The Manitowoc tribune. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1866-1878, 1878-03-14
MY UNCLE BEN.

My Uncle Ben believe in ghos ~? OF
course he did he used to say: "No
modern mansion of stucco and plaster
for me; give me grand old house. all
covered by ivy and hidden by trees.
whose walls are hung with tapestry, and
whose passages, extending from room to
room, make the blood curdle with their
gloom and length. Why, sir, there is
something enlivening even in its decay 4.
the dampness of its walls, and the cracks
IN the dlscolored ceilings, which cnly
suggests to the vulgar mind ague and
rheumatism, are evidences to me of its
venerable age and responsibility. The
very mice that scamper up and down in
the time worn walnscoting give me a
friendly greeting that 1 never meet in
your new-fashloned houses, built for
race Of -worshipers who have
made their wealth out of shoddy and
petroleum.
:, People mourn over the various ills
tha+ Aneh :: l-ofI W, UvUr me IOss OF
money, lands, and health, and other in
significant things, but mourn over the
decline IN the race of our ghosts--that
is real loss but what can you expect?
and insulted by dictionary -concoctors
feel any respect for himself when people
call him specter It is enough to make
him contemplate in his own eyes, and
cause him to let himself out to be ex-
hibited at an entertainment combining
instruction, amusement, and horrors,
for the small sum of one shilling per
nead. What honest, gentlemanly ghost,
who lives in quiet, respectable country
n,
the disreputable rowing spirits that can
be called up by any charlatan or impos-
tor to play on cracked accordion, to
make stupid jokes, to unite knots. and to
rap out CHASTITY revelations from dirty
deal table? An old-fashioned, aristo-
cratic phantom would despise the tricks
of such nomadic nonentities, as he wan
ders through the the dreary corridors of
the haunted house, or remains in his gar
ret or cellar, thinking over the good old
times when he appeared with clanking
chains to frighten weary wayfarers, and
make the awe-striken folks shudder rs
they sat in the old chimney corner.
"Think of the thrilling interest he
excited when he revealed to the true heir
the place where the money was con-
cealed, that he had robbed him of be-
fore he left this life for the land of
shades. Such a ghost was well worth
knowing and 80 was the good old schol-
arly phantom, who required you to
speak to him in Latin, who appeared
only at the canonicai hour of u, and
who could not be got rid of with your
furniture, but remained one of the fix
lures of the ancient mansion.
To have such a ghost in your family
g rItn of nd
bility; once a man was known to be a
gentleman by the house he inhabited,
by his carriage, and his coat of-arms.
Now Mr.. Solomon Stubbs, the retired
cheese monger, buys the house of the
ruined Marquis de Sang-Azur, and pur-
chases a crest at the Heralds' College;
he may purchase almost anything, may
keep a dozen carriages, but he cannot
buy a ghost; it is only the ancient
families that can keep that proof OF
responsibility.
really believe that Uncle Ben valued
the shade that was said to haunt his
house far higher than all his more tangi-
bic property. Nothing made him more
angry than for any one to doubt its e1.
| isience; he was always ready to break
| lance with any skeptic on the subject
| and to offer him a bed in the haunted
room; and, although many of the young
| members of the family scoffed at the
story, very few had the courage to &C
cept the challenge.
One winter night, when the wind wal
moaning round the chimney-pots anc
through the caves, singing a dirgt
among the leafless branches of the gaun
| old spectral trees for the joys of th'
dead summer, the family was gathered
round the fire in the drawing
| Uncle Ben, who was standing Will
his back to the fire, said to his nephew
| 81 think, Joe, we had better put Oh
another log of wood; I don't feel in
clined for bed yet, and / suppose yo1
Youngsters intend to suit up half tn
night. as usual"
81 don't mean 10 turn in yet for one
uncle" replied Joe. Tell us one O
your ghost stories regular blood
curdler."
"Ah, Joe," said the old man, "I ar
afraid you are thorough skeptic. Yt'
disbelieve in all supernatural appear
ances."
Certainly" answered Joe, who wa
Secretary to the Literary Debating Sc
ciety in the little town of Marlborough
and who had written an essay to prov
the non existence of everything, and tbs
we are simply the creations of our ow
thoughts. "Certainly these impalpabl
specters are only illusions which the dis
ordered condition of our weak physics