone, tttill hour, 

placed a small crystal vase, enclosed wits pearls, containing 

but a few black gathered ashes - one long, black tre88, 

with One fair curl inwove - and on the golden lid they 

carved out" GE:&nuDE."

HE l'HANTOllt: lIt:OrHER. 261 

THE PHANTOM MOTHER, 

OR THE STORY OF A RECLUSE.- 

WHEN I was last in England, I visited an old lady of 

retired habits, and quiet, unobtrusive manners, who 

resided in a very remote locality in the wilds of Cum berland. 

The cheerful benignity of her temper, and the calm piety with 

which she contemplated her rapidly approaching end,bespoke 

a pilgrimage of nearly ninety years, which endured 

the retrospect of a virtuous mind. Her little cottage, 

deeply embosomed amid the majestic pine-clad hills of that 

district, was in summer nearly hidden by the clustering 

wilderness of roses, clel;1latis, and star-shaped jasmine 

which luxuriated around the latticed casements. Every 

where the senses were regaled with the choicest airs, laden 

with the richest perfume of flowers, and melodious with 

the hum of restless bees and the tranquil songs of many 

birds, happy in the security of a retreat where benevolence 

. protected the tiny songsters from molestation in summer 

and starvation in winter. 

I love the neighborhood of flowers and birds; it evidences 

a refined taste and a generous nature - the love of 

the beautiful, and humane care of the weak; and I have 

many a time stood in that little wilderness of perfume while 

the liquid tones of the pathetic songster of the grove, the 

lonely nightingale, poured her flood of melody through the 

• Written for the (' Christian Spiritualist," In 1857.

262 'l'JIB PJUlftOlr J[O'l'Hml, 

deep silence, and the silver blossoms of the midnight sky 

looked down in glittering radiance over shining flower-beds, 

until I fancied I could trace the angel inhabitants of those 

remote worlds of mystic light winging their airy ffight to 

the only earthly scenes with which their purified oaturea 

could have any real sympathy; namely, the sinless warblers 

of the woods, and the many tinted jewels that adorn the 

face of nature, her regalia of trees and flowers. 

The mistress of this little region of melody and sweets 

was an early friend of my family's; and although, as I have 

before stated, the shadow of the tomb was on every footprint 

of her daily life, her cheerful and genial benevolence 

drew around her the young and loving, no less than the 

sick and needy, who were dependent on her bounty. i had 

often heard that she had been a belle in her youth, eminently 

beautiful; and, in common with'many others, I felt 

some surprise that she should not have shared the fate of 

two of her sisters, who, though they had long since passed 

away, were still celebrated as having. by their charms and 

fascinations, won the hearts and shared the fortunes of two 

of the proudest nobles of the country side. I one day expressed 

my surprise on this point ,to my hostess, hinting, 

as delicately as I could, a desire to learn why she bad, for 

a period of so many years, withdrawn herself from the great 

world of which report and the records of some very fine 

portraits of her early youth declared that she would have 

been so bright an ornament. Instead of censuring me for 

my impertinent curiosity, my venerable bostess simply replied,- 

"My deat' child. I withdrew from a world in which t 

found I was not to be trusted." 

.. How, my dear madam?" 

"Understand me," rejoined my friend. .. The world

i 

• 

OR THE IITORT 0:1' ... RECLUSE. 2'11 

I have - by God's merciful permission - spent this life 

happily, in preparing myself ana my associates {or the 

next." 

The main facts of the above narrative are drawn from 

the wondrous page of real life history • 

• 

• 

•

274 HAUNTED HOUSES. 

but a legendary title, and some amongst them can only be 

identified by the period of their costumes, or some collateral 

evidence of their names and rank. 

There are two pictures in this fine collection, however, 

which defy any speoolation on the part of the present pro 

.prietors to. christen or identify. There is not even the 

shade of a legend" in existence as to whom they were in. 

tended to represent, or how they came to hold a place in 

the stately gallery of the royal and aristocratic dead. 

The family. now in possession, being the direct descend.· 

ants Qf the first founders of the castle, are unable to ac· 

count for their being found in their possession; and, hold· 

ing the conserrative opinion that their noble ancestry live 

again in the exclusive dignity of their pictorial associations, 

they have been accustomed to condemn the llnknown 

strangers to t!eir own solitary companionship. This· is by 

no means an undignified one, however; for the one picture 

represents a strikingly handsome noble of the time of. 

Henry VIL, while the other images a. splendidly-:ttired 

dame of a period at least two centuries later. The portrait 

of the lady is the most interesting of the two. I have 

never seen it, but it has been described to me by one of 

its owners as .depicting a. singularly marked and malign 

countenance, with traces of extreme sorrow, and yet 

" vengeilTl£e ,,' in the expression; teal'!! on the cheek, ad. 

mirably painted; a dagger in one hand, and a timepiece in 

the other. The picture is wonderfully expressive of deep 

meaning, and a story by no means terminated, as is ev·· 

idenced by the attitude of woe and evident anticipation in 

which the figure stands. The fact of both of these por. 

traits being unknown has led to the solecism of associating 

them together, although their costumes evidence that they 

are portraits of persons who must have existed at different 

and remote periods.

278 HAUNTED HOUSH. 

very large rewards, no light has ever yet been thrown on 

the subject. 

For many weeks the family were scarcely able to procure 

the attendance of a single female Bervant, and neither wit 

nor wisdom, money nor power, has ever yet been able to 

explain the appearance, indubitably confirmed and widely 

verified by so many witnesses. It is needless to quote the 

opinions of the busy tattlers of the neighborhood. The 

family and inhabitants of the castle were long silent on the 

.ubject, in obedience to the stem mandate of the countess, 

their mother and mistress. In my own time I ha\"e again 

and again conversed with one of the members of this family 

- one who was present on the first alarm - a man of 

strong, Bound sense, a mllgistrate, a "senator," and a de- 

• termined opponent of every thing like "superstitious 

belief;" yet all his wisdom. strength, learning, and scepticism 

re901ve themsel\"es into the highly satisfactory conclusion 

" that it is one of tllose tMngs that never could be, 

• 

and, in his opinion, never will be, accounted for."

TRE UlfDFOBD GROn. 281 

gAoat tribunal;" but I have read them in the papers.ortbe 

day, and from the evidence of my own relatives tbe details 

are familiar to me. It seems that when the ghost-layers 

wei-e assembled in midnight conclave, the order of· the session 

was as follows: a large wooden table was placed in 

the centre of a certain room, which the ghost especially de 

·lighted to hooor; round this table t.he gentlemen would 

seat themselves, and proceed to question the rapper in exactly 

the same manner as we use in our modem investigations. 

For instance, several coins would be placed upon the 

table, and their number demanded, and distinctly giTen by 

the raps. The number of persons present, their ages, and 

(by the. alphabet) a correct account of their several professions, 

were all points which could be rapped out with unfailing 

exactitude, and evidenced, even to these perplexed 

investigators, the presence of unseen intelligence of some 

kind. Through the medium of the raps, the sitters were 

informed that the agent was a spirit, a femo.le, and one 

who had terminated a notoriously iniquitous career by a 

violent death some yeal'S since. These responses were invariable 

at every session, whoever was present, together 

with many other points of local interest to the inquirers. 

