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The Haunted Homestead

BY MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH

CHICAGO M. A. DONOHUE & CO.

THE HAUNTED HOMESTEAD.

A residence for woman, child, or man, A dwelling-place--and yet no habitation; A house, but under some prodigious ban Of excommunication.--HOOD.

In childhood I always had a fearless faith in ghosts. I desired before all sights to see them, and threw myself in the way of meeting them whenever and wherever there seemed the slightest possibility of so doing. Whenever there were mysterious sounds heard in the night, I listened with breathless interest, arose from the bed in silent eagerness, and went stealing on tiptoe through the dark house in the hopes of meeting the ghosts. Once I met a severe blow on the nose from the sharp edge of an open door, and once a tom cat, who made one spring from the top of the pantry shelves upon my head, and another thence through a broken window pane. I would have liked to fancy him a ghostly cat, only I knew him too well for our own "Tom," the cunningest thief that ever run on four feet. Another time, perambulating through the house at midnight, I surprised a burglar, who, mistaking me in the darkness for the master of the house, the watch, or an ambush, jumped straight over my head , and made his escape at the back door. But I must say that I never met a ghost, or even a "vestige" of a ghost until--but I think I will begin at the beginning and tell you the whole story.

As Mathilde was rich and I was comparatively poor, this friendship brought me many advantages, among which was the privilege of annual travel and change of scene. About the first of every July, Mathilde's father and mother would leave their sugar plantation in Louisiana, and travel northward. They usually arrived at the Newton Academy about the tenth of the month, in time to be present at the annual examination and exhibition of the pupils. Upon these occasions, Mathilde, who possessed quickness and vivacity, rather than depth or strength of mind, generally achieved a brilliant success; though she often told me that her triumph in being first at these milestones on the road to fame, was nothing more than the success of the swift-footed, careless hare over the slow and painstaking tortoise, who would win the race at the goal.

However this might be, Mr. and Mrs. Legare were equally proud of their daughter's genius and beauty, and to reward her "industry and application," as they called it, they took her each year to spend the long vacation of July and August, with them, in making a tour of the Virginia Springs, which are the most frequented by Southerners, for the convenience of bringing their servants with them.

Upon one occasion, however--that of the vacation preceding the last year of Mathilde's residence at school--Mr. Legare determined to vary their usual route by going to the Northern watering places of Saratoga and Ballstown. And, as usual, I, with the consent of my guardians, accompanied the party as their invited guest.

We arrived at Saratoga at the very height of the season. In all, I suppose that there might have been several thousand visitors at the springs. The United States Hotel, at which we stopped, was uncomfortably crowded. And, though Mr. Legare grumbled in a very old-gentlemanly way, and Mrs. Legare wished herself at home again, Mathilde and I enjoyed the crowd for the crowd's sake, and experienced the truth of the popular adage of "the more the merrier."

At a place like that, even in the ballroom, "distinction" was almost as impossible as it is said to be in London, where, now that the "duke" is dead, no one is any one. Scarcely anybody was anybody at Saratoga that season. Many a village beauty, the toast of her own little circle, and many a city belle, the queen of her own coterie, who went thither, reasonably expecting to make a "sensation," found herself and her claims to notice lost in a brilliant multitude all more or less expectant or disappointed.

I thought Mathilde, with her tall and beautifully rounded form, stately head, pure olive complexion, shaded by jet-black ringlets, and lighted up by laughing black eyes, bridged over with arch and flexible black eyebrows--would attract some attention.

Not a bit of it! Heiress and beauty, as she was, Mathilde Legare was merely one in the crowd. There were hundreds with equal or greater claims to distinction. And so our beautiful Mathilde was not enthroned. Of course she soon attracted around her a circle of old and new acquaintances and had from them a due share of attention.

Among the first of these new acquaintances was a young gentleman of the name of Howard. His introduction to our party, without being romantic, was certainly marked by singularity. It occurred the third day after our arrival, at one of the weekly balls at the United States. It happened to be a fine, cool evening, and the assembly upon the occasion was unusually large. The saloon was quite crowded, leaving but little room for the motions of the dancers.

Mathilde was looking very beautiful that night. She wore a dress with a three-fold skirt of very fine, transparent thale over rose-colored silk, and which with every motion floated around her graceful form with a mistlike softness and lightness; a bertha and falls of the finest lace veiled her rounded arms and neck. She wore no jewels, but a wreath of rich white heliotrope crowned her jetty ringlets, and a bouquet of the same odoriferous flowers employed her slender fingers.

Yes! she was looking very lovely. Nevertheless, Mathilde, as well as myself, seemed destined to adorn the sofa as a "wall flower" all the evening, for set after set formed until every one was complete. The music struck up and the dancing commenced, and still no one came near us, nor did we even so much as see, within the range of our vision, one single person that we knew.

Mathilde voted this "the very stupidest ball" she was ever at, and hoped her papa would never come to Saratoga again.

I, for my part, fell into the study of faces, and through them into the study of character, and through that into dreaming.

