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THEMODERNLIBRARY

OFTHEWORLD'SBESTBOOKS

BESTGHOSTSTORIES

THEBESTGHOSTSTORIES

INTRODUCTIONBYARTHURB.REEVE

THEMODERNLIBRARY

PUBLISHERS::::NEWYORK

COPYRIGHT,1919,BY

BONI&LIVERIGHT,Inc.

MANUFACTUREDINTHEUNITEDSTATESOFAMERICABYH.WOLFF

CONTENTS

PAGE

INTRODUCTION—"THEFASCINATIONOFTHEGHOST

STORY" ArthurB.Reeve vii

THEAPPARITIONOFMRS.VEAL DanielDeFoe 3

CANONALBERIC'SSCRAP-BOOKMontagueRhodes

James 18

THEHAUNTEDANDTHEHAUNTERS EdwardBulwer-Lytton 31THESILENTWOMAN LeopoldKompert 60BANSHEES 79THEMANWHOWENTTOOFAR E.F.Benson 85THEWOMAN'SGHOSTSTORY AlgernonBlackwood 108THEPHANTOMRICKSHAW RudyardKipling 118THERIVALGHOSTS BranderMatthews 141THEDAMNEDTHING AmbroseBierce 160THEINTERVAL VincentO'Sullivan 170DEYAIN'TNOGHOSTS EllisParkerButler 177SOMEREALAMERICANGHOSTS 188

INTRODUCTION

THEFASCINATIONOFTHEGHOSTSTORY

ARTHURB.REEVE

Whatisthefascinationwefeelforthemysteryoftheghoststory?

Isitofthesamenatureasthefascinationwhichwefeelforthemysteryofthedetectivestory?

Of the latter fascination, the late Paul Armstrong used to say that it wasbecauseweareallasfullofcrimeasSingSing—onlywedon'tdare.

Thus,mayIask,arewenotfascinatedbytheghoststorybecause,nomatterwhatmaybe thescientificorskepticalbentofourminds, inour inmostsouls,secretlyperhaps,weareasfullofsuperstitionasanobeahman—onlywedon'tletitloose?

Whoshallsaythatheisabletoflingofflightlytheinheritanceofcountlessagesofsuperstition?Is therenotastreakofsuperstitioninusall?Welaughatthevoodooworshiper—thencreateourownhoodooes,ourpetobsessions.

It has been said that man is incurably religious, that if all religions wereblottedout,manwouldcreateanewreligion.

Manisincurablyfascinatedbythemysterious.Ifall theghoststoriesoftheageswereblottedout,manwouldinventnewones.

For, do we not all stand in awe of that which we cannot explain, of thatwhich,ifitbenotinourownexperience,iscertainlyrecordedintheexperienceofothers,ofthatofwhichweknowandcanknownothing?

Skeptical though onemay be of the occult, hemust needs be interested inthings that others believe to be objective—that certainly are subjectively veryrealtothem.

Theghost story isnotbornof science,norevenof super-science,whateverthatmaybe.Itisnotofscienceatall.Itisofanothersphere,despiteallthatthe

psychicresearchershavetriedtodemonstrate.

Thereareinlifetwosortsofpeoplewho,forwantofabetterclassification,Imaycallthepsychicandthenon-psychic.IfIaskthepsychictoclosehiseyesand I say to him, "Horse," he immediately visualizes a horse.The other, non-psychic,doesnot. I rather incline tobelievethat it is theformerclasswhoseeghosts,orrathersomeofthem.Thelatterdonot—thoughtheyshareinterestinthem.

Theartistsareofthevisualizingclassand,inourmoremoderntimes,itisthepsychicwhothinkinmotionpictures,oratleastinasuccessionofstillpictures.

However we explain the ghostly and supernatural, whether we give itobjective or merely subjective reality, neither explanation prevents the non-psychicfrombeingintenselyinterestedinthevisionsofthepsychic.

ThusIamconvincedthatifwewereallquitehonestwithourselves,whetherwebelieveinordonotbelieveinghosts,atleastwearealldeeplyinterestedinthem.Thereisinthisinterestsomethingthatmakesalltheworldakin.

Whodoesnotfeelasuppressedstartatthecreakingoffurnitureinthedarkofnight?Whohasnotfeltashiverofgooseflesh,controlledonlybyaneffortofwill?Who,inthedark,hasnothadthefeelingofsomethingbehindhim—and,inspiteofhisconsciousreasoning,turnedtolook?

If there be any who has not, it may be that to him ghost stories have nofascination.Lethimatleast,however,behonest.

Toeveryhumanbeingmysteryappeals,beitthatofthecrimecasesonwhichalargepartofyellowjournalismisfounded,orbeitinthecasesofDupin,ofLeCoq, of Sherlock Holmes, of Arsene Lupin, of Craig Kennedy, or a host ofothersofourfictionmysterycharacters.Theappealisinthemystery.

Thedetective'scase issolvedat theend,however.Butevenat theendofaghoststory,theunderlyingmysteryremains.Intheghoststory,wehavetheveryquintessenceofmystery.

Authors,publishers,editors,dramatists,writersofmotionpicturestellusthatneverbeforehastherebeensuchanintenseandwideinterestinmysterystoriesasthereisto-day.Thatinitselfexplainstheinterestinthesuper-mysterystoryoftheghostandghostlydoings.

Anotherelementofmysteryliesinsuchstories.Deeperandfurtherback,isthesuprememysteryoflife—afterdeath—what?

"Impossible,"scornsthenon-psychicashelistenstosomeghoststory.

Towhich,doggedlyrepliesthemindoftheoppositetype,"Notso.Ibelievebecauseitisimpossible."

The uncanny, the unhealthy—as in the master of such writing, Poe—fascinates.Whetherwewillorno,theimpoftheperverseluresuson.

That iswhywe readwithenthralled interest theseexcursions into theeerieunknown, perhaps reading on till the mystic hour of midnight increases thecreepypleasure.

Onemightwriteavolumeofanalysisandappreciationofthisaptlybalancedanthology of ghost stories assembled here after years of reading and study byMr.J.L.French.

Foremost among the impressions that a casual reader will derive is theinteresting fact, just as in detectivemystery stories, so in ghost stories, styleschange.Eachage,eachperiodhastheghoststorypeculiartoitself.To-day,thereisanewstyleofghoststorygraduallyevolving.

Oncestorieswereoffairies,fays,trolls,the"littlepeople,"ofpoltergiestandloupgarou.Throughvariousageswehaveprogressedtotheghoststoryoftheeighteenthandnineteenthcenturiesuntilto-day,inthetwentieth,weareseeingamodernstyle,whichthenewscienceismodifyingmaterially.

Highamongthestoriesinthisvolume,onemustrecognizethemasterfulartofAlgernonBlackwood's"TheWoman'sGhostStory."

"Iwasinterestedinpsychicthings,"saysthewomanasshestartstotellherstory simply,with a sweep toward the climax that has the ring of the truth offiction.Hereperhapswehavethemodernstyleofghoststoryatitsbest.

Timeschangeaswellasstyles."TheManWhoWentTooFar"isofintenseinterest as an attempt to bring into our own times an interpretation of thesymbolismunderlyingGreekmythology,appliedtoEnglandofsomeyearsago.

To see Panmeant death.Hence in this story there is a philosophy of Pan-theism—no"me,"no"you,"no"it."Itisamysticalstory,withastormscenein

whichispaintedapicturethatremindsonestronglyof"TheFalloftheHouseofUshur,"—with the frankly added words, "On him were marks of hoofs of amonstrousgoatthathadleapedonhim,"—uncompromisingmysticism.

Happy is the Kipling selection, "The Phantom 'Rickshaw," if only for thatobiterdictumofghost-presenceasKiplingexplainsabout the rift in thebrain:"—andalittlebitoftheDarkWorldcamethroughandpressedhimtodeath!"

Thentherearetheracialstylesinghoststories.Thevolumetakesusfromthe"BansheesandOtherDeathWarnings"ofIrelandtoastrangeexampleofJewishmysticismin"TheSilentWoman."Mr.Frenchhasbeenverywideinhischoice,giving us these aswell asmany examples from the literature of England andFrance. Finally, he has compiled from the newspapers, as typicallyAmerican,manyghoststoriesofNewYorkandotherpartsofthecountry.

Strangethatoneshouldfindhumorinasubjectsoweird.Yetwefindit.Take,forinstance,DeFoe'soldnarrative,"TheApparitionofMrs.Veal."Itisahoax,nothingmore.OfourowntimesisEllisParkerButler's"DeyAin'tNoGhosts,"showinganexampleofthemodernNegro'sracialheritage.

Inourliteratureandonthestage,theveryideaofaDarkyandagraveyardismirth-provoking.Mr.ButlerextractssomepithyphilosophyfromhisDarkyboy:"Iain'tskeeredobghostswhutam,c'asedeyain'tnoghosts,butIjes'feelkinderoneasy'boutdeghostswhutain't!"

Humorissucceededbypathos.In"TheInterval"wefindasympathetictwisttotheghoststory—anactualdesiretomeetthedead.

Itisnot,however,tobecomparedforinteresttothestoryofsheerterror,asinBulwer-Lytton's"TheHauntedandtheHaunters,"withtheflightoftheservantinterror,thecoweringofthedogagainstthewall,thedeathofthedog,itsneckactuallybrokenbytheterror,andallthatgotomakeanexperienceinahauntedhousewhatitshouldbe.

Thus,at last,wecometo twoof thestories thatattempt togiveascientificexplanation,anotherphaseofthemodernstyleofghoststory.

Oneof these,perhapshardlymodernas farasmereyearsareconcerned, isthis same story of Bulwer, "The Haunted and the Haunters." Besides being arattlinggoodold-fashionedtaleofhorror,itattemptsanew-fashionedscientificexplanation.Itisenoughtoreadandre-readit.

It is, however, the lamentedAmbrose Biercewho has gone furthest in thescience and the philosophy of the matter, and in a very short story, too,splendidlytitled"TheDamnedThing."

"Incredible!"exclaimsthecoronerattheinquest.

"That is nothing to you, sir," replies the newspaper man whorelatestheexperience,andinthesewordsexpressesthetruefeelingaboutghostlyfiction,"thatisnothingtoyou,ifIalsoswearthatitistrue!"

Butfurthestofallinhisscientificexplanation—notscientificallyexplainingaway,butinexplainingtheway—goesBierceasheoutlinesatheory.Fromthediaryofthemurderedmanhepicksoutthefollowingwhichwemaytreasureasagem:

"Iamnotmad.Therearecolors thatwecannotsee.And—Godhelpme!—theDamnedThingisofsuchacolor!"

Thisfascinationoftheghoststory—haveImadeitclear?

AsIwrite,nearingmidnight,thebookcasebehindmecracks.Istartandturn.Nothing.Thereisacreakofaboardinthehallway.

I know it is the cool night wind—the uneven contraction of materialsexpandedintheheatoftheday.

Yet—doIgointothedarknessoutsideotherwisethanalert?

Itisthisevolutionofoursenseofghostterror—agesofit—thatfascinatesus.

Canwe,withafewgenerationsofmodernismbehindus,throwitoffwithallourscience?And,ifwedid,shouldwenotthensucceedonlyinabolishingtheold-fashionedghoststoryandcreatinganew,scientificghoststory?

Scientific?Yes.Butmore,—somethingthathasexistedsincethebeginningsofintelligenceinthehumanrace.

Perhaps,youcritic,yousaythatthetrueghoststoryoriginatedintheageofshadowycandlelightandpineknotwiththeirgrotesqueriesonthewallsandintheunpenetrateddarkness,thattheelectricbulbandtheradiatorhavedispelledthatverythingonwhich,forages,theghoststoryhasbeenbuilt.

What?No ghost stories?Would you take away our supernatural fiction byyourpaltryscientificexplanation?

Stillwillwe gather about the story teller—then lie awake o' nights, seeingmockingfigures,armsakimbo,defyingallyoursciencetocrushtheghoststory.

BESTGHOSTSTORIES

THEAPPARITIONOFMRS.VEAL

BYDANIELDEFOE

THEPREFACE

Thisrelationismatteroffact,andattendedwithsuchcircumstances,asmayinduceanyreasonablemantobelieveit.Itwassentbyagentleman,ajusticeofpeace, at Maidstone, in Kent, and a very intelligent person, to his friend inLondon, as it is hereworded;which discourse is attested by a very sober andunderstandinggentlewoman,akinswomanofthesaidgentleman's,wholivesinCanterbury, within a few doors of the house inwhich thewithin-namedMrs.Bargrave lives;whobelieveshiskinswoman tobeof sodiscerninga spirit, asnottobeputuponbyanyfallacy;andwhopositivelyassuredhimthatthewholematter,asitisrelatedandlaiddown,isreallytrue;andwhatsheherselfhadinthesamewords,asnearasmaybe,fromMrs.Bargrave'sownmouth,who,sheknows,hadnoreasontoinventandpublishsuchastory,oranydesigntoforgeandtellalie,beingawomanofmuchhonestyandvirtue,andherwholelifeacourse,asitwere,ofpiety.Theusewhichweoughttomakeofit,istoconsider,thatthereisalifetocomeafterthis,andajustGod,whowillretributetoeveryoneaccording to thedeedsdone in thebody;and therefore to reflectuponourpastcourseoflifewehaveledintheworld;thatourtimeisshortanduncertain;and that if we would escape the punishment of the ungodly, and receive therewardoftherighteous,whichisthelayingholdofeternallife,weought,forthetimetocome, toreturntoGodbyaspeedyrepentance,ceasingtodoevil,andlearningtodowell: toseekafterGodearly, ifhappilyHemaybefoundofus,andleadsuchlivesforthefuture,asmaybewellpleasinginHissight.

ARELATIONOFTHEAPPARITIONOFMRS.VEAL

Thisthingissorareinallitscircumstances,andonsogoodauthority,thatmyreadingandconversationhasnotgivenmeanythinglikeit:itisfittogratifythemostingeniousandseriousinquirer.Mrs.BargraveisthepersontowhomMrs.

Vealappearedafterherdeath;sheismyintimatefriend,andIcanavouchforherreputation, for these last fifteenorsixteenyears,onmyownknowledge;andIcan confirm the good character she had from her youth, to the time of myacquaintance. Though, since this relation, she is calumniated by some people,that are friends to the brother of thisMrs.Veal,who appeared;who think therelationofthisappearancetobeareflection,andendeavorwhattheycantoblastMrs.Bargrave'sreputation,andtolaughthestoryoutofcountenance.Butbythecircumstances thereof, and the cheerful disposition of Mrs. Bargrave,notwithstandingtheill-usageofaverywickedhusband,thereisnotyettheleastsign of dejection in her face; nor did I ever hear her let fall a desponding ormurmuring expression; nay, not when actually under her husband's barbarity;whichIhavebeenwitnessto,andseveralotherpersonsofundoubtedreputation.

Nowyoumustknow,Mrs.Vealwasamaidengentlewomanofabout thirtyyears of age, and for some years last past had been troubledwith fits; whichwereperceivedcomingonher,byhergoingofffromherdiscourseveryabruptlyto some impertinence. She was maintained by an only brother, and kept hishouseinDover.Shewasaverypiouswoman,andherbrotheraverysobermantoallappearance;butnowhedoesallhecantonullorquashthestory.Mrs.Vealwas intimatelyacquaintedwithMrs.Bargrave fromherchildhood.Mrs.Veal'scircumstanceswerethenmean;herfatherdidnottakecareofhischildrenasheought,sothattheywereexposedtohardships;andMrs.Bargrave,inthosedays,hadasunkindafather, thoughshewantedneitherforfoodnorclothing,whilstMrs.Vealwantedforboth; insomuch thatshewouldoftensay,Mrs.Bargrave,you are not only the best, but the only friend I have in the world, and nocircumstances of life shall ever dissolve my friendship. They would oftencondoleeachother'sadversefortunes,andreadtogetherDrelincourtuponDeath,andothergoodbooks; and so, like twoChristian friends, theycomfortedeachotherundertheirsorrow.

Some time after,Mr.Veal's friends got him a place in the custom-house atDover, which occasioned Mrs. Veal, by little and little, to fall off from herintimacy with Mrs. Bargrave, though there was never any such thing as aquarrel;butan indifferencycameonbydegrees, till at lastMrs.Bargravehadnot seenher in twoyearsandahalf; thoughabovea twelvemonthof the timeMrs.BargravehathbeenabsentfromDover,andthislasthalfyearhasbeeninCanterburyabouttwomonthsofthetime,dwellinginahouseofherown.

In this house, on the 8th of September, 1705, she was sitting alone in theforenoon, thinking over her unfortunate life, and arguing herself into a due

resignation to providence, though her condition seemedhard.And, said she, Ihavebeenprovidedforhitherto,anddoubtnotbutIshallbestill;andamwellsatisfiedthatmyafflictionsshallendwhenitismostfitforme:andthentookuphersewing-work,whichshehadnosoonerdone,butshehearsaknockingatthedoor.Shewent toseewhowas there,and thisproved tobeMrs.Veal,heroldfriend,whowasinariding-habit.Atthatmomentoftimetheclockstrucktwelveatnoon.

Madam,saysMrs.Bargrave,Iamsurprisedtoseeyou,youhavebeensolongastranger;buttoldher,shewasgladtoseeher,andofferedtosaluteher;whichMrs.Vealcompliedwith,tilltheirlipsalmosttouched;andthenMrs.Vealdrewherhandacrossherowneyes,andsaid,Iamnotverywell;andsowaivedit.ShetoldMrs.Bargrave, shewasgoing a journey, andhad agreatmind to seeherfirst. But, saysMrs. Bargrave, how came you to take a journey alone? I amamazedatit,becauseIknowyouhaveafondbrother.Oh!saysMrs.Veal,Igavemybrother theslip,andcameawaybecauseIhadsogreatadesire toseeyoubeforeItookmyjourney.SoMrs.Bargravewentinwithher,intoanotherroomwithin the first, andMrs.Veal sat her down in an elbow-chair, inwhichMrs.BargravewassittingwhensheheardMrs.Vealknock.ThensaysMrs.Veal,Mydearfriend,Iamcometorenewouroldfriendshipagain,andbegyourpardonformybreachof it;andifyoucanforgiveme,youare thebestofwomen.O,says Mrs. Bargrave, do not mention such a thing; I have not had an uneasythought about it; I can easily forgive it.What did you think ofme? saidMrs.Veal.SaysMrs.Bargrave,Ithoughtyouwereliketherestoftheworld,andthatprosperityhadmadeyouforgetyourselfandme.ThenMrs.VealremindedMrs.Bargraveof themanyfriendlyofficesshedidherinformerdays,andmuchoftheconversation theyhadwitheachother in the timesof theiradversity;whatbooks they read, and what comfort, in particular, they received fromDrelincourt'sBookofDeath,whichwasthebest,shesaid,onthatsubjecteverwritten. She also mentioned Dr. Sherlock, the two Dutch books which weretranslated,writtenupondeath,andseveralothers.ButDrelincourt,shesaid,hadtheclearestnotionsofdeath,andofthefuturestate,ofanywhohadhandledthatsubject.ThensheaskedMrs.Bargrave,whethershehadDrelincourt.Shesaid,Yes.SaysMrs.Veal,Fetchit.AndsoMrs.Bargravegoesupstairsandbringsitdown.SaysMrs.Veal,DearMrs.Bargrave,iftheeyesofourfaithwereasopenastheeyesofourbody,weshouldseenumbersofangelsaboutusforourguard.Thenotionswehaveofheavennow,arenothinglikewhat it is,asDrelincourtsays; therefore be comforted under your afflictions, and believe that theAlmightyhasaparticular regard toyou;and thatyourafflictionsaremarksof

God'sfavor;andwhentheyhavedonethebusinesstheyaresentfor,theyshallbe removed fromyou.And believeme,mydear friend, believewhat I say toyou, one minute of future happiness will infinitely reward you for all yoursufferings.For,Icanneverbelieve(andclapsherhanduponherkneewithgreatearnestness,whichindeedranthroughmostofherdiscourse),thateverGodwillsufferyoutospendallyourdaysinthisafflictedstate;butbeassured,thatyourafflictions shall leave you, or you them, in a short time. She spake in thatpatheticalandheavenlymanner,thatMrs.Bargraveweptseveraltimes,shewassodeeplyaffectedwithit.

ThenMrs. VealmentionedDr. Kenrick's Ascetick, at the end of which hegives an account of the lives of the primitive Christians. Their pattern sherecommendedtoourimitation,andsaid,theirconversationwasnotlikethisofourage:Fornow,saysshe,thereisnothingbutfrothy,vaindiscourse,whichisfardifferentfromtheirs.Theirswastoedification,andtobuildoneanotherupinfaith;sothattheywerenotasweare,norareweastheywere:but,saysshe,weoughttodoastheydid.Therewasanheartyfriendshipamongthem;butwhereisitnowtobefound?SaysMrs.Bargrave,Itishardindeedtofindatruefriendin these days. Says Mrs. Veal, Mr. Norris has a fine copy of verses, calledFriendshipinPerfection,whichIwonderfullyadmire.Haveyouseenthebook?saysMrs.Veal.No,saysMrs.Bargrave,butIhavetheversesofmyownwritingout. Have you? says Mrs. Veal, then fetch them.Which she did from abovestairs,andofferedthemtoMrs.Vealtoread,whorefused,andwaivedthething,saying, holding down her head would make it ache; and then desired Mrs.Bargravetoreadthemtoher,whichshedid.Astheywereadmiringfriendship,Mrs.Veal said,DearMrs.Bargrave, I shall love you for ever. In these versesthereistwiceusedthewordElysian.Ah!saysMrs.Veal,thesepoetshavesuchnamesforheaven.Shewouldoftendrawherhandsacrossherowneyes,andsay,Mrs.Bargrave, donotyou think I ammightily impairedbymy fits?No, saysMrs. Bargrave, I think you look as well as ever I knew you. After all thisdiscourse,whichtheapparitionputinmuchfinerwordsthanMrs.Bargravesaidshecouldpretendto,andasmuchmorethanshecanremember,(foritcannotbethought, that an hour and three quarters' conversation could all be retained,thoughthemainofitshethinksshedoes,)shesaidtoMrs.Bargrave,shewouldhaveherwritealettertoherbrother,andtellhim,shewouldhavehimgiveringstosuchandsuch;andthattherewasapurseofgoldinhercabinet,andthatshewouldhavetwobroadpiecesgiventohercousinWatson.

Talking at this rate,Mrs.Bargrave thought that a fitwas cominguponher,

andsoplacedherselfinachairjustbeforeherknees,tokeepherfromfallingtotheground,ifherfitsshouldoccasionit:fortheelbow-chair,shethought,wouldkeep her from falling on either side.And to divertMrs.Veal, as she thought,tookholdofhergown-sleeveseveral times,andcommended it.Mrs.Veal toldher, it was a scowered silk, and newly made up. But for all this, Mrs. Vealpersistedinherrequest,andtoldMrs.Bargrave,shemustnotdenyher:andshewouldhavehertellherbrotheralltheirconversation,whenshehadopportunity.DearMrs.Veal,saysMrs.Bargrave,thisseemssoimpertinent,thatIcannottellhowtocomplywithit;andwhatamortifyingstorywillourconversationbetoayounggentleman?Why,saysMrs.Bargrave,itismuchbetter,methinks,todoityourself.No,saysMrs.Veal,thoughitseemsimpertinenttoyounow,youwillseemorereasonforithereafter.Mrs.Bargravethen,tosatisfyherimportunity,wasgoingtofetchapenandink;butMrs.Vealsaid,Letitalonenow,butdoitwhenIamgone;butyoumustbesuretodoit:whichwasoneofthelastthingssheenjoinedheratparting;andsoshepromisedher.

ThenMrs.VealaskedforMrs.Bargrave'sdaughter;shesaid,shewasnotathome:But ifyouhaveamindtoseeher,saysMrs.Bargrave,I'llsendforher.Do,saysMrs.Veal.Onwhichshelefther,andwenttoaneighbor'stoseekforher;andbythetimeMrs.Bargravewasreturning,Mrs.Vealwasgotwithoutthedoor in the street, in the face of the beast-market, on a Saturday, which ismarket-day,andstoodreadytopart,assoonasMrs.Bargravecametoher.Sheasked her, why she was in such haste. She said she must be going, thoughperhapsshemightnotgoherjourneytillMonday;andtoldMrs.Bargrave,shehopedsheshouldseeheragainathercousinWatson's,beforeshewentwhithershewasgoing.Thenshesaid,shewouldtakeherleaveofher,andwalkedfromMrs.Bargraveinherview,tillaturninginterruptedthesightofher,whichwasthreequartersafteroneintheafternoon.

Mrs.Vealdiedthe7thofSeptember,attwelveo'clockatnoonofherfits,andhadnotabovefourhours'sensesbeforeherdeath,inwhichtimeshereceivedthesacrament. The next day after Mrs. Veal's appearing, being Sunday, Mrs.Bargravewasmightilyindisposedwithacold,andasorethroat,thatshecouldnot go out that day; but on Monday morning she sent a person to CaptainWatson's, to know ifMrs. Vealwas there. Theywondered atMrs. Bargrave'sinquiry; and sent herword, that shewas not there, norwas expected. At thisanswerMrs.Bargravetoldthemaidshehadcertainlymistookthename,ormadesomeblunder.Andthoughshewasill,sheputonherhood,andwentherselftoCaptainWatson's thoughsheknewnoneof thefamily, tosee ifMrs.Vealwas

thereornot.Theysaid,theywonderedatherasking,forthatshehadnotbeenintown;theyweresure,ifshehad,shewouldhavebeenthere.SaysMrs.Bargrave,I am sure she waswithme on Saturday almost two hours. They said, it wasimpossible; for theymusthave seenher if shehad. IncomesCaptainWatson,whiletheywereindispute,andsaid,thatMrs.Vealwascertainlydead,andherescutcheonsweremaking.ThisstrangelysurprisedMrs.Bargrave,whenshesenttothepersonimmediatelywhohadthecareofthem,andfoundittrue.ThensherelatedthewholestorytoCaptainWatson'sfamily,andwhatgownshehadon,andhowstriped;andthatMrs.Vealtoldher,itwasscowered.ThenMrs.Watsoncriedout,Youhaveseenherindeed,fornoneknew,butMrs.Vealandmyself,that the gownwas scowered.AndMrs.Watson owned, that she described thegownexactly:For,saidshe,Ihelpedhertomakeitup.ThisMrs.Watsonblazedall about the town, and avouched the demonstration of the truth of Mrs.Bargrave's seeing Mrs. Veal's apparition. And Captain Watson carried twogentlemenimmediatelytoMrs.Bargrave'shouse,toheartherelationofherownmouth.Andwhen it spread so fast, that gentlemenandpersonsof quality, thejudiciousandskepticalpartoftheworld,flockedinuponher,itatlastbecamesuchatask,thatshewasforcedtogooutoftheway.Fortheywere,ingeneral,extremelysatisfiedofthetruthofthething,andplainlysawthatMrs.Bargravewas no hypochondraic; for she always appears with such a cheerful air, andpleasingmien,thatshehasgainedthefavorandesteemofallthegentry;anditis thoughtagreatfavor, if theycanbutget therelationfromherownmouth.Ishouldhave toldyoubefore, thatMrs.Veal toldMrs.Bargrave, thather sisterand brother-in-law were just come down from London to see her. SaysMrs.Bargrave,Howcameyoutoordermatterssostrangely?Itcouldnotbehelped,saysMrs.Veal.Andherbrotherandsisterdidcometoseeher,andenteredthetownofDoverjustasMrs.Vealwasexpiring.Mrs.Bargrave,askedher,whethershewoulddrinksometea.SaysMrs.Veal,IdonotcareifIdo;butI'llwarrantyou, this mad fellow (meaning Mrs. Bargrave's husband) has broke all yourtrinkets.But,saysMrs.Bargrave,I'llgetsomethingtodrinkinforall that;butMrs.Vealwaivedit,andsaid,Itisnomatter,letitalone;andsoitpassed.

AllthetimeIsatwithMrs.Bargrave,whichwassomehours,sherecollectedfreshsayingsofMrs.Veal.AndonematerialthingmoreshetoldMrs.Bargrave,thatoldMr.BretonallowedMrs.Vealtenpoundsayear;whichwasasecret,andunknowntoMrs.Bargrave,tillMrs.Vealtoldither.

Mrs.Bargravenevervaries inher story;whichpuzzles thosewhodoubtofthe truth, or are unwilling to believe it. A servant in the neighbor's yard,

adjoiningtoMrs.Bargrave'shouse,heardhertalkingtosomebodyanhourofthetimeMrs.Vealwaswithher.Mrs.Bargravewentouttohernextneighbor'sthevery moment she parted with Mrs. Veal, and told her what ravishingconversationshehadwithanoldfriend,and told thewholeof it.Drelincourt'sBook of Death is, since this happened, bought up strangely. And it is to beobserved, that notwithstanding all the trouble and fatigue Mrs. Bargrave hasundergoneuponthisaccount,shenevertookthevalueofafarthing,norsufferedherdaughtertotakeanythingofanybody,andthereforecanhavenointerestintellingthestory.

ButMr.Veal doeswhat he can to stifle thematter, and said, hewould seeMrs.Bargrave; but yet it is certainmatter of fact that he has been atCaptainWatson's since thedeathofhis sister, andyetneverwentnearMrs. Bargrave;andsomeofhisfriendsreporthertobealiar,andthatsheknewofMr.Breton'stenpoundsayear.Butthepersonwhopretendstosayso,hasthereputationofanotoriousliar,amongpersonswhomIknowtobeofundoubtedcredit.NowMr.Veal ismoreof agentleman than to say she lies; but says, abadhusbandhascrazedher.Butsheneedsonlypresentherself,anditwilleffectuallyconfutethatpretense.Mr.Vealsays,heaskedhissisteronherdeath-bed,whethershehadamind to dispose of anything? And she said, No. Now, the things whichMrs.Veal'sapparitionwouldhavedisposedof,weresotrifling,andnothingofjusticeaimedatintheirdisposal,thatthedesignofitappearstometobeonlyinorderto make Mrs. Bargrave so to demonstrate the truth of her appearance, as tosatisfytheworldoftherealitythereof,astowhatshehadseenandheard;andtosecureherreputationamongthereasonableandunderstandingpartofmankind.And thenagain,Mr.Vealowns, that therewasapurseofgold;but itwasnotfound inher cabinet, but in a comb-box.This looks improbable; for thatMrs.Watsonowned,thatMrs.Vealwassoverycarefulofthekeyofthecabinet,thatshewouldtrustnobodywithit.Andifso,nodoubtshewouldnottrusthergoldoutofit.AndMrs.Veal'softendrawingherhandoverhereyes,andaskingMrs.Bargravewhetherherfitshadnot impairedher, looks tomeas ifshedid itonpurposetoremindMrs.Bargraveofherfits,topreparehernottothinkitstrangethatsheshouldputheruponwritingtoherbrothertodisposeofringsandgold,whichlookedsomuchlikeadyingperson'srequest;andittookaccordinglywithMrs.Bargrave, as the effects of her fits cominguponher; andwasoneof themanyinstancesofherwonderfullovetoher,andcareofher,thatsheshouldnotbe affrighted;which indeed appears in herwholemanagement, particularly inher coming to her in the day-time,waiving the salutation, andwhen shewasalone;andthenthemannerofherparting,topreventasecondattempttosalute

her.

Now,whyMr.Veal should think this relation a reflection, as it is plain hedoes, by his endeavoring to stifle it, I cannot imagine; because the generalitybelieve her to be a good spirit, her discoursewas so heavenly.Her two greaterrands were to comfort Mrs. Bargrave in her affliction, and to ask herforgivenessforthebreachoffriendship,andwithapiousdiscoursetoencourageher. So that, after all, to suppose that Mrs. Bargrave could hatch such aninventionasthisfromFridaynoontillSaturdaynoon,supposingthatsheknewofMrs.Veal'sdeaththeveryfirstmoment,withoutjumblingcircumstances,andwithoutanyinteresttoo;shemustbemorewitty,fortunate,andwickedtoo,thanany indifferent person, I dare say, will allow. I asked Mrs. Bargrave severaltimes,ifshewassureshefeltthegown?Sheansweredmodestly,Ifmysensesbeto be relied on, I am sure of it. I asked her, if she heard a sound when sheclappedherhanduponherknee?She said, shedidnot remember shedid;butsaidsheappearedtobeasmuchasubstanceasIdid,whotalkedwithher.AndImay,saidshe,beassoonpersuaded,thatyourapparitionistalkingtomenow,asthatIdidnotreallyseeher:forIwasundernomanneroffear,andreceivedherasafriend,andpartedwithherassuch.Iwouldnot,saysshe,giveonefarthingtomakeanyonebelieveit:Ihavenointerestinit;nothingbuttroubleisentaileduponme for a long time, for aught I know; and had it not come to light byaccident, it would never have beenmade public. But now, she says, she willmakeherownprivateuseofit,andkeepherselfoutofthewayasmuchasshecan;andsoshehasdonesince.Shesays,Shehadagentlemanwhocamethirtymilestohertoheartherelation;andthatshehadtoldittoaroomfullofpeopleatatime.SeveralparticulargentlemenhavehadthestoryfromMrs.Bargrave'sownmouth.

Thisthinghasverymuchaffectedme,andIamaswellsatisfied,asIamofthe best-grounded matter of fact. And why we should dispute matter of fact,because we cannot solve things of which we can have no certain ordemonstrative notions, seems strange to me. Mrs. Bargrave's authority andsincerityalone,wouldhavebeenundoubtedinanyothercase.

TOTHEREADER

Theoriginoftheforegoingcuriousstoryseemstohavebeenasfollows:—

Anadventurousbooksellerhadventured toprintaconsiderableeditionofaworkby theReverendCharlesDrelincourt,ministerof theCalvinist church inParis,andtranslatedbyM.D'Assigny,underthetitleof"TheChristian'sDefenseagainsttheFearofDeath,withseveraldirectionshowtoprepareourselvestodiewell." But however certain the prospect of death, it is not so agreeable(unfortunately) as to invite the eager contemplation of the public; andDrelincourt's book, being neglected, lay a dead stock on the hands of thepublisher.Inthisemergency,heappliedtoDeFoetoassisthim(bydintofsuchmeansaswerethen,aswellasnow,prettywellunderstoodintheliteraryworld)inrescuingtheunfortunatebookfromtheliterarydeathtowhichgeneralneglectseemedabouttoconsignit.

De Foe's genius and audacity devised a plan which, for assurance andingenuity,defiedeventhepowersofMr.PuffintheCritic:forwhobuthimselfwouldhavethoughtofsummoningupaghostfromthegravetobearwitnessinfavorofahaltingbodyofdivinity?Thereisamatter-of-fact,business-likestyleinthewholeaccountofthetransaction,whichbespeaksineffablepowersofself-possession. The narrative is drawn up "by a gentleman, a Justice of Peace atMaidstone,inKent,averyintelligentperson."And,moreover,"thediscourseisattested by a very sober gentlewoman,who lives in Canterbury, within a fewdoors of the house in which Mrs. Bargrave lives." The Justice believes hiskinswomantobeofsodiscerningaspirit,asnottobeputuponbyanyfallacy—andthekinswomanpositivelyassurestheJustice,"thatthewholematter,asitisrelatedandlaiddown,isreallytrue,andwhatsheherselfheard,asnearasmaybe,fromMrs.Bargrave'sownmouth,who,sheknows,hadnoreasontoinventorpublishsuchastory,oranydesigntoforgeandtellalie,beingawomanofsomuch honesty and virtue, and her whole life a course, as it were, of piety."Skepticism itself could not resist this triple court of evidence so artfullycombined, the Justice attesting for the discerning spirit of the sober andunderstandinggentlewomanhiskinswoman,andhiskinswomanbecomingbailfortheveracityofMrs.Bargrave.Andhere,gentlereader,admirethesimplicityof those days. Had Mrs. Veal's visit to her friend happened in our time, theconductorsofthedailypresswouldhavegiventheword,andsevengentlemenuntothesaidpressbelonging,would,withanobedientstart,havemadeoffforKingston,forCanterbury,forDover,—forKamchatkaifnecessary,—toposetheJustice, cross-examine Mrs. Bargrave, confront the sober and understandingkinswoman, and digMrs. Veal up from her grave, rather than not get to thebottom of the story. But in our time we doubt and scrutinize; our ancestorswonderedandbelieved.

Before the story is commenced, the understanding gentlewoman (not theJusticeofPeace),who is the reporter, takessomepains to repel theobjectionsmade against the story by some of the friends of Mrs. Veal's brother, whoconsider themarvel as an aspersion on their family, and dowhat they can tolaugh it out of countenance. Indeed, it is allowed,with admirable impartiality,thatMr.VealistoomuchofagentlemantosupposeMrs.Bargraveinventedthestory—scandal itself could scarcehave supposed that—althoughonenotoriousliar,whoischastisedtowardstheconclusionofthestory,venturestothrowoutsuch an insinuation. No reasonable or respectable person, however, could befound to countenance the suspicion, and Mr. Veal himself opined that Mrs.Bargrave had been driven crazy by a cruel husband, and dreamed the wholestoryof theapparition.Nowall this is sufficientlyartful.Tohavevouched thefactasuniversallyknown,andbelievedbyeveryone,nem.con.,wouldnothavebeenhalfsosatisfactorytoaskepticastoallowfairlythatthenarrativehadbeenimpugned,andhintatthecharacterofoneofthoseskeptics,andthemotivesofanother,assufficienttoaccountfortheirwantofbelief.Nowtothefactitself.

