If we must die--let it not be like hogs Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot, While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs, Making their mock at our accursed lot. If we must die--oh, let us nobly die, So that our precious blood may not be s... Read more of If We Must Die at Martin Luther King.caInformational Site Network Informational
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A Model Ghost Story






(Boston _Courier_, Aug. 10)

A very singular story which forms one of the sensational social topics
of the day is the best authenticated of the many stories of the
supernatural that have been lately told. Only a short time ago a young
and well-known artist, Mr. A., was invited to pay a visit to his
distinguished friend, Mr. Izzard. The house was filled with guests, but
a large and handsome room was placed at his disposal, apparently one of
the best in the house. For three days he had a delightful visit;
delightful in all particulars save one, he had each night a horrible
dream. He dreamed he was--or was really--suddenly awakened by some
person entering his room, and in looking around saw the room brilliantly
lighted, while at the window stood a lady elegantly attired, in the act
of throwing something out. This accomplished, she turned her face toward
the only spectator showing a countenance so distorted by evil passions
that he was thrilled with horror. Soon the light and the figure with the
dreadful face disappeared, leaving the artist suffering from a frightful
nightmare. On returning to his city home he was so haunted by the
fearful countenance which had for three consecutive nights troubled him,
that he made a sketch of it, and so real that the evil expression seemed
to horrify every one who saw it. Not a great while after, the artist
went to make an evening visit on Mr. Izzard; that gentleman invited him
to his picture gallery, as he wished to show him some remarkable, old
family portraits. What was Mr. A.'s surprise to recognize among them, in
the likeness of a stately, well-dressed lady, the one who had so
troubled his slumbers on his previous visit, lacking, however, the
revolting, wicked expression. Soon as he saw it he involuntarily
exclaimed, "Why, I have seen that lady!" "Indeed!" said Mr. I., smiling,
"that is hardly possible, as she died more than a hundred years ago. She
was the second wife of my great-grandfather, and reflected anything but
credit on the family. She was strongly suspected of having murdered her
husband's son by a former marriage, in order to make her own child heir
to the property. The unfortunate boy broke his neck in a fall from a
window, and there was every reason to believe that he was precipitated
from the window by his stepmother." The artist then told his host the
circumstances of his thrice-repeated experience, or dream, and sent for
his sketch, which, so far as the features were concerned, was identical
with the portrait in Mr. Izzard's gallery. The sketch has since been
photographed, but from its hideous expression is not very pleasant to
look upon.





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