Now, it seems perfectly evident, that although the united 

wisdom of a neighborhood famous for its learning and 

piety, as is this nursery of students training for the church, 

could discovel' and pronounce, through the medium of the 

public press; that a mysterious and tremendous impo,tr£ra 

existed somewhere, yet, for three whole years, (during 

which time tne house perpetually changed inhabitants, and 

was subject to every possible scrutiny and search,) the origin 

of the said imposturtt was never brought to light. The 

mixture of wilful ignorance and conservatism which pre.- 

24"

285 JlA.UITBD HOUSES. 

not only most repugnant. but actually dangerons. In fine, 

although the papers blazed, the magistrates legislated. the 

owner tendered unheard-of rewards, divines prayed, and 

whole parties of martial heroes sat up during the livelong 

night. until they were fairly scared out by the sight of 

their own swords drawn and brandished above their heads, 

as they testified on oath, by an invisible agent, the mystery 

remained unsolved. The house fell into decay, abhorrence, 

and oblivion; and unless the manifestations of 

modem spiritualism can throw' a light on the subject, I 

cannot pretend otherwise to explain away any of the mysteries 

of which I have become the mere narrator from 

sources whose veracity is as unquestionable as truth itself. 

What I would infer from this Sandford ghost affair is 

simply.this: First, that it corresponds in every particular 

with the manifestations of the last ten years in this country; 

and secondly, that in this, as in all other instances 

which have sufficient warranty to claim our attention, the 

instances where wood and stone are proved to be mediums 

for the manifestations of spirits are almost invariably those 

where the life principle has been recklessly wasted. I 

speak not now of such demonstrations as were exhibited 

in the case of Dr. Phelps's family. The presence of one 

or two strong physical force mediumS was there clearly 

evidenced; nor were the manifestations confined, as in 

the case of "haunted houses," to one locality, but, I 

repeat, where the latter is the case, we never fail to find a 

violent death associated with the traditionary character of 

the house. 

Nor need we in this confound the effect of a superstitious 

remembrance of such a fact with the philosophical 

cause which may exist for such manifestations - causes 

which mv spirit friends explain to me as follows: Every 

- --- 

I

288 HAUNTED HOUSES. 

world of spirits. Be this as it may, the developments of 

the present century alone are sufficient evidence that an 

invisible intelligence - one whose main characteristic is 

its identity with the departed of earth-is now among us, 

doe. hold communion with humanity, and doei hold that 

communion through the medium of some quality, as prevalent 

in some organizations as it is essentially Jacking in 

others. 

. The Cavorite theory of religioru spiritualists, or those in 

whom the ideal rather than the philosophical prevails, is, 

that this medium power depends mainly on the quality and 

character of the mind; but every day experience proves 

this view of the case to be fallacious. The pure naturally 

affinitize wi!h the pure - that is an axiom none can deny; 

hence we do not look for the degrading communications 

of vice and infamy through the lips of a pure medium. 

In another place I shall show that, though such an 

anomaly may occur, it is almost impossible that it should 

be of frequent occurrence; yet do we find, upon incontrovertible 

evidence, the fact that spirit manifestations are 

more or less regulated by organism, health, weather, magnetic 

influences, and many other causes of a purely external 

nature. Thus is it, then, say my spirit friends, that 

the magnetism of a certain spirit, being still correspondential 

with his magnetism while in the form, seeks out and 

can communicate with infinitely more facility through a 

medium whose magnetism forms a satisfactory battery, 

whereby the electric telegraph of mind may be worked .. 

We are all familiar with instances in which a spirit in 

strong affinity with some beloved earth-friend has yet been 

unable to find one among matl.y mediums of opposite developments 

whom he could control sufficiently to convey one 

message, even although he might satisfactorily express

THE SANDFORD GHOST. 289 

another. In the matter of haunted houses, however, the 

spirits inform me that the emanations which proceed from 

themselves, when they, in perishing violently, are in a still 

earthly or humanitary condition, are so gross and imbued 

still so entirely with the earth's affinities that they cling to 

the place of their departure, and attaching to the wood or 

stone where they first emanate from the broken casket 

of humanity, form a medium of itself, whereby, on subsequent 

occasions, they can return and manifest their presence 

without any additional human mediatorial exhalation. 

When, in addition to this provision, derived in fact from 

the wasted oil of their own life principle, the spirits of the 

murdered. dead have engraved on their souls the form of 

an evil life, and their earthly affinities in consequence are 

of an unusually gross and earthly tendency, their love for 

Buch manifestations may be understood; and although we 

have nothing in modern spiritualism to justify the vulgar 

superstition that the spirits of evil doers, especially when 

they have endured a violent death, are doomed to return 

to the scene of their last agony in retributive unrest, we 

can still comprehend why gross natures delight in such 

gross manifestations - why their evil propensities attract 

them back to a sphere far more in affinity with evil than 

the progressive life of the spheres; and by accepting and 

following out my very imperfect attempt to show wherein 

a house or locality may be made a medium for spirit manifestations, 

even through the emanations of a death in the 

midst of life, I think philosophers will find no difficulty in 

a.ccounting for the singular phenomena presented by what 

is called haunted houses. 

25

t90 ClIlU8%llA.8 STOlUES. 

CHRISTMAS STORIES.-No. 1. 

THE STRANGER GUEST. 

AN mCIDENT FOUNDED ON FA.c:r.· 

I N no nation is the pride of intellect and philosophical 

intelligence more remarkably developed than in 

Germany. 

Individually and nationally, the Germans exhibit the 

strange anomaly of the most vivid ideality and the most 

stolid "rationalism."· The essence of their literature is 

spiritualistic, the philosophy of their religion almost barbaric 

in its materialism. The modem German is a living 

illustration of overweening intellectual intelligence, developed 

to a high pitch, and resulting in 80 much self-reliance 

and self-appreciati;n, that, in the contemplation of 

his own attainments, the creature identifies himself with 

the Creator, and at length originates the arrogant phantasm 

that his wonderful arganization, scientific developments, 

and 'keen perceptive faculties are the result of some 

"law of being," some self-creative principle, and not the 

faint refiection of a lustre derived from the source of all 

light and intelligence - the Deity himself. 

There are others who acknowledge a supernal source for 

the bright emanations of mind which every where illumi- 

• Written tor II The Ohri.tian sptrUvGlut," In 1846.

THE STRANGER OUEST. 297 

from his lips, and, pointing with an ineffable look of superiority 

to the river, first directed his companions' attention 

to the masses of floating ice, and then to the. distant 

view of a laboring boat being gradually towed towards 

them - nearer and nearer it comes, until it actually approaches 

within range of the open jaws of Faust, who was 

harking a vociferous welcome to the long and anxiouslyexpected 

Eugene. 

