FRIGHTS!-No. III.

It may be doubted whether malignity itself occasions greater mischief in the world than fun. If society may count up its thousands of victims to the venomous propensities of the envious and the revengeful, so may it also reckon its thousands of martyrs to propensities the very opposite to theirs-victims to passions the most joyous and guileless-to feelings the most sportive and child-like; in short, to a taste for frolic-to a love of fun.

The malice of an enemy is sometimes not more dangerous than the gamesomeness of a friend; the slanderous tongues of the envious and the vile often prove far less sharp and fatal, far less productive of permanent misery to the innocent, than the jocularity of a prankish old fool of a nurse, or the light-hearted sally of an affectionate but deplorably stupid parent. There is plenty of tragedy in this life, acted in earnest; but there is a good deal of real poisoning done "in jest." People will sport jokes that are no jokes.

To every domestic circle into which this page may penetrate, the subject will perhaps suggest some recollection of disasters more or less serious that have arisen from silly and unthinking frolics, prompted more especially by that for which human nature has so intense, so enlightened, and so philanthropic a relish the fun of frightening: people. We hope it may be from no bitter or melancholy experience that the reader concurs with us in seeing "no fun in it." The merry laughing face of this species of "fun," has proved a death's-head ere now; the figure of "fun" has turned out to be a hideous hobgoblin with outstretched arms—a fingerpost pointing to the next lunatic asylum.

If the fatal consequences that frequently ensue from these practical, jests admitted of any feeling in the mind, associated however remotely with ridicule, how exquisitely ludicrous would the position of that man appear, who having enjoyed his funny trick, and played out successfully his game of fright, beholds his triumph in the pallid visage, the wild glance, the trembling limbs, the hurried pulse, the panting heart of the object of his cruel sport; and becoming alarmed in turn at the effect which he had taken such pains to produce, is obliged to make some, attempt to palliate his error and to chase away the spectres he has conjured up, by exclaiming in the most deprecating and apologetic tone-"I never thought it would have frightened you so, it was only my fun!"

We almost wish that the legislature would-just for the "fun" of the thing-pass some law that might reach these reckless and desperate experimentalists, and punish the humorous players upon people's nerves, with a severity proportioned to the whimsicality of the hoax. The law recognises the criminality of those who carelessly or wilfully sport with the safety of people's legs, arms, or necks; and it is peculiarly severe upon all who heedlessly venture to trifle with the sacredness of our goods and chattels; but it has no eye to the playful freaks of practical jokers, to whose insatiable thirst for fun the credulous child, the timid girl, the weak-nerved woman, fall victims; it has no ear for the short sudden shriek that bursts involuntarily from white and quivering lips, sounding

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not unfrequently the knell of sanity in those who utter it, or proclaiming the approach of vacant, hopeless, miserable idiocy.

The disciples of this school of fun are sure to find plenty of nerves admirably suited for them to work upon. Children are prepared for the sport almost in their cradles. Nine out of ten are trained up in terror. They are taught the destructive lesson of fear, before they can even spell the word. Before they can speak plainly, they become practised in the instinctive expression of their feelings, by shuddering, screaming, and crying their little hearts out, at the idea of "bogie," and the horror of being left alone in the dark. The very moment this idea is engrafted upon the sensitive mind, the instant this horror takes possession of the child's imagination, it loses something of the health and happiness to which it was born. The dread of being in the dark—of being alone, and in the dark-clouds perhaps all its after life. It sees nothing that really is, in its true light, from the fear of seeing something which is not. influence of the first horror of " bogie," remains for years and years after the particular species of "bogie" that had excited the agony of alarm has become an absurdity too childish to be even laughed at. Unconsciously, the mind is sensibly affected, in ten thousand different forms, by the very image which it despises and ridicules. The silly bugbear of the nursery has an abundant and most appalling progeny. In this, more perhaps than in any other respect, may it be said that "the child is father of the man."

