Part 34 (2/2)

_Miss Niphet._. I will try to tell you one, which I remember imperfectly. It relates, as many such stories do, to a buried treasure.

An old miser had an only daughter; he denied himself everything, but he educated her well, and treated her becomingly. He had acc.u.mulated a treasure, which he designed for her, but could not bear the thought of parting with it, and died without disclosing the place of its concealment. The daughter had a lover, not absolutely poor, nor much removed from it. He farmed a little land of his own, When her father died, and she was left dest.i.tute and friendless, he married her, and they endeavoured by economy and industry to make up for the deficiencies of fortune. The young husband had an aunt, with whom they sometimes pa.s.sed a day of festival, and Christmas Day especially. They were returning home late at night on one of these occasions; snow was on the ground the moon was in the first quarter, and nearly setting. Crossing a field, they paused a moment to look on the beauty of the starry sky; and when they again turned their eyes to the ground, they saw a shadow on the snow; it was too long to have any distinct outline; but no substantial form was there to throw it. The young wife clung trembling to the arm of her husband. The moon set, and the shadow disappeared. New Year's Day came, and they pa.s.sed it at the aunt's. On their return the moon was full, and high in heaven. They crossed the same field, not without hesitation and fear. In the same spot as before they again saw the shadow; it was that of a man in a large loose wrapper, and a high-peaked hat. They recognised the outline of the old miser.

The husband sustained his nearly fainting wife; as their eyes were irresistibly fixed on it, it began to move, but a cloud came over the moon, and they lost sight of it. The next night was bright, and the wife had summoned all her courage to follow out the mystery; they returned to the spot at the same hour; the shadow again fell on the snow, and again it began to move, and glided away slowly over the surface of the snow.

They followed it fearfully. At length it stopped on a small mound in another field of their own farm. They walked round and round it, but it moved no more. The husband entreated his wife to remain, while he sought a stick to mark the place. When she was alone, the shadow spread out its arms as in the act of benediction, and vanished. The husband found her extended on the snow; he raised her in his arms; she recovered, and they walked home. He returned in the morning with a pickaxe and spade, cleared away the snow, broke into the ground, and found a pot of gold, which was unquestionably their own. And then, with the usual end of a nurse's tale, 'they lived happily all the rest of their lives.'

_Miss Ilex._ Your story, though differing in all other respects, reminds me of a ballad in which there is a shadow on the snow,

Around it, and round, he had ventured to go, But no form that had life threw that stamp on the snow.{1}

_Mr. Gryll._ In these instances the shadow has an outline, without a visible form to throw it. I remember a striking instance of shadows without distinguishable forms. A young chevalier was riding through a forest of pines, in which he had before met with fearful adventures, when a strange voice called on him to stop. He did not stop, and the stranger jumped up behind him. He tried to look back, but could not turn his head. They emerged into a glade, where he hoped to see in the moonlight the outline of the unwelcome form. But 'unaccountable shadows fell around, unstamped with delineations of themselves.'{2}

1 Miss Bannerman's _Tales of Superst.i.tion and Chivalry_.

2 _The Three Brothers_, vol. iv. p. 193.

_Miss Gryll._ Well, Mr. MacBorrowdale, have you no ghost story for us?

_Mr. MacBorrowdale._ In faith, Miss Gryll, ghosts are not much in my line: the main business of my life has been among the driest matters of fact; but I will tell you a tale of a bogle, which I remember from my boyish days.

There was a party of witches and warlocks a.s.sembled in the refectory of a ruined abbey, intending to have a merry supper, if they could get the materials. They had no money, and they had for servant a poor bogle, who had been lent to them by his Satanic majesty, on condition that he should provide their supper if he could; but without buying or stealing.

They had a roaring fire, with nothing to roast, and a large stone table, with nothing on it but broken dishes and empty mugs. So the firelight shone on an uncouth set of long hungry faces. Whether there was among them 'ae winsome wench and wawlie,' is more than I can say; but most probably there was, or the bogle would scarcely have been so zealous in the cause. Still he was late on his quest. The friars of a still nouris.h.i.+ng abbey were making preparations for a festal day, and had despatched a man with a cart to the nearest town, to bring them a supply of good things. He was driving back his cart well loaded with beef, and poultry, and ham; and a supply of choice rolls, for which a goodwife in the town was famous; and a new arrival of rare old wine, a special present to the Abbot from some great lord. The bogle having smelt out the prize, presented himself before the carter in the form of a sailor with a wooden leg, imploring charity, The carter said he had nothing for him, and the sailor seemed to go on his way. He reappeared in various forms, always soliciting charity, more and more importunately every time, and always receiving the same denial. At last he appeared as an old woman, leaning on a stick, who was more pertinacious in her entreaties than the preceding semblances; and the carter, after a.s.severating with an oath that a whole s.h.i.+pload of beggars must have been wrecked that night on the coast, reiterated that he had nothing for her. 'Only the smallest coin, master,' said the old woman. 'I have no coin,' said the carter. 'Just a wee bite and sup of something,' said the old woman; 'you are scarcely going about without something to eat and drink; something comfortable for yourself. Just look in the cart: I am sure you will find something good.' 'Something, something, something,'

said the carter; 'if there is anything fit to eat or drink in the cart, I wish a bogle may fly away with it.' 'Thank you,' said the bogle, and changed himself into a shape which laid the carter on his back, with his heels in the air. The bogle made lawful prize of the contents of the cart. The refectory was soon fragrant with the odour of roast, and the old wine flowed briskly, to the great joy of the a.s.sembly, who pa.s.sed the night in feasting, singing, and dancing, and toasting Old Nick.

But Tarn kend what was whni fu' brawlie: There was ae winsome wend and wawlie, Thai night enlisted in the core, Lang after kend on Carrick sh.o.r.e.

--Tam o' Shanter.

_Miss Gryll._ And now, Mr. Falconer, you who live in an old tower, among old books, and are deep in the legends of saints, surely you must have a ghost story to tell us.

_Mr. Falconer_. Not exactly a ghost story. Miss Gryll but there is a legend which took my fancy, and which I taured into a ballad. If you permit me, I will repeat it.

The permission being willingly granted, Mr. Falconer closed the series of fireside marvels by reciting

THE LEGEND OF SAINT LAURA

Saint Larua, in her sleep of death, Preserves beneath the tomb --'Tis willed where what is willed must be--{1} In incorruptability Her beauty and her bloom.

So pure her maiden life had been, So free from earthly stain, 'Twas fixed in fate by Heaven's own Queen, That till the earth's last closing scene She should unchanged remain.

1 Vuolsi cosi cola dove si puote Cio che si vuole, e piii non domandare.

--Dante.

Within a deep sarcophagus Of alabaster sheen, With sculptured lid of roses white, She slumbered in unbroken night, By mortal eyes unseen.

Above her marble couch was reared A monumental shrine, Where cloistered sisters, gathering round, Made night and morn the aisle resound With choristry divine The abbess died: and in her pride Her parting mandate said, They should her final rest provide The alabaster couch beside, Where slept the sainted dead.

<script>