IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) fe /. 1.0 !fi 28 I.I 12.5 ||M 1 2.0 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 4 6" ► V] <^ /i ^ A y ^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 873-4503 4tr, i/.A ver. 14 Family Creeds. 'll 1 was held above the heads of the despondent crowd in order that I might be better able to see what was going on. The face in the coffin was ghastly ; the features were rather dis- torted, wearing an expression of pain. The corpse was en- shrouded in what appeared to be the rich vestments of a priest or bishop ; and the pale, dead hands seemed to clutch a large gold or silver crucifix. I was almost terror-stricken at the sight — it was the first dead body I had ever seen — and I would have run away if I could, but I had to remain. Presently, while the deepest silence prevailed, when not a sound could be heard save the occasional sobs which one might have fancied were but the falling or the tapping of great tears upon a coffin lid, there was an almost sudden illumination. The great altar became all ablaze with lights, and it seemed as if the gates of heaven had been slowly opened, and that we could hear the sweet voices of angel and archangel, and cheru- bim, and rapt seiaphim, in the distance. Oh, how my heart beat when I heard the soft celestial strains, as if the saints in glory were murmuring a welcome, and were about to descend among us to bear away another of tho redeemed to the realms of eternal bliss. Oh, what exquisite sounds ! what supernatural harmony it was to me at the moment ! The plaintive music must have smitten the rock — must have touched every heart in the crowded church — for in a short time tears, gushing tears, welled up into many an eye that was perhaps seldom filled witli these sacred visitants ; and when I saw nearly all around me bent and weeping, and while I wondered why the poople wept, I was overcome by a singular emotion, — I bent my head and was weeping too. The music now seemed to be closer ; then it ceased for a short time. There was a hush, yet the whisper of prayer was faintly audible, and faint sobs and sighs could be heard even in My Earliest Recollections. \^ the prevailinjf silence. Then came the swelling harmony again ; a greater number of voices sung louder, and a burst of hallelu- jahs filled the entire edifice. I looked up ; the numerous lights seemed to be more brilliant ; and a bishop in gorgeous vestments, followed by a number of robed priests and boys in albs, was approaching the grand altar from the vestry. I was still held up, and for an hour or so longer I saw the imposing ceremonial — quite unmeaning to me at the time. I was afterwards told that an "oflRce and high mass" had been said or sung for the repose of the soul of the departed. Many other things were done by the bishop and the attendant clergy, none of which I could of course understand ; but the music, repeat-ed at intervals, engaged almost my entire attention. There was little else that was attractive ; there were glaring lights, and spangled vest- ments, but these offered only a feeble contra.st to the prevailing gloom of nearly the whole place — a melancholy, repulsive gloom — I shudder when I think of it even now. It was the first time, to my knowledge, that I had been in a church, it was the first religious ceremony I had ever witnessed. I had heanl Latin prayers and Latin responses ; and I had seen clouds of incense that made the lights appear dim. I had seen a ghastly spectacle— a dead boily — ^ weeping people, emblems of sorrow, and evidences of grief and hoplessness that were most depress- ing. Nothing but the music can I now remember with the least degree of pleasure — even that came pleading and pitiful, bringing tears. And when I was taken out into the broad day- light again, I felt like one who had just escaped from some black prison, and — though it may be very wrong— since that time large churches and great religious ceremonies are some- times associated in my mind with everything that is gloomy, death-like, and despondirig. ird even m CHAPTER II. THE WHITE BOY. P ON another occasion I had been taken out for a walk. The weather was mild and pleasant, and we rambled to some nice places in the suburbs of the city in which I was born, and in which we lived. It must have been spring time, for the fields were green, and I had been picking up ever so many daisies and butter-cups. We heard the notes of the thrush among the orchard blossoms, and away up, up in the sky, the song of the lark seemed to be greeting the sunbeams. I could see for a moment or two, a little shining speck, a little warbling mote, ascending higher and higher until it was lost in the deep blue above us. We crossed some clear running streams, and I stood for some time, on the margin of one of these, watching little fish, and throwing pebbles into the water. On our way home we saw some little boys and girls at work in a field. I thought it was but play, and I wished to be among them. I knew not that most of these had been forced to labor almost from infancy — -I knew nothing of this. How happy they seemed to be ! The world looked bright and beautiful as if it were heaven