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The idea of darkness as something terrible would in few instances be fixed in the mind, were it not for the cruel and senseless practices, by which servants of all grades-we may add, teachers of somee-work upon the imagination of children. They are taught to see in darkness a natural enemy, as they are sometimes taught to regard school as a punishment. "If you are not good, you shall be shut in the dark closet," -or "If you don't behave better, you shall be sent to school immediately." These are family phrases not yet quite out of fashion. The consequences now and then take an unexpected turn. A little damsel of our acquaintance was shut up in a dark room; she cried bitterly, violently, for the first five minutes; then all was suddenly still-quite still; ten minutes went on, and yet there was a dead silence within. The family at length began to be uneasy-then frightened--too frightened to go and ascertain the cause of the phenomenon. At length they rush forth and burst open the door, when they discover that the little victim had-alone and in the dark-found her way to a plate of cheesecakes left accidentally in the apartment, and was making herself extremely ill for want of other

amusement.

How many wits have been set wandering by roadside horrors, raised up from the elements of the ridiculous! The simplest objects become the means of deadly mischief. A donkey in the deep shadow, a cow in the dim moonlight, a stump of an old tree, a white finger-post at the corner of a by-path, have produced in myriads an agony of agitation; but what are these to the good old English country ghost, the elements that compose which we here set in their uncombined, and therefore unterrifying forms, before the spectator. Why, here are agents by which even

the most unskilful may succeed in frightening a whole parish-nay, a county. Look upon these the simple means, and then behold the easily manufactured ghost!

But of all fields for frights the churchyard is the most productive of terrors! Yet why? Whosoever wanders over one in the daytime will find, be he in town or country, that he is surrounded by none but the most amiable and affectionate people in the world-by the kindest of relationsthe faithfullest of friends. Such people are little likely to start from behind their tombstones, in the dark, for the mere pleasure of frightening benighted wanderers. In a churchyard, if the inhabitants be rightly described, there should be no terror! But what shall we say for a church, the sanctuary of the disturbed passions, a temple dedicated to sacredness and love. Yet where is the pious individual who would feel no tremor, if left to pass the night within the gothic aisles of such an edifice?

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In the vulgar superstition all churches are haunted, so also is every house that happens to be "in chancery." There are two classes of haunted tenements-one celebrated for mysterious Sights, and the other for mysterious Sounds. Cock-lane Ghost, and the various modern editions of that personage at Cambridge and elsewhere, are specimens of the Visible; the recent mysteries at Windsor and Dublin are examples of the Audible. Opinions differ as to which is the truly Terrible. For ourselves, though shadows without substances are eminently agitating-noises without the slightest possible cause-noises, sudden, strange, and above all self-existent-noises of this kind at midnight-in the wainscot, in the next apartment which is empty, in the room below where the gentleman took the dose of poison by mistake-are not, we make bold to confess, a sort of sound that we should like to go out of our way to listen to.

Of the Audible Ghost, Addison's comedy of the "Haunted House" contains the noisiest representative on record; and perhaps Defoe's account of the apparition of Mrs. Veal appearing to her friend, presents the Visible Ghost in most extraordinary reality to our all but believing eyes.

But talk of believing-we shall put the reader's faith to the test, by inviting him to take a peep into a "haunted house" which we have fitted up for his reception. Hark!

We remember two of papa's friends who were "regular story tellers." Mr. O'Brien had a store of Irish legends (of these hereafter); Mr. T. Smith had a variety of ghost stories. Of one of these a haunted house was the scene-a whole family of ghosts the dramatis personæ. We must premise, that at the time referred to, it was the fashion to wear " pigtails," and Mr. Smith, who had eschewed "pig-tail" and patronised "short cut," or crop, used to say when asked what he had done with his pig-tail, that" thereby hangs a tale," which joke he retailed at every opportunity. We may also intimate that a good "ghost story was in those days a valuable little property. Mr. Smith seldom dined at home, and always passed his evenings at other people's firesides. In truth, for more than three parts of the year, his "ghost story" procured him "bed, board, and lodging," gratis, including

"coals and candles." Now then, let the reader imagine a small family party seated round the fire, on a winter's evening, and let Mr. Smith tell his own story in his own way.

