After some inquiry, he was told, that a pedlar, who had lodged in the room a short time before, had committed suicide, and was found hanging behind the door in the morning. According to the superstition of the country, it was deemed improper to remove the body through the door of the house; and to convey it through the window was impossible, without removing part of the wall. Some hints were dropped, that the room had been subsequently haunted by the poor man's spirit.
The gentleman laid his arms, properly prepared against intrusion of any kind, by the bed-side, and retired to rest, not without some degree of apprehension. He was visited, in a dream, by a frightful apparition; and, awaking in agony, found himself sitting up in bed, with a pistol grasped in his right hand. On casting a fearful glance round the room, he discovered, by the moonlight, a corpse, dressed in a shroud, reared erect against the wall, close by the window. With much difficulty, he summoned up resolution to approach the dismal object, the features of which, and the minutest parts of its funereal apparel, he perceived distinctly: he passed one hand over it, felt nothing, and staggered back to the bed. After a long interval, and much reasoning with himself, he renewed his investigation, and at length discovered that the object of his terror was produced by the moonbeams forming a long bright image through the broken window, on which his fancy, impressed by his dream, had pictured, with mischievous accuracy, the lineaments of a body prepared for interment. Powerful associations of terror, in this instance, had excited the recollected images with uncommon force and effect.
THE
HAUNTED BEACH,
OR
Power of Conscience on a Murderer.
BY MRS. ROBINSON.
Upon a lonely desert beach,
Where the white foam was scatter'd,
A little shed uprear'd its head,
Though lofty barks were shatter'd.
The sea-weeds gath'ring near the door,
A sombre path display'd;
And, all around, the deaf'ning roar
Re-echo'd on the chalky shore,
By the green billows made.
Above, a jutting cliff was seen,
Where sea-birds hover'd craving;
And, all around, the craggs were bound
With weeds—for ever waving.
And, here and there, a cavern wide
Its shad'wy jaws display'd;
And near the sands, at ebb of tide,
A shiver'd mast was seen to ride,
Where the green billows stray'd.
And often, while the moaning wind
Stole o'er the summer ocean,
The moonlight scene was all serene,
The waters scarce in motion;
Then, while the smoothly slanting sand
The tall cliff wrapp'd in shade,
The Fisherman beheld a band
Of spectres, gliding hand in hand,
Where the green billows play'd.
And pale their faces were as snow,
And sullenly they wandered;
And to the skies, with hollow eyes,
They look'd, as though they ponder'd.
And sometimes, from their hammock shroud,
They dismal howlings made,
And while the blast blew strong and loud
The clear moon marked the ghastly crowd,
Where the green billows play'd!
And then, above the haunted hut,
The curlews screaming hover'd;
And the low door, with furious roar,
The frothy breakers cover'd.
For in the Fisherman's lone shed,
A murder'd man was laid,
With ten wide gashes in his head;
And deep was made his sandy bed,
Where the green billows play'd.
A shipwreck'd mariner was he,
Doom'd from his home to sever,
Who swore to be, thro' wind and sea,
Firm and undaunted ever;
And when the waves resistless roll'd,
About his arm he made
A packet rich of Spanish gold,
And, like a British sailor bold,
Plung'd where the billows play'd!