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suddenly torn from its habitual toil, rendered him somewhat eccentric in his habits.

He had kept at his post in his countinghouse till a shock of palsy almost deprived him of the use of his limbs. Upon his partial recovery from this, he caused his affairs to be wound up, and purchased this estate, whence after building the house, and domiciling himself within it, he seldom ventured. A favorite porter, who had been with him many years, an old housekeeper and a kitchen maid composed his whole household.

He was not a man, however, to let any property of his run to decay. The lands were kept under proper cultivation by an experienced farmer, who, with his family, occupied the original dwelling below the patch of woodland; and it was the old gentleman's chief amusement to give directions for the necessary annual changes and repairs. He was of a mechanical turn, and introduced many improvements in the implements of husbandry and the economy of the household. Under his superintendence the whole place wore an air of neatness and order. Out of doors, the fences were all in good keeping; the lawn was always well trimmed. Within, the floors were polished, the windows bright; rooms never opened for any other purpose, and beds never slept on, were kept well aired. The old man evidently had the art of being faithfully served. It was a fine sight to see him sitting in his portico of a summer evening reading the ship news in the Daily Patriot, which the stage brought him every afternoon from the city.

But as time went by he grew more solitary. At length, for nearly three years before his death, he was confined to his chamber, and latterly to his bed. He grew more subject to whims, and for some time before the close of his life it was said he would allow none of his servants to sleep in the house, nor any of them to approach him except John, the old porter, and even he was never suffered to remain longer than was necessary to attend to his master's wants and receive directions. The nature of his afflictions, aided probably by his constitutional tendencies, rendered him unable to endure the most minute

annoyances.

At length he died, and the estate pussed into the possession of his heirs; to wte after making suitable provision for faithful domestics, he had devised it a equal portions. There being several heirs, most of whom were in good circumstances and living many miles away, they at cace agreed to turn the property into my, and thus it fell, within a few months, the hands of Colonel Blanding, almost as it stood on the very day of the old gentle man's decease.

The Colonel was one of those middleaged gentlemen common in New England who acquire titles of dignity, to which they have no legal claim, by their personal peculiarities. He had never seen any actual service; never even had he commanded regiment of his fellow-citizens at an annual militia muster. Yet, owing probably to certain authority in his figure and bearing. the sense of propriety which is everywhere latent among mankind, had eunferred upon him that particular rak Not a colonel in fact, he was the embodiment of the common ideal in that part of the country of what a colonel should be in manner and appearance.

He was a rather portly, well-built old gentleman of fifty-five or thereabout, with a round bald head flanked by grayish locks which certainly had a very military aspect His mode of speech was also abrupt and decided, like that of an officer giving the word of command. In complexion as countenance was inclining to red, which tint, if the truth must be told, deepened as you approached the extremity of his nose. He had all his life been accustomed to a free country style of living, having inherited ample means, and being a man of social qualities. Few men were better known in that region, or more pr with those whom he represented in the Senate of the Commonwealth, than the Colonel."

At the time of his purchasing the Westhill estate, his family consisted of his wife. a comfortable old lady, his son Sterben. a sophomore at Cambridge, and his daugh ter Julia, whom it is necessary for the purpose of our narrative to describe mer minutely.

Yet how to describe such a creatore i was Julia Blanding in her seventeenth year, is a matter that might give y

hronicler pause. Even now, when she is he mother of one whom-even now, I should say, she is one of the most beautiul as well as the gayest ladies you can neet in society. But from what is renembered of her when she was in what Shakspeare calls "that unmatched form and feature of blown youth," it is no wonder she was the pride of her parents and the talk of the country round. They say she was then the living image of Aurora, goddess of the morning. Her eyes were blue, her cheeks rosy, and her hair deep golden-the tints of sunrise; while there was that in her disposition which, had she been far less beautiful than she was, would have warranted the comparison. Her presence was like the opening dawn; it inspired all who saw her with fresher life. She was a perfect specimen of a "bonny country lassie," capable, had she known it, of piercing a thousand hearts, but as innocent of that sort of knowledge as a young antelope. She laughed much, she ran faster than most city girls can, she talked, and sang, and danced with more zest and spirit-all because she could not help it. Yet she was not a romp, and what was singular, in the midst of noisy gaiety her eyes would sometimes fill with tears, and there would be much pointing of fingers because Julia was crying, "for nothing at all only that she was so happy." The truth is, extremes of feeling lie nearer together than is generally suspected. Excessive laughter will often lead to tears. The phase of mirth not infrequently ends in sadness. So in artless young girls, who seem to be compounded of more music and poetry than any other mortal creatures, we that are old may often discern a hundred shades passing over them in a few moments, according as they are touched by influences around them. They are so delicate that like harps played upon by the wind, they give out broken harmonies under the slightest impressions; whereas we men require rough blows, and then we answer only in coarse low notes that have in them no sweetness or beauty. But all these effects fall in and help to perform the one great dirge of fallen humanity.