itself. In fact, at the time, my fancied heaven could not have been more attractive. I felt exhilarated, and could not imagine that any others had less reason to be content with life than I had. The White Boy. 17 As we turned a corner on the highway we saw an old wo- man sitting by the roadside. She was very old, very old and weak. She was eating something out of a little basket near her — something that she had probably begged and got for chai icy. I remember well how she looked — very old. Her face was mild but care-worn, and I somehow thought she must have been very handsome when she was young. But oh, how long ago! We stood before her, and, without minding us, she continued to pick and to eat the cold table refuse out of her little basket — eating her solitary meal — no familiar friend or protector with her ; no little child to share her repast. How I pitied that poor woman, and, without fully understanding the reason why, my heart went out towards her and I offered her the half- penny that I had in my pocket. It was all I had ; I would have given her all I had at the time were it even a million. Poor thing, she looked surprised at the voluntary offering ; so mucli from a child seemed to have been greaily valued by her. She had made no entreaty, but there was her pale, placid face, her resignenie other abode, yet she had had sufficient influence over hii.i persuade him to remain ; for the longer my mother con- tnucd in the house the more disinclined she was to leave it. 80 Famnily Creeds. and, after some time, my father became affected by a similar feeling, and looking on the old dwelling as a pleasant, healthy, and desii-able home, he gave up all idea of leaving it for any other. My parents lived on and off in this house for many years. At the time they first took possession of it my brother was very young, only just able to walk ; my sister was but an in- fant only a few weeks old ; and about two years afterwards, as I have been informed, I was born in the city and brought down here to be nursed in what was called the " big room," the largest in the house, and one farthest from those most fre- quently occupied ; a quaint old room to many, but a treasured spot to my mothei', and a favorite apartment to me. Here I spent the greater part of my infant life, and the term of my vaccination ; here my baby shrieks and cries were smothered, or wafted away out on the clear air, or drawn up the great chimney, down which the curious ivy sometimes peered as if to see what was the matter ; here I first paid some of the primal penalties of existence, in the shape of the measles, the croup and the whooping-cough ; and here at my mother's knee I was shown 1 those great rudimentary characters of literature, and taught to lisp the magical names of A, B, C. It was here in this chamber that I had my earliest matricula- tion as an architect and as an artist. Here I fir.st built, orj rather scooped out, my little boats, and launched my preteni tious merchantmen, and sent them off on perilous voyages! across a pent up ocean in a wash-basin, while I stood by, and,! boreas-like, blew down heavy gales and sudden gusts, which! sometimes split the tiny paper mainsails of the venturous craft, I or left these with their towering masts — fuiiy three inches longj — upset like helpless wrecks upon the imaginary deep. Here| I built my windmills, and with the same motor — my puffe The "Big Room'' and its Associations. 31 cheeks — set their huge arms — made of little bits of cardboard — to revolve when the breeze on the window-sill was insuffi- cient ; and it was from the same window, which commanded an extensive view of the harbor, and the grand scenery around, that I drew my first sketches of mountains, of islands, and of the ocean ; of big ships and little sailors ; of great steam vessels with immense paddle wheels, and with a train of dense clouds of smoke in a long line behind; of the "Semiramis" guard ship firing a broadside, while the captain with an enormous cocked-hat, and a telescope the length of himself, was to be seen fixed somehow like a culprit at the mast head, which I suppose I thought at the time was the post of honor ; and then I drew pictures of mighty waves, and big fishes, all of course imagined by me to be perfect representations of what I had seen or heard of ; and I also drew castles and forts ; kings with tower- ing crowns ; officers with great drawn swords ; rows of soldiers, rank and file, with guns disproportionately long, all in terrible array on a slate or piece of paper six or eight inches wide, and all of which were in my estimation, fully equal to the appreciation of many older artists of their own crude pro- ductions, wonderful efforts of genius ; more particularly so be- cause these efforts seemed to surprise my poor dear mother, and to win the repeated encomiums of her, to whom of course they had been first exhibited. Well, here I was in the dear old room again. My mother and my sister were with me. My father who had to attend to busi- ness in the city came down to see us once or twice a week — it was only a short and pleasant trip on the steamboat — and my brother had to remain there at school. Poorly as I felt, I