A Ball of Fire And an Old Lady of Property — The Haunted Schoolhouse — Spook of A Peddler — Misconduct of Sir John A. Macdonald's Shade — A Premonition of Death.

      OTTAWA, April 20. — It is not generally known across the border that the province of Ontario is ghost ridden. Indeed, the inhabitants boast that there are very few countries in the civilized world which possess in any single district so limited in extent as Ontario the same number of highly reputable ghosts, from the shade of Sir John A. Macdonald, the famous old Conservative Premier, to that of the little peddler whose spook in the fifties terrorized a lumber camp on the upper Ottawa river. Apparitions of high and low degree stalk the land, and many persons may be found who are ready to swear that they have seen the apparitions or heard them, at any rate, which in the case of some ghosts is pretty much the same thing.

      One of the most uncanny visitations occurred about fifteen years ago in the vicinity of the village of Beaverton, a pretty little hamlet on the shores of Lake Simcoe, about seventy-five miles north of Toronto. There lived about three miles from the village an aged widow, Mrs. Bethune by name, a member of the Cameron clan of Scotland, whose family was among the early settlers in the district. She dwelt in a picturesque rough-cast cottage, built in the manner of an English lodge and surrounded by well-kept grounds, an altogether unlikely place for a ghost to be found. Save for a housekeeper and a coachman, the old lady was entirely alone in the house. One night the villagers said an uncanny light, or spook, had been seen in the neighborhood of Mrs. Bethune's home. The rumor was at first discredited as the tale of some drunkard or silly woman, but as night after night brought confirmatory news from people who asserted they had seen the light, it began to be spread abroad that Mrs. Bethune was being warned to prepare herself for impending death. As the old lady kept hale and hearty, despite these repeated visitations, which she declared she had not seen, and as the strange light continued to flit here and there, now in her grounds, now on the country road, again in some woods near by, a new theory sprang up to the effect that the housekeeper and the coachman were in league to get the old lady to will them her property, which was considerable, and the light was deemed by many to be the spirit of her dead brother, old Col. Cameron, come to warn her against the alleged conspirators.

      The light was too big for any will-o'-the-wisp, and, moreover, there was no swampy ground to give basis for its appearance from any natural cause. Its appearance was that of a large ball of fire, and its custom was to hover about the country road near Mrs. Bethune's home until the approach of the night express from Toronto, when it would dart across fields to disappear along the railroad track, flying ahead of the engine. It was noted that the light was never seen after passing a certain point about a quarter of a mile from the widow's home. Commercial travellers and other visitors from Toronto made it a point to go out and see the light, which appeared for more than eighteen months with more or less regularity. So great did the terror of it become that the country folk, after nightfall, generally sought a circuitous route to and from the village, in order to escape seeing the light, which frightened not only their horses, but also themselves.

      Mrs. Bethune died at last, and no one ever saw the light again. But one night when her final illness had overtaken her the coachman fell down in a fit, and was ill with brain fever for weeks afterward. Rumor had it that when going into the stable he met the light coming out, and the illness was caused by the shock. To complete the story he should have died, but he did not. By Mrs. Bethune's will the property went to the housekeeper, just as every one had feared, and, of course, an interminable lawsuit was the result.

      Not many miles from Toronto in a southwesterly direction is standing by the roadside what at first glance one would deem an ordinary country schoolhouse. But the door swings idly on rusty hinges, benches and desks are covered with dust, and the schoolhouse has long been untenanted save by some ghostly inhabitant. The terror of the place is so widespread that even tramps in search of a place to sleep give the quaint little wooden building a wide berth. The first appearance of the ghost was in broad daylight, when the school was in full blast, the pupils at their desks, the pretty schoolma'am in her wonted place. It came unheralded, and terror seized upon the children when loud footsteps were heard proceeding up the aisle with no bodily presence accompanying them. This was followed by a series of raps on the walls and ceiling, shuffling of feet in the porch, and groaning. This happened two years ago. Newspaper men and curiosity seekers alike tried to solve the mystery, but in vain. It is suspected that the ghost is still doing business at the old stand.