" A merry Chrismas to you - a jolly wedding, dearest 

Estelle. The darling old folks, and the precious little 

ones, how are they all ? Poor old Faust too! Good doggie! 

the first to see me; and now, the baggage - hold, 

bold! don't touch that case, officer, for the unh'erse ! The 

first peep there must be for my pretty Estelle herself." 

Here follows a general laugh and - " Ah, sly dog, a wedding 

present, eh! and now into the house with ye, trunks 

and all; we must wait for that crawling old caterpillar of 

a diligence, and what, 0 ferryman! here's good cheer indeed! 

Schnapps and beer hot, and sparkling wine, where 

a moment before had been only an old empty deal table." 

" All right, sir," quoth the grim ferryman, wonderfully relaxed 

in mirth and jollity; "we'll drink to the bride and 

bridegroom, and then, hey for the wedding! Here's to ye, 

mein herr, and to you too, mein charming Fraulein." 

"Why, who on earth is that absurd old ferryman bowing 

and scraping to ? - a strange lady? Who is it, Hermann? 

Did she not come with you, Eugene?" asked the elder 

brother. " Not at all, my brother; but perhaps the lady 

is waiting for some one from on board. Alas! I was the 

only passenger, and she will be disappointed." Then, 

doffing his fur cap, the young man respectfully inquired if 

the silent stranger was waiting for anyone - should he 

inquire, or could he assist her, &c.

300 CHBISTXAB STOBIEB • 

.. Know no one, perhaps? " 

.. Yes, you." 

.. Dear lady, then it is with us you must come and 

spend your Christmas day - you mUle not be alone." 

.. Nay, I am about to return to my inn. I have, as you 

say, no friends here, no amusements; so I came to the ferry 

house to enjoy life in the life of others, and derive happine.. 

from the sight of it in those dear friends whom I felt 

.ure would be for meeting in this spot." 

Now, the young men never thought of inquiring how she 

knew that friends were to meet in that place just then; 

but their warm hearts were full, nor would they hear of 

her going to an inn, a cold, money-making, selfish inn, on 

a Christmas day - nay, she must spend it at home, and 

that home was the four walls which contained the only 

friends she .eemed to have . 

.. But your ,father and mother," urged the lady, as the 

groaning' diligence slowly hove in sight . 

.. Madam," said the elder brother, " father is the best of 

men, good and kind to all he knows, still more so to 

strangers, whom he believes God sends to him for the 

especial exercise of his hospitality. Our dear mother may 

be a little askew in her temper now and then; but then 

her temper has a strong enemy to contend with in her kind 

heart, which 80mehow always manages to get the best of 

_ the day. But above all, madam, we have an old grandam, 

one who teaches us all, and, in truth, rules us all; 

and well it is for us she does, for her rule is so good, 

that we feel to strive against it would be to make war on 

Heaven; and this good one has often told us to entreat 

strangers to share our hospitality, for in so doing, she says, 

we may • entertain angels unaware.' " 

Half an hour from this time Estelle was sobbing on the

THE STRANGER GUEST. 305 

Christmas feast and welcome, even at the risk of his being 

a returned convict; "but a lady, indeed! picked up with 

at a lone ferry house - 'twas 80 strange! " 

She could not say that she was so very young, or so 

very handsome; but there was a something about hera 

something which even the hesitating matron herself 

declared was irresistible. "She was evidently a keen 

observer of human nature, too," for she had whispered in 

the mother's ear such truthful, kind words about her generous-hearted 

boys; and, wonderful.to relate, told each 

one's disposition to the life, especially Ernest's gentleness 

and love of music, and Hermann's impetuosity and ardor 

in the chase. 

Then the little children had become so very fond of her; 

and though evidently quite a lady, she wasn't above giving 

her some valuable hints about the baking of her Christmas 

cakes; and she actually found her plaiting up her old 

mother's cap, which she had not had time to do herself. 

with so becoming a turn, that the coarse lawn looked like 

a quite new silver crown coming from the artistic fingers 

of a perfect fairy. At length, as the evening shadows 

deepened, the good Frau relaxed her watchful, suspicious 

gaze of her eldest boy, Hermann, and the stranger; and 

while the latter aat between her old mother and her husband, 

with one little one nestling in her bosom and two 

tiny forms crouching fondly round her knees, thc fountain 

of her eyes, long choked up with the hard, cold realities 

of a struggling life, welled up anew with all the tenderness 

of sU8ceptibie youth, and ahe fairly wept, while the 

stranger chanted beautiful but unfamiliar airs, telling of 

heaven, and 10T'e. and unknown lands, and scenes brighter 

and holier than the heart of man had ever dreamed of 

before.

I 

FAITH, OR HARY MACDONALD. 815 

for themselves the legacy of wretchedness, to which the 

destitute orphan is doomed . 

.. For such I hired this house, without one shilling on 

earth to pay the rent. For such I procured the loan of 

furniture, without an earthly prospect of repayment. - For 

such I prayed to the Father with that faith which Jesus 

promised to those who seek it; and for such I found that 

prayer and faith would indeed move mountains and cast 

them into the sea. Day by day this institution has been 

supplied from unforeseen sources with all that is needful to 

its support and prosperity. Kind hearts were made aware, 

I scarcely know by what means, of my labors, and influenced 

to send me money and means, and that always at 

the hour of need. If the crowd of little sufferers seeking 

for-shelter exceed my means of accommodation, I pray to 

God as best I may, and in my imperfect speech present to 

him a list of my material wants; and, lo! with the morn- . 

ing's light abundance comes; and whether it be meal for 

our daily bread, warm clothing for my little ones, winter 

blankets or summer fruits, I ask all in prayer from the. 

Father of all, and never fail to receive it. Our stock is 

now low, and next week will bring many expenses; but 

these will be met - I know Dot from whence; I have 1\0..'4 

earthly source on which to rely for a barrel of flour, or Ii 

penny of money; but it will come - ay, even as abundantly 

as the manna in the wilderness to Israel." 

Let us quit this blessed evidence of a true faith and simple 

trust in God, with the fervent prayer that the gift of 

so much child-like reliance on our all-sufficient and beneficent 

Father may descend on the wings of the angels who 

are now among us, bearing us glad tidings of love, and 

stimulating our faith with the performance of supermundane 

acts whieh far outrival even these evidences of the

316 CBBISTXAS STO:aIES. 

excellent and benevolent Muller's communion with spirit 

intelligence. 

I will close my account of this generous and true Christian 

with an earnest recommendation to all who visit the 

old country, to find out and regale their kind hearts with 

the sight of Muller's well-ordered, exquisitely neat, pure 

and b('neficent illustration of that selfsame faith which in 

ancient days raised Lazarus from the dead, and in these 

modem times is training up many a soul for eternal life, 

which might else have lingered in the dark ages of night, 

which sin ever entails on its victims. 

I have quoted the above case as a living illustration of a 

little biography of one who has long since passed away to 

the mansion in the spheres which a similar exercise of faith 

in her earth career has procured for her. As the circumstances 

which I am about to relate occurred in a remote 

part of Scotland, and nought remains in living evidence of 

my tale but the evergreen memory of its principal subject, 

I deemed it necessary to show that there are still lu,ing 

examples of the very same deeds, which, if related without 

such substantial corroboration of their possibility, might 

seem fabulous. 