Presently a head--start not gentle reader, there was a living body attached to it--attracted my particular attention. It was not because it was above every other head present--though had not this been the case I should not at that distance have seen it--nor was it because it was a very handsome one--for there were others much handsomer; but it was a very remarkable, characteristic, individual sort of head--a monarchical head, with a forehead that in its commanding height and breadth seemed the natural throne of intellectual sovereignty, with a strongly and clearly-marked nose and mouth, with eyes full of calm power--that surveyed the multitude below with the quiet interest of a king inspecting his army on some festive parade day.

"Hush! he is looking this way," said my companion, blushing and casting down her eyes.

I was not mistaken.

Mr. Legare presented the stranger as "Mr. Howard, of Boston," first to me, whom he favored with a bow, but certainly not with a single glance, and next to Mathilde, whom he almost immediately petitioned to become his partner in the next quadrille.

Miss Legare bowed a gracious acceptance to his suit.

The presentation over, Mr. Legare went to rejoin his wife, who could not endure to be left alone.

Mr. Howard remained standing before us, and soon, by the brilliancy, variety and interest of his conversation, attracted and engaged both his hearers. He was certainly a man of the most distinguished and commanding presence that I had ever seen, and one for whom every hour's acquaintance increased our esteem.

When the new quadrille formed, with a graceful bow he extended his hand to Mathilde and led her to the head of one of the sets. He danced as well as he conversed. Why should I run into detail? Mathilde's fancy was captivated. They finished the quadrille, and for the remainder of the evening Mr. Howard's attentions, though very devoted, were marked by too much delicacy and good taste to attract notice from any one except her to whom they were directed.

The impression made upon Mathilde was as yet not sufficiently deep to render her reserved with me upon this subject. Consequently when the ball was over, and we had reached our double-bedded chamber, my friend broke forth in eager exclamations.

"Did you ever see such a fine-looking person, Agnes? And then his conversation! how brilliant! and how varied! how much he must have traveled! and then how well he dances!"

And so she rattled on, talking incessantly of the new acquaintance until we went to bed, and I went to sleep leaving her still talking.

The next morning, I noticed that Mathilde spent more than usual time and attention upon her toilette. She looked very pretty--when did she not?--in her embroidered cambric morning dress, with no ornament but her jetty ringlets flowing down each side her freshly-blooming face.

When we went downstairs, there was Mr. Howard waiting in the hall, to offer Mathilde his arm to the breakfast table.

Afterward at the ladies bowling-alley who but Mr. Howard stood at Mathilde's elbow to hand the balls? Who took her in to dinner? Who made a horseblock of his knee and a stepping-stone of the palm of his hand to lift Mathilde into her saddle? Who attended her in her afternoon ride? In her evening walk? In the duet with the piano accompaniment at night?

Howard--still Howard!

Until after several weeks of this association, at last papa opened his eyes and inquired first of himself and next of his host:

"Who is this Mr. Howard, who is paying such very particular attention to my daughter?"

"Mr. Howard, sir; Mr. Howard is a very talented young mechanic of Boston," answered the proprietor.

"A--what?" questioned the astonished old gentleman.

"The foul fiend!" exclaimed the old aristocrat, throwing up his hands in consternation, as he trotted off.

His daughter talking, dancing, riding, flirting with a mechanic! Oh! horror, horror, horror!

The result of this was, that after Mr. Legare's perturbed feelings had become somewhat calmed he called for his bill, settled it, took four places in the morning coach, ordered his servants to pack up, and the next day set out for the South.

He was very much disturbed; Mrs. Legare said nothing, but poor Mathilde was miserable, having been made to feel that she had unwittingly brought discredit upon herself and all her family.

Mr. Legare left Mathilde and myself at our school, and with his wife proceeded to Louisiana.

I soon saw that the warm-hearted young Southern maiden really was, or believed herself to be, the subject of a deep and unhappy attachment; she became reserved to all, even to me, and her health suffered. As weeks grew into months her indisposition increased. One day her emotion broke the bounds of reserve, and throwing herself into my arms, she exclaimed:

"Oh, Agnes! if Frank would only write to me I should not feel so wretched!"

"Frank? who is Frank, my love?" I inquired in surprise, for I had never heard this name among our acquaintances.

She blushed deeply. "Oh! I mean Mr. Howard, you know! Frank Howard."

"No--I did not know! Has it come to this? and do you call him Frank? And do you, perhaps, correspond with him? Oh, Mathilde, Mathilde, my dear! take care!"

"Oh! no, no, I do not correspond with him! never have done so! he never even asked me! but after pa got so high with him, he looked mournful and dignified, and took leave of me! Oh! he might write to me."

"Mathilde, knowing your father's sentiments, he would not, as a man of honor, commence a correspondence with you. But tell me, dear, how far this affair had gone?"

"Oh! very far indeed; he was going to ask me of papa that very day we left!"

"Wait, Mathilde! you are so young! if this is anything more serious than a passing fancy on both sides, he will delay until you leave school, and then he will first seek you at your father's house. This is the only course for a man of honor in such a case, you are aware."

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