was pleased to be in Cove again. Indeed I think I never enjoyed life more than I did during that par- ticular visit to the old house. Though I was very weak I felt 32 Family Creeds. no pain, but in my languid condition could lie and count the ticking of the tall clock which stood in the hall, or listen for hours at a time to my sister while she read some choice tale of travel or adventure. And then my mother would amuse me in her own way. She would tell me over so many little stories while I lay, with my head on her lap, looking up into her clear truthful eyes, at her mild face, and at her brown wavy hair. Even now I still see the sweet, meek, endearing expression of her countenance, I can hear her loving words of sympathy and encouragement, and T can remember how delighted I used to feel to be assured that as soon as I got well enough to run about again — which of course was not to be long — what pleas- ant little excursions we were to take to romantic spots, and what boat-rides we should have to Spike Island and about the harbor, besides little Jane was to come with us also — little Jane, the fair-haired, rosy -cheeked, blue-eyed companion of my sister, but indeed more ray corapanion than hers, for Jane would pre- fer to be in-doors with me whenever I felt very poorly than to be out with Ellen airing their dolls in the garden. Little Jane's preference for me was strongly marked ; she was more sympathetic than my sister, and then she had such an artless confiding disposition, that on the whole — though it may be a shame for me to say it — I think 1 somehow felt really more attached to Jane, our young friend, than I did to Ellen my sister. On dull rainy days — and these came very often — when my head ached, and when my limbs felt so tired, Jane would remain in the room with my mother and keep us company. Ellen would be in some other apartment, or it might be with the girl in the kitchen. There were certain times when my sister became restless and disliked to read or to remain long at a time in one place, and then she would be, as it were, all over the house ; and, The "Big Room" and its Associations. 3t3 while the fit was on her, she would even dash out under a heavy shower of rain and return dripping and blushing like a rose. But there little Jane would sit contentedly the gloomiest day, her beautiful face shining like a sunbeam, reading for me, or talking to my mother, or adding to the already overstocked wardrobe of her favorite doll ; or in her livelier moments she would take the hands of this miniature likeness of herself and skip with it about the room like a fairy — and to me what a per- fect little fairy she was at the time. 8he would show me her doll s best bonnet, and I felt so interested in dolls just then — probably because she liked them — that I gave up ray boats, windmills, and sketches, and helped to make a doll for her my- self, I also managed to make it a hat which had a great feather ; little Jane made it a grand dress, and though Ellen ridiculed me, I nursed this doll at times with as much interest and attention as if I had been a girl. But then there were gloomy days, and times when neither boata, nor dolls, nor anything else could interest or amuse me. There were dreary nights when I lay restless and feverish, and long hours when I could get no sleep. I was one evening almost in a kind of stupor, quite indifferent to life ; if I had lauy wish at the time it was for death. Making an effort, how- lever, I managed to speak a few words. "Ma," said I, looking |up languidly at my mother, "Is it hard to diel" " To die !" She grew alarmed and said, " O, dear child ! i^hy do you ask such a question 1" " Only I wanted to know whether it would pain me to die." "My love and my darling," said she, growing still more llarmed, " you must not think of such a thing." She stooped Mul pressed her lips upon my forehead. I could see her eyes >rimful of tears, and then she whispered, "The good are not Lfraid to die, it is not pain to them, for they are always ready. Ill ^4 Family Creeds. r,:'*:l,lli ... rlMlJ, You are good, my darling, but — but you are scarcely yet pre- pared for death — no not yet. O, my love, you must not die now, you must not leave me." After a pause I said, " I will not die now, ma." I replied very feebly, for I felt myself growing weaker. I must have swooned or slept. In a kind of dream I found it dark at first, but soon it became bright, and I saw some beautiful creatures around me. Their flutt-ering wings fanned my brow with frag- rance, and I heard faint strains of music which were exquisite. It seemed to me that I held a little wand, and, when I waved it, all appeared to smile, and I could hear sweet voices singing. How long I remained this way I know not, but when I opened my eye'! they rested first on my mother who wi «< 'jazing at me sorrowfully through her ^/ears. Jane and Ellen on either side of me, were waving fans to give me more air, and there was our maid kneeling at the foot of the bed, as if she were praying for my soul. I felt my hands closed on something. In one I found there had been placed a lighted wax candle — one of those blessed tapers which my mother always kept in the house — and, in the other, my hold was on a crucifix. Looking delib- erately at these, and then into every face again, I smiled. Thinking, no doubt, that I was about to depart, the blessed | candle and crucifix had been put into my hands, as is custom- ary towards those dying in the True Church ; holy water had I bpen sprinkled upon me ; and though I was not at the time one! of the "faithful," these little acts were an affecting proof of the I great sincerity and tender devotion of my dear mother. Thesel were the only resources at her disposal — in what was then tol her a dread and sudden emergency — to place if possible the scull of her little heretic son, in some manner, within the fold, sol that it should not be found among those outside the pale, whfl| must be condemned as castaways. The "Big Room" and its Associations. 35 "Ma," said I, reaching her the candle and the crucifix, "take these ; I am not going to die ; I shall live with you and stay with you forever." " Oh, God bless you, God bless you, my darling, for those heavenly words — my precious jewel will not be taken from me." She was almost overcome with joyful emotion and had to lie down by my side. I now felt exceedingly happy. I held my mother's hand and kept her close to me, and after a time, when everything was very quiet, Jane, who sat sewing near me, commenced to sing a .soft melody. It was the first time I had ever heard her voice in song, and what a sweet angelic voice it then seemed — a lulling sound that my sensitive ear could listen to forever. I made efforts to catch the timid lay ; the voice of the little angel had a mysterious soothing effect ; I listened again and my eyes became dim with tears, and I had to sob quietly to myself lest I should hush the voice ; but the soft angelic strain was still heard, and while I yet listened, and sobbed, my ears were filled with the delicate harmony, my weary eyelids were closed, and I fell into a gentle slumber and dreamt of heaven. Many times after this, little Jane's gentle voice brought me repose ; and when my mother's soft strains were added, and those also of my sister, the blended melody was a lullaby that was irresistible, and sleep always followed. In my last moments, ere the slumber of death closes my eyes forever, oh, that such voices may reach my ear, and hush me to eternal rest ! CHAPTER IV. THK SPECTRE PRIEST. MY father was a native of Liverpool, England. He once held a position as an officer of some kind in the Koyal Navy, and many of his intimate friends called him "Captain" Fairband, — his name on the door-plate of our house was simply "John Fairband, Esq." Having come into the possession of a fair legacy, he left the service, formed a business connection in Ireland with Mr. Daniel Casey— the father of little Jane — and got married to my mother, who was a native of the " beautiful city." *' Fairband & Casey," was a firm well known in Cork as pur- veyors of stores mostly for government ships, and was once reputed wealthy. Some losses had however occurred, and in consequence of these as well as some peculiar fluctuations in trade, the firm, at the time of my birth though doing a fair share of busmess, was far from being as prominent or as influ- ential as it once was. My father was not a person over anxious to amass a great fortune, he was content with moder- ate success ; and his partner was, in this respect, much of the same disposition. They had been already for some years together, they had full confidence in each other, and their intercourse was generally very cordial. Though the partners differed much in personal appearance, and somewhat in temper — my father being tall and thin and hasty in manner, and The Spectre Priest 37 Mr. Casey being short and stout, and not easily excited — they managed business matters agreeably enough, the one never countermanding the orders of the other. Any dispute thjt t ever occurred between them was mostly on subjects foreign to any- thing concerning trade, and related to the subject of nation- ality, or, nine times out of ten, to that of religion. Strang*^ that this shoukl be, but so it was. My father had very English ideas in connection with his native country ; he was a most rigid Protestant, and at certain times, particularly when he was peevish or irritated, he would say something the reverse of complimentary of the poorer class of the Catholic Irish, and of the Catholic Church and its clergy ; and although I he would not always address his remarks to his partner — ^seldom in fact to any one in particular — yet Mr. Casey would gener- ally reply in defence of his countrymen, his Church, and the Catholic priests, and would retaliate by saying a few caustic [words about English injustice to Ireland, about the atrocities )f Cromwell, and the noted rapacity of the great State Church. fndeed nothing seemed to disturb the equanimity of Mr. Casey in any marked way unless it were such allusions ; he could hear )f dullness in business or of losses in trade, without any apparent 3tfect on his temper ; yet one would think that my father — who nust have known his partner's vulnerable points — seemed to ^ake a strange pleasure; or satisfaction in causing him to become ixcited