With this preamble, I proceed to narrate, in my own 

words, rather than those of the gossips from whom I derive 

my information, the particulars of my little "Christmas 

Story." 

'Twas Christmas eve; a deep and continuous mow storm 

had almost blocked up the narrow streets of the busy town 

of G., far away in the remote parts of Scotland. The 

rolling of carriages, and the bum of eager, holiday-making 

foot passengers was fast dying out of the darkening streets. 

Twilight was lingering around the desolate city, deepening 

the gloom· without, but adding a tenfold charm to the gww- 

-

318 

for lOlDehow the spirit of the old tunes seemed dead. aDd 

actually converted their pleasant strains into something 

.trangly .uggestive of a requiem, lUI they .wept and fluttered 

around the court-yard on the .igh of the moaning 

b1aet. 80 thought, it would appear, the dissatisfied performer; 

for after .hiCting from one cold foot to another, 

blowing on his benumbed fingers lUI if to inspire them with 

Cre.h life, and straining his bow again and again to hie 

ta.k, a change .eemed to come over the spirit of hie 

dream; his frozen arm moved .lowly and wailingly over 

the mournful exponent of hie breaking heart, and .. Home, 

.weet home," broke through the howling of the blast like 

the cry of a despairing soul on the 8hores of eternity. 

Crack, crack, crack! - a half-frozen, complaining window 

is heard gently yielding to the 8trOng arm and testy will 

which strives to raise it. Then a rough voice follow8, - 

" Here, fellow, take yourself off with that cursed wailing 

; it is enough to give one blues, or freeze one to death, 

to hear such cold mU8ic - be off with ye." 

Bang, crack, bang! and down goes the window again. 

and a penny falls on the snow. The violinist picks it up. 

replaces his torn hat, which he had humbly doffed when 

the window was open, produces a piece of old baize in 

which he carefully envelops his poor instrument, and 

tucking it under his arm with all the care that a father 

would take of a very precious child, he turns and leaves 

the court. 'Tis evident he means to play no more that 

night. The fiddle so carefully disposed of will not be produced 

again. Perhaps he fears this precious one will feel 

the cold as much as its .hivering master; perhaps the 

single penny which he had earned that day was such a 

mine of wealth that he needs no more. It may be that he 

haa travelled far, is too cold. teo tirel!. Ab, yes, it is the

FAITH, OB JUBY XACDONALD. 8'1 

Aolla run ! Yet has the dying musician come home, 

., sweet. sweet home," to breathe his last. One by one 

the strings of his old cremona snap in the biting frost, and 

as the last parting cord strikes his dull ears, he raises 

his eyea to those of his Mary - his poor, nearly crippled 

Mary. 

"Father," she whispers, "I am not weeping, - see, 

see, father, here are no tears; - I am not sorry, either, 

father, - I am glad, very glad, because you are going 

home." 

" I too am glad, my precious one," he replies. " When 

I am gone. you will be far better cared for than you have 

been. The white-haired old musician was not enough of 

himself; he wanted help, and sought it from man, not God; 

and you, unhappy child, have thought too much of your 

father to remember the One we both have in heaven. When 

I am gone, you will be all his own; seek him, child; seek 

him more diligently than I have done; and he will be a better 

Father to thee than I have been. Hadst thou neglected 

me, or been undutiful to me, my Mary, I might have loved 

thee less, and caring only for myself, not have perished 

with cold and hunger this night; but it is aot so with 

him. He maketh his lIun to shine on the just and the 

unjust, and he never forsakes those who put their trust in 

him. Lo, he comes, through his ministering angels, to 

release me this terrible night." 

The last grains are falling - the hour-glass is well 

nigh spent. 

"Mary, I played some of my prettiest tunes to-day 

before the door of a great rich man I kno\v by sight 

Alderman Driggs. The servants came and drove me from 

the door, saying their master was very ill, and could not 

be disturbed by my JloiBe. A fine carriage drove up in

322 CJDUIITJU.II STOJlDtS. 

haste then, and a doctor stepped out. They bade him 

hasten, for the great alderman was dying of apoplexy. I 

.topped again at his door to-night; but ae I sat me down 

to rest, a servant opened it, and I .bran a\fay in hute. 

Ere I left the steps, I saw-I am.ure I caJlIlot be mistaken 

- I laW tire alderman hitMelf come out, pau me nDiftl!!. 

and beckoning me to JollofD, wall lollt in the mOlD _ drift I 

Could it really have been he? Or was it a spirit? Hark, 

the paning bell! Some one has preceded me to the land 

of 80uIs! Should it be Alderman Driggs, I shall 800n join 

him. There will be no difference between us. then, Mary. 

I ha"e nothing to take with me; he ca. take nothing with 

him. I wonder, Mary, if the 80ul of the rich man and. the 

.pirit oC the starved beggar will go to the same place? 

They would be ill fitted to meet, methinks - the tenants 

oC the castle and the roofless garret! Ah me, many have 

died on his doorstep8 from want and hunger! Why did 

he not make laws to feed them? Ah, well, we shall know 

who is to blame, when we meet at • compt.' " 

The Christmas day which followed this dreary night 

opened on the state pall and plume.canopied bed which 

held the mortal remains of Alderman Driggs; it shone, too, 

on the wasted features of the dead musician and the crippled, 

orphan Mary. 

CHAPTER II. 

IN an old.faahioned village, not many miles from thE' 

pOpulOU8 town of G., is a little shop more remarkable 

Cor the ingenious amalgamation (in minimum quantities) 

of eyery conceivable article applicable to the daily wants 

oC humanity, than for the excellence of its wares, or the 

distingUished character of its patrons. Yet haa the " gen- 

,

unclosing her eyes, they were met by the appearance of & 

female, 80 beautiful, 80 graceful, so perfect in the symmetry 

of face and figure, tbat poor Mary thought sbe had never 

before known how very lovely the human form might appear. 

No terror filled her beart, and though she knew it 

was a spirit, sbe experienced neitber awe nor surprise; in 

fact, a tender feeling, almost amounting to joy, possessed 

her whole being; for thougb the lovely apparition did not 

speak, she ImelD sbe gazed on the angel of her motber. 

For a moment she turned her gaze on the lifeless body 

of her father, and was surprised to find that the sight inspired 

her with no emotions of "grief; yet, though she regarded 

the mortal clay with indifference, she experienced 

a deeper feeling of affection for him than even her fond 

heart had ever known before. Still, his very memory 

seemed to fade away into the dim vistas of the past, as she 

once more fixed her admiring eyes on the beautiful vi.ioll 

of her mother. 0, how shining were the waving tresses 

of her sulfny hair! Eternal summer seemed to flit in the 

roses and lilies of her flower-painted cheeks. What joy it 

would be to touch those feathery-looking fingers. that 

seemed as if formed of the silver clouds that line the autumn 

moon! 

