The weekly pioneer and Democrat. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn. Territory) 1855-1865, 1861-03-29
MY PENNY DIP.

What was it A tallow>candle, to be
sure. The gas wouldn't burn, the kerosene
strangled me with its noxious odor, the fluid
sputtered, burned blue. and went out. lam
afraid of the dark; that ghostly bIackness
which makes ones eyes ache with its want
of light; that palpable gloom which seems
to beat like room full of palpitations of
the heart around you, above you, about you
everywhere; that visible nothing, which
holds the tables, the chairs, the portraits
you are familiar with yet hides them 10 its
black veil from your view that empty full
ness through which you thrust out your
cropping arms. then shrink back, op-
pressed with a presence you can neither
hear, see nor feel.
"Milly," said to my little maid, "run
somewhere and get me light"
She ran to the grocer's wife, and came
back with penny dip in brass candlestick.
AS she placed it on my table, went out
and shut the door, the little boy in bronze
on my mantle raised his hammer and struck
the figure of time, twelve ringing blows
upon the heart. 1t was midnight.
The candle burned clearly. resumed
the cd volume of German legends l was
reading, and as laid my finger on para
graph, and paused to ponder on the posi-
bility OF spirits returning to earth to wreak
vengeance on foes, or work veal to friends,
heard deep sigh at my elbow.
l turned and Deheld the ghost of my
grandmother.
| knew her from her resemblance to her
portrait. She wore the same white cap
with its wide border plated round her face
the same prim dress with which [ had
grown familiar in the picture.
She died twenty years ago. was pamed
for her.
drew up the rocking chair for the ghost.
She sat down on it. A pillow could not
have sank there more nOiselessly than she
did. She kept her hands in the same posi-
tion on her breast that somebody iied them
twenty years ago.
She fixed her keen black eyes upon me
beautiful eyes, which had always admired
in the partrat. None of her descendants
bad such eyes.
81 could not come" she said, in deep Sc
pulchral tones, Sin gas light. Ghosts and
gas light are at war always. AS for kerO.
sene oil, we groan at its use. How mortal
noses can, night after night, inbale the odor
it omits is a wonder. 1t is worse than brm-
stone. We have put our lips under your
chimneys and blown our ghostly breath
into the fame. We have seen the chimneys
blacken with smoke, and apartments fill
with disgusting fragrance. People only
said the lamp is in draught. They moved
it and bore with it. We shall have to yield.
Kerosene is modern discovery. Ghosts
are old fashioned. To be out OF date is to
be out of mind. Your tallow candle peases
me. We ghosts like the light of other days
around US. We always, in body, burned
tallow candles"
The fine eyes of my grandmother gazed
at my penny dip steadiastly for moment.
She seemed to see visions and dream dreams.
"My DEAR" she said, "you are the first OF
the family that has returned to candles since
the innovation of gas. You are indebted
to your dip for my presence. How hollow
l would have looked under chandelier
how blOOdless, how whtel AS it is, think
am looking very natural, am not?"
She glanced up at her portrait and waited
my reply.