Mrs.Bargrave andMrs.Veal had been friends in youth, and had protestedtheirattachmentshouldlastaslongastheylived;butwhenMrs.Veal'sbrotherobtained an office in the customs at Dover, some cessation of their intimacyensued, "thoughwithout any positive quarrel."Mrs.Bargrave had removed toCanterbury, andwas residing in a house of her own, when shewas suddenlyinterruptedbyavisitfromMrs.Veal,asshewassittingindeepcontemplationofcertaindistressesofherown.Thevisitorwas ina riding-habit,andannouncedherself as prepared for a distant journey (which seems to intimate that spiritshaveaconsiderabledistancetogobeforetheyarriveat theirappointedstation,andthatthefemalesatleastputonahabitfortheoccasion).Thespirit,forsuchwastheseemingMrs.Veal,continuedtowaivetheceremonyofsalutation,bothingoingandcoming,whichwillremindthereaderofaghostlylover'sreplytohismistressinthefineoldScottishballad:—

WhyshouldIcomewithinthybower?Iamnoearthlyman;

AndshouldIkissthyrosylips,Thydayswouldnotbelang.

Theythenbegantotalkinthehomelystyleofmiddle-agedladies,andMrs.Vealprosesconcerningtheconversationstheyhadformerlyheld,andthebookstheyhadreadtogether.HerveryrecentexperienceprobablyledMrs.Vealtotalk

ofdeath,andthebookswrittenonthesubject,andshepronouncedexcathedrá,asadeadpersonwasbestentitledtodo,that"Drelincourt'sbookonDeathwasthebestbookonthesubjecteverwritten."ShealsomentionedDr.Sherlock,twoDutchbookswhichhadbeentranslated,andseveralothers;butDrelincourt,shesaid, had the clearest notions of death and the future state of any who hadhandled that subject. She then asked for thework [wemarvel the edition andimpress had not beenmentioned] and lectured on itwith great eloquence andaffection.Dr.Kenrick'sAscetick was alsomentionedwith approbation by thiscritical specter [theDoctor'sworkwas no doubt a tenant of the shelf in somefavoritepublisher'sshop];andMr.Norris'sPoemonFriendship,awork,whichIdoubt, though honored with a ghost's approbation, we may now seek for asvainlyasCorrelli tormentedhismemory to recover thesonatawhich thedevilplayedtohiminadream.Presentlyafter,fromformerhabitswemaysuppose,the guest desires a cup of tea; but, bethinking herself of her new character,escapes from her own proposal by recollecting that Mr. Bargrave was in thehabit of breakinghiswife's china. Itwouldhavebeen indeed strangely out ofcharacter if the spirit had lunched, or breakfasted upon tea and toast. Such aconsummation would have sounded as ridiculous as if the statue of thecommanderinDonJuanhadnotonlyacceptedoftheinvitationofthelibertinetosupper,buthadalsocommittedabeefsteaktohisflintyjawsandstomachofadamant.Alittlemoreconversationensuedofalessseriousnature,andtendingtoshowthateventhepassagefromlifetodeathleavesthefemaleanxietyaboutpersonanddress somewhatalive.Theghost askedMrs.Bargravewhether shedidnotthinkherverymuchaltered,andMrs.Bargraveofcoursecomplimentedheronhergood looks.Mrs.Bargravealsoadmired thegownwhichMrs.Vealwore,andasamarkofherperfectlyrestoredconfidence,thespiritledherintotheimportantsecret,thatitwasascouredsilk,andlatelymadeup.Sheinformedher also of another secret, namely, that one Mr. Breton had allowed her tenpoundsayear;and,lastly,sherequestedthatMrs.Bargravewouldwritetoherbrother,andtellhimhowtodistributehermourningrings,andmentionedtherewas a purse of gold in her cabinet. She expressed some wish to see Mrs.Bargrave'sdaughter;butwhenthatgoodladywenttothenextdoortoseekher,she found on her return the guest leaving the house. She had gotwithout thedoor,inthestreet,inthefaceofthebeastmarket,onaSaturday,whichismarketday,andstoodreadytopart.Shesaidshemustbegoing,asshehadtocalluponhercousinWatson(thisappears tobeagratisdictumon thepartof theghost)and, maintaining the character of mortality to the last, she quietly turned thecorner,andwalkedoutofsight.

ThencamethenewsofMrs.Veal'shavingdiedthedaybeforeatnoon.SaysMrs.Bargrave,"IamsureshewaswithmeonSaturdayalmosttwohours."Andin comes Captain Watson, and says Mrs. Veal was certainly dead. And thencomeallthepiecesofevidence,andespeciallythestripedsilkgown.ThenMrs.Watsoncriedout,"Youhaveseenherindeed,fornoneknewbutMrs.VealandIthatthatgownwasscoured";andshecriedthatthegownwasdescribedexactly,for,saidshe,"Ihelpedhertomakeitup."Andnextwehavethesillyattemptsmadetodiscredit thehistory.EvenMr.Veal,herbrother,wasobliged toallowthatthegoldwasfound,butwithadifference,andpretendeditwasnotfoundina cabinet, but elsewhere; and, in short, we have all the gossip of says I, andthinksI,andsaysshe,andthinksshe,whichdisputedmattersusuallyexciteinacountrytown.

Whenwehavethusturnedthetale,theseamwithout,itmaybethoughttooridiculous tohaveattractednotice.Butwhoeverwill read itas toldbyDeFoehimself,will agree that, could the thing have happened in reality, so itwouldhavebeen told.The sobering thewhole supernaturalvisit into the languageofthemiddleor low life, gives it an air of probability even in its absurdity.Theghostofanexciseman'shousekeeper,andaseamstress,werenottoconverselikeBrutuswithhisEvilGenius.Andthecircumstancesofscouredsilks,brokentea-china, and such like, while they are the natural topics of such persons'conversation, would, one might have thought, be the last which an inventorwouldhaveintroducedintoapretendednarrativebetwixtthedeadandliving.Inshort, the whole is so distinctly circumstantial, that, were it not for theimpossibility, or extreme improbability at least, of such an occurrence, theevidencecouldnotbutsupportthestory.

Theeffectwasmostwonderful.DrelincourtuponDeath,attestedbyonewhocouldspeakfromexperience,tookanunequaledrun.Thecopieshadhungonthebookseller's hands as heavy as a pile of lead bullets. They now traversed thetown in every direction, like the same balls discharged from a field-piece. Inshort, the object of Mrs. Veal's apparition was perfectly attained.—[See TheMiscellaneousProseWorksofSirWalterScott,Bart.,vol.iv.p.305,ed.1827.]

CANONALBERIC'SSCRAP-BOOK

BYMONTAGUERHODESJAMES

St.BertranddeCommingesisadecayedtownonthespursofthePyrenees,notvery far fromToulouse,andstillnearer toBagnères-de-Luchon. Itwas thesiteofabishopricuntiltheRevolution,andhasacathedralwhichisvisitedbyacertainnumberof tourists. In thespringof1883anEnglishmanarrivedat thisold-worldplace—Icanhardlydignifyitwiththenameofcity,fortherearenotathousand inhabitants.HewasaCambridgeman,whohadcomespecially fromToulouse toseeSt.Bertrand'sChurch,andhad left twofriends,whowere lesskeenarchæologiststhanhimself,intheirhotelatToulouse,underpromisetojoinhimon the followingmorning.Halfanhourat thechurchwouldsatisfy them,andall threecould thenpursue their journey in thedirectionofAuch.ButourEnglishmanhadcomeearlyonthedayinquestion,andproposedtohimselftofillanote-bookandtouseseveraldozensofplatesintheprocessofdescribingandphotographingeverycornerofthewonderfulchurchthatdominatesthelittlehill of Comminges. In order to carry out this design satisfactorily, it wasnecessary to monopolize the verger of the church for the day. The verger orsacristan(Ipreferthelatterappellation,inaccurateasitmaybe)wasaccordinglysentforbythesomewhatbrusqueladywhokeepstheinnoftheChapeauRouge;andwhenhecame,theEnglishmanfoundhimanunexpectedlyinterestingobjectofstudy.Itwasnotinthepersonalappearanceofthelittle,dry,wizenedoldmanthattheinterestlay,forhewaspreciselylikedozensofotherchurch-guardiansinFrance, but in a curious furtive, or rather hunted and oppressed, airwhich hehad.Hewasperpetuallyhalfglancingbehindhim;themusclesofhisbackandshouldersseemedtobehunchedinacontinualnervouscontraction,asifhewereexpecting every moment to find himself in the clutch of an enemy. TheEnglishmanhardlyknewwhethertoputhimdownasamanhauntedbyafixeddelusion, or as one oppressed by a guilty conscience, or as an unbearablyhenpecked husband.The probabilities,when reckoned up, certainly pointed tothelast idea;but,still, the impressionconveyedwasthatofamoreformidablepersecutoreventhanatermagantwife.

However,theEnglishman(letuscallhimDennistoun)wassoontoodeepinhis note-book and too busy with his camera to givemore than an occasional

glancetothesacristan.Wheneverhedidlookathim,hefoundhimatnogreatdistance,eitherhuddlinghimselfbackagainstthewallorcrouchinginoneofthegorgeous stalls. Dennistoun became rather fidgety after a time. Mingledsuspicions that he was keeping the old man from his déjeuner, that he wasregarded as likely tomake awaywithSt.Bertrand's ivory crozier, orwith thedustystuffedcrocodilethathangsoverthefont,begantotormenthim.

"Won'tyougohome?"hesaidatlast;"I'mquitewellabletofinishmynotesalone;youcanlockmeinifyoulike.Ishallwantatleasttwohoursmorehere,anditmustbecoldforyou,isn'tit?"

"Goodheavens!"said the littleman,whomthesuggestionseemed to throwinto a state of unaccountable terror, "such a thing cannot be thought of for amoment.Leavemonsieuraloneinthechurch?No,no;twohours,threehours,allwillbethesametome.Ihavebreakfasted,Iamnotatallcold,withmanythankstomonsieur."

"Very well, my little man," quoth Dennistoun to himself: "you have beenwarned,andyoumusttaketheconsequences."

Before the expirationof the twohours, the stalls, the enormousdilapidatedorgan, thechoir-screenofBishopJohndeMauléon, the remnantsofglassandtapestry, and the objects in the treasure-chamber, had been well and trulyexamined; thesacristanstillkeepingatDennistoun'sheels,andeverynowandthenwhippingroundasifhehadbeenstung,whenoneorotherofthestrangenoises that trouble a large empty building fell on his ear. Curious noises theyweresometimes.

"Once,"Dennistounsaid tome,"IcouldhaveswornIhearda thinmetallicvoicelaughinghighupinthetower.Idartedaninquiringglanceatmysacristan.Hewaswhitetothelips.'Itishe—thatis—itisnoone;thedoorislocked,'wasallhesaid,andwelookedateachotherforafullminute."

AnotherlittleincidentpuzzledDennistounagooddeal.Hewasexaminingalarge dark picture that hangs behind the altar, one of a series illustrating themiracles of St. Bertrand. The composition of the picture is well-nighindecipherable,butthereisaLatinlegendbelow,whichrunsthus:

"Qualiter S. Bertrandus liberavit hominem quem diabolus diuvolebatstrangulare."(HowSt.BertranddeliveredamanwhomtheDevillongsoughttostrangle.)

Dennistounwasturningtothesacristanwithasmileandajocularremarkofsomesortonhis lips,buthewasconfounded tosee theoldmanonhisknees,gazing at the picture with the eye of a suppliant in agony, his hands tightlyclasped, and a rain of tears on his cheeks. Dennistoun naturally pretended tohavenoticednothing,butthequestionwouldnotawayfromhim,"Whyshouldadaubofthiskindaffectanyonesostrongly?"Heseemedtohimselftobegettingsomesortofcluetothereasonofthestrangelookthathadbeenpuzzlinghimalltheday:themanmustbemonomaniac;butwhatwashismonomania?

Itwasnearlyfiveo'clock;theshortdaywasdrawingin,andthechurchbegantofillwithshadows,whilethecuriousnoises—themuffledfootfallsanddistanttalkingvoices thathadbeenperceptibleallday—seemed,nodoubtbecauseofthe fading light and the consequently quickened sense of hearing, to becomemorefrequentandinsistent.

Thesacristanbeganforthefirsttimetoshowsignsofhurryandimpatience.Heheavedasighofreliefwhencameraandnote-bookwerefinallypackedupandstowedaway,andhurriedlybeckonedDennistountothewesterndoorofthechurch, under the tower. It was time to ring the Angelus. A few pulls at thereluctant rope,and thegreatbellBertrande,high in the tower,began tospeak,and swung her voice up among the pines and down to the valleys, loudwithmountain-streams, calling the dwellers on those lonely hills to remember andrepeatthesalutationoftheangeltoherwhomhecalledBlessedamongwomen.Withthataprofoundquietseemedtofallforthefirsttimethatdayuponthelittletown,andDennistounandthesacristanwentoutofthechurch.

Onthedoorsteptheyfellintoconversation.

"Monsieurseemedtointeresthimselfintheoldchoir-booksinthesacristy."

"Undoubtedly.Iwasgoingtoaskyouiftherewerealibraryinthetown."

"No,monsieur;perhapsthereusedtobeonebelongingtotheChapter,butitisnowsuchasmallplace——"Herecameastrangepauseofirresolution,asitseemed;then,withasortofplunge,hewenton:"Butifmonsieurisamateurdesvieuxlivres,Ihaveathomesomethingthatmightinteresthim.Itisnotahundred

yards."

AtonceallDennistoun'scherisheddreamsoffindingpricelessmanuscriptsinuntroddencornersofFranceflashedup,todiedownagainthenextmoment.Itwasprobablya stupidmissalofPlantin'sprinting, about1580.Wherewas thelikelihoodthataplacesonearToulousewouldnothavebeenransackedlongagobycollectors?However,itwouldbefoolishnottogo;hewouldreproachhimselfforeverafterifherefused.Sotheysetoff.Onthewaythecuriousirresolutionand sudden determination of the sacristan recurred to Dennistoun, and hewonderedinashamefacedwaywhetherhewasbeingdecoyedintosomepurlieutobemadeawaywithasasupposedrichEnglishman.Hecontrived,therefore,tobegintalkingwithhisguide,andtodragin,inaratherclumsyfashion,thefactthatheexpectedtwofriendstojoinhimearlythenextmorning.Tohissurprise,theannouncementseemedtorelievethesacristanatonceofsomeoftheanxietythatoppressedhim.

"Thatiswell,"hesaidquitebrightly—"thatisverywell.Monsieurwilltravelincompanywithhisfriends;theywillbealwaysnearhim.Itisagoodthingtotravelthusincompany—sometimes."

Thelastwordappearedtobeaddedasanafterthought,andtobringwithitarelapseintogloomforthepoorlittleman.

Theyweresoonatthehouse,whichwasoneratherlargerthanitsneighbors,stone-built,withashieldcarvedoverthedoor,theshieldofAlbericdeMauléon,acollateraldescendant,Dennistountellsme,ofBishopJohndeMauléon.ThisAlbericwasaCanonofCommingesfrom1680to1701.Theupperwindowsofthe mansion were boarded up, and the whole place bore, as does the rest ofComminges,theaspectofdecayingage.

Arrivedonhisdoorstep,thesacristanpausedamoment.

"Perhaps,"hesaid,"perhaps,afterall,monsieurhasnotthetime?"

"Notatall—lotsoftime—nothingtodotillto-morrow.Letusseewhatitisyouhavegot."

Thedoorwasopenedatthispoint,andafacelookedout,afacefaryoungerthan the sacristan's, but bearing something of the same distressing look: onlyhereitseemedtobethemark,notsomuchoffearforpersonalsafetyasofacuteanxietyonbehalfofanother.Plainly, theownerof the facewas the sacristan's

daughter;and,butfortheexpressionIhavedescribed,shewasahandsomegirlenough.Shebrightenedupconsiderablyonseeingherfatheraccompaniedbyanable-bodied stranger. A few remarks passed between father and daughter, ofwhich Dennistoun only caught these words, said by the sacristan, "He waslaughing in the church,"wordswhichwere answered only by a look of terrorfromthegirl.

But in anotherminute theywere in the sitting-room of the house, a small,highchamberwithastonefloor,fullofmovingshadowscastbyawood-firethatflickered on a great hearth. Something of the character of an oratory wasimpartedtoitbyatallcrucifix,whichreachedalmosttotheceilingononeside;thefigurewaspaintedofthenaturalcolors,thecrosswasblack.Underthisstoodachestofsomeageandsolidity,andwhenalamphadbeenbrought,andchairsset, the sacristan went to this chest, and produced therefrom, with growingexcitementandnervousness,asDennistounthought,alargebookwrappedinawhitecloth,onwhichclothacrosswasrudelyembroideredinredthread.Evenbeforethewrappinghadbeenremoved,Dennistounbegantobeinterestedbythesizeandshapeofthevolume."Toolargeforamissal,"hethought,"andnottheshapeofanantiphoner;perhapsitmaybesomethinggood,afterall."Thenextmoment the book was open, and Dennistoun felt that he had at last lit uponsomethingbetterthangood.Beforehimlayalargefolio,bound,perhaps,lateintheseventeenthcentury,withthearmsofCanonAlbericdeMauléonstampedingoldon thesides.Theremayhavebeenahundredandfifty leavesofpaper inthe book, and on almost every one of them was fastened a leaf from anilluminatedmanuscript.SuchacollectionDennistounhadhardlydreamedofinhiswildestmoments.Herewere ten leaves fromacopyofGenesis, illustratedwithpictures,whichcouldnotbelaterthan700A.D.Furtheronwasacompletesetofpicturesfromapsalter,ofEnglishexecution,of theveryfinestkindthatthethirteenthcenturycouldproduce;and,perhapsbestofall,thereweretwentyleavesofuncialwritinginLatin,which,asafewwordsseenhereandtheretoldhimatonce,mustbelongtosomeveryearlyunknownpatristictreatise.CoulditpossiblybeafragmentofthecopyofPapias"OntheWordsofOurLord,"whichwas known to have existed as late as the twelfth century atNîmes?[A] In anycase,hismindwasmadeup;thatbookmustreturntoCambridgewithhim,evenifhehadtodrawthewholeofhisbalancefromthebankandstayatSt.Bertrandtillthemoneycame.Heglancedupatthesacristantoseeifhisfaceyieldedanyhint that the book was for sale. The sacristan was pale, and his lips wereworking.

"Ifmonsieurwillturnontotheend,"hesaid.

Somonsieurturnedon,meetingnewtreasuresateveryriseofaleaf;andattheendofthebookhecameupontwosheetsofpaper,ofmuchmorerecentdatethananythinghehadyet seen,whichpuzzledhimconsiderably.Theymustbecontemporary, he decided, with the unprincipled Canon Alberic, who haddoubtless plundered the Chapter library of St. Bertrand to form this pricelessscrapbook. On the first of the paper sheets was a plan, carefully drawn andinstantlyrecognizablebyapersonwhoknewtheground,ofthesouthaisleandcloisters of St. Bertrand's. There were curious signs looking like planetarysymbols,andafewHebrewwordsinthecorners;andinthenorthwestangleofthecloisterwasacrossdrawningoldpaint.BelowtheplanweresomelinesofwritinginLatin,whichranthus:

"Responsa 12mi Dec. 1694. Interrogatum est: Inveniamne?Responsumest:Invenies.Fiamnedives?Fies.Vivamneinvidendus?Vives. Moriarne in lecto meo? Ita." (Answers of the 12th ofDecember,1694.Itwasasked:ShallIfindit?Answer:Thoushalt.ShallIbecomerich?Thouwilt.ShallIliveanobjectofenvy?Thouwilt.ShallIdieinmybed?Thouwilt.)

"Agoodspecimenofthetreasure-hunter'srecord—quiteremindsoneofMr.Minor-CanonQuatremainin'OldSt.Paul's,'"wasDennistoun'scomment,andheturnedtheleaf.

Whathethensawimpressedhim,ashehasoftentoldme,morethanhecouldhaveconceivedanydrawingorpicturecapableofimpressinghim.And,thoughthedrawinghesawisnolongerinexistence,thereisaphotographofit(whichIpossess)whichfullybearsoutthatstatement.Thepictureinquestionwasasepiadrawing at the end of the seventeenth century, representing, onewould say atfirst sight, a Biblical scene; for the architecture (the picture represented aninterior) and the figures had that semi-classical flavor about them which theartistsoftwohundredyearsagothoughtappropriatetoillustrationsoftheBible.On the rightwas a king on his throne, the throne elevated on twelve steps, acanopy overhead, soldiers on either side—evidently King Solomon. He wasbending forward with outstretched scepter, in attitude of command; his faceexpressed horror and disgust, yet there was in it also the mark of imperiouscommand and confident power. The left half of the picturewas the strangest,however.Theinterestplainlycenteredthere.Onthepavementbeforethethronewere grouped four soldiers, surrounding a crouching figure which must be

described in a moment. A fifth soldier lay dead on the pavement, his neckdistorted,andhiseyeballs starting fromhishead.The foursurroundingguardswerelookingattheKing.Intheirfacesthesentimentofhorrorwasintensified;they seemed, in fact, only restrained from flight by their implicit trust in theirmaster. All this terrorwas plainly excited by the being that crouched in theirmidst. I entirelydespairofconveyingbyanywords the impressionwhich thisfigure makes upon any one who looks at it. I recollect once showing thephotograph of the drawing to a lecturer on morphology—a person of, I wasgoingtosay,abnormallysaneandunimaginativehabitsofmind.Heabsolutelyrefusedtobealonefortherestofthatevening,andhetoldmeafterwardsthatformanynightshehadnotdaredtoputouthislightbeforegoingtosleep.However,themaintraitsofthefigureIcanatleastindicate.Atfirstyousawonlyamassof coarse,mattedblackhair; presently itwas seen that this covered abodyoffearfulthinness,almostaskeleton,butwiththemusclesstandingoutlikewires.Thehandswereofaduskypallor,covered,likethebody,withlong,coarsehairs,andhideouslytaloned.Theeyes,touchedinwithaburningyellow,hadintenselyblackpupils,andwerefixeduponthethronedkingwithalookofbeast-likehate.Imagineoneoftheawfulbird-catchingspidersofSouthAmericatranslatedintohumanform,andendowedwithintelligencejustlessthanhuman,andyouwillhave some faint conception of the terror inspired by the appalling effigy.OneremarkisuniversallymadebythosetowhomIhaveshownthepicture:"Itwasdrawnfromthelife."

Assoonasthefirstshockofhisirresistiblefrighthadsubsided,Dennistounstolea lookathishosts.Thesacristan'shandswerepresseduponhiseyes;hisdaughter,lookingupatthecrossonthewall,wastellingherbeadsfeverishly.

Atlastthequestionwasasked,"Isthisbookforsale?"

Therewasthesamehesitation,thesameplungeofdetermination,thathehadnoticedbefore,andthencamethewelcomeanswer,"Ifmonsieurpleases."

"Howmuchdoyouaskforit?"

"Iwilltaketwohundredandfiftyfrancs."

This was confounding. Even a collector's conscience is sometimes stirred,andDennistoun'sconsciencewastendererthanacollector's.

"Mygoodman!"hesaidagainandagain,"yourbookisworthfarmorethantwohundredandfiftyfrancs,Iassureyou—farmore."

But the answerdidnot vary: "Iwill take twohundred and fifty francs, notmore."

Therewas really no possibility of refusing such a chance. Themoneywaspaid,thereceiptsigned,aglassofwinedrunkoverthetransaction,andthenthesacristan seemed tobecomeanewman.He stoodupright, he ceased to throwthose suspicious glances behind him, he actually laughed or tried to laugh.Dennistounrosetogo.

"I shall have the honor of accompanying monsieur to his hotel?" said thesacristan.

"Ohno,thanks!itisn'tahundredyards.Iknowthewayperfectly,andthereisamoon."

Theofferwaspressedthreeorfourtimes,andrefusedasoften.

"Then,monsieurwillsummonmeif—ifhefindsoccasion;hewillkeepthemiddleoftheroad,thesidesaresorough."

"Certainly, certainly," said Dennistoun, who was impatient to examine hisprizebyhimself; andhe steppedout into thepassagewithhis bookunderhisarm.

Herehewasmetbythedaughter;she,itappeared,wasanxioustodoalittlebusinessonherownaccount;perhaps,likeGehazi,to"takesomewhat"fromtheforeignerwhomherfatherhadspared.

"Asilver crucifix andchain for theneck;monsieurwouldperhapsbegoodenoughtoacceptit?"

Well, really, Dennistoun hadn't much use for these things. What didmademoisellewantforit?

"Nothing—nothingintheworld.Monsieurismorethanwelcometoit."

Thetoneinwhichthisandmuchmorewassaidwasunmistakablygenuine,so that Dennistounwas reduced to profuse thanks, and submitted to have thechainput roundhisneck. It reallyseemedas ifhehadrendered thefatheranddaughtersomeservicewhichtheyhardlyknewhowtorepay.Ashesetoffwithhis book they stood at the door looking after him, and theywere still lookingwhenhewavedthemalastgood-nightfromthestepsoftheChapeauRouge.

Dinnerwasover,andDennistounwasinhisbedroom,shutupalonewithhisacquisition.Thelandladyhadmanifestedaparticularinterestinhimsincehehadtoldher that hehadpaid a visit to the sacristan andbought anoldbook fromhim.Hethought,too,thathehadheardahurrieddialoguebetweenherandthesaidsacristaninthepassageoutsidethesalleàmanger;somewordstotheeffectthat "Pierre and Bertrand would be sleeping in the house" had closed theconversation.

At this timeagrowingfeelingofdiscomforthadbeencreepingoverhim—nervousreaction,perhaps,afterthedelightofhisdiscovery.Whateveritwas,itresultedinaconvictionthattherewassomeonebehindhim,andthathewasfarmorecomfortablewithhisbacktothewall.Allthis,ofcourse,weighedlightinthebalanceasagainsttheobviousvalueofthecollectionhehadacquired.Andnow, as I said, hewas alone in his bedroom, taking stock ofCanonAlberic'streasures,inwhicheverymomentrevealedsomethingmorecharming.

"Bless Canon Alberic!" said Dennistoun, who had an inveterate habit oftalking tohimself. "Iwonderwherehe isnow?Dearme! Iwish that landladywould learn to laugh in amorecheeringmanner; itmakesone feel as if therewassomeonedeadinthehouse.Halfapipemore,didyousay?Ithinkperhapsyouareright. Iwonderwhat thatcrucifix is that theyoungwomaninsistedongivingme?Last century, I suppose.Yes, probably. It is rather a nuisance of athingtohaveroundone'sneck—justtooheavy.Mostlikelyherfatherhadbeenwearingitforyears.IthinkImightgiveitacleanupbeforeIputitaway."

Hehadtakenthecrucifixoff,andlaiditonthetable,whenhisattentionwascaughtbyanobject lyingon the redcloth justbyhis leftelbow.Twoor threeideas ofwhat itmight be flitted through his brainwith their own incalculablequickness.

"Apenwiper?No,nosuchthinginthehouse.Arat?No,tooblack.Alargespider? I trust to goodness not—no. Good God! a hand like the hand in thatpicture!"

In another infinitesimal flashhehad taken it in.Pale, dusky skin, coveringnothingbutbonesandtendonsofappallingstrength;coarseblackhairs, longerthanevergrewonahumanhand;nails risingfromtheendsof thefingersandcurvingsharplydownandforward,gray,hornyandwrinkled.

He flew out of his chair with deadly, inconceivable terror clutching at hisheart.The shape,whose lefthand restedon the table,was rising toa standing

posturebehindhisseat,itsrighthandcrookedabovehisscalp.Therewasblackand tattereddraperyabout it; thecoarsehaircovered itas in thedrawing.Thelower jawwas thin—what can I call it?—shallow, like abeast's; teeth showedbehind the black lips; there was no nose; the eyes, of a fiery yellow, againstwhich thepupils showedblackand intense, and theexultinghate and thirst todestroy lifewhich shone there,were themost horrifying feature in thewholevision.Therewasintelligenceofakindinthem—intelligencebeyondthatofabeast,belowthatofaman.

The feelings which this horror stirred in Dennistoun were the intensestphysical fear and the most profound mental loathing.What did he do?Whatcouldhedo?Hehasneverbeenquitecertainwhatwordshesaid,butheknowsthathespoke,thathegraspedblindlyatthesilvercrucifix,thathewasconsciousofamovementtowardshimonthepartofthedemon,andthathescreamedwiththevoiceofananimalinhideouspain.

Pierre andBertrand, the two sturdy little serving-men,who rushed in, sawnothing,but felt themselves thrustasidebysomething thatpassedoutbetweenthem,andfoundDennistouninaswoon.Theysatupwithhimthatnight,andhistwo friends were at St. Bertrand by nine o'clock next morning. He himself,thoughstillshakenandnervous,wasalmosthimselfbythattime,andhisstoryfoundcredencewiththem,thoughnotuntiltheyhadseenthedrawingandtalkedwiththesacristan.

Almostatdawnthelittlemanhadcometotheinnonsomepretense,andhadlistenedwiththedeepestinteresttothestoryretailedbythelandlady.Heshowednosurprise.

"Itishe—itishe!Ihaveseenhimmyself,"washisonlycomment;andtoallquestioningsbutonereplywasvouchsafed:"Deuxfoisjel'aivu;millefoisjel'aisenti."Hewouldtellthemnothingoftheprovenanceofthebook,noranydetailsofhisexperiences."Ishallsoonsleep,andmyrestwillbesweet.Whyshouldyoutroubleme?"hesaid.[B]

WeshallneverknowwhatheorCanonAlbericdeMauléonsuffered.Atthebackofthatfatefuldrawingweresomelinesofwritingwhichmaybesupposedtothrowlightonthesituation:

"ContradictioSalomoniscumdemonionocturno.AlbericusdeMauleonedelineavit.

V.Deusinadiutorium.Ps.Quihabitat.SancteBertrande,demoniorumeffugator,intercedepromemiserrimo.

Primumuidinocte12miDec.1694:uidebomoxultimum.

Peccauietpassussum,pluraadhucpassurus.Dec.29,1701."[C]

I have never quite understoodwhatwasDennistoun's view of the events Ihavenarrated.Hequoted tomeonce a test fromEcclesiasticus: "Some spiritstherebethatarecreatedforvengeance,andintheirfurylayonsorestrokes."Onanother occasion he said: "Isaiah was a very sensible man; doesn't he saysomethingaboutnightmonsterslivingintheruinsofBabylon?Thesethingsareratherbeyondusatpresent."

Anotherconfidenceofhisimpressedmerather,andIsympathizedwithit.Wehad been, last year, toComminges, to seeCanonAlberic's tomb. It is a greatmarbleerectionwithaneffigyoftheCanoninalargewigandsoutane,andanelaborateeulogyofhislearningbelow.IsawDennistountalkingforsometimewiththeVicarofSt.Bertrand's,andaswedroveawayhesaidtome:"Ihopeitisn't wrong: you know I am a Presbyterian—but I—I believe there will be'sayingofMassandsingingofdirges' forAlbericdeMauléon's rest."Thenheadded,with a touchof theNorthernBritish in his tone, "I hadnonotion theycamesodear."

The book is in theWentworth Collection at Cambridge. The drawing wasphotographedandthenburntbyDennistounonthedaywhenheleftCommingesontheoccasionofhisfirstvisit.

THEHAUNTEDANDTHEHAUNTERS

OR,

THEHOUSEANDTHEBRAIN

BYEDWARDBULWER-LYTTON

Afriendofmine,whoisamanoflettersandaphilosopher,saidtomeoneday, as if between jest and earnest,—"Fancy! since we last met, I havediscoveredahauntedhouseinthemidstofLondon."

"Reallyhaunted?—andbywhat?ghosts?"

"Well,Ican'tanswerthatquestion:allIknowisthis—sixweeksagomywifeandIwereinsearchofafurnishedapartment.Passingaquietstreet,wesawonthewindow of one of the houses a bill, 'Apartments Furnished.' The situationsuitedus;weenteredthehouse—likedtherooms—engagedthembytheweek—andleftthemthethirdday.Nopoweronearthcouldhavereconciledmywifetostaylonger;andIdon'twonderatit."

"Whatdidyousee?"

"Excuseme—I have no desire to be ridiculed as a superstitious dreamer—nor,on theotherhand, could I askyou to acceptonmyaffirmationwhatyouwouldhold to be incrediblewithout the evidenceof your own senses.Letmeonly say this, itwas not somuchwhatwe sawor heard (inwhichyoumightfairlysupposethatwewerethedupesofourownexcitedfancy,orthevictimsofimposture inothers) thatdroveusaway,as itwasanundefinable terrorwhichseizedbothofuswheneverwepassedbythedoorofacertainunfurnishedroom,inwhichweneithersawnorheardanything.Andthestrangestmarvelofallwas,thatforonceinmylifeIagreedwithmywife,sillywomanthoughshebe—andallowed,afterthethirdnight,thatitwasimpossibletostayafourthinthathouse.Accordingly,onthefourthmorningIsummonedthewomanwhokeptthehouseand attended on us, and told her that the rooms did not quite suit us, andwewould not stay out our week. She said, dryly, 'I knowwhy: you have stayedlongerthananyotherlodger.Feweverstayedasecondnight;nonebeforeyoua

third.ButItakeittheyhavebeenverykindtoyou.'

"'They—who?'Iasked,affectingtosmile.

"'Why, they who haunt the house, whoever they are. I don't mind them; Irememberthemmanyyearsago,whenIlivedinthishouse,notasaservant;butIknowtheywillbethedeathofmesomeday.Idon'tcare—I'mold,andmustdie soon anyhow; and then I shall bewith them, and in this house still.' Thewoman spokewith so dreary a calmness, that really itwas a sort of awe thatpreventedmy conversingwith her further. I paid formyweek, and toohappyweremywifeandItogetoffsocheaply."

"Youexcitemycuriosity,"saidI;"nothingIshouldlikebetterthantosleepina haunted house. Pray give me the address of the one which you left soignominiously."

My friend gave me the address; and when we parted, I walked straighttowardsthehousethusindicated.

It is situated on the North side of Oxford Street (in a dull but respectablethoroughfare). I found the house shut up—no bill at the window, and noresponsetomyknock.AsIwasturningaway,abeer-boy,collectingpewterpotsattheneighboringareas,saidtome,"Doyouwantanyoneatthathouse,sir?"

"Yes,Ihearditwastobelet."

"Let!—why, the woman who kept it is dead—has been dead these threeweeks,andnoonecanbefoundtostaythere,thoughMr.J——offeredeversomuch.Heofferedmother,whocharsforhim,£1aweekjusttoopenandshutthewindows,andshewouldnot."

"Wouldnot!—andwhy?"

"Thehouseishaunted:andtheoldwomanwhokeptitwasfounddeadinherbed,withhereyeswideopen.Theysaythedevilstrangledher."

"Pooh!—youspeakofMr.J——.Ishetheownerofthehouse?"

"Yes."

"Wheredoeshelive?"

"InG——Street,No.—."

"Whatishe?—inanybusiness?"

"No,sir—nothingparticular;asinglegentleman."

I gave the pot-boy the gratuity earned by his liberal information, andproceeded toMr. J——, in G—— Street, which was close by the street thatboastedthehauntedhouse.IwasluckyenoughtofindMr.J——athome—anelderlyman,withintelligentcountenanceandprepossessingmanners.

Icommunicatedmynameandmybusinessfrankly.IsaidIheardthehousewas considered to be haunted—that I had a strong desire to examine a housewith so equivocal a reputation—that I should be greatly obliged if he wouldallowmetohireit,thoughonlyforanight.Iwaswillingtopayforthatprivilegewhateverhemightbeinclinedtoask."Sir,"saidMr.J——,withgreatcourtesy,"thehouseisatyourservice,forasshortoraslongatimeasyouplease.Rentisout of the question—the obligationwill be onmy side should you be able todiscover thecauseof thestrangephenomenawhichatpresentdeprive itofallvalue.Icannotletit,forIcannotevengetaservanttokeepitinorderoranswerthedoor.Unluckilythehouseishaunted,ifImayusethatexpression,notonlybynight,butbyday;thoughatnightthedisturbancesareofamoreunpleasantandsometimesofamorealarmingcharacter.Thepooroldwomanwhodiedinitthree weeks ago was a pauper whom I took out of a workhouse, for in herchildhoodshehadbeenknowntosomeofmyfamily,andhadoncebeeninsuchgood circumstances that she had rented that house of my uncle. She was awomanofsuperioreducationandstrongmind,andwastheonlypersonIcouldeverinducetoremaininthehouse.Indeed,sinceherdeath,whichwassudden,andthecoroner'sinquest,whichgaveitanotorietyintheneighborhood,Ihavesodespaired of finding any person to take charge of the house,muchmore atenant,thatIwouldwillinglyletitrent-freeforayeartoanyonewhowouldpayitsratesandtaxes."

"Howlongisitsincethehouseacquiredthissinistercharacter?"

