Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1892-04-07
WHERE GHOSTS WALK
"A Haunted Mansion In Ancient VILLA
MISSOURI

"A Haunted Mansion In Ancient William.
burg.
Seated in the cozy parlor of a vet
older house, face to face with the sweet
laced, sweet-toned mistress. we quite
believe the recital given by the voice
whose modulations are like s'the music
OF CarryF' to ears once familiar with
the slow ripple of Virginia speech-of
the click of high heels that echoes
along the hall to the door of the apart
ment in which we are now seated, and
that the door flies open as the footballs
reach it-a phenomenon so often re-
peated that the occurrence excites no
alarm. scarcely remark, among the
visible inmates of the dwelling. Some
times the wearer of the high-heeled
slippers walks in broad daylight,
put usually at night. All at
tempts to fathom the mystery
have been fruitless. The accustomed
ears of our hostess have supplied other
senses with Il vived conception of what
manner of ghost is the unquiet visitant.
The feet are small, she is sure; the
tread is light, with the buoyancy of
youth; the carriage is high-bred. The
tap. tap of the dainty heels begins
at the back OF the wide hall, and moves
steadily to the door, obedient to her
touch, the door is opened, as by the
eager hand of an eXpectant lOvcr-then
all Is silent. Did the nameIess she
meet her fate upon the threshold? Or
does she still seek and pursue it?
An upper chamber is haunted by a
young Frenchman-one of Rocham-
beaus officers, who died here during
n1t,ff !,
in use then by Washington and others
in high command. The apartment
across the hall from the for
eigner's bathroom has periodical
visitations upon the anniversary of
the decease of Chancellor Wythe
who once owned and lived in the man
sion. lie was done to death by poison
administered by his nephew. At the
hour and on the night in which he
breathed his last, a closet door I'M
closes, an icy wind pours forth. and n
cold hand is passed over the face Of
whomsoever may be the occupant of
the bed. More than one sceptic has
begged for and obtained permission to
sleep in the chamber upon the ami
versary, but none has ever cared to re-
peat the experiment.
They are, one and all, punctilious
ghosts, the smiling narrator adds,
never encroaching upon each others
beats, behavior becoming Rocham-
beau's contemporary, the dainty dame
of the clicking tread, and the courtly
chancellor. A house upon the same
side of the street is as affi uent in dis
embodied residents or guests, offering
as it does especial facilities for their
occupation and entertainment in a
double roof and divers secret chambers,
one of which was but recently discov-
cred.
All this well-attested ghost lore does
not touch our hearts quicken our
fancy as does one small pane of glass
in n pleasant home across the way
from the double-roofed domicile. The
room is not large, and somewhat Sc
cluded. looking out upon a side garden.
Lilac bushes, mossy with age, shade
the lower part of the window. 1t is
Just the nook that would be selected
for lonely musing or silent weeping by
love-sick girl or stricken wnman. We
can see the mourner leaning her fore
head against the sash as she writes
with her diamond ring upon the glass:
''f796. Nov. %. All, fatal day." Ira
dition is dumb as to the trembling rec.
ord-silence we hardly regret.
A young girl. who might be the
double of what the sad writer was be.
fore the fatal shadow swallowed up
the light of her world, offers to trace a
facsimile of the piteous little legend
upon tissue-paper for me, and I watch
her intent face and slender fingers
with growing pain I can not define,
only that it goes with thoughts OF
other fingers-dust and ashes long
ago-and of the old story that is never
trite, of love, of loss, and heart-break.
She who does me the favor does no,
know why I can not smile in thanking
her for her goodness to the stranger
within her gates, As | might handle o
sentient thing, I fold the bit of paper,
and lay it gently between the leaves Of
the notebook that records, after all,
but little that we have seen, heard
and felt during our sojourn in the dear
old town where ghosts walk.-MarioI
HarIand. in IIarper's Weekly.