Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1855-03-03
EVENING STAR.
rom Home Life; or, A Peep Across the Thresholr
THE HAUNTED HEARTHsToEE.
g All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses,'

| Are haunted houses"
| "Do believe in haunted houses g
said the aged woman, speaking rather to
herself than to the fair sweet grand child
who nestled at her feet and looked up Sc
earnestly into the wrinkled face. "fes
indeed l do. There's not house in the
whole village, nor for miles around, but
that to me is haunted none, though, SO
much as this. Haunted" continued she,
speaking so slowly that solemn empha.
sis seemed to rest on each letter; "yes,
yes, there are are such things as haunted
spots"
She dropped her knitting, took off nor
glasses, wiped her eyes, and leaning
back in her arm chair seemed lost in a
sad yet holy communion with the earlier
passages in life.
1t was dark, stormy, winters night.
The wind howled fercely around the old
farm house, drifting the snow high on
the window sills, fastening it to the
rough panels of the doors, sitting it
through the crevices of the massy roof,
and heaping it up like giants graves all
along the pathways throughout the gar.
den. But indoors all was bright, and of
a summer warmth. The huge back log
had been dragged in ere twilight, and
was now slowly dropping into Goals !;
while the flames from the lighter wood,
which every few moments was cast on
with so free a hand, blazed high and
ruddy, and cast genial light and glare
in the darkest corner, and scintillating
on the time.darkened ceiling, like polar
flashes on the midnight sky.
1t was one of those bitter nights that
make the hearthstone the bonniest SPOT
in all the earth-a night when the shell
tered lift up their hearts in THANKSGIVING,
and when the homeless bow in supplica.
ton; night when children kneel before
the fire and read bright prophecies in the
living Goals; night when all turn their
backs to the darkness, their faces to the
light!
1t is night to make ghost stories
relish well. Now, grandmother, do tell
one"
The head Of the young girl rested Oh
the knees Of the old lady, and, as the lat
ter lost the thread of her dream and
looked down, she could see an enthusi.
astic eagerness pictured in the bright
blue eye, longing for some tale of 70.
nance, that dropping in her heart should
vivify Its dormant passions.
She heSitated a few moments, and said:
81 will tell you story about haunted
hearthstone; and, Lizzie, it will be no
tale of fiction. The plot-is drawn from
living memories, the scene is laid-here,
here" But her voice quivcred, and after
fruitless attempt at self-control, it burst
into sobs so loud and wild that they
rivalled the cries of the winter wind.
The young girl seemed not much frigh-
tened, and spake no soothing words, but
only clasped the hand she had taken as
she asked the story, with tighter grasp.
The paroxysm did not continue long :;
but as it passed away she rose, and turn
ing her trembling steps toward the dark,
cold bedroom, and going in closed the
door, and was absent long while. The
tears streamed down LiZzie's cheeks when
left alone, and it was evident that the
aged relative had some secret sorrow
over which she mourned intensely. " When
she returned and again seated herself in
her usual chair, only drawing in little
closer to the fire, there was such a calm,
beautiful, spiritual look, expressed upon
her countenance, that you could not but
fancy that she had conversed with the
angels. Without any allusion TO the
past, without any preface, she began,
after silence of perhaps half an hour,
the promised story. Handed down to
me, it reads like this:
1t was night much like this {; forty
or more have passed since its winds blew
and its snow drifted-since its cold pal
sled and its darkness frightened. Beside
the same hearthstone-the same only,
that it was not worn so smooth, for the
house then had tested but thirty instead
of as now seventy and odd winterS-an
aged man and his wife sat before the
blazing fire striving to while away the
long evening hours. There was not then,
as now, daily mails coming to our remote
little village, freighted with news in
every shape. The press did not team,
as now, with magazines and books it
Was rare to see newspaper in this old
kitchen, and rarer any volume, save THE
ONE. The old man had studied that
some time, and carefully replaced 1.-THE
Bible did not then, as now, grow dusty
while other books were thumbed to
pieces. He had eaten his apples, drank
his cider, and cracked some walnuts for
his wife, whose teeth were sounder than
his own; and now sat close as he could
draw himself to the flames without
scorching his homespun garments, nod
ding goodbye to the sky-bound sparks.
The old lady had rolled up her knitting,
and, with her broken fork-in those
days they had not heard Of nut.picks-
with her two tined fork which had lost
one of its members, sat digging out with
q patience worthy of the gold mines Of
these times, the rich, sweet kernels.
Suddenly she dropped both fork and
nut, and in another instant started to
her feet, her pan falling from her lap and
threatening many q grease spot on the
well.scoured floor. fastening to her