Millheim Journal. [volume] (Millheim, Pa.) 1876-1984, 1880-01-08
The Christmas Ghost.

"Look alive there! !" growls the coach
man as the passengers enter the coach. GAIL
aboard ~ shouts the guard. A few cries of
Farewell a merry melody on the horn, a
crack of the whip, and the Comet il off,
laden with school-boys, prim maiden ladies,
stiff old gentleman, and jolly commercial
travellers. the greater part of whom are GO
ing home for the holidays.
The air is keen, the skies are blue, the
road frozen hand, and a most prosperous
journey is anticipated. AT nightfall they
enter tiny village, and there being no
change of horses, the coach joys serenely
over the rough stones of the High street,
when crack a wheel rolls Off and the
passengers have spill. Although many
female sore ans are heard, no one isseriOus-
ly hurt. Chiefly disconcerting, however,
is the idea of passing Christmas eve here,
when CHEEKY firesldcs and anxious friends
are waiting on ahead. But the coach will
not be in travelling order until the next
morning, so there is no help for it, and they
all adjourn to the Red Lion, a neat little
inn, which is quite futtercd at the advent
Of 80 many guests.
After hearty supper they all gather
around the enormous fireplace, where the
flame roars up the chimney as though cele-
brating Christmas with all its heart. Each
contributes to bowl of punch, and the
fumes Of the liquor, combined with the
good nature of the season, having dispelled
their British reserve, they propose one an
others health until the punch is exhausted.
Fill itup again, and I'll tell you story, "
cries very stout, rosy man, In bag wig.
nothing could be better. The bowl is full
to the brim, and the stout gentleman coughs,
looks solemn, winks at the bar-maid, and
begins:
my father on retiring from business,
bought q country seat in Sussex called The
Oaks Miles of beautiful woodland sur
rounded the gloomy house, which was so
large it could accommodate a hundred
guests with ease. There had been rumOrs
of ghostly tenants, but we paid no attention
10 them and took possession at once. The
only mysterious thing about the place was
a door which could not be opened. Every
means but fire had been employed, and
father fnally-gave it up. The first Christ
mas we gave ball. Ali the country was
there, and gorgeous supper was prepared.
But in the midst of a reel, the candles
burned blue and a beautiful female glid-
ed silently through the room. / followed
and saw her enter the mystic door. When
returned the party had just recovered
from the awful hush prevailing when the
glfost had passed. told my tale, and we
rushed upstairs 10 the room. We entered
easily, and found nothing save a few old
letters on the floor. We picked them up
and learned the sorrowful history of the
beautiful girl. She was the daughter of an
Earl, and had loved a handsome cavalier,
against whose family her father bore a deep
hatred. She persisted in her affection, and
even vowed that sooner or later, in life or
in death, sic and her lover would be united.
One Chr:smGs eve, as father and daughter
stood in tho ballroom, the old dispute was
renewed. She besought the proud Earl in
piteous accents TO consen: TO her wedding
the man she loved and save her from a
lingering death. lie only replied by bit
ter, contemptnous smile Finally she cross
ed the room, and. turning, waved a
naughty farewell to her cruel sire But
what a spectacle met her eyesl A gloomy
procession oil black-robed monks, bearing
torches, entered the apartment. They filed
in slowly, and last came bier on which
lay cold and stark her lover. With wild
shrek of despair, she flung herself on her
knees by mis- side and buried her face in his
hands. Daughter, said monk standing
near, 'be comferted. She answered not.
Her heart had broken. She was dead.
There was q silence in the little public
room, broken only by the crackle of the
burning logs
poor dear !" said the landlady, wiping
her eyes on her apron.
The stout gentleman laughed q hearty
laugh that shook the glasses in the bar.
"Bless you, my dear madam, you needn't
be wasting your highly-valuable sympathies
on this story of mine, for don't mind tell
ing you that my father no more owned or
dreamed of owing an estate in Sussex or
any other county than the head of one of
your shining andirons. But I'll have to
sing you a song to pay for my fraud, so
here goes.
And thus the evening passed pleasantly
on until bedtime, when the meeting broke
up with three cheers for the stout gentle
man, including his bag wig.