in this way. After their transient disagreements there night be a coolness between the principals for a few days, but would soon wear away and be all right again; both evidently Ishanied of the misunderstanding. But, worse than this, there were occasions when my father rould come home in a fretful mood as if dissatisfied with every- ling. After having vented his spleen against one thing and jixother he would ei^d by a tirade against popery. He would 1 Ji 38 Family Creeds. denounce the doctrines and ceremonies of the Roman Church as being semi-heathenish and superstitious, and assert his surprise that any person of ordinary reason, or common sense, or intelli- gence should be the adherent of such a delusive system. My poor mother, though, as it were, compelled to listen to expressions uttered against what was most sacred to her, would feel very much grieved, but would seldom make a reply, she bore this cross meekly. I know that her love for him was most ardent, and that her first impulse daily was to pray for his conversion to what she devoutly considered the True Faith. As a fond wife and a mother she must have be on dreadfully pained at heart to find, not only her husband, but her little sons, outside the pale of the true Church, and any moment liable to be cut off and doomed forever with other unbelievers. My, father, I well know, used to feel sorry for having said anything to hurt her feelings, particularly when he was fully satisfied that for one thousand ofiences of this kind he had always had one thousand ready pardons ; but I question if he ever knew how sincerely, how fervently, and how constantly his fond wife prayed to the Virgin Mother for his and for my escape from heresy, for our acceptance within the orthodox I fold, and for that great salvation which she believed none could obtain who did not acknowledge the mission and authority of the Roman PontiflT. It is curious to see the heads of a family at issue on a subject! considered so important as that of a religious creed. In Ire- 1 land particularly, it is quite common to see parents as well as I children, diJQFer materially as to theological beliefs ; and whilej all else might be harmony and love, the spectral hand of Pole- mics has come to wave the household apart, and thus conten- tion and disunion was almost sure to follow. In our family we,| unfortunately, worshipped at different altars. Previous to myj The Spectre Priest. 39 mother's marriago, some peculiar arrangement had been made whereby it was agreed that any boys coming into the family should become Protestants and follow the particular creed of my father, while any girls that might bo introduced, should be brought up to the Catholic fn.ith. Therefore, while my father and brother and T were of the so-called reformed religion, my mother and my sister were members of the Church of Rome. Besides this, differences of opinions of the same kind were entertained by most of our other relatives. My mother had a sister who had been a nun ; she had a brother who was a priest ; and my maternal granilmother was a most devoted Catholic. My father's brother was a Protestant clergyman ; his sister, my aunt, Catharine, was married to a Presbyterian, and was a very rigid Methodist ; and with regard to some of our other relations, I had heard that one was a Baptist, another a Unitarian, and that another was a most exemplary Quaker. As matters were, not many of these kindred chanced to meet. It might have been that a family reunion was neither sought after nor cared for. Religious differences must have alienated them in some degree, for I remember that on one occasion, very long ago, several of our connections as.sem- bled — it may have been at a Christmas time — and I know that the meeting was not altogether the most agreeable ; for, before they had separated, some grave and obstinate discussions 1 happened to take place between Protestants and Catholics as to I which was the true church ; and there were some bitter argu- ments, even among our Protestant relatives, in reference to the real intent and meaning of certain rather ambiguous texts. I also remember that these strange differences of opinion regard- ling religion made a singular impression on my mind, and many [a time I thought about them afterwards. Well, another month had nearly passed, and I was getting 40 Family Creeds. better. I had been out two or three tinieH on short excursions and was growing stronger every day ; still I was far from Ijeing rugged, and great care was yet necessary to secure my convalescence, and on dull, misty or rainy days — which some- how came very often — I had to remain in close confinement within doors, and to retire early ; and many a time at niglit when I could not sleep, and when all in the house were perhaps slumbering soundly, I would grow tired of counting the win- dow-panes, crosswise and lengthways, as I had counted them a hundred times before, and of shaping imaginary forms out of the hangings, or drapery, or carvings, and of looking at the patterns on the wall paper becoming monks and nuns in differ- ent attitudes of devotion. At such times I used to fancy all kinds of things. I used to think of other days when