"That I can scarcely tell you,butverymanyyears since.Theoldwoman Ispokeofsaid itwashauntedwhensherented itbetween thirtyandfortyyearsago.Thefact is, thatmylifehasbeenspentintheEastIndies,andinthecivilserviceoftheCompany.IreturnedtoEnglandlastyear,oninheritingthefortuneofanuncle,amongwhosepossessionswasthehouseinquestion.Ifounditshutupanduninhabited.Iwastoldthatitwashaunted,thatnoonewouldinhabitit.Ismiledatwhatseemedtomesoidleastory.Ispentsomemoneyinrepairingit

—addedtoitsold-fashionedfurnitureafewmodernarticles—advertisedit,andobtaineda lodger forayear.Hewasacolonel retiredonhalf-pay.Hecame inwithhisfamily,asonandadaughter,andfourorfiveservants:theyallleftthehouse the next day; and, although each of them declared that he had seensomethingdifferentfromthatwhichhadscaredtheothers,asomethingstillwasequallyterribletoall.Ireallycouldnotinconsciencesue,norevenblame,thecolonelforbreachofagreement.ThenIputintheoldwomanIhavespokenof,andshewasempoweredtolet thehouseinapartments.Ineverhadonelodgerwho stayed more than three days. I do not tell you their stories—to no twolodgershave therebeenexactly thesamephenomena repeated. It isbetter thatyou should judge for yourself, than enter the house with an imaginationinfluencedbypreviousnarratives;onlybepreparedtoseeandtohearsomethingorother,andtakewhateverprecautionsyouyourselfplease."

"Haveyouneverhadacuriosityyourselftopassanightinthathouse?"

"Yes. I passed not a night, but three hours in broad daylight alone in thathouse.Mycuriosityisnotsatisfiedbutitisquenched.Ihavenodesiretorenewthe experiment. You cannot complain, you see, sir, that I am not sufficientlycandid;andunlessyourinterestbeexceedinglyeagerandyournervesunusuallystrong,Ihonestlyadd,thatIadviseyounottopassanightinthathouse."

"My interest is exceedingly keen," said I, "and though only a cowardwillboastofhisnerves in situationswhollyunfamiliar tohim,yetmynerveshavebeenseasonedinsuchvarietyofdangerthatIhavetherighttorelyonthem—eveninahauntedhouse."

Mr. J—— said very little more; he took the keys of the house out of hisbureau,gavethemtome—and,thankinghimcordiallyforhisfrankness,andhisurbaneconcessiontomywish,Icarriedoffmyprize.

Impatient for the experiment, as soon as I reached home, I summonedmyconfidential servant—a youngman of gay spirits, fearless temper, and as freefromsuperstitiousprejudicesasanyoneIcouldthinkof.

"F——,"saidI,"yourememberinGermanyhowdisappointedwewereatnotfinding aghost in that old castle,whichwas said tobehauntedby aheadlessapparition?Well, I have heard of a house in Londonwhich, I have reason tohope, is decidedly haunted. Imean to sleep there to-night. Fromwhat I hear,there is no doubt that somethingwill allow itself to be seen or to be heard—something,perhaps,excessivelyhorrible.DoyouthinkifItakeyouwithme,I

mayrelyonyourpresenceofmind,whatevermayhappen?"

"Oh,sir!praytrustme,"answeredF——,grinningwithdelight.

"Verywell;thenherearethekeysofthehouse—thisistheaddress.Gonow—select for me any bedroom you please; and since the house has not beeninhabitedforweeks,makeupagoodfire—airthebedwell—see,ofcourse,thattherearecandlesaswellasfuel.Takewithyoumyrevolverandmydagger—somuchformyweapons—armyourselfequallywell;andifwearenotamatchforadozenghosts,weshallbebutasorrycoupleofEnglishmen."

Iwas engaged for the rest of the day on business so urgent that I had notleisure to thinkmuch on the nocturnal adventure towhich I had plightedmyhonor. I dined alone, and very late, and while dining, read, as is my habit. Iselected one of the volumes ofMacaulay's Essays. I thought tomyself that Iwould take the book with me; there was so much of the healthfulness in thestyle,andpracticallifeinthesubjects,thatitwouldserveasanantidoteagainsttheinfluenceofsuperstitiousfancy.

Accordingly,abouthalf-pastnine,Iputthebookintomypocket,andstrolledleisurely towards the haunted house. I took with me a favorite dog—anexceedinglysharp,boldandvigilantbull-terrier—adogfondofprowlingaboutstrangeghostlycornersandpassagesatnightinsearchofrats—adogofdogsforaghost.

Itwas a summer night, but chilly, the sky somewhat gloomy and overcast.Still there was amoon—faint and sickly, but still amoon—and if the cloudspermitted,aftermidnightitwouldbebrighter.

Ireachedthehouse,knocked,andmyservantopenedwithacheerfulsmile.

"Allright,sir,andverycomfortable."

"Oh!" said I, rather disappointed; "have you not seen nor heard anythingremarkable?"

"Well,sir,ImustownIhaveheardsomethingqueer."

"What?—what?"

"Thesoundoffeetpatteringbehindme;andonceortwicesmallnoiseslikewhisperscloseatmyear—nothingmore."

"Youarenotatallfrightened?"

"I!notabitofit,sir,"andtheman'sboldlookreassuredmeononepoint—viz.,thathappenwhatmight,hewouldnotdesertme.

Wewereinthehall,thestreet-doorclosed,andmyattentionwasnowdrawntomydog.Hehadat first run ineagerlyenough,buthadsneakedback to thedoor,andwasscratchingandwhiningtogetout.Afterpattinghimonthehead,andencouraginghimgently,thedogseemedtoreconcilehimselftothesituation,and followedmeandF——through thehouse,butkeepingclose atmyheelsinstead of hurrying inquisitively in advance, whichwas his usual and normalhabit in all strange places. We first visited the subterranean apartments, thekitchenandotheroffices,andespeciallythecellars,inwhichlastthereweretwoorthreebottlesofwinestillleftinabin,coveredwithcobwebs,andevidently,by their appearance, undisturbed for many years. It was clear that the ghostswerenotwine-bibbers.Fortherestwediscoverednothingofinterest.Therewasagloomylittlebackyardwithveryhighwalls.Thestonesofthisyardwereverydamp;andwhatwiththedamp,andwhatwiththedustandsmoke-grimeonthepavement,ourfeetleftaslightimpressionwherewepassed.

Andnowappearedthefirststrangephenomenonwitnessedbymyselfinthisstrangeabode.Isaw,justbeforeme,theprintofafootsuddenlyformitself,asitwere.Istopped,caughtholdofmyservant,andpointedtoit.Inadvanceofthatfootprintassuddenlydroppedanother.Webothsawit.Iadvancedquicklytotheplace; the footprintkeptadvancingbeforeme,a small footprint—the footofachild; the impressionwas too faint thoroughly to distinguish the shape, but itseemedtousboththatitwastheprintofanakedfoot.Thisphenomenonceasedwhenwearrived at theoppositewall, nordid it repeat itself on returning.Weremountedthestairs,andenteredtheroomsonthegroundfloor,adining-parlor,a small back parlor, and a still smaller third room that had been probablyappropriatedtoafootman—allstillasdeath.Wethenvisitedthedrawing-rooms,whichseemedfreshandnew.InthefrontroomIseatedmyselfinanarmchair.F——placedonthetablethecandlestickwithwhichhehadlightedus.Itoldhimtoshutthedoor.Asheturnedtodoso,achairoppositetomemovedfromthewallquicklyandnoiselessly,anddroppeditselfaboutayardfrommyownchair,immediatelyfrontingit.

"Why,thisisbetterthantheturningtables,"saidI,withahalf-laugh;andasIlaughed,mydogputbackhisheadandhowled.

F——, coming back, had not observed the movement of the chair. Heemployedhimselfnowinstillingthedog.Icontinuedtogazeonthechair,andfanciedIsawonitapalebluemistyoutlineofahumanfigure,butanoutlinesoindistinctthatIcouldonlydistrustmyownvision.Thedognowwasquiet.

"Putbackthatchairoppositeme,"saidItoF——;"putitbacktothewall."

F——obeyed."Wasthatyou,sir?"saidhe,turningabruptly.

"I!—what?"

"Why,somethingstruckme.Ifeltitsharplyontheshoulder—justhere."

"No,"saidI."Butwehavejugglerspresent,andthoughwemaynotdiscovertheirtricks,weshallcatchthembeforetheyfrightenus."

Wedidnotstaylonginthedrawing-rooms—infact,theyfeltsodampandsochilly that I was glad to get to the fire upstairs.We locked the doors of thedrawing-rooms—aprecautionwhich,Ishouldobserve,wehadtakenwithalltheroomswehadsearchedbelow.Thebedroommyservanthadselectedformewasthe best on the floor—a large one,with twowindows fronting the street. Thefour-postedbed,whichtookupnoinconsiderablespace,wasoppositetothefire,whichburntclearandbright;adoorinthewalltotheleft,betweenthebedandthe window, communicated with the room which my servant appropriated tohimself.Thislastwasasmallroomwithasofa-bed,andhadnocommunicationwiththelanding-place—nootherdoorbutthatwhichconductedtothebedroomIwastooccupy.Oneithersideofmyfireplacewasacupboard,withoutlocks,flushwiththewallandcoveredwiththesamedull-brownpaper.Weexaminedthese cupboards—only hooks to suspend female dresses—nothing else; wesounded the walls—evidently solid—the outer walls of the building. Havingfinished the survey of these apartments, warmedmyself a fewmoments, andlightedmycigar,Ithen,stillaccompaniedbyF——,wentforthtocompletemyreconnoiter. In the landing-place therewas another door; itwas closed firmly."Sir,"saidmyservant,insurprise,"IunlockedthisdoorwithalltheotherswhenIfirstcame;itcannothavegotlockedfromtheinside,for——"

Beforehehadfinishedhissentence, thedoor,whichneitherofus thenwastouching,openedquietlyofitself.Welookedateachotherasingleinstant.Thesamethoughtseizedboth—somehumanagencymightbedetectedhere.Irushedinfirst,myservantfollowed.Asmallblankdrearyroomwithoutfurniture—fewemptyboxesandhampersinacorner—asmallwindow—theshuttersclosed—

not even a fireplace—no other door than that by which we had entered—nocarpetonthefloor,andthefloorseemedveryold,uneven,worm-eaten,mendedhereandthere,aswasshownbythewhiterpatchesonthewood;butnolivingbeing, andnovisibleplace inwhich a livingbeing couldhavehidden.Aswestoodgazinground,thedoorbywhichwehadenteredclosedasquietlyasithadbeforeopened:wewereimprisoned.

For the first time I felt a creep of undefinable horror. Not so my servant."Why,theydon'tthinktotrapus,sir;Icouldbreakthetrumperydoorwithakickofmyfoot."

"Try first if it will open to your hand," said I, shaking off the vagueapprehension thathadseizedme,"while Iunclose theshuttersandseewhat iswithout."

I unbarred the shutters—thewindow looked on the little back yard I havebefore described; there was no ledge without—nothing to break the sheerdescentof thewall.Nomangettingoutof thatwindowwouldhavefoundanyfootingtillhehadfallenonthestonesbelow.

F——,meanwhile,wasvainly attempting toopen thedoor.Henow turnedroundtomeandaskedmypermissiontouseforce.AndIshouldherestate, injusticetotheservant,that,farfromevincinganysuperstitiousterrors,hisnerve,composure, andevengayetyamidst circumstances soextraordinary, compelledmy admiration, and made me congratulate myself on having secured acompanion in every way fitted to the occasion. I willingly gave him thepermissionherequired.But thoughhewasaremarkablystrongman,hisforcewasasidleashismilderefforts;thedoordidnotevenshaketohisstoutestkick.Breathlessandpanting,hedesisted.Ithentriedthedoormyself,equallyinvain.As I ceased from theeffort, again that creepofhorror cameoverme;but thistime it was more cold and stubborn. I felt as if some strange and ghastlyexhalationwere rising up from the chinks of that rugged floor, and filling theatmospherewithavenomousinfluencehostiletohumanlife.Thedoornowveryslowlyandquietlyopenedasof itsownaccord.Weprecipitatedourselves intothelanding-place.Webothsawalargepalelight—aslargeasthehumanfigurebutshapelessandunsubstantial—movebeforeus,andascendthestairsthatledfrom the landing into the attics. I followed the light, andmy servant followedme.Itentered,totherightofthelanding,asmallgarret,ofwhichthedoorstoodopen.Ienteredinthesameinstant.Thelightthencollapsedintoasmallglobule,exceedingly brilliant and vivid; rested a moment on a bed in the corner,

quivered,andvanished.

Weapproachedthebedandexaminedit—ahalf-tester,suchasiscommonlyfound in attics devoted to servants. On the drawers that stood near it weperceived an old faded silk kerchief, with the needle still left in a rent halfrepaired.Thekerchiefwas coveredwithdust; probably it hadbelonged to theold woman who had last died in that house, and this might have been hersleepingroom.Ihadsufficientcuriosity toopen thedrawers: therewereafewoddsandendsoffemaledress,andtwoletterstiedroundwithanarrowribbonoffaded yellow. I took the liberty to possess myself of the letters. We foundnothing else in the room worth noticing—nor did the light reappear; but wedistinctlyheard,asweturnedtogo,apatteringfootfallonthefloor—justbeforeus.Wewentthroughtheotherattics(inallfour),thefootfallstillprecedingus.Nothingtobeseen—nothingbutthefootfallheard.Ihadthelettersinmyhand:justas Iwasdescending thestairs Idistinctly feltmywrist seized,anda faintsoft effortmade todraw the letters frommyclasp. I onlyheld them themoretightly,andtheeffortceased.

Weregainedthebedchamberappropriatedtomyself,andIthenremarkedthatmydoghadnotfolloweduswhenwehadleftit.Hewasthrustinghimselfclosetothefire,andtrembling.Iwasimpatienttoexaminetheletters;andwhileIreadthem,myservantopeneda littlebox inwhichhehaddeposited theweaponsIhadorderedhimtobring;tookthemout,placedthemonatablecloseatmybed-head,andthenoccupiedhimselfinsoothingthedog,who,however,seemedtoheedhimverylittle.

The letterswere short—theywere dated; the dates exactly thirty-fiveyearsago. Theywere evidently from a lover to hismistress, or a husband to someyoungwife.Notonlythetermsofexpression,butadistinctreferencetoaformervoyage, indicated the writer to have been a seafarer. The spelling andhandwriting were those of a man imperfectly educated, but still the languageitselfwasforcible.Intheexpressionsofendearmenttherewasakindofroughwild love;buthereand thereweredarkandunintelligiblehintsat somesecretnotoflove—somesecretthatseemedofcrime."Weoughttoloveeachother,"wasoneofthesentencesIremember,"forhoweveryoneelsewouldexecrateusifallwasknown."Again:"Don't letanyonebe in thesameroomwithyouatnight—youtalkinyoursleep."Andagain:"What'sdonecan'tbeundone;andItellyouthere'snothingagainstusunlessthedeadcouldcometolife."Heretherewasunderlinedinabetterhandwriting(afemale's),"Theydo!"Attheendoftheletterlatest indatethesamefemalehandhadwrittenthesewords:"Lostatsea

the4thofJune,thesamedayas——."

Iputdowntheletters,andbegantomuseovertheircontents.

Fearing,however, that the trainof thought intowhich I fellmightunsteadymy nerves, I fully determined to keep my mind in a fit state to cope withwhateverofmarveloustheadvancingnightmightbringforth.Irousedmyself—laid the letters on the table—stirred up the fire, which was still bright andcheering—andopenedmyvolumeofMacaulay.Ireadquietlyenoughtillabouthalf-pasteleven.Ithenthrewmyselfdresseduponthebed,andtoldmyservanthemightretiretohisownroom,butmustkeephimselfawake.Ibadehimleaveopenthedoorbetweenthetworooms.Thusalone,Ikepttwocandlesburningonthe tablebymybed-head. I placedmywatchbeside theweapons, and calmlyresumed my Macaulay. Opposite to me the fire burned clear; and on thehearthrug, seemingly asleep, lay the dog. In about twenty minutes I felt anexceedinglycoldairpassbymycheek,likeasuddendraught.Ifanciedthedoortomyright,communicatingwiththelanding-place,musthavegotopen;butno—itwas closed. I then turnedmyglance tomy left, and saw the flameof thecandlesviolently swayedasbyawind.At the samemoment thewatchbesidethe revolver softly slid from the table—softly, softly—novisiblehand—itwasgone.Isprangup,seizingtherevolverwiththeonehand,thedaggerwithother:I was not willing that my weapons should share the fate of the watch. Thusarmed,Ilookedroundthefloor—nosignofthewatch.Threeslow,loud,distinctknockswerenowheardatthebed-head;myservantcalledout,"Isthatyou,sir?"

"No;beonyourguard."

Thedognowrousedhimselfandsatonhishaunches,hisearsmovingquicklybackwardsand forwards.Hekepthis eyes fixedonmewitha look so strangethatheconcenteredallmyattentiononhimself.Slowlyheroseup,allhishairbristling,andstoodperfectlyrigid,andwiththesamewildstare.Ihadnotime,however,toexaminethedog.Presentlymyservantemergedfromhisroom;andifeverIsawhorrorinthehumanface,itwasthen.Ishouldnothaverecognizedhimhadwemetinthestreet,soalteredwaseverylineament.Hepassedbymequickly,sayinginawhisperthatseemedscarcelytocomefromhislips,"Run—run!itisafterme!"Hegainedthedoortothelanding,pulleditopen,andrushedforth. I followed him into the landing involuntarily, calling him to stop; but,withoutheedingme,heboundeddownthestairs,clingingtothebalusters,andtakingseveralstepsatatime.Iheard,whereIstood,thestreet-dooropen—hearditagainclapto.Iwasleftaloneinthehauntedhouse.

ItwasbutforamomentthatIremainedundecidedwhetherornottofollowmyservant;prideandcuriosityalike forbadesodastardlya flight. I re-enteredmyroom,closing thedoorafterme,andproceededcautiously into the interiorchamber. I encounterednothing to justifymy servant's terror. I again carefullyexaminedthewalls,toseeiftherewereanyconcealeddoor.Icouldfindnotraceofone—notevenaseaminthedull-brownpaperwithwhichtheroomwashung.How,then,hadtheTHING,whatever itwas,whichhadsoscaredhim,obtainedingressexceptthroughmyownchamber?

Ireturnedtomyroom,shutandlockedthedoorthatopenedupontheinteriorone,andstoodon thehearth,expectantandprepared. Inowperceived that thedoghadslunkintoanangleofthewall,andwaspressinghimselfcloseagainstit, as if literally striving to force hisway into it. I approached the animal andspoketoit;thepoorbrutewasevidentlybesideitselfwithterror.Itshowedallitsteeth,theslaverdroppingfromitsjaws,andwouldcertainlyhavebittenmeifIhad touched it. It did not seem to recognize me. Whoever has seen at theZoologicalGardensarabbitfascinatedbyaserpent,coweringinacorner,mayform some idea of the anguishwhich the dog exhibited. Finding all efforts tosoothetheanimalinvain,andfearingthathisbitemightbeasvenomousinthatstateasinthemadnessofhydrophobia,Ilefthimalone,placedmyweaponsonthetablebesidethefire,seatedmyself,andrecommencedmyMacaulay.

Perhaps, in order not to appear seeking credit for a courage, or rather acoolness,which the readermayconceive I exaggerate, Imaybepardoned if Ipausetoindulgeinoneortwoegotisticalremarks.

As I hold presence of mind, or what is called courage, to be preciselyproportionedtofamiliaritywiththecircumstancesthatleadtoit,soIshouldsaythat Ihadbeen longsufficiently familiarwithallexperiments thatappertain totheMarvelous.Ihadwitnessedmanyveryextraordinaryphenomenainvariousparts of the world—phenomena that would be either totally disbelieved if Istated them, or ascribed to supernatural agencies. Now,my theory is that theSupernatural is the Impossible, and that what is called supernatural is only asomething in the laws of nature of which we have been hitherto ignorant.Therefore, if aghost risebeforeme, Ihavenot the right to say, "So, then, thesupernatural is possible," but rather, "So, then, the apparition of a ghost is,contrarytoreceivedopinion,withinthelawsofnature—i.e.,notsupernatural."

Now,inallthatIhadhithertowitnessed,andindeedinallthewonderswhichtheamateursofmystery inourage recordas facts, amaterial livingagency is

always required.On thecontinentyouwill findstillmagicianswhoassert thatthey can raise spirits. Assume for the moment that they assert truly, still thelivingmaterialformofthemagicianispresent;andheisthematerialagencybywhich, from some constitutional peculiarities, certain strange phenomena arerepresentedtoyournaturalsenses.

Accept, again, as truthful, the tales of spirit Manifestation in America—musicalorothersounds—writingsonpaper,producedbynodiscerniblehand—articlesoffurnituremovedwithoutapparenthumanagency—ortheactualsightand touch of hands, to which no bodies seem to belong—still there must befound theMEDIUM or living being, with constitutional peculiarities capable ofobtainingthesesigns.Infine,inallsuchmarvels,supposingeventhatthereisnoimposture, there must be a human being like ourselves by whom, or throughwhom,theeffectspresentedtohumanbeingsareproduced.Itissowiththenowfamiliar phenomena ofmesmerism or electro-biology; themind of the personoperated on is affected through amaterial living agent.Nor, supposing it truethat amesmerizedpatient can respond to thewillorpassesof amesmerizer ahundredmilesdistant,istheresponselessoccasionedbyamaterialfluid—callitElectric,call itOdic,call itwhatyouwill—whichhas thepowerof traversingspaceandpassingobstacles, thatthematerialeffect iscommunicatedfromoneto theother.Henceall that Ihadhithertowitnessed,orexpected towitness, inthisstrangehouse,Ibelievedtobeoccasionedthroughsomeagencyormediumas mortal as myself: and this idea necessarily prevented the awe with whichthose who regard as supernatural, things that are not within the ordinaryoperations of nature, might have been impressed by the adventures of thatmemorablenight.

As, then, it was my conjecture that all that was presented, or would bepresented to my senses, must originate in some human being gifted byconstitutionwiththepowersotopresentthem,andhavingsomemotivesotodo,I felt an interest inmy theorywhich, in itsway,was ratherphilosophical thansuperstitious. And I can sincerely say that I was in as tranquil a temper forobservation as any practical experimentalist could be in awaiting the effect ofsomerare,thoughperhapsperilous,chemicalcombination.Ofcourse,themoreIkeptmyminddetached fromfancy, themore the temper fitted forobservationwouldbeobtained;andIthereforerivetedeyeandthoughtonthestrongdaylightsenseinthepageofmyMacaulay.

I now became aware that something interposed between the page and thelight—thepagewasover-shadowed:Ilookedup,andIsawwhatIshallfindit

verydifficult,perhapsimpossible,todescribe.

ItwasaDarknessshapingitselfforthfromtheairinveryundefinedoutline.Icannotsayitwasofahumanform,andyetithadmoreresemblancetoahumanform, or rather shadow, than to anything else. As it stood, wholly apart anddistinctfromtheairandthelightaroundit,itsdimensionsseemedgigantic,thesummit nearly touching the ceiling. While I gazed, a feeling of intense coldseizedme.Anicebergbeforemecouldnotmorehavechilledme;norcouldthecoldofaniceberghavebeenmorepurelyphysical.Ifeelconvincedthatitwasnotthecoldcausedbyfear.AsIcontinuedtogaze,Ithought—butthisIcannotsaywithprecision—thatIdistinguishedtwoeyeslookingdownonmefromtheheight.Onemoment I fancied that I distinguished them clearly, the next theyseemedgone;butstill tworaysofapale-bluelightfrequentlyshotthroughthedarkness,as fromtheheightonwhich Ihalfbelieved,halfdoubted, that Ihadencounteredtheeyes.

Istrovetospeak—myvoiceutterlyfailedme;Icouldonlythinktomyself,"isthisfear?itisnotfear!"Istrovetorise—invain;Ifeltasifweigheddownbyan irresistible force. Indeed, my impression was that of an immense andoverwhelmingPoweropposedtoanyvolition;—thatsenseofutterinadequacytocopewithaforcebeyondman's,whichonemayfeelphysicallyinastormatsea,in a conflagration, or when confronting some terrible wild beast, or rather,perhaps,thesharkoftheocean,Ifeltmorally.Opposedtomywillwasanotherwill, as far superior to its strength as storm, fire, and shark are superior inmaterialforcetotheforceofman.

Andnow,asthisimpressiongrewonme—nowcame,atlast,horror—horrortoadegreethatnowordscanconvey.StillIretainedpride,ifnotcourage;andinmyownmindIsaid,"Thisishorror,butitisnotfear;unlessIfearIcannotbeharmed;my reason rejects this thing, it is an illusion—I do not fear."With aviolenteffortIsucceededatlastinstretchingoutmyhandtowardstheweapononthetable:asIdidso,onthearmandshoulderIreceivedastrangeshock,andmyarmfelltomysidepowerless.Andnow,toaddtomyhorror,thelightbeganslowly towane from the candles, theywere not, as itwere, extinguished, buttheirflameseemedverygraduallywithdrawn:itwasthesamewiththefire—thelight was extracted from the fuel; in a few minutes the room was in utterdarkness.

The dread that came overme, to be thus in the darkwith that darkThing,whosepowerwas so intensely felt, brought a reactionof nerve. In fact, terror

hadreachedthatclimax,thateithermysensesmusthavedesertedme,orImusthave burst through the spell. I did burst through it. I found voice, though thevoicewasashriek.IrememberthatIbrokeforthwithwordslikethese—"Idonotfear,mysouldoesnotfear";andatthesametimeIfoundthestrengthtorise.Still in that profound gloom I rushed to one of the windows—tore aside thecurtain—flung open the shutters; my first thought was—LIGHT.—And when Isawthemoonhigh,clear,andcalm,Ifeltajoythatalmostcompensatedforthepreviousterror.Therewasthemoon,therewasalsothelightfromthegas-lampsinthedesertedslumberousstreet.Iturnedtolookbackintotheroom;themoonpenetrated its shadow very palely and partially—but still therewas light. ThedarkThing,whateveritmightbe,wasgone—exceptthatIcouldyetseeadimshadow,whichseemedtheshadowofthatshade,againsttheoppositewall.

Myeyenowrestedonthetable,andfromunderthetable(whichwaswithoutclothorcover—anoldmahoganyroundtable)thereroseahand,visibleasfarasthewrist.Itwasahand,seemingly,asmuchoffleshandbloodasmyown,butthehandofanagedperson—lean,wrinkled,small,too—awoman'shand.Thathandverysoftlyclosedonthetwolettersthatlayonthetable:handandlettersbothvanished.

There then came the same three loudmeasured knocks I heard at the bed-headbeforethisextraordinarydramahadcommenced.

Asthosesoundsslowlyceased,Ifeltthewholeroomvibratesensibly;andatthefarendthererose,asfromthefloor,sparksorglobuleslikebubblesoflight,many-colored—green,yellow, fire-red,azure.Upanddown, toand fro,hither,thither, as tinyWill-o'-the-Wisps the sparksmoved, slow or swift, each at hisowncaprice.Achair (as in thedrawing-roombelow)wasnowadvanced fromthewallwithout apparent agency, andplacedat theopposite sideof the table.Suddenlyasforthfromthechair,theregrewashape—awoman'sshape.Itwasdistinct as a shape of life—ghastly as a shape of death. The facewas that ofyouth,withastrangemournfulbeauty: the throatandshoulderswerebare, therestoftheforminalooserobeofcloudywhite.Itbegansleekingitslongyellowhair,whichfellover itsshoulders; itseyeswerenot turned towardsme,but tothedoor;itseemedlistening,watching,waiting.Theshadowoftheshadeinthebackground grew darker; and again I thought I beheld the eyes gleaming outfromthesummitoftheshadow—eyesfixeduponthatshape.

As if from the door, though it did not open, there grewout another shape,equallydistinct,equallyghastly—aman'sshape—ayoungman's. Itwas in the

dressofthelastcentury,orratherinalikenessofsuchdress(forboththemaleshapeandthefemale,thoughdefined,wereevidentlyunsubstantial,impalpable—simulacra—phantasms);andtherewassomethingincongruous,grotesque,yetfearful,inthecontrastbetweentheelaboratefinery,thecourtlyprecisionofthatold-fashioned garb, with its ruffles and lace and buckles, and the corpse-likeaspect and ghost-like stillness of the flitting wearer. Just as the male shapeapproached the female, the dark shadow started from thewall, all three for amomentwrapped indarkness.When thepale light returned, the twophantomswereasinthegraspoftheshadowthattoweredbetweenthem;andtherewasablood-stainonthebreastofthefemale;andthephantommalewasleaningonitsphantomsword,andbloodseemedtricklingfastfromtheruffles,fromthelace;and the darkness of the intermediate Shadow swallowed them up—theyweregone.And again thebubbles of light shot, and sailed, andundulated, growingthickerandthickerandmorewildlyconfusedintheirmovements.

The closet door to the right of the fireplace now opened, and from theaperturetherecametheformofanagedwoman.Inherhandsheheldletters,—theverylettersoverwhichIhadseentheHandclose;andbehindherIheardafootstep. She turned round as if to listen, and then she opened the letters andseemed to read;andoverhershoulder Isawa lividface, thefaceasofamanlongdrowned—bloated, bleached, seaweed tangled in its drippinghair; and atherfeetlayaformasofacorpse,andbesidethecorpsetherecoweredachild,amiserablesqualidchild,withfamineinitscheeksandfearinitseyes.AndasIlookedintheoldwoman'sface,thewrinklesandlinesvanishedanditbecameaface of youth—hard-eyed, stony, but still youth; and theShadowdarted forth,anddarkenedoverthesephantomsasithaddarkenedoverthelast.

Nothing nowwas left but the Shadow, and on that my eyes were intentlyfixed,tillagaineyesgrewoutoftheShadow—malignant,serpenteyes.Andthebubbles of light again rose and fell, and in their disorder, irregular, turbulentmaze, mingled with the wan moonlight. And now from these globulesthemselves,asfromtheshellofanegg,monstrousthingsburstout;theairgrewfilledwiththem;larvæsobloodlessandsohideousthatIcaninnowaydescribethem except to remind the reader of the swarming life which the solarmicroscopebringsbeforehiseyesinadropofwater—thingstransparent,supple,agile,chasingeachother,devouringeachother—formslikenoughteverbeheldby the naked eye.As the shapeswerewithout symmetry, so theirmovementswerewithoutorder.Intheirveryvagranciestherewasnosport;theycameroundmeandround,thickerandfasterandswifter,swarmingovermyhead,crawling

overmyrightarm,whichwasoutstretchedininvoluntarycommandagainstallevilbeings.Sometimes I feltmyself touched,butnotby them; invisiblehandstouchedme.OnceIfelttheclutchasofcoldsoftfingersatmythroat.Iwasstillequally conscious that if I gaveway to fear I should be in bodily peril; and Iconcentratedallmyfacultiesinthesinglefocusofresisting,stubbornwill.AndIturnedmysightfromtheShadow—aboveall,fromthosestrangeserpenteyes—eyes that had now become distinctly visible. For there, though in nought elseroundme, Iwasaware that therewasaWILL,andawillof intense,creative,workingevil,whichmightcrushdownmyown.

Thepaleatmosphereintheroombegannowtoreddenasifintheairofsomenear conflagration. The larvæ grew lurid as things that live in fire.Again theroomvibrated;againwereheardthethreemeasuredknocks;andagainallthingswereswallowedupinthedarknessofthedarkShadow,asifoutofthatdarknessallhadcome,intothatdarknessallreturned.

Asthegloomreceded, theShadowwaswhollygone.Slowlyas ithadbeenwithdrawn,theflamegrewagainintothecandlesonthetable,againintothefuelinthegrate.Thewholeroomcameoncemorecalmly,healthfullyintosight.

The twodoorswere still closed, thedoorcommunicatingwith the servant'sroomstill locked. In the cornerof thewall intowhichhehad so convulsivelynichedhimself,laythedog.Icalledtohim—nomovement;Iapproached—theanimal was dead; his eyes protruded; his tongue out of his mouth; the frothgatheredroundhisjaws.Itookhiminmyarms;Ibroughthimtothefire,Ifeltacute grief for the loss of my poor favorite—acute self-reproach; I accusedmyselfofhisdeath;Iimaginedhehaddiedoffright.Butwhatwasmysurpriseonfindingthathisneckwasactuallybroken.Hadthisbeendoneinthedark?—mustitnothavebeenbyahandhumanasmine?—must therenothavebeenahumanagencyallthewhileinthatroom?Goodcausetosuspectit.Icannottell.I cannot do more than state the fact fairly; the reader may draw his owninference.

Another surprising circumstance—mywatchwas restored to the table fromwhich it had been so mysteriously withdrawn; but it had stopped at the verymomentitwassowithdrawn;nor,despitealltheskillofthewatchmaker,hasitevergonesince—thatis,itwillgoinastrangeerraticwayforafewhours,andthencometoadeadstop—itisworthless.

Nothingmore chanced for the rest of the night.Nor, indeed, had I long to

waitbeforethedawnbroke.NortillitwasbroaddaylightdidIquitthehauntedhouse.BeforeIdidso,Irevisitedthelittleblindroominwhichmyservantandmyselfhadbeenforatimeimprisoned.Ihadastrongimpression—forwhichIcould not account—that from that room had originated themechanism of thephenomena—if I may use the term—which had been experienced in mychamber. And though I entered it now in the clear day, with the sun peeringthrough the filmywindow I still felt, as I stood on its floor, the creep of thehorrorwhichIhadfirstthereexperiencedthenightbefore,andwhichhadbeensoaggravatedbywhathadpassedinmyownchamber.Icouldnot,indeed,beartostaymore thanhalfaminutewithin thosewalls. Idescended thestairs,andagainIheardthefootfallbeforeme;andwhenIopenedthestreetdoor,IthoughtIcoulddistinguishaverylowlaugh.Igainedmyownhome,expectingtofindmyrunawayservantthere.Buthehadnotpresentedhimself;nordidIhearmoreofhimforthreedays,whenIreceivedaletterfromhim,datedfromLiverpooltothiseffect:—

"HONORED SIR,—I humbly entreat your pardon, though I canscarcelyhopethatyouwillthinkIdeserveit,unless—whichHeavenforbid—yousawwhatIdid.IfeelthatitwillbeyearsbeforeIcanrecover myself: and as to being fit for service, it is out of thequestion. I am thereforegoing tomybrother-in-lawatMelbourne.Theshipsailsto-morrow.Perhapsthelongvoyagemaysetmeup.Idonothingnowbutstartand tremble,andfancy IT isbehindme. Ihumbly beg you, honored sir, to order my clothes, and whateverwagesareduetome,tobesenttomymother's,atWalworth.—Johnknowsheraddress."

The letter ended with additional apologies, somewhat incoherent, andexplanatorydetailsastoeffectsthathadbeenunderthewriter'scharge.

This flightmay perhaps warrant a suspicion that themanwished to go toAustralia,andhadbeensomehoworotherfraudulentlymixedupwiththeeventsofthenight.Isaynothinginrefutationofthatconjecture;rather,Isuggestitasonethatwouldseemtomanypersonsthemostprobablesolutionofimprobableoccurrences.Mybeliefinmyowntheoryremainedunshaken.Ireturnedintheeveningtothehouse,tobringawayinahackcabthethingsIhadleftthere,withmypoordog'sbody.InthistaskIwasnotdisturbed,nordidanyincidentworthnotebefallme,exceptthatstill,onascendinganddescendingthestairs,Iheardthesamefootfallinadvance.Onleavingthehouse,IwenttoMr.J.'s.Hewasathome. I returned him the keys, told him that my curiosity was sufficientlygratified,andwasabouttorelatequicklywhathadpassed,whenhestoppedme,and said, thoughwithmuchpoliteness, thathehadno longerany interest inamysterywhichnonehadeversolved.

IdeterminedatleasttotellhimofthetwolettersIhadread,aswellasoftheextraordinarymanner inwhich theyhaddisappeared, and I then inquired ifhethoughttheyhadbeenaddressedtothewomanwhohaddiedinthehouse,andiftherewereanythinginherearlyhistorywhichcouldpossiblyconfirmthedarksuspicions towhich the lettersgave rise.Mr. J——seemedstartled, and, aftermusingafewmoments,answered,"Iambutlittleacquaintedwiththewoman'searlierhistory,except,asIbeforetoldyou,thatherfamilywereknowntomine.Butyourevivesomevaguereminiscencestoherprejudice.Iwillmakeinquiries,and inform you of their result. Still, even if we could admit the popularsuperstition that a personwhohadbeen either theperpetrator or thevictimofdark crimes in life could revisit, as a restless spirit, the scene inwhich those

crimes had been committed, I should observe that the house was infested bystrangesightsandsoundsbeforetheoldwomandied—yousmile—whatwouldyousay?"

"Iwouldsaythis,thatIamconvinced,ifwecouldgettothebottomofthesemysteries,weshouldfindalivinghumanagency."

"What!youbelieveitisallanimposture?forwhatobject?"

"Not an imposture in theordinary senseof theword. If suddenly Iwere tosink into a deep sleep, fromwhichyou couldnot awakeme, but in that sleepcould answer questions with an accuracy which I could not pretend to whenawake—tellyouwhatmoneyyouhadinyourpocket—nay,describeyourverythoughts—it is not necessarily an imposture, any more than it is necessarilysupernatural.Ishouldbe,unconsciouslytomyself,underamesmericinfluence,conveyedtomefromadistancebyahumanbeingwhohadacquiredpowerovermebypreviousrapport."

"But if amesmerizer could soaffect another livingbeing, canyou supposethat amesmerizer could also affect inanimateobjects:move chairs—open andshutdoors?"

