decaying odor pervaded the air; insects and
loathsome reptiles crept over the floor. On the opposite side of the
hall were two apartments, but not enough of either remained to divine
what had been their uses. In a small back room there yet was to be
seen a great open fire-place capacious enough to roll in a good-sized
tree; a swinging crane was bolted to the corner of the chimney,
supporting hanging hooks, blackened by soot; it had doubtless been the
kitchen. Having fully explored the lower part, I proceeded to the
upper story. As I mounted the stairs, they groaned under the unusual
weight, but were still strong enough to enable me to complete the task
I had undertaken. The upper floor was divided into four large
chambers. Three of them were given up to decay, and desolation peered
from every corner and crevice. Bats had made their nests in and about
the broken places, and hung in bunches from the ceiling; the twitter
of the young swallows could be heard plainly from the chimneys. I
passed on to the fourth room; that was not vacant. Although the sash
had long since dropped in pieces, and fragments of glass yet littered
the floor, this chamber was occupied; not indeed by any living thing,
but by the inanimate remains of a once proudly furnished mansion, and
also by yet one other object, which though not living had the power of
movement. In one corner stood an old fashioned high-post bedstead, of
the finest curled maple, curiously carved and ornamented. A sort of
frame held the tops of the posts together, from which still hung
threads of costly curtains intertwined with cobwebs, and stained with
dust and damp atmosphere. There were no chairs, no tables, but in
another corner of the apartment stood an antique writing-desk, with
metal handles to the drawers, and brass feet fashioned after the claws
of the lion, older than the bedstead which occupied the other corner.
Its polish and usefulness had passed away with the grandeur of this
silent habitation. Between two of the windows was a space of six feet
in width, reaching from the floor to the cornice. This was all
occupied by a life-size portrait of a female, which looked as fresh
and fair as the day it left the hands of the artist. All else about
this solemn place was weird and death-like; there she stood in her
loveliness, as if just attired for some merry-making; her rosy lips
seemed ready to break out into song and laughter and shout, to startle
this ghostly scene.

"