worship- pers assembled in this apartment ; for it had been the private chapel of the priory. Now the room would seem to be full of penitents attending a midnight mass, I could almost hear the " Dominua vohiscum" and the response, " Et cum apiritu tuo ; " even the tinkling of the bell would in a manner faintly reach my ear. And then I could fancy myself standing aside and unobserved, and could see the quaint spectral forms counting beads, and hear the murmur of their prayers ; and once — I shall never forget the time — when I imagined that a number of persons were present, I suddenly opened ray eyes, and close to the recess where the altar once stood, I could see, even in the gloom, the dim form of a priest — for the figure wore a soutaine — his head seemed to be bent, and I distinctly heard a sigli that caused me to be perfectly awake. When a child I had often been interested, or rather almost frightened, by ghost stories. We had a servant-maid named i Nelly Carberry, who used to tell me a hundred wonderful things about witches, and fairies, and veritable ghosts. She The. Sjiedre Pried. 41 sli'pt ill a little apiirtnuMit adjoining the l»ig room whero I lay, an ; nearly all imagine that they will be distinguished and rewarded at some future time ; and this idea is perhaps the burden of many a life-long dream. The present mostly disappoints our expectations, and we delight in pleasing anticipations as to the future. The learned philoso- pher, as well as the ignorant peasant, is lavish of time while erecting, and beautifying, and admiring, the aerial structures of his imagination. Wise men, as well as fools, spend most of M The S2)ectre Priest. 43 their days in the clouds. Every man is his own hero ; and there are few who do not erect pyramids of some kind to their own fan- cied greatness. Long after such heroes have made their exit and are forgotten, mounds of different altitudes can be traced along th(! desert of their lives. Our dreams are, as it were, a neces- sary relaxation ; without such easements or levitations, the realities of life might be only a burden of woe. While still looking at the moonlight, which had now become lengthened on the floor, I thought I heard a footstep ; I listened for the last sound. The softest possible footfall was heard again ; a kind of stealthy treading, and lo ! there in the moon- lit space on the carpet was a long shadow, not the transient obscuration by a cloud, but the well-defined outlines of a human form. I instinctively looked towards the altar recess, part of the partition at the one side of it was open like a door, and there again before me, in t^ie loneliness of night, stood — tli(! priest. "!i Vi, . ^-' CHAPTER V. A STARTLING DISCOVERY. TO say that I was frightened — almost terrified — would con- vey but an imperfect idea of my condition. My hair seemed to rise ; I trembled and grew faint ; I tried to scream but I could not. There, at the dead hour of night, was a verit- able apparition ; no uncertainty about it this time. I rubbed my eyes and tried to be somewhat collected, but the figure was plainly before me. Small and rather slight, wearing the cleri- cal soutaine ; the head a little bent with a bare spot on the top like a tonsure ; the features mild and intellectual, with a shade of care or rather of sorrow ; a man who had evidently passed middle age, or who had been in the decline of life before death came ; for I now took, the form before me to be the ghost of some departed priest whose purgatorial penalties required that he should revisit this old room, in which, perhaps, he had often heard confession, or given absolution, or celebrated mass years before I was born. I had many a time been told that spirits came surrounded by a kind of halo, but there was nothing of the kind to be seen at the time. The bright moonlight must have absorbed any glimmer that properly belonged to the spectral visitant, yet I could plainly see every feature, every fold in his soutaine, every motion ^ it was so bright that I could see to read. He stood, »e ; I am quite well now. I suppose I must have Lai sOiUt k;nd of a frightful dream and made a noise. You know T h'ive oi\ "id them — that is all. You see I am quite well," i re;>. vt'd, c ;ou8 to convince her. "You may stay here it you like *ud s-o ior yourself, for I shall soon go to sleep again." As it was I did not care to have Nelly leave me alone, I was nervous and, without letting her see that I was anxious for her company, I wished her to remain. I now knew for certain that she had seen nothing of the apparition, and that she did not even suspect the real cause of my wakefulness. Had she had the least idea that any person or thing of a strange kind, either natural or supernatural, had been so close to her, or to me, she would, I am confident, have alarmed the whole house ; for, judging by what I knew of her, she was a very timid girl, and she had a more firm belief in ghostly appearances than I ever liad. I therefore discreetly kept my mind to myself, and told her nothing about what I had seen. Indeed, I had determined to tell no person. I did not want my mother to show any more anxious concern as to the state of my health ; I did not desire to have Ellen ridicule me again ; nor, above all, did I want little Jane to imagine that I was so timid or so credulous as jO fancy that my own shadow was a hobgoblin — I would i A Startling Discovery. 