"Orimpressoursenseswiththebeliefinsucheffects—weneverhavingbeenen rapport with the person acting on us? No. What is commonly calledmesmerismcouldnotdothis;buttheremaybeapowerakintomesmerism,andsuperior to it—the power that in the old dayswas calledMagic. That such apowermayextend toall inanimateobjectsofmatter Idonot say;but if so, itwould not be against nature—it would be only a rare power in nature whichmight be given to constitutions with certain peculiarities, and cultivated bypractice to an extraordinary degree. That such a powermight extend over thedead—thatis,overcertainthoughtsandmemoriesthatthedeadmaystillretain—andcompel,notthatwhichoughtproperlytobecalledtheSOUL,andwhichisfar beyond human reach, but rather a phantom of what has beenmost earth-stainedonearth,tomakeitselfapparenttooursenses—isaveryancientthoughobsoletetheory,uponwhichIwillhazardnoopinion.ButIdonotconceivethepowerwouldbesupernatural.LetmeillustratewhatImeanfromanexperimentwhich Paracelsus describes as not difficult, and which the author of theCuriosities of Literature cites as credible:—A flower perishes; you burn it.Whateverwere the elements of that flowerwhile it lived are gone, dispersed,youknownotwhither;youcanneverdiscovernorrecollectthem.Butyoucan,

bychemistry,outoftheburntdustofthatflower,raiseaspectrumoftheflower,justasitseemedinlife.Itmaybethesamewiththehumanbeing.Thesoulhasasmuch escaped you as the essence or elements of the flower. Still youmaymakeaspectrumofit.

"Andthisphantom,thoughinthepopularsuperstitionitisheldtobethesoulofthedeparted,mustnotbeconfoundedwiththetruesoul;it isbuteidolonofthedeadform.Hence,likethebestattestedstoriesofghostsorspirits,thethingthatmoststrikesusistheabsenceofwhatweholdtobesoul;thatis,ofsuperioremancipated intelligence. These apparitions come for little or no object—theyseldomspeakwhentheydocome;iftheyspeak,theyutternoideasabovethoseofanordinarypersononearth.Americanspirit-seershavepublishedvolumesofcommunicationsinproseandverse,whichtheyasserttobegiveninthenamesofthemostillustriousdead—Shakespeare,Bacon—heavenknowswhom.Thosecommunications, taking the best, are certainly not awhit of higher order thanwouldbecommunicationsfromlivingpersonsoffairtalentandeducation;theyarewondrously inferior towhatBacon,Shakespeare,andPlatosaidandwrotewhenonearth.Nor,what ismorenoticeable,dotheyevercontainanideathatwasnoton theearthbefore.Wonderful, therefore,as suchphenomenamaybe(grantingthemtobetruthful),Iseemuchthatphilosophymayquestion,nothingthatitisincumbentonphilosophytodeny,viz.,nothingsupernatural.Theyarebut ideasconveyedsomehoworother (wehavenotyetdiscovered themeans)fromonemortalbraintoanother.Whether,insodoing,tableswalkoftheirownaccord,orfiend-likeshapesappearinamagiccircle,orbodylesshandsriseandremovematerialobjects,oraThingofDarkness,suchaspresenteditselftome,freezeourblood—stillamIpersuadedthatthesearebutagenciesconveyed,asifby electric wires, to my own brain from the brain of another. In someconstitutions there is a natural chemistry, and these constitutionsmayproducechemic wonders—in others a natural fluid, call it electricity, and these mayproduceelectricwonders.

"But the wonders differ from Normal Science in this—they are alikeobjectless,purposeless,puerile,frivolous.Theyleadontonograndresults;andthereforetheworlddoesnotheed,andtruesageshavenotcultivatedthem.Butsure Iam, thatofall I saworheard,aman,humanasmyself,was the remoteoriginator; and I believe unconsciously to himself as to the exact effectsproduced,forthisreason:notwopersons,yousay,haveevertoldyouthattheyexperienced exactly the same thing. Well, observe, no two persons everexperience exactly the same dream. If this were an ordinary imposture, the

machinerywouldbearrangedforresults thatwouldbut littlevary; if itwereasupernatural agency permitted by the Almighty, it would surely be for somedefinite end.These phenomena belong to neither class;my persuasion is, thatthey originate in some brain now far distant; that that brain had no distinctvolitioninanythingthatoccurred;thatwhatdoesoccurreflectsbutitsdevious,motley, ever-shifting, half-formed thoughts; in short, that it has been but thedreamsofsuchabrainputintoactionandinvestedwithasemi-substance.Thatthisbrain isof immensepower, that itcansetmatter intomovement, that it ismalignant anddestructive, I believe; somematerial forcemust havekilledmydog;thesameforcemight,foraughtIknow,havesufficedtokillmyself,hadIbeenassubjugatedbyterrorasthedog—hadmyintellectormyspiritgivenmenocountervailingresistanceinmywill."

"Itkilledyourdog!thatisfearful!indeeditisstrangethatnoanimalcanbeinducedtostayinthathouse;notevenacat.Ratsandmiceareneverfoundinit."

"Theinstinctsofthebrutecreationdetectinfluencesdeadlytotheirexistence.Man's reason has a sense less subtle, because it has a resisting power moresupreme.Butenough;doyoucomprehendmytheory?"

"Yes, though imperfectly—and I accept any crotchet (pardon the word),howeverodd,ratherthanembraceatoncethenotionofghostsandhob-goblinsweimbibedinournurseries.Still,tomyunfortunatehousetheevilisthesame.WhatonearthcanIdowiththehouse?"

"I will tell you what I would do. I am convinced from my own internalfeelings that the small unfurnished room at right angles to the door of thebedroomwhichIoccupied,formsastarting-pointorreceptaclefortheinfluenceswhichhauntthehouse;andIstronglyadviseyoutohavethewallsopened,thefloorremoved—nay,thewholeroompulleddown.Iobservethatitisdetachedfrom the body of the house, built over the small back-yard, and could beremovedwithoutinjurytotherestofthebuilding."

"Andyouthink,ifIdidthat——"

"Youwouldcutoff the telegraphwires.Try it. Iamsopersuaded that Iamright, that I will pay half the expense if you will allow me to direct theoperations."

"Nay,Iamwellabletoaffordthecost;fortherest,allowmetowritetoyou."

AbouttendaysafterwardsIreceivedaletterfromMr.J——,tellingmethathehadvisitedthehousesinceIhadseenhim;thathehadfoundthetwolettersIhaddescribedreplacedinthedrawerfromwhichIhadtakenthem;thathehadreadthemwithmisgivingslikemyown;thathehadinstitutedacautiousinquiryaboutthewomantowhomIrightlyconjecturedtheyhadbeenwritten.Itseemedthat thirty-sixyearsago(ayearbefore thedateof the letters)shehadmarried,against thewishofher relations, anAmericanofvery suspicious character, infact, he was generally believed to have been a pirate. She herself was thedaughter of very respectable tradespeople, and had served in the capacity ofnurserygovernessbeforehermarriage.Shehadabrother,awidower,whowasconsideredwealthy,andwhohadonechildofaboutsixyearsold.Amonthafterthemarriage, the bodyof this brotherwas found in theThames, nearLondonBridge;thereseemedsomemarksofviolenceabouthisthroat,buttheywerenotdeemedsufficienttowarranttheinquestinanyotherverdictthanthatof"founddrowned."

TheAmericanandhiswifetookchargeofthelittleboy,thedeceasedbrotherhavingbyhiswilllefthissistertheguardianofhisonlychild—andintheeventof the child's death, the sister inherited. The child died about six monthsafterwards—it was supposed to have been neglected and ill-treated. Theneighbors deposed to have heard it shriek at night. The surgeon who hadexamined it after death said that it was emaciated as if from want ofnourishment, and the bodywas coveredwith livid bruises. It seemed that onewinternightthechildhadsoughttoescape—creptoutintotheback-yard—triedto scale the wall—fallen back exhausted, and been found at morning on thestonesinadyingstate.Butthoughtherewassomeevidenceofcruelty,therewasnoneofmurder;andtheauntandherhusbandhadsoughttopalliatecrueltybyalleging the exceeding stubbornness and perversity of the child, who wasdeclared to be half-witted. Be that is it may, at the orphan's death the auntinherited her brother's fortune. Before the first wedded year was out theAmerican quitted England abruptly, and never returned to it. He obtained acruisingvessel,whichwaslostintheAtlantictwoyearsafterwards.Thewidowwas left in affluence; but reverses of various kinds had befallen her; a bankbroke—an investment failed—she went into a small business and becameinsolvent—then she entered into service, sinking lower and lower, fromhousekeeper down to maid-of-all work—never long retaining a place, thoughnothing decided against her character was ever alleged. She was consideredsober,honest,andpeculiarlyquietinherways;stillnothingprosperedwithher.Andsoshehaddropped into theworkhouse, fromwhichMr.J——had taken

her,tobeplacedinchargeoftheveryhousewhichshehadrentedasmistressinthefirstyearofherweddedlife.

Mr. J——added thathehadpassedanhouralone in theunfurnished roomwhichIhadurgedhimtodestroy,andthathisimpressionsofdreadwhilethereweresogreat,thoughhehadneitherheardnorseenanything,thathewaseagerto have the walls bared and the floors removed as I had suggested. He hadengagedpersonsforthework,andwouldcommenceanydayIwouldname.

Thedaywasaccordinglyfixed.Irepairedtothehauntedhouse—hewentintotheblinddrearyroom,tookuptheskirting,andthenthefloors.Undertherafters,coveredwithrubbish,wasfoundatrap-door,quitelargeenoughtoadmitaman.Itwascloselynaileddown,withclampsandrivetsof iron.Onremoving thesewe descended into a room below, the existence of which had never beensuspected.Inthisroomtherehadbeenawindowandaflue,buttheyhadbeenbrickedover,evidentlyformanyyears.Bythehelpofcandlesweexaminedthisplace;itstillretainedsomemoulderingfurniture—threechairs,anoaksettle,atable—allofthefashionofabouteightyyearsago.Therewasachestofdrawersagainstthewall,inwhichwefound,half-rottedaway,old-fashionedarticlesofaman'sdress,suchasmighthavebeenworneightyorahundredyearsagobyagentlemanofsomerank—costlysteelbucklesandbuttons,likethoseyetwornincourt-dresses,ahandsomecourtsword—inawaistcoatwhichhadoncebeenrichwithgold-lace,butwhichwasnowblackenedandfoulwithdamp,wefoundfiveguineas, a few silver coins, and an ivory ticket, probably for some place ofentertainmentlongsincepassedaway.Butourmaindiscoverywasinakindofiron safe fixed to the wall, the lock of which it cost us much trouble to getpicked.

Inthissafewerethreeshelves,andtwosmalldrawers.Rangedontheshelveswere several small bottles of crystal, hermetically stopped. They containedcolorlessvolatileessences,ofthenatureofwhichIshallonlysaythattheywerenot poisons—phosphor and ammonia entered into some of them. There werealsosomeverycuriousglasstubes,andasmallpointedrodofiron,withalargelumpofrock-crystal,andanotherofamber—alsoaloadstoneofgreatpower.

Inoneofthedrawerswefoundaminiatureportraitsetingold,andretainingthefreshnessofitscolorsmostremarkably,consideringthelengthoftimeithadprobably been there. The portraitwas that of amanwhomight be somewhatadvancedinmiddlelife,perhapsforty-sevenorforty-eight.

Itwasaremarkableface—amost impressiveface.Ifyoucouldfancysomemightyserpenttransformedintoaman,preservinginthehumanlineamentstheold serpent type, youwould have a better idea of that countenance than longdescriptionscanconvey:thewidthandflatnessoffrontal—thetaperingeleganceof contour disguising the strength of the deadly jaw—the long, large, terribleeye,glitteringandgreenastheemerald—andwithalacertainruthlesscalm,asiffromtheconsciousnessofanimmensepower.

MechanicallyIturnedroundtheminiaturetoexaminethebackofit,andonthebackwasengravedapentacle;inthemiddleofthepentaclealadder,andthethird step of the ladder was formed by the date 1765. Examining still moreminutely, I detected a spring; this, on being pressed, opened the back of theminiature as a lid. Withinside the lid were engraved, "Marianna to thee—befaithfulinlifeandindeathto——."HerefollowsanamethatIwillnotmention,but it was not unfamiliar to me. I had heard it spoken of by old men in mychildhood as the name borne by a dazzling charlatan who had made a greatsensationinLondonforayearorso,andhadfledthecountryonthechargeofadoublemurderwithinhisownhouse—thatofhismistressandhis rival. I saidnothingofthistoMr.J——,towhomreluctantlyIresignedtheminiature.

Wehadfoundnodifficulty inopening thefirstdrawerwithin the ironsafe;wefoundgreatdifficultyinopeningthesecond:itwasnotlocked,butitresistedallefforts,tillweinsertedintheclinkstheedgeofachisel.Whenwehadthusdrawn it forthwe found a very singular apparatus in the nicest order.Upon asmallthinbook,orrathertablet,wasplacedasaucerofcrystal:thissaucerwasfilledwithaclearliquid—onthatliquidfloatedakindofcompass,withaneedleshiftingrapidlyround;butinsteadoftheusualpointsofacompassweresevenstrange characters, not very unlike those used by astrologers to denote theplanets.

Apeculiar,butnotstrongnordispleasingodorcamefromthisdrawer,whichwaslinedwithawoodthatweafterwardsdiscoveredtobehazel.Whateverthecauseofthisodor,itproducedamaterialeffectonthenerves.Weallfeltit,eventhetwoworkmenwhowereintheroom—acreepingtinglingsensationfromthetips of the fingers to the roots of the hair. Impatient to examine the tablet, Iremovedthesaucer.AsIdidsotheneedleofthecompasswentroundandroundwithexceedingswiftness,andIfeltashockthatranthroughmywholeframe,sothat I dropped the saucer on the floor. The liquid was spilt—the saucer wasbroken—thecompassrolledtotheendoftheroom—andatthatinstantthewallsshooktoandfro,asifagianthadswayedandrockedthem.

Thetwoworkmenweresofrightenedthattheyranuptheladderbywhichwehaddescendedfromthetrap-door;butseeingthatnothingmorehappened,theywereeasilyinducedtoreturn.

MeanwhileIhadopenedthetablet:itwasboundinplainredleather,withasilverclasp; itcontainedbutonesheetof thickvellum,andon thatsheetwereinscribed within a double pentacle, words in old monkish Latin, which areliterally to be translated thus: "On all that it can reach within these walls—sentient or inanimate, living or dead—asmoves the needle, soworkmywill!Accursedbethehouse,andrestlessbethedwellerstherein."

Wefoundnomore.Mr.J——burntthetabletanditsanathema.Herazedtothe foundations the part of the building containing the secret room with thechamber over it. He had then the courage to inhabit the house himself for amonth,andaquieter,better-conditionedhousecouldnotbefoundinallLondon.Subsequentlyheletittoadvantage,andhistenanthasmadenocomplaints.

THESILENTWOMAN[D]

BYLEOPOLDKOMPERT

Theuproariousmerrimentofawedding-feastburstforthintothenightfromabrilliantlylightedhouseinthe"gasse"(narrowstreet).Itwasoneofthosenightstouchedwiththewarmthofspring,butdarkandfullofsoftmist.Mostfittingitwasforacelebrationoftheunionoftwoyearningheartstosharethesamelot,alot thatmaypossibly dawn in sunnybrightness, but also become clouded andsullen—foralong,longtime!Buthowmerryandjoyoustheywereoverthere,those people of the happy olden times! They, like us, had their troubles andtrials,andwhenmisfortunevisitedthemitcamenottothemwithsoftcushionsandtenderpressuresofthehand.Roughandhard,withclinchedfist,itlaidholduponthem.Butwhentheygaveventtotheirhappyfeelingsandsoughttoenjoythemselves,theywerelikeswimmersincoolingwaters.Theystruckoutintothestreamwithfreshnessandcourage,sufferedthemselvestobebornealongbythecurrentwhithersoever it took its course.Thiswas the cause of such a jubilee,suchathoughtlesslynoisyoutburstofallkindsofsoul-possessinggayetyfromthishouseofnuptials.

"And if Ihadknown," thebride's father, the richRubenKlattaner,had justsaid, "that itwould take the last gulden inmy pocket, then out itwould havecome."

Infact, itdidappearas if the lastgroschenhadreally takenflight,andwasfluttering about in the form of platters heaped upwith geese and pastry-tarts.Sincetwoo'clock—thatis,sincethemarriageceremonyhadbeenperformedoutin the open street—until nearly midnight, the wedding-feast had beenprogressing,andevenyet thesarvers, orwaiters,werehurrying from room toroom.Itwasasifatwofoldblessinghaddescendeduponallthisabundanceoffoodanddrink, for, in thefirstplace, theydidnotseemtodiminish;secondly,theyeverfoundanewplacefordisposal.Tobesure,thisappetitewassharpenedby the presence of a little dwarf-like, unimportant-looking man. He wasesteemed, however, none the less highly by every one. They had speciallywritten to engage the celebrated "LebNarr," ofPrague.Andwhenwas ever amoodsooutofsorts,aheartsoimbitteredasnottothawoutandlaughifLeb

Narrplayedoneofhispranks.Ah,thouartnowdead,goodfool!Thylips,oncealways readywith awitty reply, are closed. Thymouth, then never still, nowspeaks nomore!Butwhen the hearty peals of laughter once rang forth at thycommand,intercessors,asitwere,inthybehalfbeforetheverythroneofGod,thouhadstnothingtofear.Andthejoyofthat"other"worldwasthine,thatjoythathaseverbelongedtothemostpiousofcountryrabbis!

In themean time the young people had assembled in one of the rooms todance.ItwasstrangehowthesoundofviolinsandtrumpetsaccordedwiththedrolleriesofthewitfromPrague.Inoneparttheoutburstsofmerrimentweresoboisterousthattheverycandlesonthelittletableseemedtoflickerwithterror;inanotheranordinaryconversationwas inprogress,whichnowand thenonlyranoverintoaloudtittering,whensomeoldladyslippedintothecircleandtriedherskillataredowa,thenaltogetherunknowntotheyoungpeople.Intheverymidstofthetangleofdancerswastobeseenthebrideinaheavysilkwedding-gown.Thepointofhergoldenhoodhungfardownoverher face.Shedancedcontinuously. She danced with every one that asked her. Had one, however,observedtheactionsoftheyoungwoman,theywouldcertainlyhaveseemedtohimhurried,agitated,almostwild.She lookednoone in theeye,notevenherownbridegroom.Hestoodforthemostpartinthedoor-way,andevidentlytookmorepleasureinthewitticismsofthefoolthaninthedanceortheladydancers.Butwhoeverthoughtforamomentwhytheyoungwoman'shandburned,whyherbreathwassohotwhenonecameneartoherlips?Whoshouldhavenoticedso strange a thing?A lowwhispering already passed through the company, astealthy smile stole acrossmany a lip.A bevy of ladieswas seen to enter theroomsuddenly.Themusicdashedoffintooneofitsloudestpieces,and,asifbyenchantment, the newly made bride disappeared behind the ladies. Thebridegroom, with his stupid, smiling mien, was still left standing on thethreshold.Butitwasnotlongbeforehetoovanished.Onecouldhardlysayhowithappened.Butpeopleunderstandsuchskillfulmovementsbyexperience,andwillcontinuetounderstandthemaslongastherearebridesandgroomsintheworld.

Thisdisappearanceofthechiefpersonages,littleasitseemedtobenoticed,gave,however,thesignalforgeneralleave-taking.Thedancingbecamedrowsy;it stopped all at once, as if by appointment. That noisy confusion now beganwhichalwaysattendssomerryawedding-party.Half-drunkenvoicescouldbeheard still intermingledwith a last, hearty laugh over a joke of the fool fromPragueechoingacrossthetable.Hereandtheresomeone,notquitesureofhis

balance,was fumbling for the arm of his chair or the edge of the table. Thisresultedinhisoverturningadishthathadbeenforgotten,or inspillingabeer-glass.Whilethis,inturn,setupanewhubbub,someoneelse,inhiseagernesstobetakehimself fromthescene, fell flat into theverydébris.Butall this tumultwasreallyhushedthemomenttheyallpressedtothedoor,foratthatveryinstantshrieks,criesofpain,wereheardissuingfromtheentrancebelow.Inaninstanttheentireoutpouringcrowdwithallpossibleforcepushedbackinto theroom,but itwas a long time before the streamwas pressed back again.Meanwhile,painfulcrieswereagainheardfrombelow,sopainful,indeed,thattheyrestoredeventhemostdrunkentoastateofconsciousness.

"BythelivingGod!"theycriedtoeachother,"whatisthematterdownthere?Isthehouseonfire?"

"Sheisgone!sheisgone!"shriekedawoman'svoicefromtheentrybelow.

"Who? who?" groaned the wedding-guests, seized, as it were, with an icyhorror.

"Gone! gone!" cried thewoman from the entry, and hurrying up the stairscame SeldeKlattaner, themother of the bride, pale as death, her eyes dilatedwithmostawfulfright,convulsivelygraspingacandleinherhand."ForGod'ssake,whathashappened?"washeardoneverysideofher.

Thesightofsomanypeopleabouther,andtheconfusionofvoices,seemedto release thepoorwomanfromakindofstupor.Sheglancedshylyaboutherthen,asifovercomewithasenseofshamestrongerthanherterror,andsaid,inasuppressedtone:

"Nothing, nothing, good people. In God's name, I ask, what was there tohappen?"

Dissimulation,however,wastooevidenttosufficetodeceivethem.

"Why,then,didyoushriekso,Selde,"calledoutoneofthegueststoher,"ifnothinghappened?"

"Yes,shehasgone,"Seldenowmoanedinheart-rendingtones,"andshehascertainlydoneherselfsomeharm!"

The cause of this strange scene was now first discovered. The bride hasdisappearedfromthewedding-feast.Soonafterthatshehadvanishedinsucha

mysteriousway, thebridegroomwentbelow to thedimly-lighted room to findher,butinvain.Atfirstthoughtthisseemedtohimtobeasortofbashfuljest;butnot findingherhere, amysterious forebodingseizedhim.Hecalled to themotherofthebride:

"Woetome!Thiswomanhasgone!"

Presentlythisparty,thathadsoadmirablycontrolleditself,wasagainthrowninto commotion. "There was nothing to do," was said on all sides, "but toransackeverynookandcorner.Remarkableinstancesofsuchdisappearancesofbrideshadbeenknown.Evilspiritswerewonttolurkaboutsuchnightsandtoinflict mankind with all sorts of sorceries." Strange as this explanation mayseem, thereweremanywhobelieved it at thisverymoment, and,mostof all,SeldeKlattanerherself.Butitwasonlyforamoment,forsheatonceexclaimed:

"No,no,mygoodpeople,sheisgone;Iknowsheisgone!"

Nowforthefirsttimemanyofthem,especiallythemothers,feltparticularlyuneasy, and anxiously called their daughters to them. Only a few showedcourage, and urged that theymust search and search, even if they had to turnasidetheriverIserahundredtimes.Theyurgentlypressedon,calledfortorchesand lanterns, and started forth. The cowardly ran after themup and down thestairs.Beforeanyoneperceivedittheroomwasentirelyforsaken.

RubenKlattanerstoodin thehallentrybelow,andlet thepeoplehurrypasthimwithout exchanging a wordwith any. Bitter disappointment and fear hadalmost crazedhim.Oneof the last to stay in the roomabovewithSeldewas,strange to say,LebNarr, ofPrague.After all haddeparted,he approached themiserablemother,and,inatoneleastbecominghisgeneralmanner,inquired:

"Tellme,now,Mrs.Selde,didshenotwishtohave'him'?"

"Whom?whom?"criedSelde,with renewedalarm,whenshe foundherselfalonewiththefool.

"Imean,"saidLeb,inamostsympatheticmanner,approachingstillnearertoSelde,"thatmaybeyouhadtomakeyourdaughtermarryhim."

"Make?And havewe, then,made her?"moaned Selde, staring at the foolwithalookofuncertainty.

"Thennobodyneeds tosearchforher," replied thefool,withasympathetic

laugh,atthesametimeretreating."It'sbettertoleaveherwheresheis."

Withoutsayingthanksorgood-night,hewasgone.

Meanwhile the cause of all this disturbance had arrived at the end of herflight.

Closebythesynagoguewassituatedthehouseoftherabbi.Itwasbuiltinanangle of a very narrow street, set in a framework of tall shade-trees. Even bydaylight it was dismal enough. At night it was almost impossible for a timidpersontoapproachit,forpeopledeclaredthatthelowsupplicationsofthedeadcouldbeheardinthedingyhouseofGodwhenatnighttheytooktherollsofthelawfromthearktosummontheirmembersbyname.

Through this retired street passed, or rather ran, at this hour a shy form.Arrivingatthedwellingoftherabbi,sheglancedbackwardtoseewhetheranyonewasfollowingher.Butallwassilentandgloomyenoughabouther.Apalelightissuedfromoneofthewindowsofthesynagogue;itcamefromthe"eternallamp"hanginginfrontofthearkofthecovenant.Butatthismomentitseemedtoherasifasupernaturaleyewasgazinguponher.Thoroughlyaffrighted,sheseizedthelittleironknockerofthedoorandstruckitgently.Butthethrobofherbeating heart was even louder, more violent, than this blow. After a pause,footstepswereheardpassingslowlyalongthehallway.

The rabbihadnotoccupied this lonelyhouse a long time.Hispredecessor,almost a centenarian in years, had been laid to rest a fewmonths before.Thenewrabbihadbeencalled,fromadistantpartofthecountry.Hewasunmarried,and in the prime of life. No one had known him before his coming. But hispersonal nobility and the profundity of his scholarship made up for hisdeficiency in years. An agedmother had accompanied him from their distanthome,andshetooktheplaceofwifeandchild.

"Whoisthere?"askedtherabbi,whohadbeenbusyathisdeskevenatthislatehourandthushadnotmissedhearingtheknocker.

"ItisI,"thefigurewithoutresponded,almostinaudibly.

"Speaklouder,ifyouwishmetohearyou,"repliedtherabbi.

"ItisI,RubenKlattaner'sdaughter,"sherepeated.

Thenameseemedtosoundstrangetotherabbi.Heasyetknewtoofewofhis

congregation to understand that this very day he performed the marriageceremonyofthepersonwhohadjustrepeatedhername.Thereforehecalledout,afteramoment'spause,"Whatdoyouwishsolateatnight?"

"Openthedoor,rabbi,"sheanswered,pleadingly,"orIshalldieatonce!"

The bolt was pushed back. Something gleaming, rustling, glided past therabbiintotheduskyhall.Thelightofthecandleinhishandwasnotsufficienttoallowhimtodescryit.Beforehehadtimetoaddressher,shehadvanishedpasthimandhaddisappearedthroughtheopendoorintotheroom.Shakinghishead,therabbiagainboltedthedoor.

Onreënteringtheroomhesawawoman'sformsittinginthechairwhichheusuallyoccupied.Shehadherbackturnedtohim.Herheadwasbentlowoverher breast.Her goldenwedding-hood,with its shading lace,was pulled downover her forehead. Courageous and pious as the rabbi was, he could not ridhimselfofafeelingofterror.

"Who are you?" he demanded, in a loud tone, as if its sound alonewouldbanish thepresenceof thisbeing that seemed tohimat thismoment tobe theproductionofalltheenchantmentsofevilspirits.

Sheraisedherself,andcriedinavoicethatseemedtocomefromtheagonyofahumanbeing:

"Doyounotknowme—me,whomyoumarriedafewhourssinceunderthechuppe(marriage-canopy)toahusband?"

On hearing this familiar voice the rabbi stood speechless. He gazed at theyoungwoman.Now,indeed,hemustregardherasonebereftofreason,ratherthanasaspecter.

"Well, if you are she," he stammered out, after a pause, for it was withdifficultythathefoundwordstoanswer,"whyareyouhereandnotintheplacewhereyoubelong?"

"IknownootherplacetowhichIbelongmorethanherewhereInowam!"sheanswered,severely.

Thesewordspuzzledtherabbistillmore.Isitreallyaninsanewomanbeforehim?Hemust have thought so, for he now addressed her in a gentle tone ofvoice,aswedothosesufferingfromthiskindofsickness,inordernottoexcite

her,andsaid:

"Theplacewhereyoubelong,mydaughter, is in thehouseofyourparents,and, sinceyouhave to-daybeenmadeawife,yourplace is inyourhusband'shouse."

Theyoungwomanmutteredsomethingwhichfailedtoreachtherabbi'sear.Yet he only continued to think that he sawbefore him some poor unfortunatewhosemindwasderanged.Afterapause,headded,inastillgentlertone:"Whatisyourname,then,mychild?"

"God,god,"shemoaned,inthegreatestanguish,"hedoesnotevenyetknowmyname!"

"HowshouldIknowyou,"hecontinued,apologetically,"forIamastrangerinthisplace?"

This tender remark seemed to have produced the desired effect upon herexcitedmind.

"MynameisVeile,"shesaid,quietly,afterapause.

The rabbi quicklyperceived that hehad adopted the right tone towardshismysteriousguest.

"Veile,"hesaid,approachingnearerher,"whatdoyouwishofme?"

"Rabbi, I have a great sin resting heavily upon my heart," she replieddespondently."Idonotknowwhattodo."

"What can you have done," inquired the rabbi, with a tender look, "thatcannotbediscussedatanyothertimethanjustnow?Willyouletmeadviseyou,Veile?"

"No,no,"shecriedagain,violently,"Iwillnotbeadvised.Isee,Iknowwhatoppressesme.Yes,Icangraspitbythehand, it liessonearbeforeme.Is thatwhatyoucalltobeadvised?"

"Verywell,"returnedtherabbi,seeingthat thiswastheverywaytoget theyoung woman to talk—"very well, I say, you are not imagining anything. Ibelieve thatyouhavegreatly sinned.Haveyoucomehere then toconfess thissin?Doyourparentsoryourhusbandknowanythingaboutit?"

"Whoismyhusband?"sheinterruptedhim,impetuously.

Thoughts welled up in the rabbi's heart like a tumultuous sea in whichopposingconjecturescrossandrecrosseachother'scourse.Shouldhespeakwithheraswithanordinarysinner?

"Were you, perhaps, forced to be married?" he inquired, as quietly aspossible,afterapause.

A suppressed sob, a strong inward struggle,manifesting itself in thewholetremblingbody,wastheonlyanswertothisquestion.

"Tellme,mychild,"saidtherabbi,encouragingly.

Insuch tonesas therabbihadneverbeforeheard,sostrange,sosurpassinganyhumansounds,theyoungwomanbegan:

"Yes,rabbi,Iwillspeak,eventhoughIknowthatIshallnevergofromthisplace alive,whichwould be the very best thing forme!No, rabbi, Iwas notforcedtobemarried.Myparentshaveneveroncesaidtome'youmust,'butmyownwill,myowndesire, rather,hasalwaysbeensupreme.Myhusband is thesonofarichmaninthecommunity.Toenterhisfamilywastobemadethefirstlady in thegasse, tositburied ingoldandsilver.And thatvery thing,nothingelse,waswhatinfatuatedmewithhim.ItwasforthatthatIforcedmyself,myheartandwill,tobemarriedtohim,hardasitwasforme.ButinmyinnermostheartIdetestedhim.Themorehelovedme,themoreIhatedhim.Butthegoldandsilverhadaninfluenceoverme.Moreandmoretheycriedtome,'Youwillbethefirstladyinthegasse!'"

"Continue," said the rabbi, when she ceased, almost exhausted by thesewords.

"Whatmore shall I tell you, rabbi?" she began again. "I was never a liar,whenachild,orolder,andyetduringmywholeengagementithasseemedtomeasifabig,giganticliehadfollowedmestepbystep.Ihaveseenitoneverysideofme.But to-day,when I stoodunder thechuppe, rabbi, andhe took the ringfromhisfingerandputitonmine,andwhenIhadtodanceatmyownweddingwithhim,whomInowrecognized,nowforthefirsttime,asthelie,and—whentheyledmeaway——"

This sincere confession escaping from the lips of the young woman, shesobbedaloudandbowedherheadstilldeeperoverherbreast.Therabbigazed

upon her in silence. No insane woman ever spoke like that! Only a soulconsciousofitsownsin,butcaptivatedbyamysteriouspower,couldsufferlikethis!

Itwasnotsympathywhichhefeltwithher;itwasmuchmorealivingoverthesufferingsofthewoman.Inspiteoftheconfusedstory,itwasallcleartotherabbi.Thecauseoftheflightfromthefather'shouseatthishouralsorequirednoexplanation."Iknowwhatyoumean,"helongedtosay,buthecouldonlyfindwordstosay:"Speakfurther,Veile!"

The youngwoman turned towards him.He had not yet seen her face. Thegoldenhoodwiththeshadinglacehungdeeplyoverit.

"HaveInottoldyoueverything?"shesaid,withaflushofscorn.

"Everything?" repeated the rabbi, inquiringly. He only said this, moreover,throughembarrassment.

"Doyoutellmenow,"shecried,atoncepassionatelyandmildly,"whatamItodo?"

"Veile!"exclaimedtherabbi,entertainingnow,forthefirsttime,afeelingofrepugnanceforthisconfidentialinterview.

"Tellmenow!"shepleaded;andbeforetherabbicouldpreventittheyoungwoman threwherselfdownathis feetandclaspedhisknees inherarms.Thishasty act had loosened the golden wedding-hood from her head, and thusexposedherfacetoview,afaceofremarkablebeauty.

Soovercomewastheyoungrabbibythesightofitthathehadtoshadehiseyeswithhishands,asifbeforeasuddenflashoflightning.

"Tellmenow,what shall Ido?" shecriedagain. "Doyou think that Ihavecomefrommyparents'homemerelytoreturnagainwithouthelp?Youaloneintheworldmusttellme.Lookatme!IhavekeptallmyhairjustasGodgaveitme. It has never been touched by the shears. Should I, then, do anything topleasemyhusband?Iamnowife.Iwillnotbeawife!Tellme,tellme,whatamItodo?"

"Arise,arise,"badetherabbi;buthisvoicequivered,soundedalmostpainful.

"Tellmefirst,"shegasped;"Iwillnotrisetillthen!"

"HowcanItellyou?"hemoaned,almostinaudibly.

"Naphtali!"shriekedthekneelingwoman.

Buttherabbistaggeredbackward.Theroomseemedablazebeforehim,likeabright fire. A sharp cry rang from his breast, as if one suffering from somepainfulwoundhadbeenseizedbya roughhand. Inhishurriedattempt to freehimselffromtheembraceoftheyoungwoman,whostillclungtohisknees, itchancedthatherheadstruckheavilyagainstthefloor.

"Naphtali!"shecriedonceagain.

"Silence,silence,"groanedtherabbi,pressingbothhandsagainsthishead.

And still again shecalledout thisname,butnotwith that agonizingcry. Itsoundedratherlikeacomminglingofexultationandlamentation.

Andagainhedemanded,"Silence!silence!"butthistimesoimperiously,soforcibly,thattheyoungwomanlayonthefloorasifconjured,notdaringtoutterasingleword.

Therabbipacedalmostwildlyupanddowntheroom.Theremusthavebeenahard,terriblestruggleinhisbreast.Itseemedtotheonelyingonthefloorthatsheheardhimsighfromthedepthsofhissoul.Thenhispacingbecamecalmer;but it did not last long. The fierce conflict again assailed him.His step grewhurried; it echoed loudly through theawful stillnessof the room.Suddenlyheneared the young woman, who seemed to lie there scarcely breathing. Hestoppedinfrontofher.Hadanyoneseenthefaceoftherabbiatthismomenttheexpression on it would have filled him with terror. There was a marveloustranquillityoverlyingit,thetranquillityofastruggleforlifeordeath.

"Listentomenow,Veile,"hebegan,slowly."Iwilltalkwithyou."

"Ilisten,rabbi,"shewhispered.

"Butdoyouhearmewell?"

"Onlyspeak,"shereturned.

"ButwillyoudowhatIadviseyou?Willyounotopposeit?ForIamgoingtosaysomethingthatwillterrifyyou."

"Iwilldoanythingthatyousay.Onlytellme,"shemoaned.

"Willyouswear?"

"Iwill,"shegroaned.

"No,donotswearyet,untilyouhaveheardme,"hecried."Iwillnotforceyou."

Thistimecamenoanswer.

"Hearme,then,daughterofRubenKlattaner,"hebegan,afterapause."Youhaveatwofoldsinuponyoursoul,andeachissogreat,socriminal,thatitcanonly be forgiven by severe punishment. First you permitted yourself to beinfatuatedbythegoldandsilver,andthenyouforcedyourhearttolie.Withthelieyousoughttodeceivetheman,eventhoughhehadintrustedyouwithhisallwhenhemadeyouhiswife.Alieis trulyagreatsin!Streamsofwatercannotdrownthem.Theymakemenfalseandhatefultothemselves.Theworstthathasbeencommittedintheworldwasledinbyalie.Thatistheonesin."

"Iknow,Iknow,"sobbedtheyoungwoman.

"Nowhearmefurther,"begantherabbiagain,withawaveringvoice,afterashortpause."Youhavecommittedastillgreatersinthanthefirst.Youhavenotonly deceived your husband, but you have also destroyed the happiness ofanother person. You could have spoken, and you did not. For life you haverobbedhimofhishappiness,hislight,hisjoy,butyoudidnotspeak.Whatcanhenowdo,whenheknowswhathasbeenlosttohim?"

"Naphtali!"criedtheyoungwoman.

"Silence! silence!donot let thatnamepassyour lipsagain,"hedemanded,violently."Themoreyourepeatitthegreaterbecomesyoursin.Whydidyounotspeakwhenyoucouldhavespoken?Godcannevereasilyforgiveyouthat.Tobe silent, to keep secret in one's breast what would have made another manhappier than the mightiest monarch! Thereby you have made him more thanunhappy.Hewillnevermorehavethedesiretobehappy.Veile,Godinheavencannotforgiveyouforthat."

"Silence!silence!"groanedthewretchedwoman.

