LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume V, Issue 578, 26 April 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

STEEPSLDE. A Ghost Story. The strange things I am going to tell you, dear reader, did not occur, as such things generally do, to my great uncle, or to my second cousin, or even to my grandfather, but to myself. It happened that a few years ago I received an invitation from an old schoolfellow to spend Christmas week with him in his country house on the borders of North Wales, and, as I was then a happy bachelor, and had not seen my friend for a considerable time, I accepted the invitation, and turned my back upon London on the appointed day, with a light heart and anticipations of the pleaasntest description. Leaving my City haunts by the morning train. I was landed early in the afternoon at the nearest station to my friend’s house, although in this case ‘ nearest ’ was indeed paradoxically by no means near. When I had reached'the inn where I had fondly expected to find ‘flys, omnibuses, and other vehicles obtainable on the shortest notice,’ I was met by the landlady of the establishment, who, with an apologetic curtsey and a deprecating smile, informed me that she was extremely sorry to say her last conveyance had just started with a party, and would not return until late at night. I looked at ray watch —it was past four. Seven miles, and I had a large travelling-bag to carry. ‘ It is a good road from here to ? I asked the landlady. ‘Oh yes, sir ; very fair.’ ‘ Well,’ I said, ‘ I think I’ll walk it. The railway journey has rather numbed my feet, and a sharp walk will certainly improve their temperature. ’ So I courageously lifted my bag and set out on the journey to my friend’s house. Ah, how little I guessed what was destined to befall me before I reached that desired haven. I had gone, I suppose, about two miles when I descried behind me a vast mass of dark, surging cloud driving up rapidly with the wind. I was in open country, and there was evidently going to be a very heavy snowstorm. Presently it began. At first I made up my mind not to hoed it; but in about twenty minutes after tire commencement of the fall the snow became so thick and so blinding, that it was absolutely impossible for me to find my way along a road which was utterly new to me. Moreover, with the cloud came the twilight, and a most disagreeably keen wind. The travelling bag became unbearably heavy. I shifted it from one hand to the other ; I hung it over my shoulder ; I put it under my arm ; I carried it in all sorts of ways, but none afforded me any permanent relief. To add to my misfortune, I strongly suspected that I had mistaken my way. for by this time the snow was so deep that the footpath was altogether obliterated. In this predicament I looked out wistfully across the whitened landscape for signs of an inn or habitation of some description where I might ‘ put up ’ for the night, and by good fortune (or was it bad?) I at last espied through the gathering g'oom a solitary and not very distant light twinkling from a lodge at the entrance of a private road. I fought my way through the snow as quickly as possible, and, presenting myself at the gate of the little cottage, rang the bell complacently, and flattered myself

