Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1881-03-22
For the OXFORD DEMOCRAT.
GHOSTS.
BY X. p. NORWOOD.

Considered abstractly and by theory,
as a class-as one of the very many
strange things which enter into the make.
up of this strange, old world of our
ghosts can have. nothing said agains,
them that should lower them in the esti.
nation of an intelligent community
Looked upon. however. from a practical
and individual point Of view, the creation
of some of them cannot be said to have
ever been Of great service to the human
race. In the hands Of ignorantly cruel
and careless people, they sometimes serve
purpose to frighten bright, fearless
children into obedience, and to plant in
their minds the seeds of lifelong super
stition and nervousness when alone, after
dark, in almost any place.
lin olden times ghosts were all good and
holy, and never appeared to man except
for mans good, and they always came in
some pleasing, angelic form. But celes-
tial ghosts seem to have become extinct.
Those we have now are OF the earth,
earthly, and the belief in them which,
once. like the belief in witchcraft, was
entertained by many wise men and BY all
classes, has long since died out.
Since time long before the days OF
Hamlet, ghosts have figured conspicuous
ly in novels. A lost will, beautiful
girl, true lover, a cruel uncle, and q
ghost, properly compounded, go long
way toward making a popular, sensation
al novel. The ghost, Of course, sticks to
the girl through all her trials and diff
culties, and proves most available 60
between for herself and lover, and to that
end. for his ways are dark and unearthly,
frightens the old rascally uncle into re-
storing to her the wealth which has been
so cruelty kept from her. Through it all
runs a vein Of constancy, truth, heart
aches, and fainting fits, without which
no properly constructed novel OF this class
could weather the storm, and the curtain
falls as the happy lovers stand before the
hymenial altar, and the ghost is left with
out any permanent employment.
There are said to be many other ghosts
besides the match making kind. Some
walk through lonely graveyards, others
iutter over buried treasure, and some
times point out the spot to pure, honest
hearted people, who are, by the ghost,
deemed worthy Of thi. high mark OF es-
TEEN, as well as the reward. | have no
doubt cases of this sort would be quite
frequent if honest, true-souled people
were not so exceedingly scarce. As far
as our knowledge goes, ghosts live
through all eternity; and they would
have to keep skipping around pretty live
ly if they found many really single-heart-
ed unsel6sh persons. There are ghosts
with bruised heads and perforated bodies,
who shrek nightly over lonely swamPs
where they in the flesh, received their re-
lease from their earthly tabernacle.
These, however, are only imaginary
ghosts will now mention some real
ones. Ghosts Of wasted youth and its
affections, squandered talents, slighted
opportunities, and heart that has had
all its longings and aspirations after the
great and good crushed out beneath the
juggernaut of passion, and crumbled to
dust and ashes in the strife Of fast life.
These are the tormenting, haunting
ghosts that walk by our sides during the
broad glare OF MONDAY, that haunt our
.lumbers, and are all too likely to hiss in
our ears as we fold our hands with our
last breath. We know we deserve it as
we look back upon our winding path from
the cradle, and we are led to realize how
much better we might have made our
lives; we see how many bitters tears we
might have stayed, but did not; how
many we might have comforted but
would not. We can see, perhaps, how
we might have even now with US grand
" sweet face that would ever hold US
back from the wrong way; for there are
graves in the churchyard where the ghost
of some of our hearts is telling US
we sent, long before its time, an ach-
ing, broken heart to its last rest.
These are the ghosts that haunt US.
Staring at US, from behind the shadows
Of the passing hours, out OF their great
homeless eyes, in whose depths are visible
only the reflections Of barren wastes
astes of youth, love, talent-in fact, all
that we ever had worth living for.