But deeper than all are the profound mysteries of eternal 

joy and love which shine in the beams of those loving eyes. 

How good sbe looked! bow tender! how unselfish! and 

0, weary. mourning inhabitant of earth, how happy, how 

supremely happy do the angel spirits of the good appear, 

when purified from the dross of earth's error and mortal 

grossness I They thus in visions revisit us. 

"Ah me!" thought the wonderir:g child of sorrow, 

while she gazed on this beautiful vision; "it is good for me 

to be a1Bicted, that out of the fires of adversity my purified

:FAITH, OR MARY MACDONALD. 827 

add terrible force to his frantic cries of .. Drink! wine! 

wine! the wine of the grape! - the death of memory! the 

grave of the all-too-acute senses! .. 

Some mocking ones pass him by, and jeeringly tell him 

that he is a spirit now, and has no more need of food, and 

clothing, and drink; but he savagely points to his own 

terrible appearance, whereon the appetites of his gross and 

selfish nature have heen engraved by the deeds of his earth 

career, and shouts aloud for leave to return to the world, 

that he may live a better and more useful life, and make 

of his spirit a nobler emblem than that of the animals, 

whose gross natures he has converted his own soul to, but 

may never again gratify . 

. With despair and horror :Mary recognizes in this appalling 

picture one 'whom the world called .. a very good sort 

of a man" - .. an honest man" - " a church-going, ratepaying, 

senate-house-speaking man" - the well-to-do, worthy, 

substantial Alderman Driggs - the man from whose 

doorstep her dying father had been driven, and whom she 

looked on now with wonder and amazement; for although 

on his unmasked spirit she could not detect a single act 

which the world of her knowledge could challenge or· stigmatize 

as unlawful, she gazed in vain for the record of any 

one 1cind act which could enable the pure imd loving of 

heaven to approach and lead him to a happier place. 

She ,emembered that he had been famous for his good 

dinners and profuse hospitality. Alas! their impress on 

his spirit was only gluttony, self-indulgence, and ostentation. 

She recollected seeing his name ever at the head of 

long lists of donations to public charities. His naked spirit 

now revealed the impelling spring of these charities to have 

been pride, or rivalry with a richer neighbor. 

She had heard him quoted as a "brilliant politician," a

FAITH, OR MARY MACDONALD. 889 

angelic messenger, whose first lessons of truth and wisdom 

were lisped in her humble" Refuge;" in memory, ever! 

. as long &s the essence of good deeds shall bloom on earth; 

as long as the winter snows shall pierce the shivering 

nerves of the houseless poor, who still linger around our 

thresholds, like the dying musician of old, ready to carry 

their tale of suffering or comfort to the homes of eternity; 

and long, long after the slanting rays of the setting sun 

shall cease to gild the humble tombstone, now overgrown 

with moss and lichens, but still strewn by many a flower 

which tiny hands instinctively gather to adorn the resting 

place of her who so loved them in life, and which bears 

this simple inscription, "In Memory of Mary Macdonald. 

, Feed my sheep.' "

THE WILDPIRE CLUB. 341 

belief consisted in faith in the immortality of the soul,a 

stem, exact, and uncompromising view of future re·· 

wards and punishments for every act, word, and thought 

of every human being, - together with implicit belief in 

the ability of the spirit (under conditions not yet under· 

stood by man) to manifest itself, after death, in the appear· 

ance it had assumed on earth. It will readily be under· 

stood that the second article of this creed was not very 

likely to recommend itself to popul&r practice, while the 

third was still more an unpalatable dose to the materiality 

of the nineteenth century; hence it followed that with the 

absence of the exciting motives which led to its founda· 

tion, the sect itself languished and died out, leaving only 

the few fragmentary facts which belong to· the personal 

history of Reuben Merlin, as the superinducing cause of 

its origin. 

I do not propose to give any detailed account of the 

mode in which I became acquainted with the following 

circumstances: to do so would draw aside the veil which 

sensitive feeling has hung around the dark portrait of an 

erring ancestor. Let it suffice that the main points of 

the history are too true to justify me in associating them 

with those who are now living. 

It is more than half a century since a band of men, 

self·styled "gentlemen," (deriving a right to the title by 

birth, education, wealth, and standing, but forfeiting all 

claim to the character by the most lawless depravity and 

organized licentiousness,) assumed a cognomen strongly 

resembling that of "The 'Wildjire Club," heated to an 

extent which would noi: render its actual appellation altogether 

polite or reverential. A.s a mere compromise, 

therefore, with the decencies of life, although outraging 

the strict rules of orthography, we shall say that a lIet

344 THE WILDFIRE CLUB. 

you, and confess they fall short of our own modem e!perience. 

To the clamorous demand for information touching the 

bride elect of the new year's orgie, Rufus Rushton maintained 

a contemptuous silence. He was a young man of 

noble family, with the stamp of high intellect and towering 

genius on his brow; but the iron of early dissipation 

had passed its hot fingers acrosll that warm cheek, and 

the once lofty inspiration of a crushed soul looked out 

from the wreck himself had made, like the light which 

shone through Milton's "archangel ruined," only to 

IIhow how the temple of his young life had been sacked, 

the fiame upon the altar quenched forever. 

"Tell us her name, where she lives, who she is to be. 

lf you expect us to help you, you must uncover your 

game, Master Rufus!" shouted the revellers in noisy 

chorus. 

"I neither ask nor require your help, gentlemen," coolly 

replied the rake; "my conquests are my own, and I generally 

fight my battles single-handed. The rules of our 

magnanimous order require the presentation of a fair 

bride; that she should be young is only natural, considering 

that most of our society are considerably lacking in 

the element of youth themselves - that she should be vnwilling 

is doubtless a type that we begin the year in a 

spirit worthy the illustrious name we bear. Fear not, 

gentlemen; Madam Rushton shall not disgrace the scene 

of her most honorable initiation--" 

.. By Heaven, he is chafing us !" cried the fierce founder 

of the club, Reuben Merlin; "but we will know who the 

dame is, and that·without crossing swords either, Master 

Rufus," he added more mildly, as he noted the dangerous 

flash of the young man's eye; then rising, he whispered

846 

TBB WILD:FIllB CLl1B. 

.. Come here, old Sandy!" cried the rough master, 

" and give us a touch of your conj uring craft. We want 

to know what you see hereabouts of consequence to this, 

noble company in particular, and therefore to the whole 

church and state of Great Britain in general." 

" What do I see 1 Noble sir," meekly responded the 

beggar, wistfully raising his sightless orbs towards the 

speaker, " alas, I see no SUD, no moon, no stars! -all is 

dark, qark forever! " 

"Here, can ye see that, old Simeon?" chuckled one 

of the company, holding up a shilling before the beggar, 

who mechanically reached out his hand to take it, while 

the other, winking to the rest, jerked it away, remarking. 

"The old trader is no such fool after all-feeling is as 

good believing as seeing, any day." 

"You shall have half a crown, and all the bones the 

hounds can't pick," interrupted the master, "if you, 

Sandy, (the arrantest cheat in all the North Riding,) can 

tell us the name of Rufus Rushton's new leman." 

