St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1891-08-29
MY ROMANCE.
Who the Ghost at the Old Homo
! Really Was.

| Into every life comes great sorrow,
sooner or later; and when I was
twenty-five my parents died, almost Al
the same time.
In the first agony Of my grief closed
my ancestral home, Just as it was, dis
missing the old servants and intrus.;ng
the keys to q valued friend Of my late
father My bereavement gave me q
gloomy turn of mind, and study wa.
my only solace. Through all my col
lego days and preparation for the law
] made few friends and never visited
the dear old home, hallowed by SO
many tender recollections.
Five years at the bar, without any
home ties or outside pleasures, began
to prey upon my health; and in the
summer of 1SS-- my physician per.
cmptorily ordered me to rest.
My nerves were worn with the ten
sion of pleading the case of Bond, in
the great case of Bond and Bradstreet,
which so stirred the most aristocratic
circles of Boston in that year.
Most of my classmates were married.
but, as yet, l had never seen a woman
] cared to spend an hour with since my
fair mother died.
l proudly said that love was myth,
beyond the ties of blood: and not a par
ticle of romance was in my mental
composition.
Realizing that my physicians advice
was such as l ought to follow, my
thoughts turned to the long-dessrted
house in Earleigh, but two days jour
ney from Boston.
arrived at dusk on a warm summer
evening. and, taking my gripsack in
hand, sought my old friend for the key
of the silent house.
He greeted me with delight, and
urged me to remain with his family.
Years had silvered his hair, but had not
cooled his regard for my fathers only
child.
Il don't like it at all. Frank" he
said. as took my departure. ''You will
hare the TYPOS in that house. It
hasn't been aired, is damp; really, you
must not GO"
His earnestness was SO impressive
that asked:
'Why? You must have some more
potent reason. Mr.. Lee"
With evident embarrassment. he an
swered:
Il hear, unpleasant as it may be to
You. the house is said to be haunted;
lights are often seen, cleaning from
the windows. and"
Nonsense. don't believe in ghosts.
There is plenty Of fuel in the shed-or
was-I have matches. Heat will con-
quer the dampness. and q revolver will
dispel all the ghosts believe in. Come
over in the morning and you will find
me all right. Good night
l stood at the gate and looked up at
the great, rambling structure. All was
dark and still, not even a breath of
wind stirred the leaves of the large
honcysuckle that climbed at its own
sweet will over one wing. The air was
heavy with its rich perfume.
A rose tree. growing tall and branch
ing, was laden with blossoms, their
pure white cleaning in the darkness
The borders of the once well-ke2t
beds were rank and tall, and q hardy
hibiscus had nearly obstructed the path
way. At least, no vandal hand had dis |
turbed my mothers flowers
The key turned rustily in the lock |
and tho door creaked ON its hinges. / |
stood for a moment like . guilty crea-
ture ere entered. and almost doubted |
the propriety of spending q night in q
dwelling that had not been occupied for
nine years.
The air was close but not as damp
and musty as ! anticipated, and light
ing small lantern. with which l had
provided myself, went in
examined the hanginR-lamp in the
hall, but found it destitute of oil, rs
c expected
One in the parlor was full and. to my
surprise, wick nor oil seemed candied
Its light illuminated the room and lent
a home!ike glow to its appointments.
Dust was on the rich hangings at the
windows. over the oil paintings ON the
wall, and tinted the walnut of tho
furniture with a gray hue. The closed
piano reminded me too strongly of nv
mother: ! could not stay in that room,
whose orderly precision carried me back ,
10 the day of her interment. |.
l sought the library and soon had a
glowing fire in the CRATE. Little Z
'hivers ran down my back and began Z
@ feel uncanny fears which 1 resolute- {
v shook of. {
! busted myself airing some bedding I
" the fire and improvising me a couch I
N the lounge. Although sultry sum-
ner's night. the fire was not uncom.
ortable. q
Reclining = the very easy chair
where | used to nestle as a child. with S
ny feet on the furnished brass fender b
md cigar between my lips l tried to S
eel at home. u
The books looked down at me from y
he shelves and old memories kept me {
ompany.
What heighborhood this must be, 4
ot a thing had been disturbed in ali s.
hose years; indeed burglars were un. c
nown in Farleigh. v
A slight noise in the room above Il
reused me, and took my lantern and h
xpiored the chambers. o
Rats said, as was about to de- 4;
rend. when | again heard it: this time IL
knew it was in the attic. could hear n
distinctly.
Secreting myself beneath the stairs | n
armed my lantern down and waited. n
] am no coward, but it was no pleas
Mt sensation to wait for those soft foot 81
Ills to reach the lower stair. The al
airway was closed up in the old style b,
18th a door. :,
A hand was on the latch, l grasped D,
y revolver. The door opened, softly b,
nd slowly, and l turned on the full 81
rflt ssf vUv1 81
''nting my pistol at-what? a
.s&fand 1 &. L