Worcester daily spy. [volume] (Worcester [Mass.]) 1850-1888, 1851-08-06
THE DAILY SPY.
(From The National Era.)
A R e m i n i S cence.
BY PATTY LEE.
lCoNCLUDED.1

| CONCLUDED
In the corner of the burial ground, where the
trees are thickes, little apart from the rest was
the grave of Mary Widermings; and. wear after
year, the blue thistles boomed and faded in its
sunken sod.
1he tram OF my reflections naturally suggested
her, and, turning my eyes in the direction Of her
resting place, saw, thought | saw, a human
hgure | remembered the story of her unresting
ghost and at hrs little doubted that | beheld it. and
felt' own, tnmult OF strange feeling fndizg
myself thus alone SO near question able shape
Inus, said, this is some delusiou of the senses
and passed my hand over my eyes, for an unce :
tain INNER had followed my intensity of gaze. |
| looked toward the cottage to re-assure myself by
the light of a human habtalion, but all there was
dark-a cloud passed over the moon, and without
ventnrlng to look toward the haunted grave with
drew from the gate, very lightly; nevertheless, it
creaked as did so. Any sound, save the beating
of my own heart, gave courage; and when had
walked little way, turned and looked again, but
the dense shadow would have prevented my seeing
anything, if it had been there. Certain it is saw
nothing. On returning home, / asked the house
keeper, ganulous person usually, if she remem-
bered Mary WIdermings, and if she were not
buried In the graveyard across the wood.
'Yes, ] remember her, and she is buried in the
corner of the ground on the hill They came to my
house, know to get Il cup, something of the
sort, with which to dip water from the grave for it
ralned terribly all the day Of her funeral. But
she added, what do you want to talk of the dead
and gone for, when there living folks enough to
talk about
The truth is, she wanted me TO say something of
our new neighbors, and was vexed that | did not.
though should probably have done SO, had they
not been quite driven from my thoughts by the more
absorbing event of the evening; so, as much vexed
and disappointed as herself, | retired. The night
was haunted with some troublous dreams, but day
OF sunshine succeeded, and my thoughts flowed
back to more cheerful channel.
Days and weeks went by, and we neither saw
nor heard anything of our new neighbors, for nv
call was not returned, did make any further
overtures towards AN acquaintance.
Often, as L sat under the apple-tree by the door,
OF twlIights, heard the sweet mellow music Of the
flute.
SIS that at the cottage!' said the housekeeper TO
me one night; Sit sounds to me though it were in
| the corner OF the graveyard
L smiled as she turned her head little TO one
side, and, encircllng the right with her hand,
listened Tor some minutes eagerly, and then proceed
ed to express her conviction that the music was the
| result Of no mortal agency.
| DId you ever hear OF ghost Playing the fute?'
said |.
"a lute!' said she, Indignantly; it's flute lust
as much you flute; and, for the sake of en-
Tightening your blind understanding, I'll go to the
graveyard, night it is, if you will go with me-
very well, | said Come on
So, under the faint light of the crescent moon,
we took our way together. Gradually the notes be-
came lower and sadder, and quite died away 1
urged nay trembling companion TO walk faster, lest
the ghost should vanish too and she acceded to my
wish with a silent alacrlty, that convinced me at
once of the sincerity of her expressed belief
Just as we began to ascend the hill, she stopped
suddenly, saying,
FThere! did you hear that's
answered that heard noise. but that it was
unusual thing to hear sounds of the sort in an in
habited nelghborhood at so early an hour.
1T was the latching of the gate at the graveyard
she answered solemnly,
'As you value your immortal soul, 90 no further
In vain argued that the ghost would have no
need to unlatch the gate She positively refused 10
60 farther, and, with courage very habitua to
me, confess, walked on alone.
'Do you think / don't know that sound?' she
called after me. Il would know il if had forgot
ten everything else. Oh, stop till tell you. The
night Mary Wildermings died., heard her say;
but knew the sound of the gate as well as she,
and would not wait even for ghost story. | have
since wished had, for | could never afterwards
persuade her to reveal it.
Gaining the summit of the hill, perceived,
little way before me, dark figure recedng slowly;
but so intent was on the superhuman, that paid
little attention to the human; though afterward, in
seen while sat on the bridge, became in some way
associated with this
How hushed and solemn the graveyard seemed.
was half afraid as looked n--quite startled, in
fact, when latching and unlatchng the gate to de-
termme whether the sound heard were that or not;
rabbit reused from its light sleep, under the fallen
grass, sped heetly across the still mounds to the
safer shelter of the woods. / saw nothing else,
save that the grass trampled to narrow path
leading towatds Mary's grave.
During the summer, sometimes saw the young
girl in the woods, and l noticed that she neither
gathered flowers sang with the birds; but would
sit for hours in some deep shadow, without moving
her position IN the least not even 10 push away the
light curs which the winds blew over her cheeks
and forehead, as they would. She seemed to neth-
er love nor seek human companionship. Once only
noticed, and it was the last time she ever walked
in the woods, that he whom | supposed TO be her
brother, was with her. She did not sit in the shade
as usual, but walked angudly, and leaning heavily
on the arm of her attendant, who several times
swept off the curls from her forehead, aud bent
down as if kissing her
few days afterwards, being slightly ndisposed,
l called in the village doctor Our conversation,
naturally enough, was of who was sick and who
was dead. f ssa.sef... 81. fs. tss
among my patients, he said 'here is none that
interests me so deeply little girl at the cottage
indeed have scarcely thought of anything else
since knew that she must die. A strange child
he continued she seems to feel neither love Of life
| nor fear of death--nor does she either weep or
| smile: and, though have been with her much Of
late, have never seen her sleep. She suiferslno
pain--her face wears the same calm expression, but