The young man, thus unceremoniously alluded to, 

moved restlessly in his seat, but kept silence, while the 

helpless mendicant, knowing, by former bitter experience, 

the ruthless natures of his tormentors, turned deprecatingly 

from one to the other, while they reiterated taunting offers 

and dangerous threats, in the hope of inducing him to exercise 

a gift for which he was highly famed, namely, that 

of "second sight." In vain the poor creature declared 

the visions which occasionally unclosed his prophetic lips 

were far beyond his own or any human control; the fierce 

revellers became the more determined as their victim man. 

ifested his impotency to gratify them. At length Rufus 

Rushton, speaking for the first time, contemptuously ad 

"ised them to send the impostor away. "For," added

THE WILDFIRE CLUB. 

be, "be bas never yet been known to prophesy aught but 

evil; and that's the only reason why what he says comell 

true." 

It seemed as if the sound of Rushton's voice had· 

broken the spell which opened the floodgates of inspiration 

to the seer's darkened vision; for interrupting the 

angry retort which Mr. Merlin was commencing to the last 

speaker, he drew himself up to the full of his remarkable 

height, elevated his ruined head like the towering crest 

of a mighty eagle, and in a voice whose deep, sonorous 

tones swept like a word of power through the high, 

vaulted hall, and fell in accents of nlagic potency on each 

awe-struck listener, he began thus:- 

.. Again I see the light of God's own bleBsed sun. 

Again I see the crisp white frost and snow shining in light 

on thousand glittering sparks, o'er field and forest, woodland, 

hill, and glen; I see its radiant beams reHected, too, 

in diamond panes, in yonder castle tower; it is a brave 

old ruin, lofty once, and grand. Kings, and knights, and 

dames of high renown, have held theu- court and wassail 

in its bowers; and though the fluttering ivy crowns its 

walls, and bats and owls hold kingdom in its courts, the 

atmosphere of royalty and pride lingers around its mOilgrown, 

crumbling stones." 

"'Tis my poer old barn he sees," whispered Rufus to 

his next neighbor. .. The picture is graphic enough." 

.. I see," continued the seer, "the night veil drawing 

close. What banks of clouds are mustering in the sky! 

Ah me! the darkness gathers thickly on; and now the 

gloom is deeper, far more dense, than nature's night has 

ever known before. It stifles me! it takes away my 

breath! There is no moon to break this hideous night! 

'tis darkness all impenetrable, black! and 0, what sounds 

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THE WILDFIRE CLUB. 349 

tain's drawn; the pageant is played out. Yet once again 

- what means that mighty rush, sounding like foaming 

torrents in mine ear? Hark! what a shriek! - a cry of 

human woe! 'tis raised by fourteen drowning mortals' cries! 

They sink L they sink! 0, save them if you can! Thirteen 

most guilty souls are perishing; but that poor maid, 

that sinless victim, save! 0, snatch her from the dreadful 

rushing tide! In vain, in vain! Ingulfed beneath the 

flood, the victim and destroyers all are still! The castle 

clock tolls one; the new year's born, and but one form is 

there to greet its birth. A royal crown he wears, a pale 

ateed ndes,-his robe a shroud, his throne the silent 

grave! " 

As the beggar ceased, and, apparently exhausted with 

the prophetic paroxysm, crouched down beside his little 

dog, the indignant wrath of his listeners vented itself in 

threats and execrations against the prophet of evil. His 

promised reward was brutally denied him, and he himself 

thrust out of doors to the mercy of a storm little less 

pitiless than that which he had been describing. 

As the fawning domestics, in servile imitation of their 

betters, kicked the poor little cur, limping and howling, 

after his master, the beggar cheerily bade his little companion 

"come on and never heed them; for, surely, Jack," 

said he, accustomed to address the four-footed partner of 

his toils as a friend and confidant, " they who kick the 

helpless and crush the fallen rob themselves of the only 

sure light by which we can grope our way to heaventhe 

guidance of Him who is eyes unto the blind, feet 

unto the lame, and the strength of all those who put their 

trust in him. Come along, Jack; hold up your head and 

carry your basket straight; God's good angels go along 

with us, and we'll yet have some pennies to carry home 

30

TBB W"ILDFUlB CL1J1L 

to 1largaret. 0 Hargaret! 0 my child! may the bright 

onea who light thy father'. darkened way hOTer around 

thy siDlea footstep.. and leaTe me lonely and desolate, 

110 that thou mayst be sheltered from the world'. bitter 

storms! " 

The t'ather". prayer, wrang &om the agony or a heart 

already shrinking beneath the shadow of the impendjug 

storm, was heard and granted. though. like all God'. 

wa18, in tbat deep mystery which maD in nin aeeks to 

penetrate. 

"I will show you how to cheat the wizard and his 

prophecy of eril." cried Reuben Merlin, long aftCr the 

beggar had been expelled from the door. " All assemble 

here on new yeaz·. eye; come by the road, and aToid the 

liTer. Do not eYen crou the ford above Brooke'. liill. 

Don't go near RuJ .. • s old sAtmt,. a1Jt1f1e all t1mtgs; and 

do you, RUlhton, briJlg your bride along. with help or 

without, as it pleases yourself; only swear. one and all, 

on new year'. eve, one hour before midnight, to be in this 

very place, and we'll set defiance to flood and fire, though 

old Sandy, old Ocean, and Beelzebub himself were thundering 

at our gates. Do you swear?" 

.. We s",ear, U"ing or dead, ve, fourteen member. of 

4 TM Wildfire Clu.b,' UJiU meet in this place at half pan 

eleven O'clock, December 81, 17-." 

CHAPTER II. 

THE wind,t sung a wild and mournful requiem, the 

pelting storm descended in heavy gusts, and the genius 

of desolation swept with the icy cimeter of the bitter 

north wind the half-savage mountain region in which the 

•

352 rHB WILD:FI..B.E CLU1t. 

grief, 10 IUltonished and affected did he appear to be at the 

nature of the appeal. 

At length he succeeded in raising the unhappy suppliant, 

and in kind and earnest tones besought him to control 

his emotions, and give him a consecutive account of the 

lOBI he thus deplored. Then it WIUI, amidst heavy sighs 

and in accents often choked by lObs, that the mendicant 

eiplained his CIUIe. He had, it seems, one only child, a 

blossom of snmmer beanty, the only stay of broken fortunes 

and ruined hopes, the prop of his abject old age, 

the sun of his waning life. So beautiful was this solitary 

ewe lamb, that the old man, terrified at the thought 

of subjecting her to the rude glances of a sensuous world, 

had secluded her in a remote little hut, and actually went 

forth to beg their daily bread, and ply his art as a mendicant 

ballad singer, rather than expose his gem to the eyes 

of men. He told .how she wove baskets, which he went 

forth to sell; how craftily she knit and spun when they 

could beg flax; and above all, how, with her fairy footfall 

and joyous laugh, "her sound" went forth in his little 

hut like the echoes from a world of angels: he told, tOo, 

how, on the fatal Christmas night when he had appeared, 

with the dark mantle of prophecy thrown around him, in 

the midst of the revellers at the Abbey, and, the hour 

being late, and the night stormy, had sought shelter in 

an adjoining bam, he had returned to his hut the 

next day to find it empty; hour after hour he had 

waited to hear the sound of Margaret's approach, but 

he waited in vain. The hearth was cold, the embers extinguished 

- the light of the place had gone out forever. 