"No,Veile,"hecontinued,witha strongervoice, "letme talknow.Youarecertainlywilling tohearmespeak?Listen tome.Youmustdoseverepenancefor thissin, the twofoldsinwhich restsuponyourhead.God is long-suffering

andmerciful.Hewill perhaps look down upon yourmisery, andwill blot outyourguiltfromthegreatbookoftransgressions.Butyoumustbecomepenitent.Hear,now,whatitshallbe."

Therabbipaused.Hewasonthepointofsayingtheseverestthingthathadeverpassedhislips.

"Youwere silent,Veile," thenhecried, "whenyou shouldhave spoken.Besilentnowforevertoallmenandtoyourself.Fromthemomentyouleavethishouse,untilIgrantit,youmustbedumb;youdarenotletaloudwordpassfromyourmouth.Willyouundergothispenance?"

"Iwilldoallyousay,"moanedtheyoungwoman.

"Willyouhavestrengthtodoit?"heasked,gently.

"Ishallbeassilentasdeath,"shereplied.

"AndonethingmoreIhavetosaytoyou,"hecontinued."Youarethewifeofyourhusband.ReturnhomeandbeaJewishwife."

"Iunderstandyou,"shesobbedinreply.

"Go to your homenow, and bring peace to your parents and husband.Thetimewillcomewhenyoumayspeak,whenyoursinwillbe forgivenyou.Tillthenbearwhathasbeenlaiduponyou."

"MayIsayonethingmore?"shecried,liftingupherhead.

"Speak,"hesaid.

"Naphtali!"

Therabbicoveredhiseyeswithonehand,withtheothermotionedhertobesilent.Butshegraspedhishand,drewittoherlips.Hottearsfelluponit.

"Gonow,"hesobbed,completelybrokendown.

She let go the hand. The rabbi had seized the candle, but she had alreadypassedhim,andglidedthroughthedarkhall.Thedoorwasleftopen.Therabbilockeditagain.

Veilereturnedtoherhome,asshehadescaped,unnoticed.Thenarrowstreetwasdeserted,asdesolateasdeath.Thesearchersweretobefoundeverywhereexcept there where they ought first to have sought for the missing one. Hermother,Selde,stillsatonthesamechaironwhichshehadsunkdownanhourago.Thefrighthadleftherlikeoneparalyzed,andshewasunabletorise.Whata wonderful contrast this wedding-room, with the mother sitting alone in it,presented to the hilarity reigning here shortly before! OnVeile's entrance hermotherdidnotcryout.Shehadnostrengthtodoso.Shemerelysaid:"Soyouhave come at last, my daughter?" as if Veile had only returned from a walksomewhat too long. But the youngwoman did not answer to this and similarquestions.Finallyshesignifiedbygesticulationsthatshecouldnotspeak.Frightseizedthewretchedmotherasecondtime,andtheentirehousewasfilledwithherlamentations.

RubenKlattanerandVeile'shusbandhavingnowreturnedfromtheirfruitlesssearch, were horrified on perceiving the change which Veile had undergone.Being men, they did not weep.With staring eyes they gazed upon the silentyoungwoman, and beheld in her an apparitionwhich had been dealtwith byGod'svisitationinamysteriousmanner.

Fromthishourbegantheterriblepenanceoftheyoungwoman.

TheimpressionwhichVeile'swoefulconditionmadeuponthepeopleofthegasse was wonderful. Those who had danced with her that evening on thewedding now first recalled her excited state. Her wild actionswere now firstremembered by many. It must have been an "evil eye," they concluded—ajealous, evil eye, to which her beauty was hateful. This alone could havepossessedherwithademonofunrest.Shewasdrivenbythisevilpowerintothedarknight,asportofthesemaliciouspotencieswhichpursuemenstepbystep,especiallyonsuchoccasions.ThelivingGodaloneknowswhatshemusthaveseen thatnight.Nothinggood, elseonewouldnotbecomedumb.Old legendsandtaleswererevived,eachmorehorriblethantheother.Hundredsofinstanceswere given to prove that this was nothing new in the gasse. Despite thisexplanation, it is remarkable that the people did not believe that the youngwoman was dumb. The most thought that her power of speech had beenparalyzedbysomeawfulfright,but thatwith timeitwouldberestored.Underthissuppositiontheycalledher"VeiletheSilent."

There is a kind of human eloquence more telling, more forcible than theloudestwords, than thechoicestdiction—thesilenceofwoman!Ofttimes they

cannot endure the slightest vexation, but some great, heart-breaking sorrow,somepainfromconstantrenunciation,self-sacrifice,theysufferwithsealedlips—asif,inverytruth,theywereboundwithbarsofiron.

It would be difficult to fully describe that long "silent" life of the youngwoman. It is almost impossible to cite more than one incident. Veileaccompaniedherhusbandtohishome,thathouseresplendentwiththatgoldandsilverwhich had infatuated her. Shewas, to be sure, the "first"woman in thegasse;shehadeverythinginabundance.Indeed,theworldsupposedthatshehadbut little cause for complaint. "Must one have everything?" was sometimesqueriedinthegasse."Onehasonething;another,another."And,accordingtoallappearances,thepeoplewereright.Veilecontinuedtobethebeautiful,bloomingwoman.Herpenanceofsilencedidnotdepriveherofasinglecharm.Shewasso very happy, indeed, that she did not seem to feel even the pain of herpunishment.Veilecouldlaughandrejoice,butneverdidsheforgettobesilent.The seemingly happy days, however, were only qualified to bring about theproper timeof trials and temptations.Thebeginningwaseasyenough forher,themiddleandendweretimesofrealpain.Thefirstyearsoftheirweddedlifewere childless. "It is well," the people in the gasse said, "that she has nochildren,andGodhasrightlyordainedittobeso.Amotherwhocannottalktoherchild,thatwouldbesomethingawful!"Unexpectedlytoall,sherejoicedoneday in thebirthof a daughter.Andwhen that affectionateyoung creature, herownoffspring,waslaiduponherbreast,andthefirstsoundswereutteredbyitslips—thatnameless,eloquentutteranceofaninfant—sheforgotherselfnot;shewassilent!

Shewas silent alsowhen fromday to day that child blossomed before hereyes into fuller beauty. Nor had she any words for it when, in effusions oftenderness,itstretchedforthitstinyarms,wheninburningfeveritsoughtforthemother's hand. For days—yes, weeks—together she watched at its bedside.Sleepnevervisitedhereyes.Butsheeverrememberedherpenance.

Yearsfledby.Inherarmsshecarriedanotherchild.Itwasaboy.Thefather'sjoywasgreat.Thechildinheriteditsmother'sbeauty.Likeitssister,itgrewinhealth and strength. The noblest, richestmother, they said,might be proud ofsuchchildren!AndVeilewasproud,nodoubt,butthisneverpassedherlips.Sheremainedsilentaboutthingswhichmothersintheirjoyoftencannotfindwordsenoughtoexpress.Andalthoughherfacemanytimeslightedupwithbeamingsmiles,yetsheneverrenouncedthehabitualsilenceimposeduponher.

Theideathattheslightestderelictionofherpenancewouldbeaccompaniedwith a curse upon her children may have impressed itself upon her mind.Mothers will understand better than other persons what this mother sufferedfromherpenaltyofsilence.

Thusapartofthoseyearsspedawaywhichwearewonttocallthebest.Shestill flourished in herwonderful beauty.Hermaiden daughterwas beside her,likethebudbesidethefull-blownrose.Suitorswerealreadypresentfromfarandnear, who passed in review before the beautiful girl. Themost of themwereexcellentyoungmen,andanymothermighthavebeenproudinhavingherowndaughtersoughtbysuch.EventhenVeiledidnotundoherpenance.Thosebusytimesofintercoursewhichkeepmothersengagedinpresentingthesuperioritiesoftheirdaughtersinthebestlightwerenotallowedher.Thechoiceofoneofthemostfavoredsuitorswasmade.Neverbeforedidanycoupleinthegasseequalthisinbeautyandgrace.Afewweeksbeforetheappointedtimefortheweddingamalignantdiseasestoleon,spreadingsorrowandanxietyoverthegreaterpartoftheland.Younggirlswereprincipallyitsvictims.Itseemedtopassscornfullyovertheagedandinfirm.Veile'sdaughterwasalsolaidholduponbyit.Beforethreedayshadpassedtherewasacorpseinthehouse—thebride!

EventhenVeiledidnotforgetherpenance.Whentheyboreawaythecorpsetothe"goodplace,"shedidutteracryofanguishwhichlongafterechoedintheearsofthepeople;shedidwringherhandsindespair,butnooneheardawordofcomplaint.Herlipsseemeddumbforever.Itwas then,whenshewasseatedon the lowstool in the sevendaysofmourning, that the rabbicame toher, tobringtohertheusualconsolationforthedead.Buthedidnotspeakwithher.Headdressedwordsonlytoherhusband.Sheherselfdarednotlookup.Onlywhenheturnedtogodidshelifthereyes.They,inturn,mettheeyesoftherabbi,buthedepartedwithoutafarewell.

After her daughter's death Veile was completely broken down. Even thatwhichathertimeoflifeisstillcalledbeautyhadfadedawaywithinafewdays.Hercheekshadbecomehollow,herhairgray.Visitorswonderedhowshecouldendure such a shock, how body and spirit could hold together. They did notknow that that silence was an iron fetter firmly imprisoning the slumberingspirits.Shehadason,moreover,towhom,astosomethinglastanddearest,herwholebeingstillclung.

The boy was thirteen years old. His learning in the Holy Scriptures wasalready celebrated for miles around. He was the pupil of the rabbi, who had

treatedhimwithaloveandtendernessbecominghisownfather.Hesaidthathewas a remarkable child, endowedwith rare talents.Theboywas tobe sent toHungary,tooneofthemostcelebratedteachersofthetimes,inordertolaythefoundation for his sacred studies under this instructor's guidance andwisdom.Yearsmightperhapspassbeforeshewouldseehimagain.ButVeileletherboygofromherembrace.Shedidnotsayablessingoverhimwhenhewent;onlyherlipstwitchedwiththepainofsilence.

Long years expired before the boy returned from the strange land, a full-grown,nobleyouth.WhenVeilehadhersonwithheragainasmileplayedabouthermouth,and foramoment it seemedas ifher formerbeautyhadenjoyedasecond spring.The extraordinary abilityof her son alreadymadehim famous.Wheresoever hewent peoplewere delightedwith his beauty, and admired themodestyofhismanner,despitesuchgreatscholarship.

ThenextSabbaththeyoungdiscipleoftheTalmud,scarcelytwentyyearsofage,wastodemonstratethefirstmarksofthisgreatlearning.

The people crowded shoulder to shoulder in this great synagogue. Curiousglanceswere cast through the lattice-workof thewomen's gallery aboveuponthe dense throng. Veile occupied one of the foremost seats. She could seeeverything that took place below.Her facewas extremely pale.All eyeswereturned towards her—themother,whowaspermitted to see such a day for herson! But Veile did not appear to notice what was happening before her. Aweariness,suchasshehadneverfeltbefore,eveninhergreatestsuffering,creptover her limbs. It was as if she must sleep during her son's address. He hadhardly mounted the stairs before the ark of the laws—hardly uttered his firstwords—when a remarkable change crossed her face. Her cheeks burned. Shearose.All her vital energy seemed aroused.Her sonmeanwhilewas speakingdownbelow.Shecouldnothavetoldwhathewassaying.Shedidnothearhim—sheonlyheard themurmurofapprobation, sometimes low, sometimes loud,which came to her ears from the quarters of the men. The people wereastonished at the noble bearing of the speaker, hismelodious speech, and hispowerful energy.Whenhe stopped at certain times to rest it seemed as if onewere in awood sweptby a storm.She couldnowand thenhear a fewvoicesdeclaringthatsuchaonehadneverbeforebeenlistenedto.Thewomenathersidewept; she alonecouldnot.Achokingpainpressed fromherbreast toherlips. Forceswere astir in her heartwhich struggled for expression.Thewholesynagogueechoedwithbuzzingvoices,buttoheritseemedasifshemustspeaklouder than these. At the very moment her son had ended she cried out

unconsciously,violentlythrowingherselfagainstthelattice-work:

"God! living God! shall I not now speak?" A dead silence followed thisoutcry. Nearly all had recognized this voice as that of the "silent woman." Amiraclehadtakenplace!

"Speak! speak!" resounded the answer of the rabbi from the men's seatsbelow."Youmaynowspeak!"

Butno replycame.Veilehad fallenback intoher seat,pressingbothhandsagainstherbreast.Whenthewomensittingbesideher lookedather theywereterrified to find that the "silent woman" had fainted. She was dead! Theunsealingofherlipswasherlastmoment.

Longyearsafterwardstherabbidied.Onhisdeath-bedhetoldthosestandingabouthimthiswonderfulpenanceofVeile.

Everygirlinthegasseknewthestoryofthe"silentwoman."

BANSHEES[E]

OfallIrishghosts,fairies,orbogles, theBanshee(sometimescalledlocallythe "Bohee—ntha" or "Bankee—ntha") is the best known to the general public:indeed, cross-Channel visitors would class her with pigs, potatoes, and otherfaunaandfloraofIreland,andwouldexpecthertomakemanifestherpresencetothemasbeingoneofthesightsofthecountry.Sheisaspiritwithalengthypedigree—how lengthy no man can say, as its roots go back into the dim,mysteriouspast.ThemostfamousBansheeofancienttimeswasthatattachedtothe kingly house ofO'Brien, Aibhill, who haunted the rock of Craglea aboveKillaloe,near theoldpalaceofKincora. InA.D. 1014was fought thebattleofClontarf,fromwhichtheagedking,BrianBoru,knewthathewouldnevercomeawayalive,forthepreviousnightAibhillhadappearedtohimtotellhimofhisimpending fate. The Banshee's method of foretelling death in olden timesdifferedfromthatadoptedbyheratthepresentday:nowshewailsandwringsherhands,asageneralrule,butintheoldIrishtalessheistobefoundwashinghumanheadsandlimbs,orblood-stainedclothes,tillthewaterisalldyedwithhumanblood—thiswouldtakeplacebeforeabattle.Soitwouldseemthatinthecourseofcenturiesherattributesandcharacteristicshavechangedsomewhat.

Verydifferentdescriptionsaregivenofherpersonalappearance.Sometimesshe isyoungandbeautiful, sometimesoldandof a fearsomeappearance.Onewriterdescribesheras"a tall, thinwomanwithuncoveredhead,and longhairthat floated round her shoulders, attired in something which seemed either aloosewhitecloak,orasheetthrownhastilyaroundher,utteringpiercingcries."Anotherperson,acoachman,sawheroneeveningsittingonastileintheyard;she seemed to be a very small woman, with blue eyes, long light hair, andwearingaredcloak.Otherdescriptionswillbefoundinthischapter.Bytheway,itdoesnotseemtobetruethattheBansheeexclusivelyfollowsfamiliesofIrishdescent, for the last incident had reference to the death of amember of aCo.GalwayfamilyEnglishbynameandorigin.

One of the oldest and best-known Banshee stories is that related in theMemoirsofLadyFanshaw.[F]In1642herhusband,SirRichard,andshechancedtovisit a friend, theheadof an Irish sept,who resided inhis ancient baronialcastle,surroundedwithamoat.Atmidnightshewasawakenedbyaghastlyand

supernaturalscream,and lookingoutofbed,beheld in themoonlighta femalefaceandpartoftheformhoveringatthewindow.Thedistancefromtheground,aswellas thecircumstanceof themoat,excludedthepossibility thatwhatshebeheldwas of thisworld. The facewas that of a young and rather handsomewoman,butpale,andthehair,whichwasreddish,waslooseanddisheveled.Thedress, which Lady Fanshaw's terror did not prevent her remarking accurately,wasthatoftheancientIrish.Thisapparitioncontinuedtoexhibititselfforsometime,andthenvanishedwithtwoshriekssimilartothatwhichhadfirstexcitedLadyFanshaw'sattention.Inthemorning,withinfiniteterror,shecommunicatedtoherhostwhatshehadwitnessed,andfoundhimpreparednotonlytocredit,but to account for the superstition. "A near relation of my family," said he;"expired last night in this castle.We disguised our certain expectation of theevent fromyou, lest it should throwacloudover thecheerful receptionwhichwasyourdue.Now,before suchaneventhappens in this familyor castle, thefemalespecterwhomyouhaveseenisalwaysvisible.Sheisbelievedtobethespiritofawomanofinferiorrank,whomoneofmyancestorsdegradedhimselfbymarrying,andwhomafterwards, toexpiate thedishonordonetohisfamily,hecausedtobedrownedinthemoat."InstrictnessthiswomancouldhardlybetermedaBanshee.ThemotiveforthehauntingisakintothatinthetaleoftheScotch"DrummerofCortachy,"wherethespiritofthemurderedmanhauntsthefamilyoutofrevenge,andappearsbeforeadeath.

Mr. T.J.Westropp,M.A., has furnished the following story: "Mymaternalgrandmother heard the following tradition from her mother, one of the MissRoss-Lewins,whowitnessed the occurrence. Their father,Mr.HarrisonRoss-Lewin, was away in Dublin on law business, and in his absence the youngpeoplewentofftospendtheeveningwithafriendwholivedsomemilesaway.Thenightwasfineandlightsomeastheywerereturning,saveatonepointwheretheroadranbetweentreesorhighhedgesnotfartothewestoftheoldchurchofKilchrist.Thelatter,likemanysimilarruins,wasasimpleoblongbuilding,withlong side-walls and high gables, and at that time it and its graveyard wereunenclosed,andlayintheopenfields.Asthepartypasseddownthelongdarklanetheysuddenlyheardinthedistanceloudkeeningandclappingofhands,asthecountry-peoplewereaccustomedtodowhenlamentingthedead.TheRoss-Lewinshurriedon,andcameinsightofthechurch,onthesidewallofwhichalittle gray-haired old woman, clad in a dark cloak, was running to and fro,chantingandwailing,andthrowingupherarms.Thegirlswereveryfrightened,buttheyoungmenranforwardandsurroundedtheruin,andtwoofthemwentinto the church, the apparition vanishing from the wall as they did so. They

searchedeverynook,andfoundnoone,nordidanyonepassout.Allwerenowwell scared, and got home as fast as possible. On reaching their home theirmotheropenedthedoor,andatoncetoldthemthatshewasinterrorabouttheirfather,for,asshesatlookingoutthewindowinthemoonlight,ahugeravenwithfieryeyeslitonthesill,andtappedthreetimesontheglass.Theytoldhertheirstory,whichonlyaddedtotheiranxiety,andastheystoodtalking,tapscametothenearestwindow,andtheysawthebirdagain.Afewdayslaternewsreachedthem thatMr. Ross-Lewin had died suddenly in Dublin. This occurred about1776."

Mr.WestroppalsowritesthatthesisterofaformerRomanCatholicBishoptoldhissistersthatwhenshewasalittlegirlshewentoutoneeveningwithsomeother children for a walk. Going down the road, they passed the gate of theprincipal demesne near the town.Therewas a rock, or large stone, beside theroad,onwhichtheysawsomething.Goingnearer,theyperceivedittobealittledark, old woman, who began crying and clapping her hands. Some of themattemptedtospeaktoher,butgotfrightened,andallfinallyranhomeasquicklyastheycould.NextdaythenewscamethatthegentlemannearwhosegatetheBansheehadcried,wasdead,anditwasfoundoninquirythathehaddiedattheveryhouratwhichthechildrenhadseenthespecter.

Aladywhoisarelationofoneofthecompilers,andamemberofaCo.CorkfamilyofEnglishdescent,sendsthetwofollowingexperiencesofaBansheeinher family. "Mymother, when a young girl, was standing looking out of thewindowintheirhouseatBlackrock,nearCork.Shesuddenlysawawhitefigurestandingonabridgewhichwaseasilyvisiblefromthehouse.Thefigurewavedher arms towards the house, and my mother heard the bitter wailing of theBanshee.Itlastedsomeseconds,andthenthefiguredisappeared.NextmorningmygrandfatherwaswalkingasusualintothecityofCork.Heaccidentallyfell,hithisheadagainstthecurbstone,andneverrecoveredconsciousness.

"InMarch,1900,mymotherwasvery ill, andoneevening thenurse and Iwere with her arranging her bed. We suddenly heard the most extraordinarywailing,whichseemedtocomeinwavesroundandunderherbed.Wenaturallylookedeverywheretotryandfindthecause,butinvain.ThenurseandIlookedatoneanother,butmadenoremark,asmymotherdidnotseemtohearit.Mysister was downstairs sitting with my father. She heard it, and thought someterriblethinghadhappenedtoherlittleboy,whowasinbedupstairs.Sherushedup,andfoundhimsleepingquietly.Myfatherdidnothearit.Inthehousenextdoortheyheardit,andrandownstairs,thinkingsomethinghadhappenedtothe

servant;but the latteratoncesaid to them, 'Didyouhear theBanshee?Mrs.P——mustbedying.'"

A few years ago (i.e. before 1894) a curious incident occurred in a publicschoolinconnectionwiththebeliefintheBanshee.Oneoftheboys,happeningtobecomeill,wasatonceplacedinaroombyhimself,whereheusedtositallday.Ononeoccasion,ashewasbeingvisitedbythedoctor,hesuddenlystartedup fromhis seat, and affirmed that he heard somebody crying.The doctor, ofcourse,who couldhear or seenothing, came to the conclusion that the illnesshadslightlyaffectedhisbrain.However, theboy,whoappearedquitesensible,still persisted that he heard some one crying, and furthermore said, "It is theBanshee, as I have heard it before." The following morning the head-masterreceived a telegram saying that the boy's brother had been accidentally shotdead.[G]

That theBanshee is not confinedwithin the geographical limits of Ireland,but thatshecanfollowthefortunesofafamilyabroad,and thereforetell theirdeath,isclearlyshownbythefollowingstory.ApartyofvisitorsweregatheredtogetheronthedeckofaprivateyachtononeoftheItalianlakes,andduringalullintheconversationoneofthem,aColonel,saidtotheowner,"Count,who'sthatqueer-lookingwomanyouhaveonboard?"TheCountrepliedthattherewasnobodyexcepttheladiespresent,andthestewardess,butthespeakerprotestedthathewascorrect,andsuddenly,withascreamofhorror,heplacedhishandsbeforehiseyes,andexclaimed,"Oh,myGod,whataface!"Forsometimehewasovercomewithterror,andatlengthreluctantlylookedup,andcried:

"ThankHeavens,it'sgone!"

"Whatwasit?"askedtheCount.

"Nothinghuman," replied theColonel—"nothingbelonging to thisworld. Itwasawomanofnoearthlytype,withaqueer-shaped,gleamingface,amassofredhair,andeyesthatwouldhavebeenbeautifulbutfortheirexpression,whichwashellish.Shehadonagreenhood,afterthefashionofanIrishpeasant."

AnAmericanladypresentsuggestedthat thedescriptiontalliedwiththatoftheBanshee,uponwhichtheCountsaid:

"IamanO'Neill—atleastIamdescendedfromone.Myfamilynameis,asyouknow,Neilsini,which,littlemorethanacenturyago,wasO'Neill.Mygreat-grandfatherservedintheIrishBrigade,andonitsdissolutionatthetimeofthe

French Revolution had the good fortune to escape the general massacre ofofficers,andincompanywithanO'BrienandaMaguirefledacrossthefrontierandsettledinItaly.Onhisdeathhisson,whohadbeenborninItaly,andwasfarmoreItalianthanIrish,changedhisnametoNeilsini,bywhichnamethefamilyhasbeenknowneversince.ButforallthatweareIrish."

"TheBansheewasyours,then!"ejaculatedtheColonel."Whatexactlydoesitmean?"

"Itmeans," theCount repliedsolemnly,"thedeathofsomeoneverynearlyassociatedwithme.PrayHeavenitisnotmywifeordaughter."

On that score, however, his anxiety was speedily removed, for within twohours hewas seizedwith a violent attack of angina pectoris, and died beforemorning.[H]

Mr.ElliottO'Donnell,towhosearticleon"Banshees"weareindebtedfortheabove,adds:"TheBansheenevermanifestsitselftothepersonwhosedeathitisprognosticating.Otherpeoplemayseeorhearit,butthefatedonenever,sothatwhen every one present is aware of it but one, the fate of that one may beregardedasprettywellcertain."

THEMANWHOWENTTOOFAR

BYE.F.BENSON

The littlevillageofSt.Faith'snestles inahollowofwoodedhillupon thenorthbankoftheriverFawninthecountyofHampshire,huddlingcloserounditsgrayNormanchurchasifforspiritualprotectionagainstthefaysandfairies,the trolls and "little people,"whomight be supposed still to linger in thevastemptyspacesof theNewForest,and tocomeafterduskanddo theirdoubtfulbusinesses.Onceoutsidethehamletyoumaywalkinanydirection(solongasyouavoidthehighroadwhichleadstoBrockenhurst)forthelengthofasummerafternoon without seeing sign of human habitation, or possibly even catchingsightofanotherhumanbeing.Shaggywildponiesmaystoptheirfeedingforamomentasyoupass,thewhitescutsofrabbitswillvanishintotheirburrows,abrown viper perhaps will glide from your path into a clump of heather, andunseenbirdswillchuckleinthebushes,butitmayeasilyhappenthatforalongday youwill see nothing human. But youwill not feel in the least lonely; insummer,atanyrate, thesunlightwillbegaywithbutterflies,and theair thickwithallthosewoodlandsoundswhichlikeinstrumentsinanorchestracombinetoplaythegreatsymphonyoftheyearlyfestivalofJune.Windswhisperinthebirches,andsighamongthefirs;beesarebusywiththeirredolentlaboramongtheheather,amyriadbirdschirpinthegreentemplesoftheforesttrees,andthevoiceoftheriverprattlingoverstonyplaces,bubblingintopools,chucklingandgulpingroundcorners,givesyouthesensethatmanypresencesandcompanionsarenearathand.

Yet, oddly enough, though one would have thought that these benign andcheerful influences of wholesome air and spaciousness of forest were veryhealthful comrades for a man, in so far as nature can really influence thiswonderfulhumangenuswhichhas in thesecenturies learned todefyhermostviolent storms in its well-established houses, to bridle her torrents and makethemlightitsstreets,totunnelhermountainsandplowherseas,theinhabitantsofSt.Faith'swillnotwillinglyventureintotheforestafterdark.Forinspiteofthesilenceandlonelinessofthehoodednightitseemsthatamanisnotsureinwhat company hemay suddenly find himself, and though it is difficult to getfrom these villagers any very clear story of occult appearances, the feeling is

widespread.OnestoryindeedIhaveheardwithsomedefiniteness,thetaleofamonstrousgoatthathasbeenseentoskipwithhellishgleeaboutthewoodsandshady places, and this perhaps is connectedwith the storywhich I have hereattemptedtopiecetogether.It tooiswell-knowntothem;forallremembertheyoung artist who died here not long ago, a young man, or so he struck thebeholder, ofgreatpersonalbeauty,with somethingabouthim thatmademen'sfaces to smile andbrightenwhen they lookedonhim.Hisghost theywill tellyou"walks"constantlybythestreamandthroughthewoodswhichhelovedso,andinespecialithauntsacertainhouse,thelastofthevillage,wherehelived,anditsgardeninwhichhewasdonetodeath.FormypartIaminclinedtothinkthattheterroroftheForestdateschieflyfromthatday.So,suchasthestoryis,Ihave set it forth in connected form. It is based partly on the accounts of thevillagers,butmainlyonthatofDarcy,afriendofmineandafriendofthemanwithwhomtheseeventswerechieflyconcerned.

The day had been one of untarnishedmidsummer splendor, and as the sundrew near to its setting, the glory of the evening grew every moment morecrystalline,moremiraculous.Westward fromSt. Faith's the beechwoodwhichstretchedforsomemilestowardtheheatheryuplandbeyondalreadycastitsveilofclearshadowovertheredroofsofthevillage,butthespireofthegraychurch,over-topping all, still pointed a flaming orange finger into the sky. The riverFawn, which runs below, lay in sheets of sky-reflected blue, and wound itsdreamydeviouscourseroundtheedgeofthiswood,wherearoughtwo-plankedbridgecrossedfromthebottomofthegardenofthelasthouseinthevillage,andcommunicatedbymeansofalittlewickergatewiththewooditself.Thenonceout of the shadow of thewood the stream lay in flaming pools of themoltencrimsonofthesunset,andlostitselfinthehazeofwoodlanddistances.

Thishouseat theendof thevillagestoodoutside theshadow,and the lawnwhichslopeddownto theriverwasstill fleckedwithsunlight.Garden-bedsofdazzling color lined its gravel walks, and down the middle of it ran a brickpergola,half-hiddeninclustersoframbler-roseandpurplewithstarryclematis.At the bottom end of it, between two of its pillars, was slung a hammockcontainingashirt-sleevedfigure.

The house itself lay somewhat remote from the rest of the village, and afootpathleadingacross twofields,nowtallandfragrantwithhay,wasitsonly

communicationwiththehighroad.Itwaslow-built,onlytwostoriesinheight,and like thegarden, itswallswere amass of flowering roses.Anarrow stoneterraceranalongthegardenfront,overwhichwasstretchedanawning,andontheterraceayoungsilent-footedman-servantwasbusiedwiththelayingofthetablefordinner.Hewasneat-handedandquickwithhisjob,andhavingfinishedit hewentback into thehouse, and reappeared againwith a large roughbath-towelonhisarm.Withthishewenttothehammockinthepergola.

"Nearlyeight,sir,"hesaid.

"HasMr.Darcycomeyet?"askedavoicefromthehammock.

"No,sir."

"IfI'mnotbackwhenhecomes,tellhimthatI'mjusthavingabathebeforedinner."

Theservantwentbacktothehouse,andafteramomentortwoFrankHaltonstruggledtoasittingposture,andslippedoutontothegrass.Hewasofmediumheight and rather slender in build, but the supple ease and grace of hismovements gave the impression of great physical strength: even his descentfromthehammockwasnotanawkwardperformance.Hisfaceandhandswereofverydarkcomplexion,eitherfromconstantexposuretowindandsun,or,ashisblackhairanddarkeyestendedtoshow,fromsomestrainofsouthernblood.His head was small, his face of an exquisite beauty of modeling, while thesmoothnessofitscontourwouldhaveledyoutobelievethathewasabeardlesslad still in his teens. But something, some look which living and experiencealone can give, seemed to contradict that, and finding yourself completelypuzzled as to his age, youwould nextmoment probably cease to think aboutthat,andonlylookatthisgloriousspecimenofyoungmanhoodwithwonderingsatisfaction.

Hewasdressedasbecametheseasonandtheheat,andworeonlyashirtopenattheneck,andapairofflanneltrousers.Hishead,coveredverythicklywithasomewhatrebelliouscropofshortcurlyhair,wasbareashestrolledacrossthelawntothebathing-placethatlaybelow.Thenforamomenttherewassilence,thenthesoundofsplashedanddividedwaters,andpresentlyafter,agreatshoutofecstatic joy,asheswamup-streamwiththefoamedwaterstandinginafrillround his neck.Then after some fiveminutes of limb-stretching strugglewiththeflood,heturnedoveronhisback,andwitharmsthrownwide,floateddown-stream,ripple-cradledandinert.Hiseyeswereshut,andbetweenhalf-partedlips

hetalkedgentlytohimself.

"Iamonewith it,"hesaid tohimself, "the riverand I, I and the river.ThecoolnessandsplashofitisI,andthewater-herbsthatwaveinitareIalso.Andmystrengthandmylimbsarenotminebuttheriver's.Itisallone,allone,dearFawn."

A quarter of an hour later he appeared again at the bottom of the lawn,dressed as before, his wet hair already drying into its crisp short curls again.Therehepausedamoment,lookingbackatthestreamwiththesmilewithwhichmenlookonthefaceofafriend,thenturnedtowardsthehouse.Simultaneouslyhisservantcameto thedoor leadingonto the terrace,followedbyamanwhoappearedtobesomehalf-waythroughthefourthdecadeofhisyears.Frankandhesaweachotheracross thebushesandgarden-beds,andeachquickeninghisstep, theymetsuddenlyface to faceroundanangleof thegardenwalk, in thefragranceofsyringa.

"MydearDarcy,"criedFrank,"Iamcharmedtoseeyou."

Buttheotherstaredathiminamazement.

"Frank!"heexclaimed.

"Yes,thatismyname,"hesaidlaughing,"whatisthematter?"

Darcytookhishand.

"Whathaveyoudonetoyourself?"heasked."Youareaboyagain."

"Ah,Ihavealottotellyou,"saidFrank."Lotsthatyouwillhardlybelieve,butIshallconvinceyou——"

Hebrokeoffsuddenly,andhelduphishand.

"Hush,thereismynightingale,"hesaid.

Thesmileofrecognitionandwelcomewithwhichhehadgreetedhisfriendfaded from his face, and a look of rapt wonder took its place, as of a loverlistening to the voice of his beloved. His mouth parted slightly, showing thewhitelineofteeth,andhiseyeslookedoutandouttilltheyseemedtoDarcyto

befocusedonthingsbeyondthevisionofman.Thensomethingperhapsstartledthebird,forthesongceased.

"Yes, lots to tell you," he said. "Really I amdelighted to seeyou.But youlookratherwhiteandpulleddown;nowonderafterthatfever.Andthereistobenononsenseaboutthisvisit.ItisJunenow,youstopheretillyouarefittobeginworkagain.Twomonthsatleast."

"Ah,Ican'ttrespassquitetothatextent."

Franktookhisarmandwalkedhimdownthegrass.

"Trespass?Who talks of trespass? I shall tell you quite openlywhen I amtiredofyou,butyouknowwhenwehadthestudiotogether,weusednottoboreeach other. However, it is ill talking of going away on the moment of yourarrival.Justastrolltotheriver,andthenitwillbedinner-time."

Darcytookouthiscigarettecase,andofferedittotheother.

Franklaughed.

"No,notforme.Dearme,IsupposeIusedtosmokeonce.Howveryodd!"

"Givenitup?"

"Idon'tknow.IsupposeImusthave.AnyhowIdon'tdoitnow.Iwouldassoonthinkofeatingmeat."

"Anothervictimonthesmokingaltarofvegetarianism?"

"Victim?"askedFrank."DoIstrikeyouassuch?"

Hepausedon themarginof thestreamandwhistledsoftly.Nextmomentamoor-henmadeitssplashingflightacrosstheriver,andranupthebank.Franktookitverygentlyinhishandsandstrokeditshead,asthecreaturelayagainsthisshirt.

"Andisthehouseamongthereedsstillsecure?"hehalf-croonedtoit."Andisthemissusquitewell,andaretheneighborsflourishing?There,dear,homewithyou,"andheflungitintotheair.

"Thatbird'sverytame,"saidDarcy,slightlybewildered.

"Itisrather,"saidFrank,followingitsflight.

DuringdinnerFrankchieflyoccupiedhimselfinbringinghimselfup-to-dateinthemovementsandachievementsofthisoldfriendwhomhehadnotseenforsixyears.Thosesixyears,itnowappeared,hadbeenfullofincidentandsuccessforDarcy;hehadmadeanameforhimselfasaportraitpainterwhichbadefairtooutlastthevogueofacoupleofseasons,andhisleisuretimehadbeenbrief.Then some four months previously he had been through a severe attack oftyphoid,theresultofwhichasconcernsthisstorywasthathehadcomedowntothissequesteredplacetorecruit.

"Yes, you've got on," said Frank at the end. "I always knew you would.A.R.A.withmoreinprospect.Money?Yourollinit,Isuppose,and,ODarcy,howmuchhappinesshaveyouhadalltheseyears?Thatistheonlyimperishablepossession.Andhowmuchhaveyoulearned?Oh,Idon'tmeaninArt.EvenIcouldhavedonewellinthat."

Darcylaughed.

"Donewell?Mydearfellow,allIhavelearnedinthesesixyearsyouknew,so to speak, inyourcradle.Youroldpictures fetchhugeprices.Doyouneverpaintnow?"

Frankshookhishead.

"No,I'mtoobusy,"hesaid.

"Doingwhat?Pleasetellme.Thatiswhateveryoneisforeveraskingme."

"Doing?IsupposeyouwouldsayIdonothing."

Darcyglancedupatthebrilliantyoungfaceoppositehim.

"Itseemstosuityou,thatwayofbeingbusy,"hesaid."Now,it'syourturn.Doyouread?Doyoustudy?Irememberyousayingthatitwoulddousall—allusartists,Imean—agreatdealofgoodifwewouldstudyanyonehumanfacecarefullyforayear,withoutrecordingaline.Haveyoubeendoingthat?"

Frankshookhisheadagain.

"ImeanexactlywhatIsay,"hesaid,"Ihavebeendoingnothing.AndIhavenever been so occupied.Look atme; have I not done something tomyself tobeginwith?"

"YouaretwoyearsyoungerthanI,"saidDarcy,"atleastyouusedtobe.Youthereforearethirty-five.ButhadIneverseenyoubeforeIshouldsayyouwerejusttwenty.Butwasitworthwhiletospendsixyearsofgreatly-occupiedlifeinordertolooktwenty?Seemsratherlikeawomanoffashion."

Franklaughedboisterously.

"First timeI'veeverbeencompared to thatparticularbirdofprey,"hesaid."No,thathasnotbeenmyoccupation—infactIamonlyveryrarelyconsciousthatoneeffectofmyoccupationhasbeenthat.Ofcourse,itmusthavebeenifonecomestothinkofit.Itisnotveryimportant.Quitetruemybodyhasbecomeyoung.Butthatisverylittle;Ihavebecomeyoung."

Darcypushedbackhischairandsatsidewaystothetablelookingattheother.

"Hasthatbeenyouroccupationthen?"heasked.

