The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1882-05-10


Old Aunt Hubby was prone to tell,
with half-ffightened look and bated
breath, Of the terrible secret of the
old Benson WELL" and of the un-
pardoned soul that was doomed to
ahant the arth till the Angil Gabriel
should blow his horn."
What is the secret of that over
whelming depression that weighs
upon ones being when in the pres
ence of an old deserted housey 1t
oyerpowers you. You may strive to
laugh it down, but the echo of that
laugh is a wierd reproof and mock
cry; you may strive TO reason it
away, but it is not obedient to the
intellect; it is not the slave OF rea-
son. Come with me to that old
house ia the shadows of the twi-
light, and see how quickly are the
smiles of ridicule dispelled.
| sought this ruin upon an Au-
tumn evening; / picked my way
through its wilderness of weeds, fol-
lowing the beaten track of some
prowling tenant that mad his chosen
path to door and cellar way. saw
the yawning roof; | saw the yellow
leaves Of twenty years that had been
whisked in at the gaping sashes, and
had been whirled by the clustering
wind into great piles in the damp
corners. / looked out upon the high
grown weeds and mildewed lilacs
that swayed against the window
sills. The drop of the squirrels nut
ratified on the rafters overhead, and
every sheltered corner was festoonep
with heavy cobwebs laden with the
dust of generations. / saw the chin.
ney-place, the old brick oven with
its empty void, and in the fire plach
below an ashy ember Of an old back
log lying upon the hearth that once
was radiant in its glow. Here were
worn hollows in the floor that SEEM
ed to speak-imprints of the old
armchair, that told whole volumes
of past cozy comfort at this fre-side;
here niche in the plastered wall,
and round spot above, which, with
the testimony of the dents in the
floor beneath, told plainly of the
evening pipe and the figure in the
tilted chair. There was cupboard
door, with its worn spot about the
knob; here a rusty nail, with the
shadow of its hanging coat still plain
ly visible upon the wall-a hundred
things, and each seemed trying to
tell its story in some mysterious lam
guage of its own.
1 sought out the hooks and cup
boards, and | remember at length
finding myself lost in deep day
dream merely at the sight of mil
dewed fragment which / had kicked
up on the floor. 1t was nothing but
musty bit of leather-nothing but
little baby shoe turned up from
pile of rubbish on the closet floor.
There was an oppressive sugges-
tive stiffness that found my ear ever
on the alert for some half-expected
whisper from every gloomy corner,
and that riveted my restless eyes as
though seeking for an answering look
from every dark recess. Why do
you peer SO slowly and cautiously
into the shadows of the dark closet?
Why do you so often turn and glance
behind as you pass among its
gloomy passages? What is it that
you seek? And as YOU reach the
top of those tottering stairs, why
that quick and sweeping glance?
Why that shudder but half con-
cealed? Yes. it is damp. The air
is heavy with the emanations of
mould and rotting timber. But it
is not the chill that brings the shud-
der; it is not the dampness. The
soggy floors break and crumble be-
meath your feet, and you draw your
wraps close about you as you pick
your way through its dark and mus
ty halls, so clammy cold The doors
have fallen from their hinges, and
lie in shapeless heaps among the
rotten timbers of the floor. The
toppling rafters and sagging beams
are tumbling from their moorings,
and are damp with Shiny mildew,
and peopled with destroying worms.
Snails and lizards are crushed be-
meath your footsteps, and as you
hurry toward the door. the coils OF
a skulking snake disappear before
you among the dark holes in the
timbers.- William Hamilton Gibson,
IN Harper's Magazine for May.