The wild winds bore no whisper from his lost one; and 

tho\lgh his trembling feet and groping hands had gone 

over every inch of his little dwelling, and scoured every

THB WILDFIRE OLUB. 

, 

bush, tree, or hollow in its neighborhood, he couldfeel no 

trace of his lost one. He had shouted her name till the 

hoarse throat refused to obey his still calling spirit; he 

had paced the hills, and glens, and rocks, and woods, and 

still returned, day and night, morning and eventide, muttering 

to himself and his little dog, "She will have come 

home by this time. Yes, yes, she must be home at last! .. 

But she was gone-gone, gone forever! He knew it 

now, and he knew, too, how she had been spirited away, 

and by whom; and then, in still wilder agony, he went 

over the vision which he had described at Rufus Rushton's 

house, and frantically added his conviction that the veiled 

. female, whose face he could not see, participating in the 

unholy bridal, would be his own kidnapped child. 

Long and earnest was the conversation which ensued. 

Had the "Wildfires" heard its details they might have 

voted Mr. Merlin out of their body as a recreant member, 

who could by no means come up to the approved standard 

of wickedness; but there were other listeners to the dialogue, 

who conceived of it in another spirit, - bright, 

ministering angels, - divine agents in the great scheme 

of the world's government, who, marking the conflict in 

t.he soul of the worldling, and triumphing with him in 

the noble struggle of his better nature, stamped him with 

t.he seal of a mighty destiny, and registered him henceforth 

as one of the levers in the great machinery of human 

progress. 

As the Dives and Lazarus of modem days parted in the 

door porch, the former said, - 

.. I have sworn to you, old man, and I will keep my 

word. Your wrongs in this matter shall be my own; and 

if, in the prosecution of our mutual search, I find Margaret 

in the possession of the father who gave me life, or 

30 "

856 rHB WILD),IBB CLUB. 

the previous night with missives to the club, made their 

appearance. It was not the rule of the association for 

the host to receive his guests, or even appear amongst 

them until the hour of midnight. A. secret door, known 

to all, and commanded by all, at every house of meeting, 

led to their club room; and thus each member arrived 

without question, and awaited in profound silence the 

coming of the host to open the meeting. 

It was at twelve o'clock to a second that Reuben Merlin, 

with a hand colder and more tremulous than he had ever 

before experienced, touched the secret spring of the door 

which led to Wildfire Hall - as the apartments devoted 

to their use ·were termed by the club. These rooJl18 were, 

in general, spacious and handsome, and for the purposes of 

tr.e profane ceremony with which they were wont to usher 

in the new year, were generally fitted up as a 'chapel 

This apartment in Merlin's house was splendid beyond 

any other; and as he entered the UlOm, his eyes for a 

moment became almost dazzled with the blaze of the 

innumerable wax lights which shone upon and around the 

mock altar. 

At the grand banqueting table, twelve of his companions 

were seated in profound silence. By the side of the altar, 

at the end of the hall fitted up in imitation of the Catholic 

cathedrals, stood Rufus Rushton; and stretched upon the 

steps lay what appeared to be a human figure, but 80 enveloped 

in a mass of white drapery that Merlin could not 

distinguish whether the person thus concealed were living 

or dead, male or female; he judged it, however, to be the 

latter. The most remarkable part of the scene was the 

effect which he found acting upon himself the moment he 

entered the hall. Not one of the company moved or 

spoke; they did not even turn their heads or stir at his

THE WILDFIRE CL VB. 357 

entrance. They sat, stood, and l(Joked rigid as statues, 

with the spell as of an enchanter's wand chaining them. 

down to the life of the dead. But apart from the strange 

immobility of the scene, Merlin felt a powerful and almost 

tangible vapor arising, he knew not from whence or how, 

curdling around his own vitality, and locking up his senses 

in the same magnetic rigidity which he beheld around 

him. How long he stood in this fixed condition he never 

knew; he was accustomed to say if it were but a minute 

there was no such thing as time, for the experiences of a 

whole life were crowded into the period in which he stood. 

Beyond this, too, his acute sight took cognizance of a new 

and still more remarkable feature in the scene. As his 

eyes travel'sed the assembled company, he read on each 

face the entire character, life, actions, - ay, even thoughts 

and motives, -of each man's most secret soul. There was 

the rude fox-hunting squire, whose evergreen coat, bright 

brass buttons, and huge top-boots, seemed' to cover up 

such a world of hearty, convivial good humor, and even 

benevolence within. Why did he now recognize him to 

be a bully, a coward, a tyrant, and a liar? The graceful, 

courteous aristocrat next to him, whose polished words 

and courtly smiles won for him the open sesame to every 

house and every heart,-why did he now perceive that he 

·was a mean, fawning hypocrite, living on the weaknesses 

of humanity, by servilely flattering their foibles and administering 

to their passions? Could it be that the stern 

magistrate on his left, that unyielding censor of crime 

and trafficker in public justice, that even-handed lawgiver 

and model of indomitable virtue, - could be be a thief, a 

mere plunderer of his own father's desk, a receiver of 

bribes, a cheat, and a secret swindler? And yonder gallant 

soldier, the adored of women and the envied of men,

168 

the ebampiOD ofhia coaatzy, aDd abe fiery c:henlier or abe 

court of boaor, - why did he DOW behold him, lIDDlistabbly 

f1yiDg from the enemy in battle., pradisiDg in gaming 

houes with loaded dice, aDd weariDg a 1oath8ome liTery 

of fuhioD, as the concalecl faTOrite or reTolting old age, 

in the penon of a celebrated dowager of imm .... se wealth 

aDd high repatation ? 

There, too, at hia familiar frieDd, the gay aad reckless 

child of fubiOD. a yomag peer, who had suddenly inherited 

1IDUpeet.ed rank and wealth. HeanD oC mercy! what 

frightful paychology wu that, which could stamp on his 

candid brow the red dye of 1I&1It'tkr,-murder of his OYll 

couin, the real heir of the title he then wore, - while beside 

him eat a tnut, physician, the guardian of the lick, 

aDd the smooth-lipped. familiar friend of UD.II1I.8picioUl 

familiea, who had mixed and administered the deadly 

draught which made the one man a peer, aad the othei a 

rich and fashionable physician? What shocking and yet 

mysterious revealments did the movele. lineaments of 

these familiar, yet most strange faces, now disclose! 

Whence came it? how did he know it all? and did his 

own face stand unmasked in the same appalling clearneN? 