      The history of the peddler in the lumber camp on the Ottawa is still remembered by many an old inhabitant. He disappeared from the camp one night, and it was generally suspected that he had been murdered for a small sum of money he was known to have. The couple living in the shanty where he had been stopping were, it was supposed, his murderers, but evidence could not be obtained against them. Scarcely a week had elapsed after his disappearance when the suspected pair removed out of the district, leaving no clue where they could be found. A couple of young lumbermen moved into the shanty, but remained in it only one night, and in the morning asserted they had been visited by the peddler's ghost, who had stared in at them through the window, had slammed the door, blown out the candle, and indulged in other antics. It was at first thought that the ghost might be the peddler himself, and that he was not dead after all, but the men insisted that his face had appeared to them all covered with blood and very pale. Whatever it was, the fact remained that no one would live in the shanty until a venturesome naturalist came along, who declared that he had no fear of ghosts, and that they were better than rats, inasmuch as they would leave his stuffed animals and birds alone. One night was enough for him, and nothing would induce him to tell what he had seen in the shanty. He left camp in a hurry next day and never returned. The mystery of the peddler's death was not solved until two years later, when his ghost appeared one night to a party of merrymakers taking a short cut home through a swamp. All fled in a hurry, but one of the party noticed just where the ghost was standing and returned the next day armed with a spade. When the ground was turned up the skeleton of the peddler was found about two feet below the surface.

      Very different from the foregoing was the conduct of the shade of Sir John A. Macdonald. When Sir John Thompson was Premier, there was handed to him one morning a card bearing a name that he did not recognize. The card was marked "important," and, waiving ceremony, Sir John gave the sender an audience at once. He proved to be a young man of unassuming appearance, who in all seriousness told the Premier that he had had several visits from the ghost of Sir John A. Macdonald, who had urged him to carry certain instructions to Sir John Thompson in regard to state affairs of great moment then pending in the Cabinet. The young man assured Sir John Thompson that he had at first feared to carry out the instructions lest he be deemed insane, but that Sir John's spirit had given him no peace until he promised to obey its mandates. He then proceeded to detail the instructions that had been given him, and the Premier was surprised to find that they coincided to a strange, degree with the action which the Cabinet was then about to take, but which had been kept a profound secret.

      Near Woodstock, a city about half way between Detroit and Toronto, is a swamp which has attained a certain degree of notoriety as the scene of the murder, several years ago, of a young Englishman named Benwell by Reginald Birchall, who was executed for the crime. It is now asserted that shadowy outlines of two human figures, closely resembling the murderer and his victim, have been seen entering the swamp on more than one occasion at the spot where Birchall and young Benwell are supposed to have entered it in life, and that the ghosts of the two men enact the tragedy all over again. A similar story has originated about the cottage in which were found the bodies of the two little girls whom H. H. Holmes murdered in Toronto. But the stories about this cottage died away, and at the present time of writing it is tenanted and quite free from anything supernatural.

      Toronto did have for years a house which was pointed to with pride as being really haunted. It was a two-story brick structure on Gerard street east, and strange to say no story of crime or sudden death was connected with it. Nevertheless it became a happy haunting-ground for ghosts. Chairs thrown across the room, sticks hurled through the air, draughts experienced despite windows and doors tightly shut, and, worst of all, blows felt while asleep in bed are some of the happenings told of it. As no one would lease the house and it was falling into disrepair, the owner concluded to tear it down and rebuild. That settled the ghosts.

      A weird story was related to the writer by a lady in whose veracity he would place the utmost reliance. She was the wife of an English Church clergyman, and when she first married him her husband had charge of a small parish in a place called Stayner. They were living there when a child, a girl, was born to them. One evening when the little girl had attained the age of 5, a brother clergyman, the Rev. John Langtry, now of St. Luke's church, Toronto, called their home. The clergyman was not at home, but his wife was, and she began to entertain Dr. Langtry, who said he would wait a short time as he was desirous of seeing his friend. They were talking in a room downstairs, when suddenly Dr. Langtry's face grew very pale, and he hurriedly asked the lady to go see if her child was all right. Surprised at the request, she nevertheless did as she was asked, and soon returned with the information that the little girl was sleeping soundly. The clergyman said he was glad to hear it, and shortly took his leave without waiting for her husband to return. Some days after, however, meeting him on the street, Dr. Langtry said:

      "I should advise you to go to your child at once should she be taken ill away from home."

      He would give no explanation for this for some time afterward. One day the little girl was actually stricken while on a visit in a neighboring town and died soon after her parents had arrived at her side. Dr. Langtry then informed them that the night he had visited their house he had seen the form of an angel come downstairs and go out of the hall door carrying the little child in its arms. Hence his premonition that the child might die soon.