"Yes, that anyhow is one aspect of it. Think what youth means! It is thecapacity for growth, mind, body, spirit, all grow, all get stronger, all have afuller, firmer lifeeveryday.That issomething,considering thateveryday thatpasses after the ordinary man reaches the full-blown flower of his strength,weakenshisholdonlife.Amanreacheshisprime,andremains,wesay,inhisprime,fortenyears,orperhapstwenty.Butafterhisprimestprimeisreached,heslowly,insensiblyweakens.Thesearethesignsofageinyou,inyourbody,inyourartprobably,inyourmind.Youarelesselectricthanyouwere.ButI,whenIreachmyprime—Iamnearingit—ah,youshallsee."

Thestarshadbeguntoappearinthebluevelvetofthesky,andtotheeastthehorizonseenabovetheblacksilhouetteofthevillagewasgrowingdove-coloredwith the approach ofmoon-rise.Whitemoths hovered dimly over the garden-beds, and the footsteps of night tip-toed through the bushes. Suddenly Frankrose.

"Ah,itisthesuprememoment,"hesaidsoftly."Nowmorethanatanyothertimethecurrentoflife,theeternalimperishablecurrentrunssoclosetomethatIamalmostenvelopedinit.Besilentaminute."

Headvancedtotheedgeoftheterraceandlookedoutstandingstretchedwitharms outspread.Darcy heard him draw a long breath into his lungs, and aftermanysecondsexpelitagain.Sixoreighttimeshedidthis,thenturnedbackintothelamplight.

"Itwillsoundtoyouquitemad,Iexpect,"hesaid,"butifyouwanttohearthesoberesttruthIhaveeverspokenandshalleverspeak,Iwilltellyouaboutmyself.Butcomeintothegardenifitisnottoodampforyou.Ihavenevertoldanyoneyet,butIshallliketotellyou.Itislong,infact,sinceIhaveeventriedtoclassifywhatIhavelearned."

Theywanderedintothefragrantdimnessofthepergola,andsatdown.ThenFrankbegan:

"Years ago, do you remember," he said, "we used often to talk about thedecay of joy in theworld.Many impulses,we settled, had contributed to thisdecay, some of which were good in themselves, others that were quitecompletely bad. Among the good things, I put what we may call certainChristian virtues, renunciation, resignation, sympathy with suffering, and thedesiretorelievesufferers.Butoutofthosethingsspringverybadones,uselessrenunciations,asceticismforitsownsake,mortificationofthefleshwithnothingto follow, no corresponding gain that is, and that awful and terrible diseasewhichdevastatedEngland some centuries ago, and fromwhichbyheredity ofspiritwesuffernow,Puritanism.Thatwasadreadfulplague,thebrutesheldandtaughtthatjoyandlaughterandmerrimentwereevil:itwasadoctrinethemostprofaneandwicked.Why,whatisthecommonestcrimeonesees?Asullenface.Thatisthetruthofthematter.

"NowallmylifeIhavebelievedthatweareintendedtobehappy,thatjoyisofallgiftsthemostdivine.AndwhenIleftLondon,abandonedmycareer,suchasitwas,IdidsobecauseIintendedtodevotemylifetothecultivationofjoy,and, by continuous and unsparing effort, to be happy. Among people, and inconstantintercoursewithothers,Ididnotfinditpossible;thereweretoomanydistractions in towns andwork-rooms, and also toomuch suffering. So I tookonestepbackwardsorforwards,asyoumaychoosetoputit,andwentstraighttoNature,totrees,birds,animals,toallthosethingswhichquiteclearlypursueoneaimonly,whichblindlyfollowthegreatnativeinstincttobehappywithoutany care at all for morality, or human law or divine law. I wanted, youunderstand, to get all joy first-hand and unadulterated, and I think it scarcelyexistsamongmen;itisobsolete."

Darcyturnedinhischair.

"Ah,butwhatmakesbirdsandanimalshappy?"heasked."Food, foodandmating."

Franklaughedgentlyinthestillness.

"Donot thinkIbecameasensualist,"hesaid."Ididnotmakethatmistake.Forthesensualistcarrieshismiseriespick-a-back,androundhisfeetiswoundtheshroudthatshallsoonenwraphim.Imaybemad,itistrue,butIamnotsostupidanyhowastohavetriedthat.No,whatisitthatmakespuppiesplaywiththeirowntails,thatsendscatsontheirprowlingecstaticerrandsatnight?".

Hepausedamoment.

"SoIwenttoNature,"hesaid."IsatdownhereinthisNewForest,satdownfairandsquare,andlooked.Thatwasmyfirstdifficulty,tositherequietwithoutbeing bored, to wait without being impatient, to be receptive and very alert,thoughforalongtimenothingparticularhappened.Thechangeinfactwasslowinthoseearlystages."

"Nothinghappened?"askedDarcy rather impatiently,with the sturdy revoltagainstanynewideawhichtotheEnglishmindissynonymouswithnonsense."Why,whatintheworldshouldhappen?"

Now Frank as he had known himwas themost generous butmost quick-temperedofmortalmen; inotherwordshis angerwould flare to a prodigiousbeacon,underalmostnoprovocation,onlytobequenchedagainunderagustofno less impulsivekindliness.Thus themomentDarcyhad spoken, an apologyforhishastyquestionwashalf-wayuphistongue.Buttherewasnoneedforittohavetraveledevensofar,forFranklaughedagainwithkindly,genuinemirth.

"Oh, how I should have resented that a few years ago," he said. "ThankgoodnessthatresentmentisoneofthethingsIhavegotridof.Icertainlywishthatyoushouldbelievemystory—infact,youaregoingto—butthatyouatthismomentshouldimplythatyoudonot,doesnotconcernme."

"Ah, your solitary sojournings have made you inhuman," said Darcy, stillveryEnglish.

"No,human,"saidFrank."Rathermorehuman,atleastratherlessofanape."

"Well,thatwasmyfirstquest,"hecontinued,afteramoment,"thedeliberateand unswerving pursuit of joy, and my method, the eager contemplation ofNature.Asfarasmotivewent,Idaresayitwaspurelyselfish,butasfaraseffectgoes,itseemstomeaboutthebestthingonecandoforone'sfellow-creatures,for happiness ismore infectious than small-pox.So, as I said, I sat down and

waited; I looked at happy things, zealously avoided the sight of anythingunhappy, and by degrees a little trickle of the happiness of this blissfulworldbegan to filter into me. The trickle grew more abundant, and now, my dearfellow,ifIcouldforamomentdivertfrommeintoyouonehalfofthetorrentofjoy that pours through me day and night, you would throw the world, art,everythingaside,andjustlive,exist.Whenaman'sbodydies,itpassesintotreesand flowers.Well, that iswhat I have been trying to dowithmy soul beforedeath."

Theservanthadbroughtintothepergolaatablewithsyphonsandspirits,andhadsetalampuponit.AsFrankspokeheleanedforwardtowardstheother,andDarcy for all his matter-of-fact commonsense could have sworn that hiscompanion's face shone, was luminous in itself. His dark brown eyes glowedfrom within, the unconscious smile of a child irradiated and transformed hisface.Darcyfeltsuddenlyexcited,exhilarated.

"Goon,"hesaid."Goon.Icanfeelyouaresomehowtellingmesobertruth.Idaresayyouaremad;butIdon'tseethatmatters."

Franklaughedagain.

"Mad?" he said. "Yes, certainly, if you wish. But I prefer to call it sane.However, nothingmatters less thanwhat anybody chooses to call things.Godneverlabelshisgifts;Hejustputsthemintoourhands;justasheputanimalsinthegardenofEden,forAdamtonameifhefeltdisposed."

"So by the continual observance and study of things that were happy,"continuedhe,"Igothappiness,Igotjoy.Butseekingit,asIdid,fromNature,IgotmuchmorewhichIdidnotseek,butstumbleduponoriginallybyaccident.Itisdifficulttoexplain,butIwilltry.

"AboutthreeyearsagoIwassittingonemorninginaplaceIwillshowyouto-morrow.Itisdownbytheriverbrink,verygreen,dappledwithshadeandsun,and the river passes there through some little clumps of reeds.Well, as I satthere, doing nothing, but just looking and listening, I heard the sound quitedistinctly of some flute-like instrument playing a strange unending melody. Ithoughtatfirstitwassomemusicalyokelonthehighwayanddidnotpaymuchattention.Butbefore long thestrangenessand indescribablebeautyof the tunestruck me. It never repeated itself, but it never came to an end, phrase afterphraseran itssweetcourse, itworkedgraduallyand inevitablyup toaclimax,andhavingattainedit,itwenton;anotherclimaxwasreachedandanotherand

another.ThenwithasuddengaspofwonderIlocalizedwhereitcamefrom.Itcamefromthereedsandfromtheskyandfromthetrees.Itwaseverywhere,itwasthesoundoflife.Itwas,mydearDarcy,astheGreekswouldhavesaid,itwasPanplayingonhis pipes, thevoiceofNature. Itwas the life-melody, theworld-melody."

Darcy was far too interested to interrupt, though there was a question hewouldhavelikedtoask,andFrankwenton:

"Well, for themoment Iwas terrified, terrifiedwith the impotent horror ofnightmare,andIstoppedmyearsandjustranfromtheplaceandgotbacktothehouse panting, trembling, literally in a panic. Unknowingly, for at that time Ionlypursuedjoy,Ihadbegun,sinceIdrewmyjoyfromNature,togetintouchwithNature.Nature,force,God,callitwhatyouwill,haddrawnacrossmyfacealittlegossamerwebofessentiallife.IsawthatwhenIemergedfrommyterror,and Iwent very humbly back towhere I had heard the Pan-pipes.But itwasnearlysixmonthsbeforeIheardthemagain."

"Whywasthat?"askedDarcy.

"SurelybecauseIhadrevolted,rebelled,andworstofallbeenfrightened.ForIbelievethatjustasthereisnothingintheworldwhichsoinjuresone'sbodyasfear,sothereisnothingthatsomuchshutsupthesoul.Iwasafraid,yousee,oftheonethingintheworldwhichhasrealexistence.Nowonderitsmanifestationwaswithdrawn."

"Andaftersixmonths?"

"After six months one blessed morning I heard the piping again. I wasn'tafraid that time. And since then it has grown louder, it has become moreconstant.Inowhearitoften,andIcanputmyselfintosuchanattitudetowardsNature that the pipes will almost certainly sound. And never yet have theyplayedthesametune,itisalwayssomethingnew,somethingfuller,richer,morecompletethanbefore."

"Whatdoyoumeanby'suchanattitudetowardsNature'?"askedDarcy.

"Ican'texplainthat;butbytranslatingitintoabodilyattitudeitisthis."

Franksatupforamomentquitestraightinhischair,thenslowlysunkbackwitharmsoutspreadandheaddrooped.

"That,"hesaid,"aneffortlessattitude,butopen, resting, receptive. It is justthatwhichyoumustdowithyoursoul."

Thenhesatupagain.

"Onewordmore,"hesaid,"andIwillboreyounofurther.NorunlessyouaskmequestionsshallItalkaboutitagain.Youwillfindme,infact,quitesaneinmymodeoflife.Birdsandbeastsyouwillseebehavingsomewhatintimatelytome,likethatmoor-hen,butthatisall.Iwillwalkwithyou,ridewithyou,playgolfwithyou,andtalkwithyouonanysubjectyoulike.ButIwantedyouonthe threshold to know what has happened to me. And one thing more willhappen."

Hepausedagain,andaslightlookoffearcrossedhiseyes.

"Therewill be a final revelation," he said, "a complete andblinding strokewhich will throw open to me, once and for all, the full knowledge, the fullrealizationandcomprehensionthatIamone,justasyouare,withlife.Inrealitythere is no 'me,' no 'you,' no 'it.' Everything is part of the one and only thingwhichislife.Iknowthatthatisso,buttherealizationofitisnotyetmine.Butitwillbe,andonthatday,soItakeit,IshallseePan.Itmaymeandeath,thedeathofmybody,thatis,butIdon'tcare.Itmaymeanimmortal,eternallifelivedhereandnowandforever.Thenhavinggainedthat,ah,mydearDarcy,Ishallpreachsuch a gospel of joy, showing myself as the living proof of the truth, thatPuritanism,thedismalreligionofsourfaces,shallvanishlikeabreathofsmoke,andbedispersedanddisappearinthesunlitair.Butfirstthefullknowledgemustbemine."

Darcywatchedhisfacenarrowly.

"Youareafraidofthatmoment,"hesaid.

Franksmiledathim.

"Quitetrue;youarequicktohaveseenthat.ButwhenitcomesIhopeIshallnotbeafraid."

Forsomelittletimetherewassilence;thenDarcyrose.

"Youhavebewitchedme, you extraordinary boy," he said. "Youhavebeentellingmeafairy-story,andIfindmyselfsaying,'Promisemeitistrue.'"

"Ipromiseyouthat,"saidtheother.

"AndIknowIshan'tsleep,"addedDarcy.

Franklookedathimwithasortofmildwonderasifhescarcelyunderstood.

"Well,whatdoesthatmatter?"hesaid.

"Iassureyouitdoes.IamwretchedunlessIsleep."

"OfcourseIcanmakeyousleepifIwant,"saidFrankinaratherboredvoice.

"Well,do."

"Verygood:gotobed.I'llcomeupstairsintenminutes."

Frankbusiedhimself for a little after the other hadgone,moving the tablebackunder the awningof the veranda andquenching the lamp.ThenhewentwithhisquicksilenttreadupstairsandintoDarcy'sroom.Thelatterwasalreadyin bed, but very wide-eyed andwakeful, and Frankwith an amused smile ofindulgence,asforafretfulchild,satdownontheedgeofthebed.

"Lookatme,"hesaid,andDarcylooked.

"Thebirdsare sleeping in thebrake," saidFrank softly, "and thewindsareasleep.Theseasleeps,andthetidesarebuttheheavingofitsbreast.Thestarsswingslow,rockedinthegreatcradleoftheHeavens,and——"

Hestoppedsuddenly,gentlyblewoutDarcy'scandle,andlefthimsleeping.

MorningbroughttoDarcyafloodofhardcommonsense,asclearandcrispasthe sunshine that filled his room.Slowly as hewoke he gathered together thebroken threads of the memories of the evening which had ended, so he toldhimself, in a trickof commonhypnotism.That accounted for it all; thewholestrangetalkhehadhadwasunderaspellofsuggestionfromtheextraordinaryvividboywhohadoncebeenaman;allhisownexcitement,hisacceptanceoftheincrediblehadbeenmerelytheeffectofastronger,morepotentwillimposedonhisown.Howstrong thatwillwas,heguessed fromhisown instantaneousobedience to Frank's suggestion of sleep. And armed with impenetrablecommonsense he came down to breakfast. Frank had already begun, andwasconsuming a large plateful of porridge and milk with the most prosaic andhealthyappetite.

"Sleptwell?"heasked.

"Yes,ofcourse.Wheredidyoulearnhypnotism?"

"Bythesideoftheriver."

"Youtalkedanamazingquantityofnonsenselastnight,"remarkedDarcy,inavoicepricklywithreason.

"Rather.Ifeltquitegiddy.Look,Irememberedtoorderadreadfuldailypaperforyou.Youcanreadaboutmoneymarketsorpoliticsorcricketmatches."

Darcylookedathimclosely.InthemorninglightFranklookedevenfresher,younger, more vital than he had done the night before, and the sight of himsomehowdintedDarcy'sarmorofcommonsense.

"Youare themostextraordinary fellow Iever saw,"he said. "Iwant toaskyousomemorequestions."

"Askaway,"saidFrank.

For the next day or two Darcy plied his friend with many questions,objections and criticisms on the theory of life and gradually got out of him acoherentandcompleteaccountofhisexperience. Inbrief then,Frankbelievedthat"bylyingnaked,"asheputit,totheforcewhichcontrolsthepassageofthestars, the breaking of a wave, the budding of a tree, the love of a youth andmaiden,hehadsucceededinawayhithertoundreamedofinpossessinghimselfoftheessentialprincipleoflife.Daybyday,sohethought,hewasgettingnearerto,andincloserunionwiththegreatpoweritselfwhichcausedalllifetobe,thespiritofnature,offorce,orthespiritofGod.Forhimself,heconfessedtowhatothers would call paganism; it was sufficient for him that there existed aprincipleoflife.Hedidnotworshipit,hedidnotpraytoit,hedidnotpraiseit.Someofitexistedinallhumanbeings,justasitexistedintreesandanimals;torealizeandmakelivingtohimselfthefactthatitwasallone,washissoleaimandobject.

HereperhapsDarcywouldput in awordofwarning. "Take care," he said."ToseePanmeantdeath,diditnot?"

Frank'seyebrowswouldriseatthis.

"Whatdoes thatmatter?"hesaid."True, theGreekswerealways right,andtheysaidso,butthereisanotherpossibility.ForthenearerIgettoit,themoreliving,themorevitalandyoungIbecome."

"Whatthendoyouexpectthefinalrevelationwilldoforyou?"

"Ihavetoldyou,"saidhe."Itwillmakemeimmortal."

ButitwasnotsomuchfromspeechandargumentthatDarcygrewtograsphis friend's conception, as from the ordinary conduct of his life. They werepassing,forinstance,onemorningdownthevillagestreet,whenanoldwoman,verybentanddecrepit,butwithanextraordinarycheerfulnessofface,hobbledoutfromhercottage.Frankinstantlystoppedwhenhesawher.

"Youolddarling!Howgoesitall?"hesaid.

Butshedidnotanswer,herdimoldeyeswererivetedonhisface;sheseemedto drink in like a thirsty creature the beautiful radiance which shone there.Suddenlysheputhertwowitheredoldhandsonhisshoulders.

"You'rejustthesunshineitself,"shesaid,andhekissedherandpassedon.

But scarcely a hundred yards further a strange contradiction of suchtenderness occurred. A child running along the path towards them fell on itsface, and set up a dismal cry of fright and pain. A look of horror came intoFrank'seyes,and,puttinghisfingersinhisears,hefledatfullspeeddownthestreet,anddidnotpausetillhewasoutofhearing.Darcy,havingascertainedthatthechildwasnotreallyhurt,followedhiminbewilderment.

"Areyouwithoutpitythen?"heasked.

Frankshookhisheadimpatiently.

"Can'tyousee?"heasked."Can'tyouunderstandthatthatsortofthing,pain,anger,anythingunlovelythrowsmeback,retardsthecomingofthegreathour!PerhapswhenitcomesIshallbeabletopiecethatsideoflifeontotheother,ontothetruereligionofjoy.AtpresentIcan't."

"Buttheoldwoman.Wasshenotugly?"

Frank'sradiancegraduallyreturned.

"Ah,no.Shewaslikeme.Shelongedforjoy,andknewitwhenshesawit,theolddarling."

Anotherquestionsuggesteditself.

"ThenwhataboutChristianity?"askedDarcy.

"Ican'tacceptit.Ican'tbelieveinanycreedofwhichthecentraldoctrineisthat God who is Joy should have had to suffer. Perhaps it was so; in someinscrutablewayIbelieveitmayhavebeenso,butIdon'tunderstandhowitwaspossible.SoIleaveitalone;myaffairisjoy."

Theyhadcometotheweirabovethevillage,andthethunderofriotouscoolwaterwasheavyintheair.Treesdippedintothetranslucentstreamwithslendertrailing branches, and the meadow where they stood was starred withmidsummerblossomings.Larksshotupcarolingintothecrystaldomeofblue,andathousandvoicesofJunesangroundthem.Frank,bare-headedaswashiswont,withhiscoatslungoverhisarmandhisshirtsleevesrolledupabovetheelbow, stood there like some beautiful wild animal with eyes half-shut andmouthhalf-open, drinking in the scentedwarmthof the air.Then suddenlyheflunghimselffacedownwardsonthegrassattheedgeofthestream,buryinghisfaceinthedaisiesandcowslips,andlaystretchedthereinwide-armedecstasy,withhis long fingerspressingand stroking thedewyherbsof the field.Neverbefore had Darcy seen him thus fully possessed by his idea; his caressingfingers,hishalf-buriedfacepressedclosetothegrass,eventheclothedlinesofhisfigurewereinstinctwithavitalitythatsomehowwasdifferentfromthatofother men. And some faint glow from it reached Darcy, some thrill, somevibrationfromthatchargedrecumbentbodypassedtohim,andforamomentheunderstoodashehadnotunderstoodbefore,despitehispersistentquestionsandthecandidanswerstheyreceived,howreal,andhowrealizedbyFrank,hisideawas.

Then suddenly the muscles in Frank's neck became stiff and alert, and hehalf-raised his head,whispering, "The Pan-pipes, the Pan-pipes. Close, oh, soclose."

Veryslowly,asifasuddenmovementmightinterruptthemelody,heraisedhimself and leaned on the elbow of his bent arm.His eyes openedwider, thelowerlidsdroopedasifhefocusedhiseyesonsomethingveryfaraway,andthesmile on his face broadened and quivered like sunlight on still water, till theexultanceofitshappinesswasscarcelyhuman.Soheremainedmotionlessand

rapt for some minutes, then the look of listening died from his face, and hebowedhisheadsatisfied.

"Ah,thatwasgood,"hesaid."Howisitpossibleyoudidnothear?Oh,youpoorfellow!Didyoureallyhearnothing?"

AweekofthisoutdoorandstimulatinglifedidwondersinrestoringtoDarcythevigorandhealthwhichhisweeksoffeverhadfilchedfromhim,andashisnormalactivityandhigherpressureofvitalityreturned,heseemedtohimselftofallevenmoreunderthespellwhichthemiracleofFrank'syouthcastoverhim.Twenty timesadayhe foundhimself saying tohimselfsuddenlyat theendofsometenminutes'silentresistancetotheabsurdityofFrank'sidea:"Butitisn'tpossible;itcan'tbepossible,"andfromthefactofhishavingtoassurehimselfso frequently of this, he knew that he was struggling and arguing with aconclusionwhichalreadyhad takenroot inhismind.For inanycaseavisiblelivingmiracle confrontedhim, since itwas equally impossible that this youth,thisboy, tremblingonthevergeofmanhood,wasthirty-five.Yetsuchwasthefact.

Julywas ushered in by a couple of days of blustering and fretful rain, andDarcy, unwilling to risk a chill, kept to the house. But to Frank thisweepingchangeofweather seemed tohavenobearingon thebehaviorofman, andhespenthisdaysexactlyashedidunderthesunsofJune,lyinginhishammock,stretched on the dripping grass, ormaking huge rambling excursions into theforest, the birds hopping from tree to tree after him, to return in the evening,drenched and soaked, but with the same unquenchable flame of joy burningwithinhim.

"Catchcold?"hewouldask,"I'veforgottenhowtodoit,Ithink.Isupposeitmakesone'sbodymoresensiblealways tosleepout-of-doors.Peoplewho liveindoorsalwaysremindmeofsomethingpeeledandskinless."

"Doyoumeantosayyousleptout-of-doorslastnightinthatdeluge?"askedDarcy."Andwhere,mayIask?"

Frankthoughtamoment.

"Isleptinthehammocktillnearlydawn,"hesaid."ForIrememberthelightblinkedintheeastwhenIawoke.ThenIwent—wheredidIgo?—oh,yes,tothemeadowwherethePan-pipessoundedsocloseaweekago.Youwerewithme,doyouremember?ButIalwayshavearugifitiswet."

Andhewentwhistlingupstairs.

Somehow that little touch, his obvious effort to recall where he had slept,brought strangelyhome toDarcy thewonderful romanceofwhichhewas thestillhalf-incredulousbeholder.Sleeptillcloseondawninahammock,thenthetramp—or probably scamper—underneath the windy and weeping heavens totheremoteandlonelymeadowbytheweir!Thepictureofothersuchnightsrosebefore him; Frank sleeping perhaps by the bathing-place under the filteredtwilightof thestars,or thewhiteblazeofmoon-shine,astirandawakeningatsome dead hour, perhaps a space of silent wide-eyed thought, and then awandering through the hushedwoods to some other dormitory, alonewith hishappiness, alone with the joy and the life that suffused and enveloped him,without other thought or desire or aim except the hourly and never-ceasingcommunionwiththejoyofnature.

Theywereinthemiddleofdinnerthatnight,talkingonindifferentsubjects,whenDarcysuddenlybrokeoffinthemiddleofasentence.

"I'vegotit,"hesaid."AtlastI'vegotit."

"Congratulateyou,"saidFrank."Butwhat?"

"Theradicalunsoundnessofyour idea.It is this:Allnaturefromhighest tolowestisfull,crammedfullofsuffering;everylivingorganisminnaturepreyson another, yet in your aim to get close to, to be onewith nature, you leavesufferingaltogetherout;yourunawayfromit,yourefuse to recognize it.Andyouarewaiting,yousay,forthefinalrevelation."

Frank'sbrowcloudedslightly.

"Well?"heasked,ratherwearily.

"Cannot you guess then when the final revelation will be? In joy you aresupreme,Igrantyou that; Ididnotknowamancouldbesomasterof it.Youhavelearnedperhapspracticallyall thatnaturecanteach.Andif,asyouthink,thefinalrevelationiscomingtoyou,itwillbetherevelationofhorror,suffering,death,paininallitshideousforms.Sufferingdoesexist:youhateitandfearit."

Frankhelduphishand.

"Stop;letmethink,"hesaid.

Therewassilenceforalongminute.

"Thatneverstruckme,"hesaidatlength."Itispossiblethatwhatyousuggestis true.DoesthesightofPanmeanthat,doyouthink?Is it thatnature, takeitaltogether,suffershorribly,sufferstoahideousinconceivableextent?ShallIbeshownallthesuffering?"

HegotupandcameroundtowhereDarcysat.

"If it is so, so be it," he said. "Because, my dear fellow, I am near, sosplendidly near to the final revelation. To-day the pipes have sounded almostwithout pause. I have even heard the rustle in the bushes, I believe, of Pan'scoming.Ihaveseen,yes,Isawto-day,thebushespushedasideasifbyahand,andpieceofaface,nothuman,peeredthrough.ButIwasnotfrightened,atleastIdidnotrunawaythistime."

Hetookaturnuptothewindowandbackagain.

"Yes,thereissufferingallthrough,"hesaid,"andIhaveleftitalloutofmysearch.Perhaps,asyousay,therevelationwillbethat.Andinthatcase,itwillbegood-bye.Ihavegoneononeline.Ishallhavegonetoofaralongoneroad,withouthavingexploredtheother.ButIcan'tgobacknow.Iwouldn'tifIcould;notastepwouldIretrace!Inanycase,whatevertherevelationis,itwillbeGod.I'msureofthat."

The rainyweather soonpassed, andwith the returnof the sunDarcyagainjoinedFrankinlongramblingdays.Itgrewextraordinarilyhotter,andwiththefreshburstingoflife,aftertherain,Frank'svitalityseemedtoblazehigherandhigher.Then,asisthehabitoftheEnglishweather,oneeveningcloudsbegantobank themselves up in the west, the sun went down in a glare of copperythunder-rack,andthewholeearthbroilingunderanunspeakableoppressionandsultriness paused and panted for the storm. After sunset the remote fires oflightningbegantowinkandflickeronthehorizon,butwhenbed-timecamethestormseemed tohavemovednonearer, thoughavery lowunceasingnoiseofthunderwasaudible.Wearyandoppressedbythestressoftheday,Darcyfellatonceintoaheavyuncomfortingsleep.

Hewoke suddenly into full consciousness, with the din of some appallingexplosionofthunderinhisears,andsatupinbedwithracingheart.Thenforamoment, as he recovered himself from the panic-land which lies betweensleepingandwaking,therewassilence,exceptforthesteadyhissingofrainon

the shrubs outside his window. But suddenly that silence was shattered andshreddedintofragmentsbyascreamfromsomewherecloseathandoutside inthe black garden, a screamof supreme and despairing terror.Again, and onceagain it shrilled up, and then a babble of awful words was interjected. Aquiveringsobbingvoicethatheknew,said:

"MyGod,oh,myGod;oh,Christ!"

Andthenfollowedalittlemocking,bleatinglaugh.Thenwassilenceagain;onlytherainhissedontheshrubs.

All thiswasbut theaffairofamoment, andwithoutpauseeither toputonclothesorlightacandle,Darcywasalreadyfumblingathisdoor-handle.Evenasheopenedithemeta terror-strickenfaceoutside, thatof theman-servantwhocarriedalight.

"Didyouhear?"heasked.

Theman'sfacewasbleachedtoadullshiningwhiteness.

"Yes,sir,"hesaid."Itwasthemaster'svoice."

Togethertheyhurrieddownthestairs,andthroughthedining-roomwhereanorderlytableforbreakfasthadalreadybeenlaid,andoutontotheterrace.Therainforthemomenthadbeenutterlystayed,asifthetapoftheheavenshadbeenturnedoff,andundertheloweringblacksky,notquitedark,sincethemoonrodesomewhere serene behind the conglomerated thunder-clouds, Darcy stumbledintothegarden,followedbytheservantwiththecandle.Themonstrousleapingshadowofhimselfwascastbeforehimonthelawn;lostandwanderingodorsofroseandlilyanddampearthwerethickabouthim,butmorepungentwassomesharpandacridsmellthatsuddenlyremindedhimofacertainchâletinwhichhehadonce taken refuge in theAlps. In theblacknessof thehazy light from thesky,andthevaguetossingofthecandlebehindhim,hesawthatthehammockinwhichFranksooftenlaywastenanted.Agleamofwhiteshirtwasthere,asifamansittingupinit,butacrossthattherewasanobscuredarkshadow,andasheapproachedtheacridodorgrewmoreintense.

Hewas now only some few yards away,when suddenly the black shadow

seemedtojumpintotheair,thencamedownwithtappingsofhardhoofsonthebrickpaththatrandownthepergola,andwithfrolicsomeskippingsgallopedoffintothebushes.WhenthatwasgoneDarcycouldseequiteclearlythatashirtedfiguresatupinthehammock.Foronemoment,fromsheerterroroftheunseen,he hung on his step, and the servant joining him theywalked together to thehammock.

ItwasFrank.Hewas in shirt and trousers only, and he sat upwith bracedarms. For one half-second he stared at them, his face a mask of horriblecontorted terror. His upper lip was drawn back so that the gums of the teethappeared,andhiseyeswerefocusednotonthetwowhoapproachedhimbutonsomethingquiteclosetohim;hisnostrilswerewidelyexpanded,asifhepantedforbreath,andterrorincarnateandrepulsionanddeathlyanguishruleddreadfullines on his smooth cheeks and forehead. Then even as they looked the bodysankbackwards,andtheropesofthehammockwheezedandstrained.

Darcy liftedhimoutandcarriedhim indoors.Oncehe thought therewasafaintconvulsivestirofthelimbsthatlaywithsodeadaweightinhisarms,butwhentheygotinside,therewasnotraceoflife.Butthelookofsupremeterrorandagonyoffearhadgonefromhisface,aboytiredwithplaybutstillsmilingin his sleepwas the burdenhe laid on the floor.His eyes had closed, and thebeautifulmouthlayinsmilingcurves,evenaswhenafewmorningsago,inthemeadowbytheweir,ithadquiveredtothemusicoftheunheardmelodyofPan'spipes.Thentheylookedfurther.

Frank had come back from his bath before dinner that night in his usualcostume of shirt and trousers only.He had not dressed, and during dinner, soDarcyremembered,hehadrolledupthesleevesofhisshirttoabovetheelbow.Later,astheysatandtalkedafterdinnerontheclosesultrinessoftheevening,hehadunbuttonedthefrontofhisshirt to letwhat littlebreathofwindtherewasplay on his skin. The sleeves were rolled up now, the front of the shirt wasunbuttoned, and on his arms and on the brown skin of his chestwere strangediscolorationswhichgrewmomentlymoreclearanddefined, till theysawthatthemarkswerepointedprints,asifcausedbythehoofsofsomemonstrousgoatthathadleapedandstampeduponhim.

THEWOMAN'SGHOSTSTORY[I]

BYALGERNONBLACKWOOD

"Yes,"shesaid,fromherseatinthedarkcorner,"I'lltellyouanexperienceifyou care to listen. And, what's more, I'll tell it briefly, without trimmings—Imeanwithoutunessentials.That'sathingstory-tellersneverdo,youknow,"shelaughed. "They drag in all the unessentials and leave their listeners todisentangle;butI'llgiveyoujusttheessentials,andyoucanmakeofitwhatyouplease. But on one condition: that at the end you ask no questions, because Ican'texplainitandhavenowishto."

Weagreed.Wewereallserious.Afterlisteningtoadozenprolixstoriesfrompeople who merely wished to "talk" but had nothing to tell, we wanted"essentials."

"In those days," she began, feeling from the quality of our silence thatwewere with her, "in those days I was interested in psychic things, and hadarranged to situpalone inahauntedhouse in themiddleofLondon. Itwasacheapanddingylodging-houseinameanstreet,unfurnished.Ihadalreadymadea preliminary examination in daylight that afternoon, and the keys from thecaretaker,wholivednextdoor,wereinmypocket.Thestorywasagoodone—satisfiedme,atanyrate,thatitwasworthinvestigating;andIwon'twearyyouwithdetailsastothewoman'smurderandallthetiresomeelaborationastowhytheplacewasalive.Enoughthatitwas.

"Iwas a good deal bored, therefore, to see aman,whom I took to be thetalkativeoldcaretaker,waitingformeonthestepswhenIwentinat11P.M.,forIhadsufficientlyexplainedthatIwishedtobetherealoneforthenight.

"'I wished to show you the room,' he mumbled, and of course I couldn'texactlyrefuse,havingtippedhimforthetemporaryloanofachairandtable.

"'Comein,then,andlet'sbequick,'Isaid.

"Wewentin,heshufflingaftermethroughtheunlightedhalluptothefirstfloor where the murder had taken place, and I prepared myself to hear hisinevitable account before turning him out with the half-crown his persistence

hadearned.AfterlightingthegasIsatdowninthearm-chairhehadprovided—afaded,brownplusharm-chair—andturnedforthefirsttimetofacehimandgetthroughwiththeperformanceasquicklyaspossible.AnditwasinthatinstantIgotmyfirstshock.Themanwasnotthecaretaker.Itwasnottheoldfool,Carey,Ihad interviewedearlier in thedayandmademyplanswith.Myheartgaveahorridjump.

"'Nowwhoareyou,pray?'Isaid.'You'renotCarey,themanIarrangedwiththisafternoon.Whoareyou?'

"Ifeltuncomfortable,asyoumayimagine.Iwasa'psychicalresearcher,'andayoungwomanofnewtendencies,andproudofmyliberty,butIdidnotcaretofindmyselfinanemptyhousewithastranger.Somethingofmyconfidenceleftme.Confidencewithwomen,youknow,isallhumbugafteracertainpoint.Orperhapsyoudon'tknow,formostofyouaremen.Butanyhowmypluckebbedinaquickrush,andIfeltafraid.

"'Who are you?' I repeated quickly and nervously. The fellow was welldressed,youngishandgood-looking,butwithafaceofgreatsadness. Imyselfwasbarelythirty.Iamgivingyouessentials,orIwouldnotmentionit.Outofquiteordinarythingscomesthisstory.Ithinkthat'swhyithasvalue.

"'No,'hesaid;'I'mthemanwhowasfrightenedtodeath.'

"Hisvoiceandhiswordsranthroughmelikeaknife,andIfeltreadytodrop.In my pocket was the book I had bought to make notes in. I felt the pencilstickinginthesocket.Ifelt,too,theextrawarmthingsIhadputontositupin,as no bed or sofa was available—a hundred things dashed throughmymind,foolishly andwithout sequence ormeaning, as the way is when one is reallyfrightened.Unessentials leaped up and puzzledme, and I thought ofwhat thepapersmightsayifitcameout,andwhatmy'smart'brother-in-lawwouldthink,andwhetheritwouldbetoldthatIhadcigarettesinmypocket,andwasafree-thinker.

"'Themanwhowasfrightenedtodeath!'Irepeatedaghast.

"'That'sme,'hesaidstupidly.

"I stared at him just as you would have done—any one of you men nowlisteningtome—andfeltmylifeebbingandflowinglikeasortofhotfluid.Youneedn't laugh!That's how I felt. Small things, youknow, touch themindwith

greatearnestnesswhen terror is there—real terror.But Imighthavebeenat amiddle-classtea-party,foralltheideasIhad:theyweresoordinary!

"'ButIthoughtyouwerethecaretakerItippedthisafternoontoletmesleephere!'Igasped.'Did—didCareysendyoutomeetme?'

"'No,'he replied inavoice that touchedmyboots somehow. 'I am themanwhowasfrightenedtodeath.Andwhatismore,Iamfrightenednow!'

"'SoamI!'Imanagedtoutter,speakinginstinctively.'I'msimplyterrified.'

"'Yes,'herepliedinthatsameoddvoicethatseemedtosoundwithinme.'Butyouarestillintheflesh,andI—amnot!'

"I felt the need for vigorous self-assertion. I stood up in that empty,unfurnishedroom,diggingthenailsintomypalmsandclenchingmyteeth.Iwasdetermined to assertmy individuality andmy courage as a newwoman and afreesoul.

"'Youmeantosayyouarenotintheflesh!'Igasped.'Whatintheworldareyoutalkingabout?'

"Thesilenceofthenightswallowedupmyvoice.ForthefirsttimeIrealizedthatdarknesswasoverthecity;thatdustlayuponthestairs;thatthefloorabovewas untenanted and the floor below empty. Iwas alone in an unoccupied andhauntedhouse,unprotected,andawoman.Ichilled.Iheardthewindroundthehouse, andknew the starswerehidden.My thoughts rushed to policemen andomnibuses,andeverything thatwasusefulandcomforting. IsuddenlyrealizedwhatafoolIwastocometosuchahousealone.Iwasicilyafraid.Ithoughttheendofmylifehadcome.IwasanutterfooltogoinforpsychicalresearchwhenIhadnotthenecessarynerve.