49 fain be a hero in her estimation. On her account I tried to feel indifferent as to what I had seen, and, strange to sayj when broad daylight made its appearance I had almost persuaded myself that my eyes had again deceived me. Though I cautioned Nelly Carberry to keep the matter a secret, yet she must have said something to my mother respect- ing my supposed illness. I intended to ask that Nelly might be allowed — for the sake of company — to shep in the big room, and I was planning to myself how I should introduce the par- ticular subject, when happily I was saved from a partial confession of fear by being told that an apartment adjoining my mother's down stairs, was being prepared for me. Some reason, which I cannot now remember, was given for this ; in- deed I was not over particular in making inquiries, nor did I hint the slightest objection, and though I affected to be indif- ferent about the change, I was secretly rejoiced ; for I hoped to be able in time to forget the dead priest, to enjoy my night's rest again, and keep from all the knowledge of anything I knew of the ghostly visitor. The next day I feigned to be a little weary — too tired to take our usual long walk. In truth I was not quite so well as I had been the day before ; I had not got over the effects of an almost sleepless night. This might have been a sufficient excuse to keep me in-doors if I had dared to mention it. However I wanted to be alone. My mother would have remained, but I persuaded her and the girls to pay a promised visit to a friend, and while out they were to make arrangements for another little excursion. Ellen told me I was lazy, Jane pouted a little, but after a while my excuses prevailed and I was left alone. Well, off they went. I might say that I had the whole place to myself, for Nelly Carberry was busy in the kitchen, and I had possession of every key in the house, but I only cared to have 50 Family Creeds. liiii one. I had determined to make a careful search ; now was my opportunity ; and the key that I then clutched with nervous fingers was that which opened and locked my late dormitory — the big room. When I locked the door inside — something I had never done before — though it was a fine day and the sunlight streaming in through the windows, I somehow felt afraid. I had spent many and many a day in that room, often for hours without a companion, but never before had the same feeling. I had come here, alone and unknown to all, to make a search ; and now, scarcely beyond the middle of bright noon-day, I almost dreaded to be by myself in an apartment that I had been familiar with from infancy. I expected every moment to hear some solemn whisper, or be touched by some icy hand. I looked about me with a kind of apprehension — at the centre-piece in the ceiling, at the long row of windows, at the quaint carv- ing here and there, and at the strange devices surrounding the altar recess. My bed had been already removed, and I stood in the vacant place to have a view from the same point, as near as possible, of the very spot where I .saw the apparition. I tried even then to convince myself that there might be some crack in the wall, some discoloration, or, it might be, some hanging cobweb, which, acting in a peculiar manner on the retina, might produce the outlines of a priest and lead my im- agination to see him bend, or to hear him sigh. I had been told that it was very possible to be misled in such a way. But there was nothing to be seen that could deceive the eye ; not the faintest trace of anything on wall or ceiling, or anywhere else, that by any eftbrt of the will I could conjure up such an afilicted shade as that which had so recently stood here in th<' clear moonlight. I tried to feel collected and to reassure my- self, yet as I approached the recess a feeling of awe came ov(m- A Startling Discovery. 51 me. I actually trembled as if I had become suddenly very cold, and, as I looked up, I imagined that the two little plaster- of-paris angels, with outstretched wings, that knelt close to the cross inserted over the centre of the archway, frowned upon me as I drew near, as if with the intention of waving me off, or of forbidding me from trespassing on holy ground, I did however trespass ; I had resolution enough for that. I never in my life was so determined ; still I was by no means froe from fear, but I wanted to satisfy a feeling of the greatest curiosity. I wanted if possible to make a discovery, and no remonstrance of any kind would at the time have pre- vented me. I stood in the recess, on the very spot where the sobbing ghost had revealed his distress. I looked cautiously here and there ; first at the floor — no trace of any footmark whatever — then at the side partition — here it was where the priest-spirit had entered — every thing seemed secure ; and though I pressed my hand against the old carved oaken boards, and even ventured to thump a little on them, they appeared perfectly solid and secure ; there being no difference that I could find between that part of the partition and any other part ; no hollow sound came, and after a most minute and patient examination, I could discover neither keyhole, nor latch, nor spring, nor contrivance of any kind, whereby anything more material than a veritable spirit could find entrance. [ felt discomfited ; my fear rather increased, and I began to regret that I had attempted any such search as I had just made. My natural inquisitiveness had now had its proper deserts. I had dared to doubt, had actually begun to be skeptical. I wanted to be wiser and more astute than others. I had on in- sufficient evidence recklessly ventured to encourage a disbelief in the legends and traditions which had been handed down, iKi^i 52 Family Creeds. 