Chapter 6

Strange as the general's tale was, he spoke with such a deep air of conviction that it cut short all the usual commentaries which are made on such stories. Lord Woodville never once asked him if he was sure he did not dream of the apparition, or suggested any of the possibilities by which it is fashionable to explain supernatural appearances--as wild vagaries of the fancy or deceptions of the optic nerves.

On the contrary he seemed deeply impressed with the truth and reality of what he had heard; and, after a considerable pause, regretted, with much appearance of sincerity, that his early friend should in his house have suffered so severely.

"I am the more sorry for your pain, my dear Browne," he continued, "that it is the unhappy, though most unexpected, result of an experiment of my own. You must know that, for my father and grandfather's time at least, the apartment which was assigned to you last night had been shut on account of reports that it was disturbed by supernatural sights and noises.

"When I came, a few weeks since, into possession of the estate, I thought the accommodation which the castle afforded for my friends was not extensive enough to permit the inhabitants of the invisible world to retain possession of a comfortable sleeping apartment.

"I therefore caused the Tapestried Chamber, as we call it, to be opened; and, without destroying its air of antiquity, I had such new articles of furniture placed in it as became the modern times. Yet as the opinion that the room was haunted very strongly prevailed among the domestics, and was also known in the neighborhood and to many of my friends, I feared some prejudice might be entertained by the first occupant of the Tapestried Chamber, which might tend to revive the evil report which it had labored under, and so disappoint my purpose of rendering it a useful part of the house.

"I must confess, my dear Browne, that your arrival yesterday, agreeable to me for a thousand reasons besides, seemed the most favorable opportunity of removing the unpleasant rumors which attached to the room, since your courage was indubitable, and your mind free of any preoccupation on the subject. I could not, therefore, have chosen a more fitting subject for my experiment."

"Upon my life," said General Browne, somewhat hastily, "I am infinitely obliged to your lordship--very particularly indebted indeed. I am likely to remember for some time the consequences of the experiment, as your lordship is pleased to call it."

"Nay, now you are unjust, my dear friend," said Lord Woodville. "You have only to reflect for a single moment in order to be convinced that I could not augur the possibility of the pain to which you have been so unhappily exposed.

"I was yesterday morning a complete skeptic on the subject of supernatural appearances. Nay, I am sure that had I told you what was said about that room, those very reports would have induced you, by your own choice, to select it for your accommodation. It was my misfortune, perhaps my error, but really cannot be termed my fault, that you have been afflicted so strangely."

"Strangely indeed!" said the general, resuming his good temper; "and I acknowledge that I have no right to be offended with your lordship for treating me like what I used to think myself--a man of some firmness and courage. But I see my post horses are arrived, and I must not detain your lordship from your amusement."

"Nay, my old friend," said Lord Woodville; "since you cannot stay with us another day--which, indeed, I can no longer urge--give me at least half an hour more. You used to love pictures, and I have a gallery of portraits, some of them by Vandyke, representing ancestry to whom this property and castle formerly belonged. I think that several of them will strike you as possessing merit."

General Browne accepted the invitation, though somewhat unwillingly. It was evident he was not to breathe freely or at ease till he left Woodville Castle far behind him. He could not refuse his friend's invitation, however; and the less so, that he was a little ashamed of the peevishness which he had displayed toward his well-meaning entertainer.

The general, therefore, followed Lord Woodville through several rooms, into a long gallery hung with pictures, which the latter pointed out to his guest, telling the names, and giving some account of the personages whose portraits presented themselves in progression.

General Browne was but little interested in the details which these accounts conveyed to him. They were, indeed, of the kind which are usually found in an old family gallery. Here was a cavalier who had ruined the estate in the royal cause; there, a fine lady who had reinstated it by contracting a match with a wealthy Roundhead. There hung a gallant who had been in danger for corresponding with the exiled Court at Saint Germain's; here, one who had taken arms for William at the Revolution; and there, a third that had thrown his weight alternately into the scale of Whig and Tory.