"'GoodGod!'Igasped.'Ifyou'renotCarey,themanIarrangedwith,whoareyou?'

"Iwasreallystiffwithterror.Themanmovedslowlytowardsmeacrosstheempty room. Iheldoutmyarm tostophim,gettingupoutofmychairat thesamemoment,andhecametohaltjustoppositetome,asmileonhisworn,sadface.

"'ItoldyouwhoIam,'herepeatedquietlywithasigh,lookingatmewiththesaddesteyesIhaveeverseen,'andIamfrightenedstill.'

"By this time I was convinced that I was entertaining either a rogue or amadman,andIcursedmystupidityinbringingthemaninwithouthavingseenhis face.Mymindwas quicklymade up, and I knewwhat to do.Ghosts andpsychicphenomena flew to thewinds. If I angered the creaturemy lifemightpaytheprice.ImusthumorhimtillIgottothedoor,andthenraceforthestreet.I stood bolt upright and faced him.We were about of a height, and I was astrong, athletic woman who played hockey in winter and climbed Alps insummer.Myhanditchedforastick,butIhadnone.

"'Now,ofcourse,Iremember,'Isaidwithasortofstiffsmilethatwasveryhardtoforce.'NowIrememberyourcaseandthewonderfulwayyoubehaved....'

"Theman stared atme stupidly, turning his head towatchme as I backedmoreandmorequicklytothedoor.ButwhenhisfacebrokeintoasmileIcouldcontrolmyself no longer. I reached the door in a run, and shot out on to thelanding. Like a fool, I turned the wrong way, and stumbled over the stairsleadingtothenextstory.Butitwastoolatetochange.Themanwasafterme,Iwas sure, thoughno soundof footstepscame;and Idashedup thenext flight,tearingmyskirtandbangingmyribsinthedarkness,andrushedheadlongintothefirst roomIcame to.Luckily thedoorstoodajar,and, stillmore fortunate,therewasakeyinthelock.InasecondIhadslammedthedoor,flungmywholeweightagainstit,andturnedthekey.

"Iwassafe,butmyheartwasbeatinglikeadrum.Asecondlateritseemedtostop altogether, for I saw that there was some one else in the room besidesmyself. A man's figure stood between me and the windows, where the streetlampsgavejustenoughlighttooutlinehisshapeagainsttheglass.I'mapluckywoman,youknow,foreventhenIdidn'tgiveuphope,butImaytellyouthatIhaveneverfeltsovilelyfrightenedinallmyborndays.Ihadlockedmyselfinwithhim!

"Themanleanedagainstthewindow,watchingmewhereIlayinacollapsedheapupon the floor.So therewere twomen in thehousewithme, I reflected.Perhapsotherroomswereoccupiedtoo!Whatcoulditallmean?But,asIstaredsomethingchangedintheroom,orinme—hardtosaywhich—andIrealizedmymistake, so that my fear, which had so far been physical, at once altered itscharacter and becamepsychical. I became afraid inmy soul instead of inmyheart,andIknewimmediatelywhothismanwas.

"'Howintheworlddidyougetuphere?'Istammeredtohimacrosstheemptyroom,amazementmomentarilystemmingmyfear.

"'Now,letmetellyou,'hebegan,inthatoddfarawayvoiceofhisthatwentdownmyspinelikeaknife.'I'mindifferentspace,foronething,andyou'dfindmeinanyroomyouwentinto;foraccordingtoyourwayofmeasuring,I'malloverthehouse.Spaceisabodilycondition,butIamoutofthebody,andamnotaffected by space. It's my condition that keepsme here. I want something tochangemyconditionforme,forthenIcouldgetaway.WhatIwantissympathy.Or,really,morethansympathy;Iwantaffection—Iwantlove!'

"WhilehewasspeakingIgatheredmyselfslowlyuponmyfeet.Iwantedtoscreamandcryand laughall atonce,but Ionly succeeded in sighing, formyemotion was exhausted and a numbness was coming over me. I felt for thematchesinmypocketandmadeamovementtowardsthegasjet.

"'Ishouldbemuchhappierifyoudidn'tlightthegas,'hesaidatonce,'forthevibrationsofyourlighthurtmeagooddeal.YouneednotbeafraidthatIshallinjureyou.Ican't touchyourbodytobeginwith,forthere'sagreatgulffixed,youknow;andreallythishalf-lightsuitsmebest.Now,letmecontinuewhatIwastryingtosaybefore.Youknow,somanypeoplehavecometothishousetoseeme,andmostofthemhaveseenme,andoneandallhavebeenterrified.Ifonly, oh, if only someonewould benot terrified, but kind and loving tome!Then,yousee,Imightbeabletochangemyconditionandgetaway.'

"HisvoicewassosadthatIfelttearsstartsomewhereatthebackofmyeyes;butfearkeptallelseincheck,andIstoodshakingandcoldasIlistenedtohim.

"'Who are you then? Of course Carey didn't send you, I know now,' Imanagedtoutter.MythoughtsscattereddreadfullyandIcouldthinkofnothingtosay.Iwasafraidofastroke.

"'IknownothingaboutCarey,orwhoheis,'continuedthemanquietly,'andthenamemybodyhadIhaveforgotten,thankGod;butIamthemanwhowasfrightenedtodeathinthishousetenyearsago,andIhavebeenfrightenedeversince,andamfrightenedstill;forthesuccessionofcruelandcuriouspeoplewhocometothishousetoseetheghost,andthuskeepaliveitsatmosphereofterror,onlyhelpstorendermyconditionworse.Ifonlysomeonewouldbekindtome—laugh, speak gently and rationally with me, cry if they like, pity, comfort,sootheme—anything but come here in curiosity and tremble as you are nowdoinginthatcorner.Now,madam,won'tyoutakepityonme?'Hisvoiceroseto

adreadfulcry.'Won'tyoustepoutintothemiddleoftheroomandtrytolovemealittle?'

"Ahorrible laughter camegurglingup inmy throat as Iheardhim,but thesenseofpitywasstrongerthanthelaughter,andIfoundmyselfactuallyleavingthesupportofthewallandapproachingthecenterofthefloor.

"'ByGod!'hecried,atoncestraighteningupagainst thewindow, 'youhavedone a kind act. That's the first attempt at sympathy that has been shownmesince I died, and I feel better already. In life, youknow, Iwas amisanthrope.Everythingwentwrongwithme,andIcametohatemyfellowmensomuchthatIcouldn'tbear tosee themeven.Ofcourse, likebegets like,and thishatewasreturned. Finally I suffered from horrible delusions, and my room becamehaunted with demons that laughed and grimaced, and one night I ran into awholeclusterofthemnearthebed—andthefrightstoppedmyheartandkilledme.It'shateandremorse,asmuchasterror,thatclogsmesothicklyandkeepsmehere.Ifonlysomeonecouldfeelpity,andsympathy,andperhapsalittleloveforme, I couldget away andbehappy.Whenyou came this afternoon to seeoverthehouseIwatchedyou,andalittlehopecametomeforthefirsttime.Isaw you had courage, originality, resource—love. If only I could touch yourheart,without frightening you, I knew I could perhaps tap that love you havestoredupinyourbeingthere,andthusborrowthewingsformyescape!'

"NowImustconfessmyheartbegantoachealittle,asfearleftmeandtheman's words sank their sad meaning into me. Still, the whole affair was soincredible, and so touched with unholy quality, and the story of a woman'smurderIhadcometoinvestigatehadsoobviouslynothingtodowiththisthing,that I felt myself in a kind of wild dream that seemed likely to stop at anymomentandleavemesomewhereinbedafteranightmare.

"Moreover, his words possessed me to such an extent that I found itimpossible to reflect upon anything else at all, or to consider adequately anywaysormeansofactionorescape.

"Imoveda littlenearer tohim in thegloom,horribly frightened,ofcourse,butwiththebeginningsofastrangedeterminationinmyheart.

"'Youwomen,'hecontinued,hisvoiceplainlythrillingatmyapproach, 'youwonderfulwomen, towhom lifeoftenbringsnoopportunityof spendingyourgreat love,oh, ifyouonlycouldknowhowmanyofus simplyyearnfor it! Itwouldsaveoursouls,ifbutyouknew.Fewmightfindthechancethatyounow

have,butifyouonlyspentyourlovefreely,withoutdefiniteobject,justlettingitflowopenlyforallwhoneed,youwouldreachhundredsandthousandsofsoulslikeme,andreleaseus!Oh,madam,Iaskyouagaintofeelwithme,tobekindandgentle—andifyoucantolovemealittle!'

"Myheartdidleapwithinmeandthistimethetearsdidcome,forIcouldnotrestrainthem.Ilaughedtoo,forthewayhecalledme'madam'soundedsoodd,hereinthisemptyroomatmidnightinaLondonstreet,butmylaughterstoppeddeadandmergedinafloodofweepingwhenIsawhowmychangeoffeelingaffectedhim.Hehadlefthisplacebythewindowandwaskneelingontheflooratmyfeet,hishandsstretchedout towardsme,andthefirstsignsofakindofgloryabouthishead.

"'Putyourarmsroundmeandkissme,for the loveofGod!'hecried. 'Kissme,oh,kissme,andIshallbefreed!Youhavedonesomuchalready—nowdothis!'

"Istuck there,hesitating,shaking,mydeterminationon thevergeofaction,yetnotquiteabletocompassit.Buttheterrorhadalmostgone.

"'Forget that I'm a man and you're a woman,' he continued in the mostbeseechingvoiceIeverheard.'ForgetthatI'maghost,andcomeoutboldlyandpressmetoyouwithagreatkiss,andletyourloveflowintome.Forgetyourselfjustforoneminuteanddoabravething!Oh,loveme,loveme,LOVEME!andIshallbefree!'

"Thewords, or the deep force they somehow released in the center ofmybeing,stirredmeprofoundly,andanemotioninfinitelygreaterthanfearsurgedupovermeandcarriedmewithitacrosstheedgeofaction.WithouthesitationItooktwostepsforwardtowardshimwhereheknelt,andheldoutmyarms.Pityand lovewere inmyheart at thatmoment, genuinepity, I swear, andgenuinelove. I forgotmyself andmy little tremblings inagreatdesire tohelpanothersoul.

"'I love you! poor, aching, unhappy thing! I love you,' I cried through hottears;'andIamnottheleastbitafraidintheworld.'

"Themanutteredacurioussound,likelaughter,yetnotlaughter,andturnedhisfaceuptome.Thelightfromthestreetbelowfellonit,buttherewasanotherlight, too,shiningall roundit thatseemedtocomefromtheeyesandskin.Herose tohis feet andmetme,and in that second I foldedhim tomybreast and

kissedhimfullonthelipsagainandagain."

Allourpipeshadgoneout,andnotevenaskirtrustledinthatdarkstudioasthestory-tellerpausedamomenttosteadyhervoice,andputahandsoftlyuptohereyesbeforegoingonagain.

"Now,whatcanIsay,andhowcanIdescribetoyou,allyouskepticalmensittingtherewithpipesinyourmouths,theamazingsensationIexperiencedofholdinganintangible,impalpablethingsocloselytomyheartthatittouchedmybodywithequalpressureall thewaydown,and thenmeltedawaysomewhereintomyverybeing?For itwas like seizing a rushof coolwind and feeling atouchofburningfirethemomentithadstruckitsswiftblowandpassedon.Aseriesofshocksranalloverandallthroughme;amomentaryecstasyofflamingsweetnessandwonderthrilleddownintome;myheartgaveanothergreatleap—andthenIwasalone.

"Theroomwasempty.Iturnedonthegasandstruckamatchtoproveit.Allfearhadleftme,andsomethingwassingingroundmeintheairandinmyheartlike the joy of a spring morning in youth. Not all the devils or shadows orhauntingsintheworldcouldthenhavecausedmeasingletremor.

"Iunlockedthedoorandwentalloverthedarkhouse,evenintokitchenandcellarandupamongtheghostlyattics.Butthehousewasempty.Somethinghadleft it. I lingered a short hour, analyzing, thinking,wondering—you canguesswhat and how, perhaps, but I won't detail, for I promised only essentials,remember—and thenwent out to sleep the remainder of the night inmy ownflat,lockingthedoorbehindmeuponahousenolongerhaunted.

"Butmyuncle,SirHenry,theownerofthehouse,requiredanaccountofmyadventure,andofcourse Iwas indutybound togivehimsomekindofa truestory.BeforeIcouldbegin,however,hehelduphishandtostopme.

"'First,'hesaid,'IwishtotellyoualittledeceptionIventuredtopracticeonyou.SomanypeoplehavebeentothathouseandseentheghostthatIcametothinkthestoryactedontheirimaginations,andIwishedtomakeabettertest.SoI invented for their benefit another story, with the idea that if you did seeanythingIcouldbesureitwasnotduemerelytoanexcitedimagination.'

"'Thenwhatyoutoldmeaboutawomanhavingbeenmurdered,andallthat,wasnotthetruestoryofthehaunting?'

"'Itwasnot.Thetruestoryisthatacousinofminewentmadinthathouse,and killed himself in a fit ofmorbid terror following upon years ofmiserablehypochondriasis.Itishisfigurethatinvestigatorssee.'

"'Thatexplains,then,'Igasped——

"'Explainswhat?'

"Ithoughtofthatpoorstrugglingsoul,longingalltheseyearsforescape,anddeterminedtokeepmystoryforthepresenttomyself.

"'Explains, Imean,why I did not see the ghost of themurderedwoman,' Iconcluded.

"'Precisely,'saidSirHenry,'andwhy,ifyouhadseenanything,itwouldhavehad value, inasmuch as it could not have been caused by the imaginationworkinguponastoryyoualreadyknew.'"

THEPHANTOM'RICKSHAW

BYRUDYARDKIPLING

"Maynoilldreamsdisturbmyrest,NorPowersofDarknessmemolest."

—EveningHymn.

One of the few advantages that India has over England is a certain greatKnowability.Afterfiveyears'serviceamanisdirectlyorindirectlyacquaintedwiththetwoorthreehundredCiviliansinhisProvince,alltheMessesoftenortwelveRegiments andBatteries, and some fifteenhundredother peopleof thenon-officialcastes.Intenyearshisknowledgeshouldbedoubled,andattheendoftwentyheknows,orknowssomethingabout,almosteveryEnglishmanintheEmpire,andmaytravelanywhereandeverywherewithoutpayinghotel-bills.

Globe-trotters who expect entertainment as a right, have, even within mymemory,bluntedthisopen-heartedness,but,nonetheless,to-dayifyoubelongtotheInnerCircleandareneitherabearnorablacksheepallhousesareopentoyouandoursmallworldisverykindandhelpful.

RickettofKamarthastayedwithPolderofKumaon,somefifteenyearsago.Hemeant to stay twonights only, butwasknockeddownby rheumatic fever,and for sixweeks disorganized Polder's establishment, stopped Polder'swork,and nearly died in Polder's bed-room. Polder behaves as though he had beenplacedundereternalobligationbyRickett,andyearlysendsthelittleRickettsaboxofpresentsandtoys.It is thesameeverywhere.Themenwhodonot takethe trouble toconceal fromyou theiropinion thatyouarean incompetentass,and the women who blacken your character and misunderstand your wife'samusements,willworkthemselvestotheboneinyourbehalfifyoufallsickorintoserioustrouble.

Heatherlegh,theDoctor,kept,inadditiontohisregularpractice,ahospitalonhisprivate account—anarrangementof loose-boxes for Incurables, his friendscalled it—but it was really a sort of fitting-up shed for craft that had beendamagedbystressofweather.TheweatherinIndiaisoftensultry,andsincethetaleofbricks is a fixedquantity, and theonly libertyallowed ispermission to

workovertimeandgetnothanks,menoccasionallybreakdownandbecomeasmixedasthemetaphorsinthissentence.

Heatherleghisthenicestdoctorthateverwas,andhisinvariableprescriptiontoallhispatientsis"lielow,goslow,andkeepcool."Hesaysthatmoremenarekilledbyoverworkthantheimportanceofthisworldjustifies.HemaintainsthatoverworkslewPansaywhodiedunderhishandsaboutthreeyearsago.Hehas,ofcourse,therighttospeakauthoritatively,andhelaughsatmytheorythattherewasacrackinPansay'sheadandalittlebitoftheDarkWorldcamethroughandpressedhimtodeath."Pansaywentoffthehandle,"saysHeatherlegh,"afterthestimulus of long leave at Home. Hemay or hemay not have behaved like ablackguard to Mrs. Keith-Wessington. My notion is that the work of theKatabundi Settlement ran him off his legs, and that he took to brooding andmakingmuchofanordinaryP.&O.flirtation.HecertainlywasengagedtoMissMannering,andshecertainlybrokeofftheengagement.Thenhetookafeverishchill and all that nonsense about ghosts developed itself.Overwork startedhisillness,keptitalight,andkilledhim,poordevil.WritehimofftotheSystem—onemantodotheworkoftwo-and-a-halfmen."

I do not believe this. I used to sit up with Pansay sometimes whenHeatherleghwascalledout tovisitpatientsandIhappenedtobewithinclaim.Themanwouldmakememostunhappybydescribinginalow,evenvoicetheprocessionofmen,women,children,anddevils thatwasalwayspassingat thebottom of his bed. He had a sick man's command of language. When herecoveredIsuggestedthatheshouldwriteoutthewholeaffairfrombeginningtoend,knowingthatinkmightassisthimtoeasehismind.Whenlittleboyshavelearnedanewbadwordtheyareneverhappytill theyhavechalkedituponadoor.AndthisalsoisLiterature.

He was in a high fever while he was writing, and the blood-and-thunderMagazine style he adopted did not calm him. Twomonths afterwards hewasreportedfitforduty,but,inspiteofthefactthathewasurgentlyneededtohelpan undermanned Commission stagger through a deficit, he preferred to die;vowing at the last that hewas hag-ridden. I secured hismanuscript before hedied,andthisishisversionoftheaffair,dated1885:—

MydoctortellsmethatIneedrestandchangeofair.Itisnotimprobablethat

Ishallgetbotherelong—restthatneitherthered-coatedorderlynorthemid-dayguncanbreak, andchangeof air far beyond thatwhich anyhomeward-boundsteamercangiveme.InthemeantimeIamresolvedtostaywhereIam;and,inflatdefianceofmydoctor'sorders,totakealltheworldintomyconfidence.Youshalllearnforyourselvestheprecisenatureofmymalady;andshall,too,judgeforyourselveswhetheranymanbornofwomanonthiswearyearthwaseversotormentedasI.

Speaking now as a condemned criminalmight speak ere the drop-bolts aredrawn,mystory,wildandhideously improbableas itmayappear,demandsatleast attention. That it will ever receive credence I utterly disbelieve. TwomonthsagoIshouldhavescoutedasmadordrunkthemanwhohaddaredtellme the like. Twomonths ago I was the happiest man in India. To-day, fromPeshawartothesea,thereisnoonemorewretched.MydoctorandIaretheonlytwowhoknowthis.Hisexplanationisthatmybrain,digestionandeyesightareall slightly affected; giving rise to my frequent and persistent "delusions."Delusions, indeed! I call him a fool; but he attends me still with the sameunweariedsmile,thesameblandprofessionalmanner,thesameneatly-trimmedred whiskers, till I begin to suspect that I am an ungrateful, evil-temperedinvalid.Butyoushalljudgeforyourselves.

Three years ago it was my fortune—my great misfortune—to sail fromGravesend to Bombay, on return from long leave, with one Agnes Keith-Wessington, wife of an officer on the Bombay side. It does not in the leastconcern you to know what manner of woman she was. Be content with theknowledgethat,erethevoyagehadended,bothsheandIweredesperatelyandunreasoningly in love with one another. Heaven knows that I can make theadmission now without one particle of vanity. In matters of this sort there isalways onewhogives and anotherwho accepts. From the first dayof our ill-omenedattachment,IwasconsciousthatAgnes'spassionwasastronger,amoredominant, and—if I may use the expression—a purer sentiment than mine.Whethersherecognizedthefactthen,Idonotknow.Afterwardsitwasbitterlyplaintobothofus.

ArrivedatBombayinthespringoftheyear,wewentourrespectiveways,tomeet nomore for the next three or fourmonths,whenmy leave and her lovetookusbothtoSimla.Therewespenttheseasontogether;andtheremyfireofstrawburntitselfouttoapitifulendwiththeclosingyear.Iattemptnoexcuse.Imake no apology.Mrs.Wessington had given upmuch formy sake, andwaspreparedtogiveupall.Frommyownlips,inAugust,1882,shelearntthatIwas

sickofherpresence,tiredofhercompany,andwearyofthesoundofhervoice.Ninety-ninewomenoutofahundredwouldhaveweariedofmeasIweariedofthem;seventy-fiveofthatnumberwouldhavepromptlyavengedthemselvesbyactive and obtrusive flirtation with other men. Mrs. Wessington was thehundredth. On her neither my openly-expressed aversion, nor the cuttingbrutalitieswithwhichIgarnishedourinterviewshadtheleasteffect.

"Jack,darling!"washeroneeternalcuckoo-cry,"I'msureit'sallamistake—ahideousmistake;andwe'llbegoodfriendsagainsomeday.Pleaseforgiveme,Jack,dear."

Iwastheoffender,andIknewit.Thatknowledgetransformedmypityintopassiveendurance,and,eventually,intoblindhate—thesameinstinct,Isuppose,whichpromptsamantosavagelystamponthespiderhehasbuthalfkilled.Andwiththishateinmybosomtheseasonof1882cametoanend.

NextyearwemetagainatSimla—shewithhermonotonousfaceand timidattemptsatreconciliation,andIwithloathingofherineveryfiberofmyframe.Several times I could not avoidmeeting her alone; and on each occasion herwords were identically the same. Still the unreasoning wail that it was all a"mistake";andstillthehopeofeventually"makingfriends."Imighthaveseen,hadIcared to look, that thathopeonlywaskeepingheralive.Shegrewmorewan and thin month by month. You will agree with me, at least, that suchconduct would have driven any one to despair. It was uncalled for, childish,unwomanly. Imaintain thatshewasmuch toblame.Andagain,sometimes, intheblack,fever-strickennightwatches,IhavebeguntothinkthatImighthavebeen a little kinder to her. But that really is a "delusion." I could not havecontinued pretending to love her when I didn't; could I? It would have beenunfairtousboth.

Last year we met again—on the same terms as before. The same wearyappeals,andthesamecurtanswersfrommylips.AtleastIwouldmakeherseehow wholly wrong and hopeless were her attempts at resuming the oldrelationship.As the seasonworeon,we fell apart—that is to say, she found itdifficult tomeetme, for Ihadotherandmoreabsorbing interests toattend to.When I think it over quietly in my sick-room, the season of 1884 seems aconfused nightmarewherein light and shadewere fantastically intermingled—my courtship of littleKittyMannering;my hopes, doubts and fears; our longridestogether;mytremblingavowalofattachment;herreply;andnowandagaina vision of a white face flitting by in the 'rickshawwith the black andwhite

liveriesIoncewatchedforsoearnestly; thewaveofMrs.Wessington'sglovedhand; and, when she met me alone, which was but seldom, the irksomemonotonyofherappeal. I lovedKittyMannering,honestly,heartily lovedher,andwithmyloveforhergrewmyhatredforAgnes.InAugustKittyandIwereengaged.ThenextdayImetthoseaccursed"magpie"jhampaniesatthebackofJakko, and, moved by some passing sentiment of pity, stopped to tell Mrs.Wessingtoneverything.Sheknewitalready.

"SoIhearyou'reengaged,Jackdear."Then,withoutamoment'spause:"I'msureit'sallamistake—ahideousmistake.Weshallbeasgoodfriendssomeday,Jack,asweeverwere."

My answer might have made even a man wince. It cut the dying womanbeforeme like theblowof awhip. "Please forgiveme, Jack; I didn'tmean tomakeyouangry;butit'strue,it'strue!"

AndMrs.Wessingtonbrokedowncompletely.I turnedawayandlefthertofinish her journey in peace, feeling, but only for amoment or two, that I hadbeenanunutterablymeanhound.Ilookedback,andsawthatshehadturnedher'rickshawwiththeidea,Isuppose,ofovertakingme.

Thesceneanditssurroundingswerephotographedonmymemory.Therain-sweptsky(wewereattheendofthewetweather),thesodden,dingypines,themuddy road, and the black powder-riven cliffs formed a gloomy backgroundagainstwhichtheblackandwhiteliveriesofthejhampanies,theyellow-paneled'rickshawandMrs.Wessington'sdown-bowedgoldenheadstoodoutclearly.Shewasholdingherhandkerchief inher lefthandandwas leaningbackexhaustedagainstthe'rickshawcushions.IturnedmyhorseupabypathneartheSanjowlieReservoirand literally ranaway.Once I fancied Ihearda faintcallof "Jack!"Thismayhavebeenimagination.Ineverstoppedtoverifyit.TenminuteslaterIcame across Kitty on horseback; and, in the delight of a long ride with her,forgotallabouttheinterview.

A week later Mrs. Wessington died, and the inexpressible burden of herexistencewasremovedfrommylife.IwentPlainswardperfectlyhappy.Beforethreemonthswere over I had forgotten all about her, except that at times thediscovery of some of her old letters remindedme unpleasantly of our bygonerelationship.ByJanuary Ihaddisinterredwhatwas leftofourcorrespondencefromamongmyscatteredbelongingsandhadburntit.AtthebeginningofAprilof thisyear,1885, IwasatSimla—semi-desertedSimla—oncemore, andwas

deep in lover's talks and walks with Kitty. It was decided that we should bemarriedattheendofJune.Youwillunderstand,therefore,that,lovingKittyasIdid, I am not saying toomuchwhen I pronouncemyself to have been, at thetime,thehappiestmaninIndia.

Fourteen delightful days passed almost before I noticed their flight. Then,aroused to the sense ofwhatwas proper amongmortals circumstanced aswewere,IpointedouttoKittythatanengagement-ringwastheoutwardandvisiblesign of her dignity as an engaged girl; and that she must forthwith come toHamilton'stobemeasuredforone.Uptothatmoment,Igiveyoumyword,wehadcompletelyforgottensotrivialamatter.ToHamilton'sweaccordinglywentonthe15thofApril,1885.Rememberthat—whatevermydoctormaysaytothecontrary—Iwas then in perfect health, enjoying awell-balancedmind and anabsolutelytranquilspirit.KittyandIenteredHamilton'sshoptogether,andthere,regardless of the order of affairs, ImeasuredKitty's finger for the ring in thepresenceof theamusedassistant.The ringwasasapphirewith twodiamonds.We then rode out down the slope that leads to the Combermere Bridge andPeliti'sshop.

While myWaler was cautiously feeling his way over the loose shale, andKittywaslaughingandchatteringatmyside—whileallSimla,thatistosayasmuchof itashadthencomefromthePlains,wasgroupedroundtheReading-room and Peliti's veranda—I was aware that some one, apparently at a vastdistance,wascallingmebymyChristianname.ItstruckmethatIhadheardthevoice before, butwhen andwhere I could not at once determine. In the shortspaceit tooktocover theroadbetweenthepathfromHamilton'sshopandthefirst plank of theCombermereBridge I had thought over half-a-dozen peoplewhomighthavecommittedsuchasolecism,andhadeventuallydecidedthatitmusthavebeensomesinginginmyears.ImmediatelyoppositePeliti'sshopmyeye was arrested by the sight of four jhampanies in black and white livery,pulling a yellow-paneled, cheap, bazar 'rickshaw. In amomentmymind flewbacktothepreviousseasonandMrs.Wessingtonwithasenseofirritationanddisgust.Wasitnotenoughthatthewomanwasdeadanddonewith,withoutherblack and white servitors re-appearing to spoil the day's happiness?WhoeveremployedthemnowIthoughtIwouldcallupon,andaskasapersonalfavortochangeher jhampanies' livery. Iwouldhire themenmyself, and, ifnecessary,buytheircoatsfromofftheirbacks.Itisimpossibletosayherewhatafloodofundesirablememoriestheirpresenceevoked.

"Kitty," I cried, "there are poor Mrs. Wessington's jhampanies turned up

again!Iwonderwhohasthemnow?"

KittyhadknownMrs.Wessingtonslightlylastseason,andhadalwaysbeeninterestedinthesicklywoman.

"What?Where?"sheasked."Ican'tseethemanywhere."

Even as she spoke, her horse, swerving from a ladenmule, threw himselfdirectlyinfrontoftheadvancing'rickshaw.Ihadscarcelytimetoutterawordofwarningwhen,tomyunutterablehorror,horseandriderpassedthroughmenandcarriageasiftheyhadbeenthinair.

"What'sthematter?"criedKitty;"whatmadeyoucalloutsofoolishly,Jack?If Iam engaged I don'twant all creation to know about it. Therewas lots ofspacebetweenthemuleandtheveranda;and,ifyouthinkIcan'tride—There!"

WhereuponwillfulKitty setoff, herdainty littlehead in the air, at ahand-gallop in the direction of the Band-stand; fully expecting, as she herselfafterwards told me, that I should follow her.What was the matter? Nothing,indeed.EitherthatIwasmadordrunk,orthatSimlawashauntedwithdevils.Ireinedinmyimpatientcob,andturnedround.The'rickshawhadturnedtoo,andnow stood immediately facing me, near the left railing of the CombermereBridge.

"Jack!Jack,darling."(Therewasnomistakeaboutthewordsthistime:theyrangthroughmybrainasiftheyhadbeenshoutedinmyear.)"It'ssomehideousmistake,I'msure.Pleaseforgiveme,Jack,andlet'sbefriendsagain."

The'rickshaw-hoodhadfallenback,andinside,asIhopeanddailyprayforthedeathIdreadbynight,satMrs.Keith-Wessington,handkerchiefinhand,andgoldenheadbowedonherbreast.

How long I staredmotionless Idonotknow.Finally, Iwas arousedbymygroomtakingtheWaler'sbridleandaskingwhetherIwasill.Itumbledoffmyhorseanddashed,halffainting, intoPeliti'sforaglassofcherry-brandy.Theretwoorthreecouplesweregatheredroundthecoffee-tablesdiscussingthegossipof the day. Their trivialities were more comforting to me just then than theconsolations of religion could have been. I plunged into the midst of theconversationatonce;chatted, laughedand jestedwitha face (whenIcaughtaglimpseofitinamirror)aswhiteanddrawnasthatofacorpse.Threeorfourmennoticedmycondition;and,evidentlysettingitdowntotheresultsofover

many pegs, charitably endeavored to draw me apart from the rest of theloungers.ButIrefusedtobeledaway.Iwantedthecompanyofmykind—asachildrushes into themidstof thedinner-partyafterafright in thedark.Imusthave talked for about tenminutes or so, though it seemed an eternity to me,whenIheardKitty'sdearvoiceoutsideinquiringforme.Inanotherminuteshehadenteredtheshop,preparedtoroundlyupbraidmeforfailingsosignally inmyduties.Somethinginmyfacestoppedher.

"Why,Jack,"shecried,"whathaveyoubeendoing?Whathashappened?Areyou ill?"Thusdriven into adirect lie, I said that the sunhadbeen a little toomuchforme.Itwascloseuponfiveo'clockofacloudyAprilafternoon,andthesunhadbeenhiddenallday.Isawmymistakeassoonasthewordswereoutofmymouth:attemptedtorecoverit;blunderedhopelesslyandfollowedKitty,inaregal rage, out of doors, amid the smiles of my acquaintances. I made someexcuse (I have forgottenwhat) on the score ofmy feeling faint; and canteredawaytomyhotel,leavingKittytofinishtheridebyherself.

InmyroomIsatdownandtriedcalmlytoreasonoutthematter.HerewasI,Theobald Jack Pansay, a well-educated Bengal Civilian in the year of grace1885,presumablysane,certainlyhealthy,driveninterrorfrommysweetheart'ssidebytheapparitionofawomanwhohadbeendeadandburiedeightmonthsago. These were facts that I could not blink. Nothing was further from mythoughtthananymemoryofMrs.WessingtonwhenKittyandIleftHamilton'sshop.NothingwasmoreutterlycommonplacethanthestretchofwalloppositePeliti's. Itwasbroaddaylight.The roadwas fullofpeople; andyethere, lookyou, in defiance of every law of probability, in direct outrage of Nature'sordinance,therehadappearedtomeafacefromthegrave.

Kitty'sArabhadgonethroughthe'rickshaw:sothatmyfirsthopethatsomewomanmarvelouslylikeMrs.Wessingtonhadhiredthecarriageandthecoolieswith their old liverywas lost.Again and again Iwent round this treadmill ofthought;andagainandagaingaveupbaffledandindespair.Thevoicewasasinexplicableastheapparition.Ihadoriginallysomewildnotionofconfidingitall toKitty; of beggingher tomarryme at once; and in her armsdefying theghostly occupant of the 'rickshaw. "After all," I argued, "the presence of the'rickshaw is in itself enough to prove the existence of a spectral illusion.Onemay seeghosts ofmen andwomen,but surelynever of coolies and carriages.Thewholethingisabsurd.Fancytheghostofahill-man!"

Nextmorning I sentapenitentnote toKitty, imploringher tooverlookmy

strangeconductofthepreviousafternoon.MyDivinitywasstillverywroth,andapersonalapologywasnecessary.Iexplained,withafluencybornofnight-longponderingoverafalsehood,thatIhadbeenattackedwithasuddenpalpitationofthe heart—the result of indigestion. This eminently practical solution had itseffect; andKitty and I rodeout that afternoonwith the shadowofmy first liedividingus.

Nothingwould please her save a canter round Jakko.Withmy nerves stillunstrung from the previous night I feebly protested against the notion,suggesting Observatory Hill, Jutogh, the Boileaugunge road—anything ratherthantheJakkoround.Kittywasangryandalittlehurt,soIyieldedfromfearofprovoking further misunderstanding, and we set out together towards ChotaSimla. We walked a greater part of the way, and, according to our custom,canteredfromamileorsobelowtheConventtothestretchoflevelroadbytheSanjowlie Reservoir. The wretched horses appeared to fly, andmy heart beatquickerandquickeraswenearedthecrestoftheascent.MymindhadbeenfullofMrs.Wessington all the afternoon; and every inch of the Jakko road borewitnesstoourold-timewalksandtalks.Theboulderswerefullof it; thepinessang italoudoverhead; the rain-fed torrentsgiggledandchuckledunseenovertheshamefulstory;andthewindinmyearschantedtheiniquityaloud.

Asafittingclimax,inthemiddleofthelevelmencalltheLadies'Mile,theHorrorwasawaitingme.Noother 'rickshawwasinsight—onlythefourblackandwhitejhampanies, theyellow-paneledcarriage,andthegoldenheadof thewoman within—all apparently just as I had left them eight months and onefortnightago!ForaninstantIfanciedthatKittymustseewhatIsaw—weweresomarvelouslysympatheticinallthings.Hernextwordsundeceivedme—"Notasoulinsight!Comealong,Jack,andI'llraceyoutotheReservoirbuildings!"HerwirylittleArabwasofflikeabird,myWalerfollowingclosebehind,andinthisorderwedashedunderthecliffs.Halfaminutebroughtuswithinfiftyyardsof the 'rickshaw. I pulled myWaler and fell back a little. The 'rickshaw wasdirectlyinthemiddleoftheroad:andoncemoretheArabpassedthroughit,myhorsefollowing."Jack,Jack,dear!Please forgiveme," rangwithawail inmyears,and,afteraninterval:"It'sallamistake,ahideousmistake!"

I spurred my horse like a man possessed. When I turned my head at theReservoir works the black and white liveries were still waiting—patientlywaiting—under thegrayhillside, and thewindbroughtmeamockingechoofthe words I had just heard. Kitty bantered me a good deal on my silencethroughouttheremainderoftheride.Ihadbeentalkinguptillthenwildlyandat

random. To save my life I could not speak afterwards naturally, and fromSanjowlietotheChurchwiselyheldmytongue.

Iwas todinewith theMannerings thatnight andhadbarely time to canterhometodress.OntheroadtoElysiumHillIoverheardtwomentalkingtogetherin the dusk—"It's a curious thing," said one, "how completely all trace of itdisappeared.Youknowmywifewasinsanelyfondofthewoman(nevercouldsee anything in hermyself) andwantedme to pick up her old 'rickshaw andcooliesiftheyweretobegotforloveormoney.MorbidsortoffancyIcallit,butI'vegottodowhattheMemsahibtellsme.Wouldyoubelievethatthemanshehired it from tellsme thatall fourof themen, theywerebrothers,diedofcholera,onthewaytoHardwár,poordevils;andthe'rickshawhasbeenbrokenup by theman himself. Toldme he never used a deadMemsahib's 'rickshaw.Spoilt his luck. Queer notion, wasn't it? Fancy poor little Mrs. Wessingtonspoilinganyone's luckexceptherown!"I laughedaloudat thispoint;andmylaugh jarredonmeas Iuttered it.So therewereghostsof 'rickshawsafterall,andghostly employments in theotherworld!HowmuchdidMrs.Wessingtongivehermen?Whatweretheirhours?Wheredidtheygo?