Julia's cousin Henrietta (for so she was called, though in reality she was not related, being the daughter of the second wife of a

gentleman whose first wife had been Colonel Blanding's sister,) lived with her as a companion; her father and mother were both dead, and she was the ward of her uncle. She was as different from Julia as ever were two young ladies in a story. She was taller and thinner, with dark eyes and hair, and a more quiet manner; she had suffered affliction, and its traces more than counterbalanced the few months' difference between her age and her cousin's. But perhaps the very points of contrast in these two girls made each seem lovelier, by bringing what in each was peculiar into stronger relief. However that may have been, the two in combination imparted a cheerfulness and vivacity to the Colonel's household that only results to a family from the possession of similar attractions. To all the young people in that vicinity the Colonel's parlor seemed, they hardly knew why, the pleasantest place in the world.

It

It will not appear surprising, therefore, that when, after the family had moved to Westhill, the young ladies were permitted to give a little house-warming at their new home, they should have had, for the country, a numerous party, and a gay one. was, as it happened, a thanksgiving eve; Stephen had come over from Cambridge and brought with him his classmate and chum, Harry Ide, the same lively fellow then that he is now, and a much better scholar, I fancy, than he is now that he gives all his time to his extensive practice. There were the Joneses, the Smiths, and the Browns, (for one cannot spare time to invent names for so many,)-even the minister of the parish came and staid till after the supper.

But as our story only concerns a few individuals, we will confine ourselves to them, leaving the figures in the background to be filled out as the reader may fancy.

Among the other guests was Fogger, John Fogger, the lawyer of the next village, a shrewd calculating chap, suspected by some of the better sort of being cunning enough to conceal petty dishonesties without having courage to involve himself in great ones. He was a thin, illmade man, yet he fancied all the girls adored him, and only became an old bachelor because he waited to find one rich enough to marry. He talked constantly, and bored

every one with his conceit; still he flattered or endeavored to flatter all he spoke with, and if there were points on which any seemed a little tender, he was uneasy till he had cross-questioned and found out the secret; he was thus a great prober of wounds, but had no balm to pour into them. In brief, he was coarse-grained, wiry, hard and cunning. The Colonel, who, though he had his weak sides, had no sympathy with meanness, never liked him.

Still he must be invited, and he was sure to come, and did come. He not only came, but came wide awake, and more disagreeable than usual. To narrate how many unpleasant things he contrived to do and say in this single evening, would occupy more pages than ought to be filled with such details. But for so simple an accident as a change in the weather, he would only have passed as the most unpleasing of the few bores of the party.

About eleven o'clock, as some of the guests were leaving, the front door was opened, and it was discovered, to the general surprise, that it was snowing fast and the wind high; for hitherto the old piano had been kept so busy with country dances and reels, the company had no ears for aught but that. But now in the lull which the intelligence created they could hear the noise of the storm around the house corner, and the snow driving against the the eastern windows. What was to be done? Many of the party had come from a distance; all had come unprovided with winter gear, for the night had been fine and this was almost the first snowstorm of that season. Harriet and Jane and Charlotte and Carry, &c., must not think of going; they had plenty of room; the house was large and every room well provided; they could stay as well as not, and they must, and their brothers. As for Emily and Sarah and Abby, &c., if they must go, as they lived so near, they should have old cloaks and hoods.

The upshot was that when the company broke up, the half who lived nearest went away muffled up like Hudson Bay voyagers; while the other half, who came from more than five miles, when they went to look for their horses, found the Colonel had given orders to have them stabled for the night, and the carriages put under cover; so there was no resource but submission.

