The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1882-03-25
A GHOST STORY.
A Story of the English North Country.


Story of the English North Country.
g So you want me to tell you story
about ghost, do you, children?' said
Parson Goodharte, looking up from his
book, with queer little twinkle in the
corner of his dark-gray eyes, as his
three nephews and two nieces came
trooping around the snug armchair in
which he was sitting by the fire. "Well,
that won't be very easy, because | new
er saw a ghost myself, and I've never
met any one else who had, either But
L once knew man who thought he had
seen one-or felt one, rather-and a
very serious matter it was for him, as
you shall hear.
.'When | first came here as a young
curate, long before any of you young
folks were born, every man, woman and
child iG the village believed as firmly in
ghosts, witches and all that nonsense,
as they believed that the sun shone or
that the wind blew.
Give seen a strapping fellow six feet
high, big and strong enough to knock a
horse down, 90 half mile out of his
way rather than pass after dark a spot
where highwayman had been hanged
in chains; and more than one old wom-
an was scared into fits by a white cow
suddenly getting up from behind a
hedge, as she was going home through
the fields in the twilight.
Gas for the church-yard, all the mon
ey in. the Cottonborough Bank wouldn't
have tempted any of our village folk to
go through it after nightfall. And GER
tainly it was dismal place-there's no
denying it.
"Our pretty little new church over
the way wasn't built then, and the old
church stood right oelt at the very end
of the village just where Farmer Thomp.
sons big barn is now.
g 1t was a grim old building, all o.
dark-gray stone turned almost black by
the weather, and fast crumbiing away
The tower was one mass of dark ivy,
and the church-yard itself was full Of
gloomy frs and expresses, growing to
gether in thick clumps, which harboreC
owls and bats without number; and
when the moon glimmered through the
clouds upon stormy night, making the
white tomb-stones whittier and the black
trees blacker than ever, it certainly die
look as ghostly place as l ever saw il
my life.
''But as if all this was not enough
the spot had legend attached to it, anC
very grim one, too, Just at the fur
Their end of the church-yard, the grounC
fell steeply away to dark hollow
through which ran a stream.
"This hollow bore the pleasant name
of Dead Mans Gully and the tradi
tons of the county recorded that ;
great battle had been fought in thi,
place in the days of King Alfred, ant
that number of wounded Danes, who
had crawled to the stream to drink, haC
been cruelty slaughtered by the SaXons
despite the entreates of good monk
who tried hard to save them.
''Ever since that day-so ran the lie
gend-on the anniversary of the massa
ere, any one who passed the spot afte
nightfall would hear the shouts of the
slayers, and shrieks of the slain, min
Cling with the hoarse rush of the water
and would see-if the moon were brigh
enough to show it to him-the stream
running as red as blood.
$50, what with this nice story (Which
every soul in the district knew by hearth
and what with the gloominess of tn
place itself, the village people were a
Shy of it as if it had been fever hos
pital. ..... ........
"Ot course, | was very much put on
at seeing my parishioners making sucl
geese of themselves; but what was to b,
donep
Talking to them would only hav
made them worse, for they would hav'
told me that they, who had lived in tn
country all their lives, must know NOR
about it than l, who had only just com
there.
"At first l tried to shame them out o
their terrors by constantly going abou
the haunted spots myself, by night a
well as by day.
but it was not bit of use, for the,
were accustomed to consider it part o
clergyman business to deal witt
ghosts, and held that ought to be
match for any amount of them, if di,
my work properly.
$50 the only thing l could do was t.
leave their beliefs alone, and trust t.
time to wear them out.
cit was toward the end of my frs
year in the village, and the nights wer'
getting long and dark, when, one even
ing, as was coming home in the twi
light from visiting an old laborer, wh'
had fallen i'll, man came flying dow
the lane, full-speed, and ran BUM
against me so violently that he almos
Knocked me down.
"'Gently, my friend, said L; I'm
not made of IRON
go Be thaat thee, paarsonP answered
shaky voice, which l recognized a
once as that of Dick Grimes, the miller
Stand by me if thee be a Christian
monr
a. What's the matterP asked |, won
dering not little what could have hap
pened to brighten a great sturdy fellow
I r. a