And now his wild and haggard eyes are fixed on Rufus 

Rushton - eagerly he strains his gaze to read the mystery 

of that half-aTerled face. It needs not. On his very 

/or"" in the very atmosphere, he feels he is looking on a 

libertine, a IOOfI'er, a ravisher; but 0, abol"e all this, he 

is looking on a bafIled and convicted villain! It would 

be impolsible to describe the mixture of terror, confusion, 

bravado, and yet despair, which thronged around the mind 

of the muter, in .ympathy with the" archangel ruined," 

upon whom he now gazed! And yet the whole sum of

THB WILDJ'IU CLUB. 869 

the full revelation made in the form of Rushton could not 

have occupied above a few .econds, for it seemed almost, 

·as his glance fell on him, that he became startled by a 

ahrill, prolonged, and terrific .hriek. 

CXAPTBR III. 

ROUSED in an instant from his siDgular state of abstractiOD, 

his first impulse was to rUsh from the room, in order 

to ascertain the cause of the tearful outcry. It wa. 80 

heart-rending, it seemed to combine .• o many TOices, and 

to exprea. such a world of woe, that it would have compelled 

a far less excitable temperament than Merlin' •. into 

instant inquiry. 0. entering the gallery which led to the 

apartment he had just quitted, he found all the dOJnestica 

crowding on towardl the room of meeting, all .tartled by 

the terrible cry, and all impreaaed with the belief that it 

illued from the club room. A. Merlhl advanced towards 

the terrified group, his steward preceded them, exclaiming, 

in tonet of deep interest, - 

" Good God, sir! what has happened? We feared you 

were all murdered. Has any harm come to Mr. Rushton? 

We heard his voice above the rest." . 

"Mr. Rushton!" stammered Merlin; "I heard no 

voice in particular, only I thought that all the flends in 

torment must have been let loose, to give forth that hideous 

cry. Go, lome of you, aDd aearch the Abbey through. 

I will joiD you as lOon as I haTe spoken to my friends." 

80 saying, he returned to the apartments devoted to the 

club, to ascertain what efFect the disturbance had had upon 

them. He retumed to flnd the Ughts extinguished, and, 

by the broad glare of the flashing Ughtniug, to perceive 

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•

364 THE WILDFIRE CLUB. 

the swelling tides of the land floods, rolled in peaceful 

tides over the dwelling of Rufus Rushton, and sang the 

funeral requiem over every soul that his roof harbored 

that fatal night. 

But two bodies were ever recovered. The one was an 

old silver-haired man, whose tattered garments were supposed 

to bear testimony to the ideality of blind Sandy, 

the beggar. The fact that the body was found with one 

hand cut off, evidently dissevered. by a blow, proved that 

other causes of death had run riot in that terrible house 

011 the fatal thirty-first. Clasped tightly to his breast, 

and still encircled in the arms of the dead, was a female, 

clothed in white garments; but the sullen waters which 

had formed her winding sheet had laved away every trace 

of what might have been.once fair and lovely, and left no 

proofs, beyond surmise, that it was Margaret, the beautiful 

fairy of the glen, whom few had seen except in passing or 

stolen glances, arouud whom busy tongues had enwreathed 

legends of mystery and ideality, from the fame of her 

beauty, the fact of her strange seclusion, and, above all, her 

relatiouship to the dreaded prophet, blind Sandy. 

Many years after these events Mr. Merlin reappeared 

in the neighborhood from foreign lands, where he had been 

wandering in pursuit of the lore which old India, ruined 

Egypt, and philosophic Germany alone could give him. 

The records of "The Wildfire Club," almost its very 

memory, had passed away in the depths of the fearful 

floods which had ingulfed all its members but this one, 

and in him, the stern and gloomy ascetic - the scholar of 

strange systems and unknown lands - none would have 

ever recognized its founder. 

All the wild tales which had grown up out of the fantastic 

doings of this association, and especially their awful

HE WILDFIRE CLUB. 365 

exit from the scene of their orgies, soon came to be re'\""ived 

in the person of Reuben Merlin, when it was found that 

he actually set to work to establish a kind of order, or 

sect, one of whose chief points of doctrine was a firm be- . 

lief in the existence of the soul after death, and the possibility 

of its return to earth. 

The Merlinites, as his followers were termed, did not 

gain many converts; and, as has been before stated, with 

Reuben Merlin's decease they died out altogether; yet 

though their doctJ:ines, and the impelling causes which 

brought the sect into being, are no more remembered, the 

old AbMy was long the theme of ghostly legends and 

general terror, especially on the last night of the old year, 

when it was said the galleries and hall were brilliantly 

illuminated by no mortal hands, while a revel was held by 

thirteen shadowy forms, who had bound themselves, living 

or dead, to assemble at midnight, at that place, on the 

last night of every year, till the ages of a mysterious penance 

for unatoned sili should have passed away. 

There may not be one truly earnest or self-possessed 

mind who puts faith in the legend of the doomed revellers' 

assemblage on this night, and yet there are few who 

could be found bold enough to stand by the, old postern 

gate at midnight on the 31st __ December, to listen 

to the eleven footsteps ascending the stairs, and the two 

shuffiing forward as if sustaining a heavy weight, while 

the last sound of all, say those" whose fathers have heard 

these sounds," was the grating of the closing lock, - few, 

we say, are found bold enough to test the truth of these 

legends on the night in question; yet there are many 

who to this day declare, that in the hour which stands, 

like the gate of the ,tomb, between the earth of the old 

year and the ·heaven of the new, there is ever heard, far 

31*

366 rHE WILDFIRE CLUB. 

and wide, over sea and land, through hamlet and town, a 

wild shriek, -.long, shrill, heart-rending, like the cry of 

many perishing souls parting in the sudden disruption of 

strong, vigorous life, but seared and fearful consciences. The 

mariner far out at sea shivers with a chill keener than the 

biting blast, as he hears the awful cry, while the fisherman 

mutters a prayer, little children crouch beneath their 

mothers' aprons, and- all pious men and women send up a 

fervent aspiration for peace to the unresting souls of The 

Wildfire Club. 

•

NOTE . 

.. Children and fools speak the truth." 

So says an ancient proverb. Apply this to the children of civilization, 

the first born of nature, the ancients, - subUme In their simple obedience to 

the rudimentary principles of natural, and therefore true Ufe,-and you will 

nnderstand why they ever taught In parables. IJfe is made up. of UvIng, 

busy, active forms-not of dry eSlays and metaphysical theories; and 80 

the most profonnd sentlments, and the most philosophical propositions 

find their most comprehensible illustrations In Ufe'. Uving picture.. The 

parable of the Good Samaritan, though but a simple story, - one which 

would not be ont of place In a child's Primer,-brings home the true scfence 

of Ufe and happiness, with a force which Locke and Bacon have falled to 

demonstrate In all their quartos. If this be not a suftlclent apology for the 

profened lecturer on metaphysics and mental sclenoe generally, attempting 

to illustrate oertaIn profonnd and startUng revelations - even to liftiug the 

tremendons veil which shadows the tomb Itself-In the nnpretendlng guise 

of a c1nb of simple stories, she has none other to olfer. 

, 

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The Wildfire Club - The Emma Hardinge Britten Archive

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