I was staying (he began) some years back at Squire Calf's, at Danglewitch-Hall, near Nantwich, in Cheshire; my friend, O'Brien here, was also a visitor. ("Sure I was," says Mr. O'B. with a grin-he was a merry fellow that O'B.) One evening the conversation turned upon Clay-hall, an old deserted mansion, that was reported to be haunted. Strange sights, strange sounds, and strange stories, filled the neighbourhood with alarm; and what surprised me at that time was, that all the Danglewitch people seemed firmly to believe in them. Being a little elevated, I bantered the family upon their ridiculous fears-I have since learned to pay more attention to other people's opinions and so enraged the squire, that he offered to bet fifty guineas to one, that I would not dare to sleep in that house for one night. No sooner said than "Done," cried I, and proposed to go immediately. The squire instantly ordered the servant to get the key from the old women at Clay-park lodge, to light a fire in the blue-room, and to provide, besides a pipe and tobacco, a good bottle of brandy. The whole party, in a merry mood, sallied forth to conduct me to my quarters. Soon after I wished them all good night, and fastened the door. I had a brace of pistols and a good sword-stick. I drew my sword and went over the house at once, to see that the fastenings were secure for though not afraid of ghosts, I objected to being surprised by robbers. Everything was in a dilapidated state, but I ascertained that the locks and bolts, although rusty, were sufficiently strong to resist an intruder. I was also certain, that no one was concealed. I then proceeded to my apartment, which was on the first floor at the back of the house. I slowly ascended the large staircase. The sound of my footsteps echoed through the empty mansion. As I approached the landing I was startled by a sudden noise, like the slamming of a door, and recollected that one of the upper rooms was without a fastening. All was silent again. I could hear myself breathe. I then held up the light, and looked first up, and then down, the well staircase, and began to feel that I had done a rather foolish thing-there might be after all a secret inlet-I might be robbed, murdered. But it was too late to recede; and the fear of being laughed at overcame every other fear.

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I now entered my chamber and secured the door. The bright fire and the candles gave a cheering look to a room otherwise dreary enough; for it was of large dimensions, and its colour was a deep dingy blue. At one end stood a huge four-post bedstead, hung with dark blue tattered damask curtains, edged with black; the head of each post was ornamented with a ragged plume of dark-blue feathers, which gave to it rather a funereal appearance. examined every part, and beneath the bed perceived a large chest, which I found to be firmly locked. Pushing it aside, I proceeded to explore the two closets that flanked the fire-place. Amongst a quantity of loose lumber, wig boxes, hat boxes, and odd slippers, I discovered an old black letter volume (a good deal nibbled), but, as Sir Walter Scott says, worth its weight in gold for all that;" it was God's Revenge against Murther." I just gave it a bang upon the table to knock out the dust. The blow produced a most tremendous noise that nearly stunned me, and was echoed apparently from every corner of the building, followed by the rattling of falling mortar behind the wainscot, and a scampering as if ten thousand rats were flying in all directions. The cloud of dust almost stifled me; but not quite overcome, I applied myself to my brandy, and filled my pipe, stirred the fire, snuffed the candles, opened my book, and began to read. I read on in silence, broken only by the regular puffing of smoke, the ticking of my watch, and the singing, or rather sighing, of the kettle. The book absorbed my whole attention. I was insensibly moved by its revelations. I was so worked upon by it that I felt a kind of lifting of the chair beneath me, and a peeping shadow appeared evermore between the candle and the page. Suddenly, at a most exciting point, I heard a gentle rustling of the bed-curtains. On looking round-horror! never to be forgotten!