that I had at length discovered a resting" place. An old mail with grey hair answered my summons. Him I acquainted with my misfortune, and to him I preferred my request that 1 might be allowed a night’s shelter in the lodge, or at least the temporary privilege of drying myself and my habiliments at his fireside. The old fellow admitted me cheerfully enough; but he seemed more than doubtful as to the possibility of my passing the night beneath his roof. ‘Ye see, sir,’ he said, ‘we’ve only one small room —me and the missis—and I don’t well sc. how we’re to manage about you. All the same, sir, I wouldn’t advise ye to go on to-night, for if ye’re bound for Mr ’a, ye’ve come a deal out of your way, and the storm's getting worse and worse every minute. We shall have a nasty night of it, sir, and it’ll be a deal too stiff for travelling on foot.’ Here the wife, a hospitable-looking old woman, interposed. ‘ Willum, don’t ye think as the gentleman might be put to sleep in the room up at the House, where George slept last time ho was here to see us ? His bed’s there still, ye know. It’s a very good room, sir,’ she argued, addressing me : * and I can give ye a pair of blankets in no time.’ ‘But,’ said I, ‘the master of the house doesn’t know me. lam a stranger here altogether, ’ ‘ Dor’ bless ye, sir 1 ’ answered my host, ‘ there ain’t nobody in the place. The house has been to let these ten years at least to my knowledge ; for I’ve been here eighf, and the house and the lodge had both been empty no one knows how long when I come. I rents this cottage of Mr Houghton, out yonder. ’ ‘ Oh well,’ I rejoined, ‘ if that is the case, and there ia nobody’s leave save yours to ask, I’m willing enough to sleep at the house and thank you too for your kindness.’ So it was arranged that I should pass the ensuing night within the walls of the empty mansion; and, until it was time to retire thither, I amused and edified myself by a friendly chat with the old man and his spouse, both of whom were vastly communicative. At ten o’clock I and my host adjourned to theliouse, which stood at a very short distance from the lodge. I carred my bag, and my companion bore the blankets already referred to, a candle, and some firewood and matches. The chamber to which he conducted me was comfortable enough, but by no means profusely furnished. It contained a small truckle bedstead, two chairs, and a wash stand, but no attempt at pictures or ornaments of any description. Evidently it was an impromptu bedroom. My entertainer in a few minutes kindled a cheerful fire upon the old-fashioned stone hearth. Then, after arranging my bed, and placing my candle on the mantlepiece, he wished me a respectful good night and withdrew. When he was gone I dragged one of the chairs towards the fireplace, and sat down to enjoy the pleasant flicker of the blaze. 1 luminated upon the occurrences of the day, and the possible history of the old house, whose sole occupant I had thus strangely become. Now lam of an inquisitive turn of mind, and perhaps less apt than most men to be troubled with that uncomfortable sensation which those people who are its victims describe as nervousness, and those who are not, as cowardice. Another in my place might have shrunk from doing what I presently resolved to do, and that was to explore, before going to rest, at least some part of this empty old house. Accordingly, I took up my candle and walked out into the passage, leaving the door of my room widely open, so that the firelight streamed full into the entrance of the dark gallery, and served to guide me on my way along it. When I had thus progressed for some twenty yards, I was brought to a standstill by encountering a large red baize door, which evidently shut off the wing in which my room was situated from the rest of the mansion, and completely closed all egress from the corridor where I then stood. I paused a moment or two in uncertainty, for the door was locked; but presently my glance fell on an old rusty key hanging from a nail, likewise rusty, in a niche of the wall, I abstracted this key from its resting place, destroying as I did so the residences of a dozen spiders, which, to judge from appearances, seemed to have thrived excellently in the atmosphere of desolation which surrounded them. It was some time before I could get the clumsy old lock to act properly, or summon sufficient strength to turn the key; but at length perseverance met with its proverbial reward, and the door moved slowly and noisily on its hinges. Still bearing my candle, I went on my way into a second corridor, which was literally carpeted with dust, the accumulation probably of the ten years to which my host had referred. All round was gloomy and silent as a sepulchre, save that every now and then the loosened boards creaked beneath my tread, < r some little misanthropical animal, startled from his hermitage by the unwonted sound of my steps, hurried across the passage, making as he went a tiny trail in the thick furry dust. Several galleries branched off from the main way like tributary streams, but I preferred to steer my course down the central corridor, which finally conducted me to a large antique-looking apartment with carved wainscot and curious old paintings on the panelled walls. I put the candle upon a table which stood in the centre of the room, and standing besides it, took a general survey. There was an old mouldy-looking b lokcase in one corner of the chamber, with some old mouldy books packed closely together ou a few of its shelves. This piece of furniture was hollowed out, crescent-wise, at the base, and partially concealed a carved oaken door, which had evidently in former times been the means of communication with an adjoining apartment. Prompted by curiosity, I took down and opened a few of the nearest books on the shelves before me. They proved to be some of the very earliest volumes of the ‘ Spectator ’ —books of considerable interest to me, and in ten minutes I was quite absorbed in an article by one of our most noted masters of literature. 1 drew one of the queer high-backed chairs scattered about the room, towards the table, and sat down to enjoy a ‘feast of reason and a flow of soul.’ As I turned the mildewed page, something suddenly fell with a dull ‘ flop ’ upon the paper. It was a drop of blood ! I scared at it with a strange sensation of mingled horror and astonishment. Could it have been upon the page before I turned it ? No ; it was wet and bright, and presented the uneven, broken disc which drops of liquid always possess when they fall from a considerable height. Besides I had heard and seen it fall.

{To h continued.)