11" V' '■ 111 5i' SSlliS •i: generation after generation, and which still had the firm belief of persons much older than I was, and much wiser than I ever could expect to be. Then I had just been shown my folly. I began to think that I had been guilty of great presumption. Had I not been so over-curious, had I not gone so far, I might perhaps have still doubted, and have still hoped that some reasonable explanation might be given for such ghostly appear- ances. As it was, the foundation for any further doubt seemed to have been removed, I had made no discovery, and though lurking suspicions should yet remain ever so strong, I must still be partially a dupe to delusions which I could not explain away. However I did not like to be baffled too readily. Should I give up because my first attempt had not been successful 1 I knew not why it was but I had a strong impression that what I had seen and heard the night before was nothing super- natural. The more I thought about it the more material and less spiritual I was forced to consider the appearance that I had seen here, and I thought what a triumph it would be if I could make the least discovery to prove that my suspicions were not altogether unfounded. I wished to be able to satisfy even Nelly, that many of the popular ghost-stories she had so often frightened me with were unreliable and could be explained away ; and that not only she, but hundreds of others were regularly deceived by their own credulity. I recommenced my search, I tried the partition again, I pressed against it with all my might and pounded on it until I became afraid that the noise would be heard all over the house ; but the result was the same — ^no discovery. How was it pos- sible, thought I, that priest, or man, or spirit, or whatever it was, could have entered here and have disappeared again so readily 1 I had heard that spirits could intrude through a keyhole, or A Sfdrtling Discover ij. 53 even through a stone wall, but the one I had seen had evidently required entrance and exit through a door-way — and this was in fact the real cause of my skepticism — hut where was the door ] Nowhere. Could I have been mistaken, or was it after all but a dream 1 I felt partially bewildered, and stood for over a minute to collect my wandering ideas. "But stay," thought I, "did he not put sonuithing in here?" J had almost forgotten the little place or opening in the wall that the spirit had hurriedly reached at before its departui'e. It was altogether higher than I could touch, but I could notice nothing ill particular from where I stood. There was a small niche on each side of the recess. These were the only openings that were to be seen, and a saint or other little image of some kind — long since removed — had probably occupied one, or both of these places, little ecclesiastical ornaments such as those which can be found in great numbers in some Protestant, as well as in most Catholic churches. I drew over a chair and stood upon that. I looked and searched all over. There was no opening of any kind to be .seen in the wall but the niche, and that was vacant. I was about to step down, disappointed again, when I chanced to observe that the little black marble base or pedes- tal within the niche, upon which the image had once been, was not level ; it was partly raised like the cover of a small box. I touched it, and it opened wider. I could perceive a little cav- ity, one which with proper precaution might have remained forever unnoticed. I thrust in two or three fingers and took out a picture, an exquisitely enamelled portrait. I hurried over to the window so as to get the benefit of the full light, and the sunbeams fell on it — How beautiful ! — but there, alas, was the youth and bloom of womanhood in the black drapery of the Church ! It was the picture of a nun with a sad expression on the young face. But stay, were not the features familiar 1 X 54 Family Creeds. scanned thorn closer. I held the picture far off, then closer — Amazing! — Surely this could not be! — Impossible! — There must be some wild dreaming or some mistake. There is a difference, perhaps the change of time, but still a startling resemblance — Could this ever have been the likeness of my mother 1 Uiiltl m CHAPTER VI. A DKKADFUL H H R 1) E N. IF tluTP are .sorrf)WH which make existence an affliction, there are secrets wliich make life too great a burden. The con- ffjihiient which forbids th(^ Usast