While Lord Woodville was cramming these words into his guest's ear, "against the stomach of his sense," they gained the middle of the gallery, when he beheld General Browne suddenly start and assume an attitude of the utmost surprise, not unmixed with fear, as his eyes were caught and suddenly riveted by a portrait of an old lady in a sacque, the fashionable dress at the end of the seventeenth century.

"There she is!" he exclaimed; "there she is, in form and features, though inferior in demoniac expression to the hag that visited me last night!"

"If that be the case," said the young nobleman, "there can remain no longer any doubt of the horrible reality of your apparition. That is the picture of a wretched ancestress of mine, of whose crimes a black and fearful catalogue is recorded in a family history in my charter-chest. The recital of them would be too horrible; it is enough to say that in yon fatal apartment incest and unnatural murder were committed. I will restore it to the solitude to which the better judgment of those who preceded me had consigned it; and never shall any one, so long as I can prevent it, be exposed to a repetition of the supernatural horrors which could shake such courage as yours."

Thus the friends, who had met with such glee, parted in a very different mood; Lord Woodville to command the Tapestried Chamber to be unmantled and the door built up, and General Browne to seek in some less beautiful country, and with some less dignified friend, forgetfulness of the painful night which he had passed in Woodville Castle.

THE DIARY OF AN OLD MAID.

The following truthful and touching history of an old maid, dating from about 1843, is one of the briefest, yet at the same time most complete, records of human experience in print. Those who can read between the lines will have full sympathy for the author of it, who seems to have found that though marriage may prove a failure, abstention from matrimony does not bring happiness:

At fifteen years, anxious for coming out.

Sixteen, began to have some idea of the tender passion.

Seventeen, talked of love in a cottage, and _disinterested affection_.

Eighteen, fancied myself in love with some handsome man who flattered me.

Nineteen, was a little more difficult, in consequence of being noticed.

Twenty, commenced to be fashionable and dashing.

Twenty-one, still more confidence in my own attractions, and expected a brilliant establishment.

Twenty-two, refused a good offer because he was not a man of fashion.

Twenty-three, flirted with every young man I met.

Twenty-four, wondered why not married.

Twenty-five, rather more circumspect in conduct.

Twenty-six, began to think a large fortune not quite so indispensable.

Twenty-seven, preferred the company of rational men.

Twenty-eight, wished to be married in a quiet way, with a comfortable home and children.

Twenty-nine, almost despaired of entering the marriage state.

Thirty, was rather fearful of being called an old maid.

Thirty-one, an additional love of self-adornment.

Thirty-two, professed to dislike balls, finding it quite difficult to secure good partners.

Thirty-three, wondered how men could leave the society of sensible women to flirt with chits.

Thirty-four, affected good humor in conversation with men.

Thirty-five, jealous of the praises of women.

Thirty-six, quarreled with friend who had been lately married.

Thirty-seven, thought myself slighted in company.

Thirty-eight, liked talking of my acquaintances who are married unfortunately, and found endless consolation in their misfortunes.

Thirty-nine, ill-nature increased.

Forty, became a confirmed scold.

And so on up to fifty, when the lady seized upon lap-dogs, and talked largely of philanthropy. After that age, gray hairs start out upon the temple, and "old lady" becomes the tune--no longer old maid.

GRAVE, GAY, AND EPIGRAMMATIC.

COMPENSATION.

"Too late!" he shrieked--with bulging eyes He watched the train pull out-- And, overcome, gave vent to rage In one tremendous shout.

"We'd caught the thing in plenty time!" He turned around and said: "But for the hour you took to put That hat upon your head!"

"I know it!" happily smiled his wife; "But did you notice, sweet, How everybody rubbered 'round When we came down the street?"

_New York World._

EASTER GOSSIP.

Dey's done had chicken at her house, It's easy tellin' dat By de contentment in her face An' de feathers in her hat.

