urnt pies; but everybody
in our neighborhood knew all about the project and Granny Holt's breaking
it up."

We had become pretty well stirred up by this time, but as is likely to be
the case under such circumstances, were eager for whatever other marvel
might be forthcoming; for no matter how intelligent or incredulous the
circle of hearers may be, there is something strangely fascinating in
these weird stories. People may affect indifference "amidst the blazing
light of the nineteenth century;" but I think that of a dark night, in a
lonely spot, the starting up of so familiar a creature as a white horse,
for instance, would set the strongest nerves into perturbation, at the
idea of something ghostly. Indeed, Addison declared in his day, that
there "was not a village in England that had not a ghost in it; the
churchyards were haunted; nor was there a peasant who had not seen a
spirit."

"Well, Aunt Judith," said Uncle Richard, "these wonderful things seem to
have very much gone by, in our day, or else people, for some reason, take
less notice of them than formerly. Witches, nowadays, are characters
entirely unknown, except," he gallantly remarked, "for the sometimes
really inexplicable fascinations of members of your own sex; and, except
in one singular instance, I have known of no appearances which could not
be rationally accounted for. I have heard my father, however, tell of one
which, according to the tradition, manifested itself, one hundred years
ago or more, upon a bridge, over the Ipswich River, in our Essex County
town of Topsfield, and was the terror of all the country round. He
appeared in the shape of a monstrous hog, taking his station, at night,
in the very centre of the bridge; and those who had occasion to cross it,
on horseback or on foot, were either fain to turn back, as he encountered
them, bristling and snarling, or rushed by, if their occasion demanded
it, in a state of extraordinary trepidation. At length, Parson Capen, the
worthy minister of the town, riding up to the bridge one evening, saw the
spectre in his usual position. Nothing daunted, in virtue of his holy
office, the good man thus accosted him: 'You that were once an angel of
light, ain't you ashamed to appear in the shape of a dirty swine?' This
expostulation was too much for the foul fiend, who at once jumped over
the railing of the bridge into the river, and was no more seen."

Amongst others of the few guests of the evening was a y