The true northerner., 1878-03-01
MY UNCLE BEN.


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 it's decay !;
the dampness of its walls, and the cracks
in the discolored ceilings, which only
suggests to the vulgar mind ague and
rheumatism, are evidences to me of its
venerable age and respectability. The
very mice that scamper up and down in
the time worn wainscoting give me a
friendly greeting that 1 never meet in
your new-fashioned houses, built for a
race Of mammon- worshipers who have
made their wealth out of shoddy and
petroleum.
"People mourn over the various ills
that flesh is heir to, over the loss 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 !?
They are sneered at by foolish skeptics,
and insulted by dictionary -concoctors
like Walker what decent specter would
feel any respect for himself when people
call him specter 1t 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
head. What honest, gentlemanly ghost,
who lives in quiet, respectable country
house, would have any connection with
the disreputable rowing spirits that can
be called up by any charlatan or impos-
tor TO play on a cracked accordion, to
make stupid Jokes, to unite knots, and to
rap out ghastly 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 as
they sat in the old chimney corner.
Think of the thrilling interest he
excited when he revealed to the true heil
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 ghost was well worth
knowing and so was the good old schol
arly phantom, who required you tc
speak to him in Latin, who appeared
only at the canonicai hour of II, an6
who could not be got rid of with your
furniture, but remained one of the fix.
lures of the ancient mansion.
" To have such ghost in your family
is the only criterion of age and respecta
bility; once a man was known to be q
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 dozen carriages, but he canno
buy a ghost; it is only the ancien
families that can keep that proof O
responsibility.
Ireally believe that Uncle Ben valued
the shade that was said to haunt hi
house far higher than all his more tangi
BILE property. Nothing made him NOR,
angry than for any one to doubt its ex
istence; he was always ready to breal
a lance with any skeptic on the subject
and to offer him bed in the haunte,
room; and, although many of the younl
members of the family scoffed at tn
story, very few had the courage to &C
cept the challenge.
One winter night, when the wind wa
moaning round the chimney-pots an
through the caves, singing a dirg
among the leafess branches of the gaun
old spectral trees for the joys of th
dead summer, the family was gathere
round the fire in the drawing room.
Uncle Ben, who was standing wit
his back to the fire, said TO his nephew
"I think, Joe, we had better put o.
another log of wood; / don't feel in
clined for bed yet, and suppose yo
Youngsters intend TO sit up half th
night, as usual )"
"I don't mean to turn in yet for one
uncle" replied Joe. "TeI us one c
your ghost stories; a regular blooC
curdler."
"Ah, Joe," said the old man. "I al