_Washington Star._

FAR FROM MARKET.

Soon after the Civil War, General Ingalls, U.S.A., visited a friend in the South. Taking a walk one morning he met a boy coming up from the river with a fine string of fish.

"What will you take for your fish?" asked the general.

"Thirty cents," was the reply.

"Thirty cents!" repeated the general in astonishment. "Why, if you were in New York you could get three dollars for them."

The boy looked critically at the officer for a moment and then said, scornfully:

"Yes, suh; en' I reckon if I had a bucket of water in hell I could get a million dollars for it."--_Saturday Evening Post._

MOZART'S MILITARY MARCH.

Cardinal Gibbons was facetious when the Irish ladies' choir of Dublin called on him. Turning suddenly, he asked:

"Which one of you is the oldest?"

None claimed the honor and all blushed. The talk drifted around to Gilmore and his band, and Cardinal Gibbons told of how Gilmore, at Coney Island, hearing that the cardinal was in the audience, played "Maryland, My Maryland," and how it pleased him.

"Gilmore," said the cardinal, "was famous for his playing of Mozart's 'Twelfth Mass.' Once he played it in a North Carolina town and next day the local paper announced that he rendered with great effect Mozart's 'Twelfth Massachusetts.'"

_Pittsburgh Dispatch._

THE BOSS.

Who is it, when the people rise And make the welkin ring with cries For freedom, sits with upturned eyes? The Boss.

Who is it makes a little slate And nominates the candidate-- But lets the people pay the freight? The Boss.

Who is it, after all the noise Against the methods he employs Is meekly followed by the boys? The Boss.

Who, when he gets alone where we That boast about the liberty We have can neither hear nor see Says: "Oh, what fools these mortals be!" The Boss.

_Chicago Times-Herald._

CHANGES.

One hundred years ago to-day, With wildernesses here, With powder in his gun, the man Went out and got the deer.

But now the thing is somewhat changed, And on another plan; With powder on her cheeks the dear Goes out and gets the man.

_Indianapolis Sun._

THE SULTAN'S THREAT.

The Sultan of Sulu is the man who is not afraid. He imported an eighteen-thousand-dollar uniform from Paris for the occasion of the Taft reception not long ago and when the costume came he refused to pay duty on it. The custom authorities made a fuss and threatened to keep the uniform.

"Very well," said Mr. Sultan, "keep your old uniform, but understand that I shall wear that at the reception or nothing." The horrified officers perceived that he meant what he said and the suit was handed over in silence.--_Minneapolis Tribune._

A FRAGMENT.

Only a woman's hair, Long, delicate, and slender; Light as the spider's silken lair, Soft as a moonbeam tender.

One that some hapless swain Might carry as a token Of her he loves, yet loves in vain, With constancy unbroken.

For such as this, I ween, Knights dead and gone have battled; When lance met lance in tourney keen, And sword on buckler rattled.

And yet it makes me swear At our confounded slavy; For I'll be hanged if I can bear Such relics in the gravy!

_Pick-Me-Up._

REED'S WAY OUT OF IT.

A story is told of Thomas B. Reed by neighbors who knew him in his childhood to the effect that once, when sent to the grocery store with a jug for vinegar, he forgot what he was told to get, and, when asked by the grocer what he wanted, replied.

"Smell of the jug, and give me a quart."

_Boston Herald._

CAUSE FOR ALARM.

The late Dr. Boardman of Philadelphia used to relate this on himself: "I preached a funeral sermon at one time, and spoke on the resurrection. I am sure I spoke longer than was my custom.

"The undertaker was a man of nervous temperament, and as the afternoon was going he began to be anxious to be on the way to the cemetery. He finally whispered to one of my members: 'Does your minister always preach as long as that at a funeral?'

"'Well,' said the brother, 'that is a good sermon.'

