Year: 1874

Though fresh air and "change," wa


told, were indispensable, I resolved t.


do without them, since one might jus


as well die as be frightened to death.


In the July of the fourth year, how


ever, I received an invitation to tn,


seaside, which I really thought it saf,


to accept. My host and hostess 1ivet


at Disney Point, in Cornwall, very


lonely spot, it is true, but one in which


no burglary had ever been committed


within the memory of woman. "Thert


were no bad people, wrote my friends


who were aware of my nervous peculiar


titles, "within a hundred miles Of


them" When I reached their house,


was really inclined to believe that this


was the case. A more beautiful and


retired spot than the little village in


which they dwelt, nor one inhabited by


a more simple and innocent set of peo.


pie, it was impossible to imagine. II


was situated in a wooded ravine,


through, which trout stream


ran down to the sea and upon the hill


top, between it and the ocean, were the


most picturesque church and church
| yard I, or any ones eye, ever beheld.
From the house we could only hear the
| distant whisper of the waves, like the
murmuring hum of bees, but they were
giant waves, and the rocks were torn
and split with their fury into wierd and
horrid shapes. It was the grandest
sea-coast had ever visited, and all day
long sat beside it with my sketch book
or merely Watching the white wrath of
the breakers, and listening to the tnun-
der in the caverns at my feet. I was
not at all afraid of the sea-when I was
upon the land. Indeed, 1 am not
alarmed at anything Notwithstanding
what some people say to the contrary
unless there is a reasonable cause for
fear. For instance, I am not afraid
at least, I was not until the catastrophe
occurred of which am about to relate,
of supernatural apparitions. When /
announced my intention, one evening,
of going up the hill to sketch the
churchyard by moonlight, there arose
quite rude litter in my drawing-room.
"Surely not alone, Mary Anne? Let
one of the girls go with you," said my
hostess.


" What is there to be afraid of in a
church-yard No, thank you," re-
piled proudly. "The miserable su-
perstitions of the country do not afflict
me, do assure you"


'But it is so lonely up there, my
DEAR


"What of that ? Solitude and still
ness are the fit accompaniments of such
a solemn scene. l had much rather go
there by myself"


I was resolved to exhibit my indie
pendence, as we'll as to do away with
any false impressions my excellent
hostess might have received from Char
lotte or others with respect to my cour-
age; but at the same time she need not
have reminded me that it was $50 lone
ly up there" l did not expect to find
Disney churchyard the center of fash


on, or the scene of an excursion picnic
at ten o'clock at night, of course her
remark WAS officious and unnecessary,
and at the same time it made my blood
run cold. However, when the moon
rose, so did I, and, sketch book in
hand, toiled up to the old church,
which was also, from its prominent
position, a landmark used by sailors,
which taught them to avoid the rocks at
Disney Point. Whatever might be the
matter, there was always a wind up
there, and even in that still summer
night it was wandering about the
grasses of the graves, and whispering
into the ears of the stone gargoyles of
the church, which seemed to grin in
malice at its news of storm and wreck
to come.


1 seated myself on my camp-stool,
just in front of the porch, and began
what intended to be a hasty sketch,
just few strokes, to be filed in at my
leisure, for felt the situation to be
uncanny," and already wished myself
at home. My fingers shook a little,
certainly not with cold, and, though
the architecture was said to be "fine
specimen of the perpendicular" it did
not appear so in my sketch-book.


Suddenly heard a subdued sob the
utterance, as it seemed to me, of some
poor creature of my own sex in distress.
It came from an obscure corner of the
churchyard, where the graves were not
so we'll cared for and tended as the
others were-a spot, had been told,
where those were laid whom the pitt
less sea had drowned. When ship
was cast upon the rocks yonder it was
rare even for one of its crew to reach
that rock-bound shore alive and after
great storm whole ships companies
were sometimes buried at once in the
churchyard of Disney head.


I listened with beating heart, and the
sound was repeated; and this time [
felt sure it was as I had supposed.
Doubtless some woman had come to
weep in secret over the grave of her
sailor son or husband there was no
need to be frightened in such case. 1t |
might be that should be able to give |
her comfort. I rose, and moving to-
ward the wreck corner (as it was called), |
could dimly make out woman's figure |
kneeling at the head of a grave. In the |
presence of so great a sorrow, [ seemed
to lose all selfish fear, and ventured |
softly to address her. She did not |
reply, nor even so much as tuIn her
head, though I felt certain she must
have heard me; and since she VAS
woman, and did not speak, 1 felt there
must be something very wrong with
her. AS I drew nearer, beheld
spectacle that overwhelmed me with
pity. The unhappy creature before me
was naked to the waist, and with her
arms straight down by her side, was
gazing on the grave beneath her with a
look of indescribable despair. She shed
no tear, but her eyes wore a look of
hopeless woe and yearning beyond all
sorrow.


"You are killing yourself, my poor
woman, reasoned I, "to kneel there in
such a plight. The dead you mourn
can ask no such sacrifice as this that
you should join them"


But again she answere nothing and
then. to my horror, observed that she
had dug anotI er grave at the head of
that she was watching, and was already
buried in it up to her waist. Was she,
then. bent on committing suicide, or
was she herself an inhabitant of the
tomb, like those around her, and were
the graves indeed giving up their dead
at that witching hour of night, as I had
read of, but had not believed?


In an agony of terror, such as even I
had never before experienced, flung
down my sketch-book, and rushed from
the churchyard and down the hill.


"What is the matter, Mary Anne ?"
cried nv amazed hostess, who was sit
ting up for me with her husband in the
parior, as I tore into the room shrieking
for help.


"Matter !' cried I. "There is poor
young woman, with nothing upon her,
half buried alive in the wreck corner of
the churchyard. She has already lost