Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1874-02-19

summers dIIerWdTu. 1uOuSA HUSH ali
and Change" was told, were indispen-
sable, | resolved to do without them,
since one might just as well die as be
frightened to death.
In the July of the fourth year, however.
received an invitation TO the seaside,
which | really thought it safe to accent.
NV host and hostess lived at Disney
Point. in Cornwall, a very lonely spot. it
is true, but one in which no burglary had
ever been committed within the memory
of woman. There were no bad peOple ),
wrote nv friends, who were aware of nv
nervous Decul iarities, within hundred
miles of them" When [ reached their
house. I was really inclined to believe
that this was the case. A more beautiful
and retired spot than the little village in
which they dWelt, or one inhabited by a
more simple and innocent set of people
it was impossible to imagine. It was
situated liz a wooded ravine, THROUGH
which 4 trout stream ran down to the sea
and upon the hilltop, between it and the
ocean, were the most picturesque church
and churchyaTd [, or any ones eve, ever
bgbeld. From the house we could Onlv
hear the distant whisper of the waves
like the mugnuring hum Of bees
hut thew were giant waves, and the
rocks were torn and split with their fury
into wierd and hoTrid shapes. It was the
grandest sea-cOast | had yet visited, and
all day long [ sat beside it with nv
sketch-bOOk, or merely watching tbe
white wrath of the breakers, and listening
to the thunder in the caverns at nv feet
I was not at all afraid Of the sea-whep 7
was upon the land. Indeed, am not
alarmed at anything Notwithstanding
what some people say to the contrary
unless there is a reasonable cause for fear
For instance, [ am not afraid-at least,
was not until the catastrophe occurred of
which | am about to relate-Of supernat-
ural apparitiOns When / announced nv
intention, one evening, of going up the
hill to sketch the churchyard by moon
light, there arose quite a rude litter in the
drawingr0om. 'Surely not alone, Mary
Anne? Let one OF the girls go with you,''
said my hostess.
What is there TO be afraid of in a
church-yard? No, thank YOU" replied
| proudly. "The miserable superstltions
of the country do not affect me, | do as
sure you"
But it is so lonely up there, my dear. !"
"What OF that? Solitude and stiffness
are the fit accomplishments of such a sol
emn scene. had much rather go there
by myself"
/ was resolved to exhibit my independ-
ence, as well as to do away with any false
impressions my excellent hostess might
have received from Charlotte or others
with respect to my courage; but at the
same time she need not have reminded
me that it was $50 lonely up there" I
did not expect to find Disney churchyard
the center of fashion, or the scene of an
excursion picnic at ten O'Clock at nj gha
of course: her remark was Officious and
unnecessary, and at the same time it made
my blood run cold. However, when the
moon rose, so did /, and, sketch book in
hand, toiled up to the old church, which
was also, from its prominent position, a
landmark used by sailors, which taught
them to avoid the rocks at Disney Point.
Whatever might be the matter, there was
always a wind up there, and even in that
still summer night it was wandering about
the grasses Of the graves, and whispering
into the ears of the stone gargOyles of the
church, which seemed to grin in malice
at its news of storm and wreck to come.
myself seated on my camp-stool, Just
in front of the porch, and began what
intended to be hasty sketch, Just few
strokes, to be filed in at my leisure, for I
felt the situation to be "uncanny," and al
ready wished myself at home. My fingers
shook little, certainly not with cold
and, though the architecture was said to
be "a fine specimen of the perpendicu-
lar" it did not appear so in my sketch
book.
Suddenly heard a subdued sob; the
utterance, as it seemed to me, of some
p4' ca1y in Hic+rocc
1t came from an obscure corner of the
churchyard, where the graves were not
so well cared for and tended as the others
were-a spot, had been told, where those
were laid whom the pitiless sea had
drowned. When a ship was cast upon
the rocks yonder it was rare even for one
of its crew to reach that rock-bOund
shore alive; and after a great storm
whole ships companies were sometimes
buried at once in the churchyard of Dis
ney head.
/ listened with beating heart, and the
sound was repeated; and this time felt
sure it was as had supposed. Doubtless
some woman had come to weep in secret
over the grave of her sailor son or hus-
band; there was no need to be frightened
in such a case. 1t might be that should
be able to give her comfort. | rose, and
moving toward the Wreck-cOrner las it
was called, could dimly make out a
woman's figure kneeliug ct the head of a
grave. In the presence of so great sor-
SOW, / seemed to lose all selfish fear and
ventured softly to address her. She did
not reply, nor even so much as turn her
head, though I felt certain she must
have heard me; and since she was a
woman, and did not speak, | felt there
must be something very wrong with her.
AS drew nearer, | beheld a spectacle
that overwhelmed me with pity. The I'M
happy creature before me was naked to
the waist, and with her arms straight
down by her side, was gazing on the grave
beneath her with look of indescribable
| despair. She shed no tear, but her eyes
wore look of hopeless woe and yearn-
ing beyond all ordinary sorrow.
"Hou are killing yourself, my poor
woman" reasoned I, "to kneel there in
such plight. The dead you mourn can
ask no such sacrifice as this that you
should join them"
But again she answered nothing; and
then, to my horror, | observed that she
had dug another grave at the head Of that
she was watching, and was already buried
in it up to her waist Was she, then, bent
upon committing suicide, or was she her
self an inhabitant of the tomb, like those
around her, and were the graves indeed
giving up their dead at that witching hour
| of night, as | had read of, but had not
believed?
In an agony of terror, such as even
mad never before experienced, l flung