"'Yes,' said the undertaker, 'the sermon is all right, and I believe in the resurrection, but I am afraid if he does not stop pretty soon I will not get this man buried in time.'"--_Philadelphia Ledger._

A CORRECTION.

'Twas not for want of breath he died, But rather that he misapplied The ample breath he had, I wot. Before he went to bed that night He witlessly blew out the light. The gas escaped; the man did not.

_New York World._

WHEN THE BIG STICK WOULDN'T DO.

The following anecdote of President Roosevelt's youth is being told in England:

When Roosevelt was a student at Harvard he was required to recite a poem in public declamation. He got as far as a line which read:

"When Greece her knees in suppliance bent,"

when he stuck there.

Again he repeated,

"When Greece her knees ...," but could get no farther.

The teacher waited patiently, finally remarking:

"Grease her knees again, Roosevelt, then perhaps she'll go."

_Woman's Home Companion._

DESERVED TO LIVE.

In a rural justice court in Georgia recently an old negro, whose testimony had been questioned, said in his own defense:

"Jedge, I'm a good man. I been a-livin' roun' heah ten years. I ain't never been lynched; en de only horse I ever stoled throwed me en broke my two legs!"--_Chicago Daily News._

SENATORIAL COURTESY.

"I suppose you will bow to the will of the people," said the friend.

"Of course I will," answered Senator Sorghum; "I'll bow and take off my hat all they want me to. As long as there's no chance of their having their own way it's as little as I can do to be polite."--_Washington Evening Star._

The Nation's Conscience Fund.

For Ninety-five Years Persons Who Have Succeeded in Defrauding the Government Have Coined Remorse into Gold and Sent It to Uncle Sam, Who Has Received $400,000 in This Manner.

_An original article written for_ THE SCRAP BOOK.

For ninety-five years contributions from penitent people throughout America have been flowing into the government's Conscience Fund at Washington. The first contribution of this nature was received in 1811, during the administration of Madison. At the first of this year the sums received from thousands of men and women who confessed that they had defrauded the government amounted to four hundred thousand dollars.

There is a great deal of variety in the character of transgressions, and also in the sums of money turned in to the Conscience Fund. One woman, a few years ago, sent a single one-cent stamp to the Secretary of the Treasury, explaining that she had defrauded the government of that amount of postage. In marked contrast to this contribution was a draft for fourteen thousand dollars, sent to the Conscience Fund by an American living in England.

One peculiarity that is revealed by the letters of repentant citizens is the effort to disguise the identity of the writers. They frequently write in a cramped, unnatural style, or they "print" the letters as children do, or purposely mis-spell words, as is evident when wretched orthography is done in handwriting that is itself indicative of culture.

All these efforts are unnecessary, for the United States government does not divulge the names even when, occasionally, they are frankly signed by the conscience-stricken. To enable the sender to know that his contribution has reached the Conscience Fund, announcement of the amount sent and the nature of the confession is made in the newspapers of the city or town whence the letter was mailed. But no effort is made to discover the identity of the contributor.

Many of the writers are women, but they do not send so much money to the Conscience Fund as the men. Their transgressions, as a rule, involve small transactions. The largest contributions come from smugglers. The remainder is received from persons who have used canceled stamps, or who have sent first-class mail under third-class rates, or persons who have actually stolen articles from Government buildings, forts, or reservations.

Faith in Fellowmen Awakened.

A curious fact in regard to the action of many of these penitents is that, having become awakened to a sense of high ethics, their distrust of others vanishes. This is not a universal trait among the contributors to the Conscience Fund, but there have been many conspicuous examples of it.

The Treasury Department receives daily about ten thousand letters. One morning, in 1905, there was received in the mail at this department a package in manila paper, folded to resemble an ordinary official-size envelope. It bore several two-cent stamps, but no more than was necessary to carry it, and nothing whatever to indicate its contents. It was the sort of package which might be expected to contain the vouchers of some claimant or subordinate official.