Among those who staid was Fogger, who did not reside more than three miles off, and might have gone without the least inconvenience, for he came alone in a chaise of his own. But he knew that his horse would be well taken care of, and thought on the whole it would be more pleasant to ride over in the morning. Besides, he began to think Miss Julia a "smart young lady," and thought he might as well throw out an anchor that way to windward; she was rather young yet, it was true, and there might be another heir: still it was well enough to “look over the ground," as the farmers say, "against you may wish to buy."

It was not more than twelve o'clock, for they keep early hours in the country, when all who remained had been snugly dispos ed of the young ladies occupying the third floor, and their brothers the rooms on the second. Fogger thought himself lucky in securing a large corner room with s spacious old-fashioned bed all to himself, while Ide and young Blanding were oblig ed to precede an ex-president and a distinguished Whig member of the House, in a mode of sleeping, to say the least, extremely uncomfortable. He chuckled not a little as he sank into the depths of 27 unfathomable feather-bed and pillow, his comparative comfort, and listened wr satisfaction to the fierce dashing of the snow against the windows. He had par taken freely of the good things at the sup per, the boned turkey, and the chicken salad--nay, he had even quaffed more t one glass of the Colonel's old Scotch whis key in a private apartment, unknown se but few of the older guests, the younger ones being restricted to lemonade and o with a few rounds of grape after super. Consequently he did not feel very slept, but rather disposed to pleasurable con plation.

To this another circumstance might als have contributed, since it is a historin duty to relate all the facts which turn to events. Our lawyer was a advanced in life; all things about him not what they seemed; in brief, en must out, to supply the deficiencies or early sorrow-he wore a wig. N the taking off this article of harmis, 18 guise, rubbing his poll with a cold s and putting on his nightcap, (for be re

as without one and a small hair-brush in s pocket,) may have contributed to this akefulness. At all events he did not pop f into a good ten knot an hour sleep, but ought over his cases, and got involved at st in a series of short dozes that left him oubtful whether he was asleep or awake, r whether he ever would sleep again, here he was, or which way was north, nd the like.

Out of this demi-torpid condition he as roused suddenly by a strange voice in e room. He started up and leaned on is elbow. The snow-clouds had not so uch obscured the moon but that he could ake out the room quite distinctly. As e recalled his scattered senses, suddenly, Imost in his very ears, there came a chous of strange uproarious laughter :

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his sides. The noise woke up several young fellows in the adjacent apartments, who suspecting some college trick, ran in to see what was the matter. Then came to light the mystery of the lawyer's raven locks, which one of the party, a red-haired man, had secretly envied; and what with his appearance and his fright, the effect was altogether so overpowering, he was glad to creep into the bed and cover himself with the comforter. As soon as they could compose their nerves, the young men whispered among themselves and very soon settled it that the lawyer must have paid too much attention to the whiskey, with which natural conclusion they retired to their chambers, reserving the full enjoyment of the jest till the morrow.

When they had gone, Blanding told Ide Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho! O—ho!" to jump into bed with Fogger, saying that It was not like human laughter or horse he would go and occupy the couch Fogger aughter, but fearfully grim and hollow had left. But Ide, whose real motive, as ike the voices of demons. well as Blanding's, was to avoid their new Hardly had it ceased when he, "distill-bed-fellow, protested against this, saying ed almost to jelly," heard the following that he had a passion for ghosts, and had words uttered in an awful measured voice: always hoped to scare one up some time or "Ten-three-five-eighteen-twen- other; Blanding, perceiving his object, y-eight-thirty-two-thirty-three-forty- thought it due to the character of host to hree ! Jack, you cheated-you can't heat me! I'll do your business yet! You're a gonE KOON!!"

This was too terrible. To hear the years of his life numbered, his name sylabled, his secret crimes thrown in his teeth, and his doom pronounced by devils, was too much. Poor Fogger groaned aloud as he groped for the door. The room echoed with a confused noise. He rushed into the hall and burst into the next room, which happened to be Ide and Blanding's, crying, "O dear! wake! help!" The young gentlemen were roused in a moment, and Blanding, thinking the lawyer was ill, proceeded at once to light a candle. This done, the spectacle Fogger presented as he stood in his night-gear and night-cap, with his eyes half out of his head, along with his broken words, telling how the chamber was haunted, and that he had heard awful noises, was so horribly ludicrous to these college boys that as they looked at each other they could not restrain their mirth; Ide in particular, who always made more noise than any one else, actually roared, while Blanding ran up and down the chamber holding

yield at once. So Ide taking the light, touched the lawyer's shoulder as he lay bundled up in the clothes, and telling him he should make him join a temperance society in the morning, and bidding his friend good-night, left them and went to the lawyer's chamber.

