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Mother and child by James Boker.
The tenants of Plimpton Hall had retired to

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rest somewhat earlier than was their wont
for it was the last night of November.

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The old low rooms were in darkness, and all was silent as a

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grave. For though the residents,
unfortunately for themselves, were not asleep,

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they held their breath and awaited in
fear the first stroke of the hour from

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the old clock in the kitchen.
Suddenly the sound of hurried footsteps broke the

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silence. But with sighs of relief, the terrified listeners found that the noise

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was made by a belated wayfarer,
almost out of his wits with fright,

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but who was unable to avoid passing
the hall, and who therefore ran by

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the haunted building as quickly as his
legs would carry him. The sensation of

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escape, however, was of but
short duration, for the hammer commenced to

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strike, and no sooner had the
last stroke of eleven startled the echoes,

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than loud thuds as of a heavy
object bumping upon the stairs were heard.

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The quaking occupants of the chambers hid
their heads beneath the bed clothes, for

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they knew that an old fashioned oak
chair was on its way down the noble

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staircase, and was sliding from step
to step, as though dragged along by

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an invisible being who had only one
hand at liberty. If any one had

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dared to follow that chair across the
wide passage and into the wainscoted parlor,

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he would have been startled by the
sight of a blazing in the grate.

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Whence ere the servants retired, even
the very embers had been removed, and

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in the chair, the marvelous movement
of which had so frightened all the inmates

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of the hall, he would have
seen a beautiful woman seated with an infant

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at her breast. Year after year, on wild nights, when the snow

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was driven against the diamond panes and
the cry of the spirits of the storm

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came up from the sea, the
weird firelight shone from the haunted room,

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and through the house sounded a mysterious
crooning as the unearthly visitor softly sang a

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lullaby to her infant. Lads grew
into gray haired men in the old house,

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and from youth to manhood. On
the last night of each November,

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they had heard the notes, but
none of them, ever, had caught

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even when custom had somewhat deadened the
terror which surrounded the events of the much

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dreaded anniversary. The words of the
song the ghostly woman sang, The maids

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too, had always found the grate
as it was left before the visit.

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Not a cinder or a speck of
dust remained to tell of the strange fire,

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and no one had ever heard the
chair ascend the stairs. Chair and

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fire, and child and mother,
however, were seen by many a weary

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wayfarer, drawn to the house by
the hospitable look of the window, through

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which a genial glow of the burning
logs shone forth into the night, But

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who, by tapping at the pane
and crying for shelter, could not attract

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the attention of the nurse, clad
in a quaint old costume with lace,

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ruff and ruffles, and singing a
mournful and melodious lullaby to the child resting

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upon her beautiful bosom. Tradition tells
of one of these wanderers, a footsore

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and miserable seafaring man on the tramp, who, attracted by the welcome glare,

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crept to the panes, and,
seeing the cozy looking fire, and

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the madonna faced mother tenderly nursing her
infant wrapped at the glass, and begged

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for a morsel of food and permission
to sleep in the hayloft, and,

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finding his pleadings unanswered, loudly cursed
the woman who could sit and enjoy warmth

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and comfort and turn a deaf ear
to the prayers of the homeless and hungry,

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upon which the seated figure turned the
weird light of his war wild eyes

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upon him and almost changed him to
stone. A laborer going to his daily

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toil in the early morn, finding
the poor wretch gazing fixedly through the window

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against which his terror stricken face was
closely pressed, his hair turned white by

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fear, and his fingers convulsively clutching
the casement and of Mother and Child by James Boker