I distinctly saw a tall figure enveloped in a long night-dress, which touched

the ground. It was standing sideways towards me, so that the face was hidden by a large feminine cap, which, however, it removed and threw upon the bed, discovering a most fearful and ghastly profile. It went through the operation of making its toilet before a small glass, then looked towards the trunk, and then to the bed. After a moment's hesitation, the trunk was opened, and it proceeded to put on an old-fashioned brocade dress. The figure then, after surveying itself in the mirror, slowly turned round, and moved towards me. I felt my blood curdle, my flesh crawl. It passed the foot of the bed, and advanced towards the door. The eyes were cast down; the hand was upon the fastenings. At this instant the village clock struck, or rather tolled out twelve-and as the last stroke of the bell floated on the breeze, the figure gradually raised its head, and fixed upon me a pair of horrible glaring eyes that turned my heart to ice. A sharp sliding noise on the wall opposite made me turn to look, and the two portraits, a lady, and an officer in a blue uniform, appeared to be leaning out of their frames, and watching me intently. The figure then hastily passed out of the room, uttering a screaming note, wilder than the moaning wind. This was answered seemingly from the cellars by a most hideous long-drawn howl, followed by the rattling of locks, bolts, and chains, and a confusion of strange unearthly sounds. I sprang up and seized my pistols. There was a dead silence. I could distinctly hear a whispering, not only on the stairs, but in the closets, the doors of which were slowly pushed open, and more than one pair of eyes flashed upon me from the dark; in an instant the door of the room creaked slowly, and I beheld two or three parchment faces, with fiery eyes, gazing at me. I made now a desperate effort, and levelling a pistol either way, uttered a fierce menace, threatening to fire, if they advanced. This threat was answered by a queer sort of tittering and snuffling; in desperation I pulled the triggers; the result was a double flashi in the pan, which overspread the room like a sheet of blue lightning. Then broke forth a laugh-ten times more horrible than the laughter of a herd of hyenas -I could endure no longer, and sank into the chair, the pistols dropping from my hands.

There was a dead pause, and I heard something like the mewing of a cat, yet seemed it like the voice of a child in distress; and my attention was attracted by the appearance of a black skeleton of a cat, who was setting up its back, growling and spitting. It then slowly advanced and prowled round the fire-place, and sitting down opposite to the fire with its back towards me, turned its head, and its fearful green eyes met mine. I next heard the whelping of a cur, and the distant, hollow, wolf-like baying of a watch-dog. The sounds approached; the dog-chain rattled up the stairs. I tried to seize my sword, but was paralysed. I could just glance towards the door, whence came a strange, shuffling sound, and the next moment I saw an extraordinary figure enter, with a large carving-knife in his hand. He was dressed in blue livery, with tags-a round paunch-high bony shoulders, and spindle-shanks-he wore a blue Welsh wig-and his nose, which was of enormous size and hooked, was of a deep blue also it was like burning brimstone. He was followed by a skeleton-like figure; also in livery, and armed like his fellow. These stood and stared at me. They were followed by a figure, marching into the room with an air of consequence. He was not prepossessing: dimly-glaring saucer-eyes, with a decided cast in them; a small, pinched bit of blue nose; a spacious mouth, with a tooth or two exposed; the look of age diffused over all. He was wrapped in a blue dressinggown, and wore a large curled blue wig. As he entered, all appeared blue-the candles, and the fire, whose flames curled themselves into the likeness of some ghastly thing. The whole company, for there were now many intruders, seemed covered with blue mould; they were the children of Mildew and Decay; they looked damp and slippery. The veteran in the dressing-gown advanced to the fireside with dignity, and looked at me with a withering scowl. I guessed at once that he was, or had been, the master of the mansion, and politeness prompted me to rise. He motioned me to be seated, and then took a chair. A little boy was at his side, and the stately figure of a lady also stood near him-other faces peered over his chair. My venerable host then bent forwards, and placing his