One especially--you will find the name of Fortescue
Vernon, of the class of 1780, in the Triennial Catalogue--was a favored
visitor to the old mansion; but he went over seas, I think they told me,
and died still young, and the name of the maiden which is scratched on
the windowpane was never changed. I am telling the story honestly, as I
remember it, but I may have colored it unconsciously, and the legendary
pane may be broken before this for aught I know. At least, I have named
no names except the beautiful one of the supposed hero of the romantic
story.
It was a great happiness to have been born in an old house haunted by
such recollections, with harmless ghosts walking its corridors, with
fields of waving grass and trees and singing birds, and that vast
territory of four or five acres around it to give a child the sense that
he was born to a noble principality. It has been a great pleasure to
retain a certain hold upon it for so many years; and since in the natural
course of things it must at length pass into other hands, it is a
gratification to see the old place making itself tidy for a new tenant,
like some venerable dame who is getting ready to entertain a neighbor of
condition. Not long since a new cap of shingles adorned this ancient
mother among the village--now city--mansions.
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