When the contents were shaken out, twelve thousand dollars in paper money lay on the desk of the astonished clerk. The letter accompanying this contribution to the Conscience Fund read as follows:

HON. L.M. SHAW, Secretary of the Treasury,

DEAR SIR:

I am sending you herewith twelve thousand dollars, which is to go to the use of the United States government. Years ago I defrauded the government of money, but have returned it all, and now am paying fourfold, in accordance with the teachings of the Scriptures. The way of the transgressor is hard, but no one but God knows how I have suffered the consequences, and I would seek to do a bountiful restoration. May God pardon while the United States government is benefited.

That letter was simply signed "A Sinner," which is a common signature to these interesting confessions.

Of an entirely different turn of mind was a penitent a few years ago, who sent in eight thousand dollars to the Conscience Fund. He tore the bills making up this sum exactly in half, and sent the first instalment to the keeper of the Conscience Fund, saying that if the government would acknowledge its receipt, he would forward the other half. True to his word, upon receipt of the Federal acknowledgment, he mailed the necessary fragments of the bills. Pieced together, these were, of course, as good as gold, and the Conscience Fund was materially increased.

To His Majesty, the President.

While the contributions and the interesting letters connected with them are the source of some merriment, the whole custom and institution is a very serious one to a majority, if not to all, the penitents. Many of the letters reveal a condition of poignant remorse. Some of them are pathetic in the genuineness and simplicity of the suffering revealed.

One letter that deeply impressed the officials of the Treasury Department was from a little girl fifteen years of age. It was during the administration of President Cleveland. The child's letter disclosed intelligence and keen regret for using two canceled postage stamps. The missive read:

TO HIS MAJESTY, PRESIDENT CLEVELAND,

DEAR PRESIDENT:

I am in a dreadful state of mind, and I thought I would write and tell you all. About two years ago--as near as I can remember, it was two years--I used two postage stamps that had been used before on letters, perhaps more than two stamps, but I can only remember of doing it twice. I did not realize what I had done until lately. My mind is constantly turned on that subject, and I think of it night and day. Now, dear President, will you please forgive me, and I promise you I will never do it again? Enclosed find cost of three stamps. Please forgive me, for I was then but thirteen years old, for I am heartily sorry for what I have done.

FROM ONE OF YOUR SUBJECTS.

That was from a child. Here is a letter from a woman of evident cultivation. It was dated at Roanoke, October 12, 1905, and was sent to the President of the United States. It reads:

THE HON. THEODORE ROOSEVELT,

PRESIDENT,

Enclosed you will find two dollars, which please place in the National Treasury, as it should be there by rights. Some time ago I made a purchase of an article and evaded paying duty when the custom-house official came around. My conscience has hurt me sorely, and I desire to pay the government, and know of no better way than by sending it to you. I am very sorry indeed to trouble you, but please help me out of my trouble by giving the money to Uncle Sam, and you will have the thanks and gratitude of one who is penitent.

Prosperity Stirs the Conscience.

The sincerity displayed in all the letters is unmistakable. A few years ago many of the communications revealed a strong religious feeling. During the present period of prosperity contributions have been increasing, and it is now the opinion of some officials that many of these penitents have long been anxious to restore "to Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's," but that they waited until they were better able to do so.

A few weeks ago a man wrote from Kansas, stating that thirty-six years before he bought a horse from army deserters, who had stolen it from Fort Leavenworth. He paid them forty dollars for the animal, and not long afterward sold it for the same sum. He therefore made nothing out of the transaction, but the fact that he had dealt in a contraband horse had preyed steadily, he said, upon his conscience, and after the lapse of a generation he sent forty dollars to the Conscience Fund.

Just how much smuggling is carried on is a matter of interesting speculation. Last year our registered imports amounted in value to over one billion dollars. The dutiable goods amounted to considerably more than half this sum, and the duties collected aggregated no less than two hundred and seventy-seven million dollars.