There was nothing in the chamber at all remarkable, much less indicating the presence of supernatural visitors. The lawyer's garments were carefully deposited over the backs of a couple of chairs, and on the table under the old oval mirror were his watch and his wig. Ide was no Paul Pry, but he had never seen an isolated specimen of the latter article before in his life, and he thought it was no harm to avail himself of the unexpected opportunity to give this a careful examination. He was curious to see how the things he had read of, and which were once a necessary part of a gentleman's apparel, were put together. He accordingly held the light close, and stooped over to have a good view.

While thus occupied he was startled, though not alarmed, by a confused noise, similar to that which had frightened the

lawyer. It sounded like a mingling of hoarse voices in disputation, and seemed to come from behind the curtains at the head of the bed. He reflected a moment, and concluded it must be the creaking of the window shutters, though it was certainly an odd sound. Walking up to the window, therefore, which opened near the head of the bed, he examined the shutters by moving them to and fro, till he satisfied himself it could not be they. The wind howled piteously without, and the snow drove against the panes, but it could not be they. He stepped cautiously around the bed's head and harkened.

Presently (all this, by the bye, passed in a few moments,) there came another sort of noise-a loud whistling sound, very coarse and hollow, something like what one may make by whistling into the end of an empty cask. It was so very singular a sound that Ide, bold as he was, was not a little relieved to recognize in a moment a popular Methodist melody! He had begun to feel rather uncomfortable, but surely no stray current of air nor any restless ghost would entertain itself on such a wild night with the tune of "O how happy are they!"

But how was it that he heard it so distinctly? The room below was the parlor ; beside him were Blanding and the lawyer; above slept the young ladies; the kitchen adjoined the house on the other side, being the first of the long range of outbuildings. While he thus busily surmised, the whistling was interrupted by speech, and he heard clearly pronounced, in the same voice which so astonished the lawyer, the following mysterious words:

"The King is after you look out!" And before he had time to recover from his surprise, the following, from different speakers:

"One-eleven-fifteen-eighteen-twenty-eight-twenty-nine — thirty-three-thir

ty-seven."

This was spoken in the awful monotonous manner which had so overcome Fogger, and it would, perhaps, have been too much for Ide, had he not listened more attentively while it proceeded: "—forty-forty-two-fifty-two—GAME! HURRA FOR JACKSON !"

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"Hush, Jim; hurra for Jackson aist swearing."

"Game!-high-low-Jack, and the game; three and four are seven-WE ARE our!"

This explained itself. Henry Ide was never a youth who kept low company, nor was he fond of low amusements; but what country-bred New Englander ever grot through his teens without an initiation into the mysteries of the famous game of All Fours? In various parts of the country this game takes different names; on the western boats one may hear it styled “Old Sledge," a title which is probably a primitive root, since it is not easy to imagine aught from which it could have been a derivative; in other parts it is called Seven Up," a name given it on account of the game being up when the winner counts seven.

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But under whatever appellation this amusement passes, it must be indigenous to New England; there is not, it is likely, a hay-loft in that region that is unfamiliar with its technical phrases; and the sunry sides of many stone fences, if stones could preach sermons, might utter moving discourses respecting the time they had seen wasted in its excitements.

It was plain to Ide, therefore, the moment his ears caught the above words, that the mysterious voices, so far from having a supernatural origin, actually belonged some rustic card party somewhere within hearing. But the accounting for the singular audibleness was still as much a problem as before. However, our young student was somewhat of a mechanic an and had read Sir David Brewster's Natural Magic enough to take an interest in the solution of such apparent impossibilities

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The reader must remember that what transpires in less than a minute sometimes occupy several in rug, otherwise I should justly incur the se verest penalties of criticism for her kept my hero, or as it may be, ore heroes, thus standing on a cold agt his night clothes all this while been telling what happened to im whole affair, in fact, passed in five Ess by the watch; but as it is necessit 2 this narrative that it should be n recorded, and every circumstance fɩ `s et plained, I take the liberty of usag

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