The Wit and Humor of America, Volume III | Page 7

means of a twig of witch-hazel. Eph also
confided to Johnnie that he himself could stanch the flow of blood or
stop a toothache instantly by force of a certain charm, but he could not
tell how to do this because the secret could be imparted only from man
to woman, or vice versa. Even the shadowy domain of spirits had not
been exempt from Eph's investigations, and he related many a
terrifying experience with "ha'nts."
Johnnie was first introduced to the ghost world one summer night,
when he and Eph had gone fishing together.
"If ye want to ketch the big uns, always go at night in the dark o' the

moon," said Eph, and his piscatorial knowledge was absolute.
They had fished in silence for some time, and Johnnie was nodding,
when Eph suddenly whispered:
"Let's go home, sonny, I think I see a ha'nt down yander."
Johnnie had no idea what a "ha'nt" might be, but Eph's constrained
manner betokened something dreadful.
It was not until they had come within sight of home that Johnnie
ventured to inquire:
"Say, Eph, what is a ha'nt?"
"Huh! What is ha'nts? Why, sonny, you mean to tell me you don't know
what ha'nts is?"
"Not exactly; sompin' like wildcats, ain't they?"
"Well, I'll be confounded! Wildcats! Not by a long shot;" and Eph
broke into the soft chuckle which always preceded his explanations.
They reached the orchard fence, and, seating himself squarely on the
topmost rail, Eph began impressively:
"Ha'nts is the remains of dead folks--more 'specially them that's been
assinated, er, that is, kilt--understan'? They're kind o' like sperrits, ye
know. After so long a time they take to comin' back to yarth an' ha'ntin'
the precise spot where they wuz murdered. They always come after
dark, an' the diffrunt shapes they take on is supprisin'. I have seed ha'nts
that looked like sheep, an' ha'nts that looked like human persons; but
lots of 'em ye cain't see a-tall, bein' invisible, as the sayin' is. Now, fer
all we know, they may be a ha'nt settin' right here betwixt us, this
minute!"
With this solemn declaration Johnnie shivered and began edging closer
to Eph, until restrained and appalled by the thought that he might
actually sit on the unseen spirit by such movement.

"But do they hurt people, Eph?" he asked anxiously.
Eph gave vent to another chuckle.
"Not if ye understan' the'r ways," he observed sagely. "If ye let 'em
alone an' don't go foolin' aroun' the'r ha'ntin'-groun' they'll never harm
ye. But don't ye never trifle with no ha'nt, sonny. I knowed a feller't
thought 'twuz smart to hector 'em an' said he wuzn't feared. Onct he
throwed a rock at one--"
Here Eph paused.
"What h-happened?" gasped Johnnie.
"In one year from that time," replied Eph gruesomely, "that there
feller's cow wuz hit by lightnin'; in three year his hoss kicked him an'
busted a rib; an' in seven year he wuz a corpse!"
The power of this horrible example was too much for Johnnie.
"Don't you reckon it's bedtime?" he suggested tremblingly.
Thenceforth for many months Johnnie led a haunted life. Ghosts
glowered at him from cellar and garret. Specters slunk at his heels,
phantoms flitted through the barn. Twilight teemed with horrors, and
midnight, when he awoke at that hour, made of his bedroom a veritable
Brocken.
It was vain for his parents to expostulate with him. Was one not bound
to believe one's own eyes? And how about the testimony of the Hired
Hand?
The story in his reader--told in verse and graphically illustrated--of the
boy named Walter, who, being alone on a lonesome highway one dark
night, beheld a sight that made his blood run cold, acquired an
abnormal interest for Johnnie. Walter, with courage resembling
madness, marched straight up to the alleged ghost and laughed
gleefully to find, "It was a friendly guide-post, his wand'ring steps to

guide."
This was all very well, as it turned out, but what if it had been a
sure-enough ghost, reflected Johnnie. What if it had reached down with
its long, snaky arms and snatched Walter up--and run off with him in
the dark--and no telling what? Or it might have swooped straight up in
the air with him, for ghosts could do that. Johnnie resolved he would
not take any chances with friendly guide-posts which might turn out to
be hostile spirits.
Then there was the similar tale of the lame goose, and the one
concerning the pillow in the swing--each intended, no doubt, to allay
foolish fears on the part of children, but exercising an opposite and
harrowing influence upon Johnnie.

MAXIOMS
BY CAROLYN WELLS
Reward is its own virtue. The wages of sin is alimony. Money makes
the mayor go. A penny saved spoils