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literature.

When the congregation concluded to abandon the "Round Church," which
stood on the triangle between Liberty, Wood and Sixth streets, and began
to dig for a foundation for Trinity, where it now stands, there was
great desecration of graves. One day a thrill of excitement and stream
of talk ran through the neighborhood, about a Mrs. Cooper, whose body
had been buried three years, and was found in a wonderful state of
preservation, when the coffin was laid open by the diggers. It was left
that the friends might remove it, and that night I felt would be the
time for ghosts. So I went over alone, and while I crouched by the open
grave, peering in, a cloud passed, and the moon poured down a flood of
light, by which I could see the quiet sleeper, with folded hands, taking
her last, long rest.

It was inexpressibly grand, solemn and sad. There were no gaslights, no
paved street near, no one stirring. Earth was far away and heaven near
at hand, but no ghost came, and I went home disappointed. Afterwards I
had a still more disheartening adventure.

I had gone an errand to cousin Alexander's, on Fifth street, stayed
late, and coming home, found Wood street deserted. The moon shone
brightly, but on the graveyard side were heavy shadows, except in the
open space opposite the church. I was on the other side, and there was
the office of the Democratic paper, and over the door the motto "Our
country, right or wrong." This had long appeared to be an uncanny spot,
owing to the wickedness of this sentiment, and I was thinking of the
possibility of seeing Auld Nick guarding his property, when my attention
was attracted to a tall, white figure in the bright moonlight, outside
the graveyard fence.

I stopped an instant, in great surprise, and listened for footsteps, but
no sound accompanied the motion. It did not walk, but glided, and must
have risen out of the ground, for only a moment before there was nothing
visible. I clasped my hands in mute wonder, but my ghost was getting
away, and to make its acquaintance I must hurry. Crossing the street I
ran after and gained on it. It passed into the shadow of the engine
house, on across Sixth street, into the moonlight, then into the shadow,
before I overtook it, when lo! it was a mortal woman, barefoot, in a
dress which was probably a faded print. Most prints faded then, and this
was white, long and scant, making a very ghostly robe, while on her head
she carried a bundle ti