AndforvisibleanswertomylastquestionIsawtheinfernalthingblockingmy path in the twilight. The dead travel fast and by short-cuts unknown toordinary coolies. I laughed aloud a second time and checked my laughtersuddenly,forIwasafraidIwasgoingmad.MadtoacertainextentImusthavebeen, for I recollect that I reined inmyhorseat theheadof the 'rickshaw,andpolitelywishedMrs.Wessington "goodevening."Her answerwasone Iknewonlytoowell.Ilistenedtotheend;andrepliedthatIhadhearditallbefore,butshould be delighted if she had anything further to say. Somemalignant devilstronger than I must have entered into me that evening, for I have a dimrecollectionoftalkingthecommonplacesofthedayforfiveminutestothethinginfrontofme.

"Madasahatter,poordevil—ordrunk.Max,tryandgethimtocomehome."

SurelythatwasnotMrs.Wessington'svoice!Thetwomenhadoverheardmespeaking to the empty air, and had returned to look afterme.Theywere verykind and considerate, and from their words evidently gathered that I wasextremely drunk. I thanked them confusedly and cantered away to my hotel,there changed, and arrived at theMannerings' tenminutes late. I pleaded thedarkness of the night as an excuse;was rebuked byKitty formyunlover-liketardiness;andsatdown.

Theconversationhadalreadybecomegeneral;and,undercoverof it, IwasaddressingsometendersmalltalktomysweetheartwhenIwasawarethatatthefurther end of the table a short red-whiskeredmanwas describingwithmuchbroidery his encounter with a mad unknown that evening. A few sentencesconvinced me that he was repeating the incident of half an hour ago. In themiddleofthestoryhelookedroundforapplause,asprofessionalstory-tellersdo,caught my eye, and straightway collapsed. There was a moment's awkwardsilence,andthered-whiskeredmanmutteredsomethingtotheeffectthathehad"forgottentherest";therebysacrificingareputationasagoodstory-tellerwhichhehadbuiltupforsixseasonspast.Iblessedhimfromthebottomofmyheartand—wentonwithmyfish.

Inthefullnessoftimethatdinnercametoanend;andwithgenuineregretItoremyself away fromKitty—ascertain as Iwasofmyownexistence that Itwould be waiting for me outside the door. The red-whiskered man, who hadbeen introduced to me as Dr. Heatherlegh of Simla, volunteered to bear mecompanyasfarasourroadslaytogether.Iacceptedhisofferwithgratitude.

Myinstincthadnotdeceivedme.ItlayinreadinessintheMall,and,inwhatseemed devilish mockery of our ways, with a lighted head-lamp. The red-whiskeredmanwenttothepointatonce,inamannerthatshowedhehadbeenthinkingoveritalldinnertime.

"I say,Pansay,what thedeucewas thematterwithyou thiseveningon theElysium road?"The suddenness of the questionwrenched an answer frommebeforeIwasaware.

"That!"saidI,pointingtoIt.

"ThatmaybeeitherD.T.oreyes foraught Iknow.Nowyoudon't liquor. Isawasmuchatdinner,soitcan'tbeD.T.There'snothingwhateverwhereyou'repointing, thoughyou're sweating and tremblingwith fright like a scaredpony.Therefore, I conclude that it's eyes.And Iought tounderstandall about them.Comealonghomewithme.I'montheBlessingtonlowerroad."

To my intense delight the 'rickshaw instead of waiting for us kept abouttwentyyardsahead—and this, too,whetherwewalked, trotted,orcantered. InthecourseofthatlongnightrideIhadtoldmycompanionalmostasmuchasIhavetoldyouhere.

"Well, you've spoilt one of the best tales I've ever laid tongue to," said he,

"butI'llforgiveyouforthesakeofwhatyou'vegonethrough.NowcomehomeanddowhatItellyou;andwhenI'vecuredyou,youngman,letthisbealessontoyoutosteerclearofwomenandindigestiblefoodtillthedayofyourdeath."

The'rickshawkeptsteadilyinfront;andmyred-whiskeredfriendseemedtoderivegreatpleasurefrommyaccountofitsexactwhereabouts.

"Eyes,Pansay—alleyes,brainandstomach;andthegreatestofthesethreeisstomach.You've toomuch conceited brain, too little stomach, and thoroughlyunhealthy eyes.Get your stomach straight and the rest follows.And all that'sFrench for a liverpill. I'll take solemedical chargeofyou from thishour; foryou'retoointerestingaphenomenontobepassedover."

BythistimeweweredeepintheshadowoftheBlessingtonlowerroadandthe 'rickshaw came to a dead stop under a pine-clad, overhanging shale cliff.InstinctivelyIhaltedtoo,givingmyreason.Heatherleghrappedoutanoath.

"Now,ifyouthinkI'mgoingtospendacoldnightonthehillsideforthesakeofastomach-cum-brain-cum-eyeillusion....Lordha'mercy!What'sthat?"

Therewasamuffledreport,ablindingsmotherofdust just infrontofus,acrack, the noise of rent boughs, and about ten yards of the cliffside—pines,undergrowth,andall—sliddownintotheroadbelow,completelyblockingitup.Theuprootedtreesswayedandtotteredforamomentlikedrunkengiantsinthegloom,andthenfellproneamongtheirfellowswithathunderouscrash.Ourtwohorsesstoodmotionlessandsweatingwithfear.Assoonastherattleoffallingearth and stone had subsided, my companion muttered: "Man, if we'd goneforwardwe should have been ten feet deep in our graves by now! 'There aremorethingsinheavenandearth'...Comehome,Pansay,andthankGod.Iwantadrinkbadly."

We retraced our way over the Church Ridge, and I arrived at Dr.Heatherlegh'shouseshortlyaftermidnight.

His attempts towards my cure commenced almost immediately, and for aweekIneverlefthissight.ManyatimeinthecourseofthatweekdidIblessthegood fortune which had thrown me in contact with Simla's best and kindestdoctor.Daybydaymyspiritsgrewlighterandmoreequable.Daybyday,too,IbecamemoreandmoreinclinedtofallinwithHeatherlegh's"spectralillusion"theory, implicatingeyes,brain,andstomach.Iwrote toKitty, tellingher thataslightspraincausedbyafallfrommyhorsekeptmeindoorsforafewdays;and

thatIshouldberecoveredbeforeshehadtimetoregretmyabsence.

Heatherlegh's treatment was simple to a degree. It consisted of liver-pills,cold-waterbathsandstrongexercise,takenintheduskoratearlydawn—for,ashesagelyobserved:"Amanwithasprainedankledoesn'twalkadozenmilesaday,andyouryoungwomanmightbewonderingifshesawyou."

Attheendoftheweek,aftermuchexaminationofpupilandpulseandstrictinjunctionsastodietandpedestrianism,Heatherleghdismissedmeasbrusquelyashehadtakenchargeofme.Hereishispartingbenediction:"Man,Icertifytoyourmental cure, and that's asmuch as to say I've curedmost of yourbodilyailments.Now,getyourtrapsoutofthisassoonasyoucan;andbeofftomakelovetoMissKitty."

Iwasendeavoringtoexpressmythanksforhiskindness.Hecutmeshort:

"Don'tthinkIdidthisbecauseIlikeyou.Igatherthatyou'vebehavedlikeablackguardall through.But,all thesameyou'reaphenomenon,andasqueeraphenomenonasyouareablackguard.Now,gooutandsee ifyoucanfindtheeyes-brain-and-stomachbusinessagain.I'llgiveyoualakhforeachtimeyouseeit."

HalfanhourlaterIwasintheMannerings'drawing-roomwithKitty—drunkwith the intoxicationofpresenthappinessand the foreknowledge that I shouldnevermore be troubledwith It's hideous presence. Strong in the sense ofmynew-foundsecurity,Iproposedarideatonce;and,bypreference,acanterroundJakko.

NeverhaveIfeltsowell,sooverladenwithvitalityandmereanimalspiritsasIdidontheafternoonofthe30thofApril.Kittywasdelightedatthechangeinmy appearance, and complimented me on it in her delightfully frank andoutspokenmanner.WelefttheMannerings'housetogether,laughingandtalking,andcanteredalongtheChotaSimlaroadasofold.

IwasinhastetoreachtheSanjowlieReservoirandtheremakemyassurancedoublysure.Thehorsesdidtheirbest,butseemedalltooslowtomyimpatientmind.Kittywasastonishedatmyboisterousness."Why,Jack!"shecriedatlast,"youarebehavinglikeachild!Whatareyoudoing?"

Wewere justbelowtheConvent,andfromsheerwantonness IwasmakingmyWalerplungeandcurvetacrosstheroadasItickleditwiththeloopofmy

riding-whip.

"Doing," I answered, "nothing, dear. That's just it. If you'd been doingnothingforaweekexceptlieup,you'dbeasriotousasI.

'Singingandmurmuringinyourfeastfulmirth,Joyingtofeelyourselfalive;

Lordovernature,LordofthevisibleEarth,Lordofthesensesfive.'"

Myquotationwas hardly out ofmy lips beforewehad rounded the cornerabovetheConvent;andafewyardsfurtheroncouldseeacrosstoSanjowlie.Inthecenterofthelevelroadstoodtheblackandwhiteliveries,theyellow-paneled'rickshawandMrs.Keith-Wessington.Ipulledup,looked,rubbedmyeyes,and,Ibelieve,musthavesaidsomething.ThenextthingIknewwasthatIwaslyingfacedownwardontheroad,withKittykneelingabovemeintears.

"Hasitgone,child?"Igasped.Kittyonlyweptmorebitterly.

"Haswhatgone?Jackdear:whatdoesitallmean?Theremustbeamistakesomewhere,Jack.Ahideousmistake."Herlastwordsbroughtmetomyfeet—mad—ravingforthetimebeing.

"Yes, there is amistake somewhere." I repeated, "ahideousmistake.ComeandlookatIt!"

IhaveanindistinctideathatIdraggedKittybythewristalongtheroaduptowhereItstood,andimploredherforpity'ssaketospeaktoit;totellItthatwewerebetrothed!thatneitherDeathnorHellcouldbreakthetiebetweenus;andKittyonlyknowshowmuchmoretothesameeffect.NowandagainIappealedpassionatelytotheTerrorinthe'rickshawtobearwitnesstoallIhadsaid,andtoreleasemefromatorturethatwaskillingme.AsItalkedIsupposeImusthavetoldKittyofmyoldrelationswithMrs.Wessington,forIsawherlistenintentlywithwhitefaceandblazingeyes.

"Thankyou,Mr.Pansay,"shesaid,"that'squiteenough.Bringmyhorse."

The grooms, impassive as Orientals always are, had come up with therecapturedhorses;andasKittysprangintohersaddleIcaughtholdofthebridleentreatinghertohearmeoutandforgive.Myanswerwasthecutofherriding-whipacrossmyfacefrommouthtoeye,andawordortwooffarewellthatevennowIcannotwritedown.SoI judged,and judgedrightly, thatKittyknewall;

andIstaggeredbacktothesideofthe'rickshaw.Myfacewascutandbleeding,andtheblowoftheriding-whiphadraisedalividbluewealonit.Ihadnoself-respect.Justthen,Heatherlegh,whomusthavebeenfollowingKittyandmeatadistance,canteredup.

"Doctor," I said,pointing tomyface,"here'sMissMannering's signature tomyorderofdismissaland...I'llthankyouforthatlakhassoonasconvenient."

Heatherlegh'sface,eveninmyabjectmisery,movedmetolaugh.

"I'll stake my professional reputation"—he began. "Don't be a fool," Iwhispered."I'velostmylife'shappinessandyou'dbettertakemehome."

As I spoke the 'rickshawwasgone.Then I lost all knowledgeofwhatwaspassing.ThecrestofJakkoseemedtoheaveandrolllikethecrestofacloudandfallinuponme.

Sevendays later (on the7thofMay, that is to say) Iwas aware that IwaslyinginHeatherlegh'sroomasweakasalittlechild.Heatherleghwaswatchingmeintentlyfrombehindthepapersonhiswritingtable.Hisfirstwordswerenotveryencouraging;butIwastoofarspenttobemuchmovedbythem.

"Here'sMissKittyhassentbackyourletters.Youcorrespondedagooddeal,youyoungpeople.Here'sapacketthatlookslikearing,andacheerfulsortofanotefromManneringPapa,whichI'vetakenthelibertyofreadingandburning.Theoldgentleman'snotpleasedwithyou."

"AndKitty?"Iaskeddully.

"Rathermoredrawnthanherfatherfromwhatshesays.BythesametokenyoumusthavebeenlettingoutanynumberofqueerreminiscencesjustbeforeImetyou.Says thatamanwhowouldhavebehaved toawomanasyoudid toMrs.Wessingtonoughttokillhimselfoutofsheerpityforhiskind.She'sahot-headed little virago, yourmash.Will have it too that youwere suffering fromD.T.whenthatrowontheJakkoroadturnedup.Saysshe'lldiebeforesheeverspeakstoyouagain."

Igroanedandturnedoverontheotherside.

"Nowyou'vegotyourchoice,myfriend.Thisengagementhastobebrokenoff;andtheManneringsdon'twanttobetoohardonyou.WasitbrokenthroughD.T. or epileptic fits? Sorry I can't offer you a better exchange unless you'd

preferhereditaryinsanity.SaythewordandI'lltell'emit'sfits.AllSimlaknowsaboutthatsceneontheLadies'Mile.Come!I'llgiveyoufiveminutestothinkoverit."

During those five minutes I believe that I explored thoroughly the lowestcircles of the Infernowhich it is permittedman to tread on earth.And at thesametimeImyselfwaswatchingmyselffalteringthroughthedarklabyrinthsofdoubt,misery,andutterdespair. Iwondered,asHeatherleghinhischairmighthave wondered, which dreadful alternative I should adopt. Presently I heardmyselfansweringinavoicethatIhardlyrecognized:

"They'reconfoundedlyparticularaboutmoralityintheseparts.Give'emfits,Heatherlegh,andmylove.Nowletmesleepabitlonger."

Thenmytwoselvesjoined,anditwasonlyI(halfcrazed,devil-drivenI)thattossedinmybed,tracingstepbystepthehistoryofthepastmonth.

"ButIaminSimla,"Ikeptrepeatingtomyself."I,JackPansay,aminSimla,and there arenoghostshere. It's unreasonableof thatwoman topretend thereare.Whycouldn'tAgneshaveleftmealone?Ineverdidheranyharm.ItmightjustaswellhavebeenmeasAgnes.OnlyI'dneverhavecomebackonpurposetokillher.Whycan'tIbeleftalone—leftaloneandhappy?"

ItwashighnoonwhenIfirstawoke:andthesunwaslowintheskybeforeIslept—sleptasthetorturedcriminalsleepsonhisrack,tooworntofeelfurtherpain.

NextdayIcouldnotleavemybed.Heatherleghtoldmeinthemorningthathe had received an answer from Mr. Mannering, and that, thanks to his(Heatherlegh's) friendlyoffices, thestoryofmyafflictionhad traveled throughthelengthandbreadthofSimla,whereIwasonallsidesmuchpitied.

"Andthat'srathermorethanyoudeserve,"heconcludedpleasantly,"thoughthe Lord knows you've been going through a pretty severemill. Nevermind;we'llcureyouyet,youperversephenomenon."

Ideclinedfirmlytobecured."You'vebeenmuchtoogoodtomealready,oldman,"saidI;"butIdon'tthinkIneedtroubleyoufurther."

In my heart I knew that nothing Heatherlegh could do would lighten theburdenthathadbeenlaiduponme.

With that knowledge came also a sense of hopeless, impotent rebellionagainsttheunreasonablenessofitall.TherewerescoresofmennobetterthanIwhosepunishmentshadatleastbeenreservedforanotherworldandIfeltthatitwas bitterly, cruelly unfair that I alone should have been singled out for sohideousafate.Thismoodwouldintimegiveplacetoanotherwhereitseemedthatthe'rickshawandIweretheonlyrealitiesinaworldofshadows;thatKittywasaghost; thatMannering,Heatherlegh,andall theothermenandwomenIknew were all ghosts and the great, gray hills themselves but vain shadowsdevisedtotortureme.FrommoodtomoodItossedbackwardsandforwardsforsevenwearydays,mybodygrowingdailystrongerandstronger,until thebed-roomlooking-glasstoldmethatIhadreturnedtoeverydaylife,andwasasothermenoncemore.Curiouslyenough,my face showedno signsof the struggle Ihadgonethrough.Itwaspaleindeed,butasexpressionlessandcommonplaceasever.Ihadexpectedsomepermanentalteration—visibleevidenceofthediseasethatwaseatingmeaway.Ifoundnothing.

On the 15th of May I left Heatherlegh's house at eleven o'clock in themorning;and the instinctof thebachelordroveme to theClub.There I foundthat every man knew my story as told by Heatherlegh, and was, in clumsyfashion, abnormally kind and attentive. Nevertheless I recognized that for therestofmynaturallifeIshouldbeamong,butnotof,myfellows;andIenviedvery bitterly indeed the laughing coolies on theMall below. I lunched at theClub,andatfouro'clockwanderedaimlesslydowntheMallinthevaguehopeofmeetingKitty.ClosetotheBand-standtheblackandwhiteliveriesjoinedme;andIheardMrs.Wessington'soldappealatmyside.Ihadbeenexpectingthisever since I came out; and was only surprised at her delay. The phantom'rickshawandIwentsidebysidealongtheChotaSimlaroadinsilence.Closetothebazaar,Kittyandamanonhorsebackovertookandpassedus.Foranysignshe gave I might have been a dog in the road. She did not even payme thecomplimentofquickeningherpace;thoughtherainyafternoonhadservedforanexcuse.

SoKittyandhercompanion,andIandmyghostlyLight-o'-Love,creptroundJakko in couples. The road was streaming with water; the pines dripped likeroof-pipesontherocksbelow,andtheairwasfulloffine,drivingrain.TwoorthreetimesIfoundmyselfsayingtomyselfalmostaloud:"I'mJackPansayonleave at Simla—at Simla! Everyday, ordinary Simla. I mustn't forget that—Imustn'tforgetthat."ThenIwouldtrytorecollectsomeofthegossipIhadheardat theClub; thepricesofSo-and-So'shorses—anything, in fact, that related to

the work-a-day Anglo-Indian world I knew so well. I even repeated themultiplication-table rapidly tomyself, tomakequitesure that Iwasnot takingleave of my senses. It gave me much comfort; and must have prevented myhearingMrs.Wessingtonforatime.

OncemoreIwearilyclimbed theConventslopeandentered the level road.HereKitty and theman startedoff at a canter, and Iwas left alonewithMrs.Wessington."Agnes,"saidI,"willyouputbackyourhoodandtellmewhatitallmeans?"ThehooddroppednoiselesslyandIwasfacetofacewithmydeadandburiedmistress.Shewaswearing thedress inwhich I had last seenher alive:carriedthesametinyhandkerchiefinherrighthand;andthesamecard-caseinher left. (Awoman eightmonths deadwith a card-case!) I had to pinmyselfdown to themultiplication-table,and tosetbothhandson thestoneparapetoftheroadtoassuremyselfthatthatatleastwasreal.

"Agnes," I repeated, "for pity's sake tell me what it all means." Mrs.Wessingtonleantforward,withthatodd,quickturnoftheheadIusedtoknowsowell,andspoke.

Ifmy story had not already somadly overleaped the bounds of all humanbeliefIshouldapologizetoyounow.AsIknowthatnoone—no,notevenKitty,forwhomitiswrittenassomesortofjustificationofmyconduct—willbelieveme, I will go on. Mrs. Wessington spoke and I walked with her from theSanjowlieroadtotheturningbelowtheCommander-in-Chief'shouseasImightwalk by the side of any living woman's 'rickshaw, deep in conversation. Thesecond andmost tormenting ofmymoods of sickness had suddenly laid holduponme, and like the prince inTennyson's poem, "I seemed tomove amid aworldofghosts."Therehadbeenagarden-partyat theCommander-in-Chief's,andwe two joined the crowdofhomeward-bound folk.As I saw them then itseemed that they were the shadows—impalpable fantastic shadows—thatdivided forMrs.Wessington's 'rickshaw topass through.Whatwe saidduringthe course of that weird interview I cannot—indeed, I dare not—tell.Heatherlegh'scommentwouldhavebeenashortlaughandaremarkthatIhadbeen "mashing a brain-eye-and-stomach chimera." Itwas a ghastly and yet insome indefinable way a marvelously dear experience. Could it be possible, Iwondered,thatIwasinthislifetowooasecondtimethewomanIhadkilledbymyownneglectandcruelty?

ImetKittyonthehomewardroad—ashadowamongshadows.

IfIweretodescribealltheincidentsofthenextfortnightintheirorder,mystory would never come to an end; and your patience would be exhausted.Morning aftermorning and evening after evening the ghostly 'rickshaw and Iused towander throughSimla together.Wherever Iwent, there the four blackandwhiteliveriesfollowedmeandboremecompanytoandfrommyhotel.AtthetheaterIfoundthemamidthecrowdofyellingjhampanies;outsidetheclubveranda,afteralongeveningofwhist;atthebirthdayball,waitingpatientlyformyreappearance;andinbroaddaylightwhenIwentcalling.Savethatitcastnoshadow,the'rickshawwasineveryrespectasrealtolookuponasoneofwoodand iron.More than once, indeed, I have had to check myself from warningsomehard-ridingfriendagainstcanteringoverit.MorethanonceIhavewalkeddown theMall deep in conversationwithMrs.Wessington to the unspeakableamazementofthepassers-by.

BeforeIhadbeenoutandaboutaweekIlearntthatthe"fit"theoryhadbeendiscardedinfavorofinsanity.However,Imadenochangeinmymodeoflife.Icalled,rode,anddinedoutasfreelyasever.IhadapassionforthesocietyofmykindwhichIhadneverfeltbefore;Ihungeredtobeamongtherealitiesoflife;andatthesametimeIfeltvaguelyunhappywhenIhadbeenseparatedtoolongfrom my ghostly companion. It would be almost impossible to describe myvaryingmoodsfromthe15thofMayuptoto-day.

Thepresenceofthe'rickshawfilledmebyturnswithhorror,blindfear,adimsortofpleasure,andutterdespair.IdarednotleaveSimla;andIknewthatmystaytherewaskillingme.Iknew,moreover,thatitwasmydestinytodieslowlyandalittleeveryday.Myonlyanxietywastogetthepenanceoverasquietlyasmightbe.AlternatelyIhungeredforasightofKittyandwatchedheroutrageousflirtationswithmy successor—to speakmore accurately,my successors—withamusedinterest.ShewasasmuchoutofmylifeasIwasoutofhers.BydayIwanderedwithMrs.Wessingtonalmostcontent.BynightIimploredHeaventoletmereturntotheworldasIusedtoknowit.Aboveallthesevaryingmoodslay thesensationofdull,numbingwonder that theseenand theunseenshouldminglesostrangelyonthisearthtohoundonepoorsoultoitsgrave.

August27th.—Heatherlegh has been indefatigable in his attendance onme;andonlyyesterdaytoldmethatIoughttosendinanapplicationforsick-leave.An application to escape the company of a phantom! A request that the

Governmentwould graciously permitme to get rid of five ghosts and an airy'rickshawbygoing toEngland!Heatherlegh'spropositionmovedme toalmosthystericallaughter.ItoldhimthatIshouldawaittheendquietlyatSimla;andIamsurethattheendisnotfaroff.BelievemethatIdreaditsadventmorethananywordcansay;andItorturemyselfnightlywithathousandspeculationsastothemannerofmydeath.

ShallIdieinmybeddecentlyandasanEnglishgentlemenshoulddie;or,inonelastwalkontheMall,willmysoulbewrenchedfrommetotakeitsplaceforeverandeverbythesideofthatghastlyphantasm?ShallIreturntomyoldlostallegianceinthenextworld,orshallImeetAgnesloathingherandboundtohersidethroughalleternity?Shallwetwohoveroverthesceneofourlivestilltheendoftime?Asthedayofmydeathdrawsnearer,theintensehorrorthatalllivingfleshfeelstowardsescapedspiritsfrombeyondthegravegrowsmoreandmore powerful. It is an awful thing to go down quick among the dead withscarcelyonehalf ofyour life completed. It is a thousand timesmore awful towaitasIdoinyourmidst,forIknownotwhatunimaginableterror.Pityme,atleast on the scoreofmy "delusion," for I knowyouwill never believewhat Ihavewrittenhere.YetassurelyaseveramanwasdonetodeathbythePowersofDarknessIamthatman.

In justice, too, pity her. For as surely as everwomanwas killed byman, IkilledMrs.Wessington. And the last portion of my punishment is even nowuponme.

THERIVALGHOSTS

BYBRANDERMATTHEWS

ThegoodshipspedonherwayacrossthecalmAtlantic.Itwasanoutwardpassage,accordingtothelittlechartswhichthecompanyhadcharilydistributed,butmostof thepassengerswerehomewardbound, after a summerof rest andrecreation,andtheywerecountingthedaysbeforetheymighthopetoseeFireIslandLight.Ontheleesideof theboat,comfortablyshelteredfromthewind,andjustbythedoorofthecaptain'sroom(whichwastheirsduringtheday),sata little group of returning Americans. The Duchess (she was down on thepurser'slistasMrs.Martin,butherfriendsandfamiliarscalledhertheDuchessofWashingtonSquare)andBabyVanRensselaer(shewasquiteoldenoughtovote,hadhersexbeenentitledtothatduty,butastheyoungeroftwosistersshewasstill thebabyof the family)—theDuchessandBabyVanRensselaerwerediscussingthepleasantEnglishvoiceandthenotunpleasantEnglishaccentofamanly young lordling who was going to America for sport. Uncle Larry andDearJoneswereenticingeachotherintoabetontheship'srunofthemorrow.

"I'llgiveyoutwotooneshedon'tmake420,"saidDearJones.

"I'lltakeit,"answeredUncleLarry."Wemade427thefifthdaylastyear."ItwasUncleLarry'sseventeenthvisittoEurope,andthiswasthereforehisthirty-fourthvoyage.

"Andwhendidyouget in?"askedBabyVanRensselaer. "Idon'tcareabitabouttherun,solongaswegetinsoon."

"WecrossedthebarSundaynight,justsevendaysafterweleftQueenstown,andwedroppedanchoroffQuarantineatthreeo'clockonMondaymorning."

"Ihopeweshan'tdo that this time.Ican'tseemtosleepanywhentheboatstops."

"Ican;butIdidn't,"continuedUncleLarry;"becausemystate-roomwasthemost for'ard in the boat, and the donkey-engine that let down the anchorwasrightovermyhead."

"Soyougotupandsawthesunriseoverthebay,"saidDearJones,"withtheelectriclightsofthecitytwinklinginthedistance,andthefirstfaintflushofthedawnintheeastjustoverFortLafayette,andtherosytingewhichspreadsoftlyupward,and——"

"Didyoubothcomebacktogether?"askedtheDuchess.

"Becausehehascrossedthirty-fourtimesyoumustnotsupposethathehasamonopolyinsunrises,"retortedDearJones."No,thiswasmyownsunrise;andamightyprettyoneitwas,too."

"I'mnotmatchingsunriseswithyou,"remarkedUncleLarry,calmly;"butI'mwilling tobackamerry jest called forthbymy sunrise against any twomerryjestscalledforthbyyours."

"Iconfessreluctantlythatmysunriseevokednomerryjestatall."DearJoneswasanhonestman,andwould scorn to inventamerry jeston the spurof themoment.

"That'swheremysunrisehasthecall,"saidUncleLarry,complacently.

"Whatwas themerry jest?"wasBabyVanRensselaer's inquiry, thenaturalresultofafemininecuriositythusartisticallyexcited.

"Well, here it is. I was standing aft, near a patriotic American and awanderingIrishman,andthepatrioticAmericanrashlydeclaredthatyoucouldn'tsee a sunrise like that anywhere in Europe, and this gave the Irishman hischance,andhesaid,'Sureyedon'thave'emheretillwe'rethroughwith'emoverthere.'"

"Itistrue,"saidDearJones,thoughtfully,"thattheydohavesomethingsovertherebetterthanwedo;forinstance,umbrellas."

"Andgowns,"addedtheDuchess.

"Andantiquities,"—thiswasUncleLarry'scontribution.

"Andwedohave some things somuchbetter inAmerica!"protestedBabyVanRensselaer,asyetuncorruptedbyanyworshipof theeffetemonarchiesofdespoticEurope. "Wemake lots of things a great deal nicer than you can gettheminEurope—especiallyice-cream."

"Andprettygirls,"addedDearJones;buthedidnotlookather.

"Andspooks,"remarkedUncleLarrycasually.

"Spooks?"queriedtheDuchess.

"Spooks.Imaintaintheword.Ghosts,ifyoulikethatbetter,orspecters.Weturnoutthebestqualityofspook——"

"Youforget the lovelyghoststoriesabout theRhine,andtheBlackForest,"interruptedMissVanRensselaer,withfeminineinconsistency.

"IremembertheRhineandtheBlackForestandalltheotherhauntsofelvesand fairies and hobgoblins; but for good honest spooks there is no place likehome. And what differentiates our spook—Spiritus Americanus—from theordinaryghostof literature is that it respondsto theAmericansenseofhumor.TakeIrving'sstoriesforexample.TheHeadlessHorseman,that'sacomicghoststory.AndRipVanWinkle—considerwhathumor,andwhatgood-humor,thereisinthetellingofhismeetingwiththegoblincrewofHendrikHudson'smen!AstillbetterexampleofthisAmericanwayofdealingwithlegendandmysteryisthemarveloustaleoftherivalghosts."

"Therivalghosts?"queried theDuchessandBabyVanRensselaer together."Whowerethey?"

"Didn't I ever tell you about them?" answered Uncle Larry, a gleam ofapproachingjoyflashingfromhiseye.

"Sinceheisboundtotellussoonerorlater,we'dbetterberesignedandhearitnow,"saidDearJones.

"Ifyouarenotmoreeager,Iwon'ttellitatall."

"Oh,do,UncleLarry;youknowIjustdoteonghoststories,"pleadedBabyVanRensselaer.

"Once upon a time," beganUncleLarry—"in fact, a very few years ago—therelivedinthethrivingtownofNewYorkayoungAmericancalledDuncan—Eliphalet Duncan. Like his name, he was half Yankee and half Scotch, andnaturally hewas a lawyer, and had come toNewYork tomake hisway.HisfatherwasaScotchman,whohadcomeoverandsettledinBoston,andmarrieda Salem girl. When Eliphalet Duncan was about twenty he lost both of hisparents.Hisfatherlefthimwithenoughmoneytogivehimastart,andastrongfeeling of pride in his Scotch birth; you see therewas a title in the family in

Scotland,andalthoughEliphalet'sfatherwastheyoungersonofayoungerson,yethealwaysremembered,andalwaysbadehisonlysontoremember,thathisancestrywasnoble.HismotherlefthimherfullshareofYankeegrit,andalittlehouse in Salemwhich has belonged to her family formore than two hundredyears.ShewasaHitchcock,andtheHitchcockshadbeensettledinSalemsincetheyear1.Itwasagreat-great-grandfatherofMr.EliphaletHitchcockwhowasforemost in the time of the Salem witchcraft craze. And this little old housewhichshelefttomyfriendEliphaletDuncanwashaunted.

"Bytheghostofoneofthewitches,ofcourse,"interruptedDearJones.

"Nowhowcoulditbetheghostofawitch,sincethewitcheswereallburnedat thestake?Youneverheardofanybodywhowasburnedhavingaghost,didyou?"

"That'sanargumentinfavorofcremation,atanyrate,"repliedJones,evadingthedirectquestion.

"Itis,ifyoudon'tlikeghosts;Ido,"saidBabyVanRensselaer.

"AndsodoI,"addedUncleLarry."IloveaghostasdearlyasanEnglishmanlovesalord."

"Go on with your story," said the Duchess, majestically overruling allextraneousdiscussion.

"ThislittleoldhouseatSalemwashaunted,"resumedUncleLarry."Andbyaverydistinguishedghost—oratleastbyaghostwithveryremarkableattributes."

"Whatwashelike?"askedBabyVanRensselaer,withapremonitoryshiverofanticipatorydelight.

"Ithadalotofpeculiarities.Inthefirstplace,itneverappearedtothemasterof the house. Mostly it confined its visitations to unwelcome guests. In thecourseofthelasthundredyearsithadfrightenedawayfoursuccessivemothers-in-law,whileneverintrudingontheheadofthehousehold."

"Iguess thatghosthadbeenoneof theboyswhenhewasaliveand in theflesh."ThiswasDearJones'scontributiontothetellingofthetale.

"In the secondplace," continuedUncleLarry, "it never frightened anybodythefirsttimeitappeared.Onlyonthesecondvisitweretheghost-seersscared;

butthentheywerescaredenoughfortwice,andtheyrarelymusteredupcourageenoughtoriskathirdinterview.Oneofthemostcuriouscharacteristicsofthiswell-meaningspookwasthatithadnoface—oratleastthatnobodyeversawitsface."

"Perhaps he kept his countenance veiled?" queried the Duchess, who wasbeginningtorememberthatsheneverdidlikeghoststories.

"ThatwaswhatIwasneverabletofindout.Ihaveaskedseveralpeoplewhosawtheghost,andnoneof themcouldtellmeanythingabout itsface,andyetwhileinitspresencetheynevernoticeditsfeatures,andneverremarkedontheirabsenceorconcealment.Itwasonlyafterwardwhentheytriedtorecallcalmlyallthecircumstancesofmeetingwiththemysteriousstranger,thattheybecameaware that they had not seen its face. And they could not say whether thefeatureswerecovered,orwhether theywerewanting,orwhat the troublewas.They knew only that the facewas never seen.And nomatter how often theymight see it, they never fathomed this mystery. To this day nobody knowswhethertheghostwhichusedtohauntthelittleoldhouseinSalemhadaface,orwhatmanneroffaceithad."

"Howawfullyweird!"saidBabyVanRensselaer."Andwhydidtheghostgoaway?"

"Ihaven'tsaiditwentaway,"answeredUncleLarry,withmuchdignity.

"ButyousaiditusedtohauntthelittleoldhouseatSalem,soIsupposedithadmoved.Didn'tit?"

"Youshallbe told indue time.EliphaletDuncanused tospendmostofhissummervacationsatSalem,andtheghostneverbotheredhimatall,forhewasthemasterofthehouse—muchtohisdisgust,too,becausehewantedtoseeforhimselfthemysterioustenantatwillofhisproperty.Butheneversawit,never.Hearrangedwithfriends tocallhimwhenever itmightappear,andheslept inthenextroomwiththedooropen;andyetwhentheirfrightenedcrieswakedhimtheghostwasgone,andhisonlyrewardwastohearreproachfulsighsassoonashewentback tobed.Yousee, theghost thought itwasnot fairofEliphalet toseekanintroductionwhichwasplainlyunwelcome."

DearJonesinterruptedthestory-tellerbygettingupandtuckingaheavyrugsnugly around BabyVan Rensselaer's feet, for the skywas now overcast andgray,andtheairwasdampandpenetrating.

"Onefinespringmorning,"pursuedUncleLarry,"EliphaletDuncanreceivedgreatnews. I toldyou that therewasa title in the family inScotland,and thatEliphalet'sfatherwastheyoungersonofayoungerson.Well, ithappenedthatallEliphalet'sfather'sbrothersanduncleshaddiedoffwithoutmaleissueexceptthe eldest son of the eldest, and he, of course, bore the title, and was BaronDuncanofDuncan.NowthegreatnewsthatEliphaletDuncanreceivedinNewYorkonefinespringmorningwasthatBaronDuncanandhisonlysonhadbeenyachting in theHebrides,and theyhadbeencaught inablacksquall,and theywere both dead. So my friend Eliphalet Duncan inherited the title and theestates."

"Howromantic!"saidtheDuchess."Sohewasabaron!"

"Well," answered Uncle Larry, "he was a baron if he chose. But he didn'tchoose."

"Morefoolhe,"saidDearJonessententiously.

"Well," answeredUncle Larry, "I'm not so sure of that. You see, EliphaletDuncan was half Scotch and half Yankee, and he had two eyes to the mainchance.He held his tongue about hiswindfall of luck until he could find outwhether the Scotch estates were enough to keep up the Scotch title. He soondiscovered that theywere not, and that the late LordDuncan, havingmarriedmoney,keptupsuchstateashecouldoutoftherevenuesofthedowryofLadyDuncan.AndEliphalet,hedecidedthathewouldratherbeawell-fedlawyerinNewYork, livingcomfortablyonhispractice, thanastarvinglordinScotland,livingscantilyonhistitle."

"Buthekepthistitle?"askedtheDuchess.

"Well,"answeredUncleLarry,"hekeptitquiet.Iknewit,andafriendortwomore. But Eliphalet was a sight too smart to put Baron Duncan of Duncan,AttorneyandCounseloratLaw,onhisshingle."

"Whathasallthisgottodowithyourghost?"askedDearJonespertinently.

"Nothingwiththatghost,butagooddealwithanotherghost.Eliphaletwasvery learned in spirit lore—perhaps because he owned the haunted house atSalem,perhapsbecausehewasaScotchmanbydescent.Atallevents,hehadmadeaspecialstudyofthewraithsandwhiteladiesandbansheesandbogiesofallkindswhosesayingsanddoingsandwarningsarerecordedin theannalsof

the Scottish nobility. In fact, he was acquainted with the habits of everyreputable spook in theScotchpeerage.Andheknew that therewas aDuncanghost attached to the person of the holder of the title of Baron Duncan ofDuncan."

"So, besides being the owner of a haunted house in Salem, he was also ahauntedmaninScotland?"askedBabyVanRensselaer.

"Just so. But the Scotch ghost was not unpleasant, like the Salem ghost,althoughithadonepeculiarityincommonwithitstrans-Atlanticfellow-spook.Itneverappearedtotheholderofthetitle,justastheotherneverwasvisibletotheownerofthehouse.Infact,theDuncanghostwasneverseenatall.Itwasaguardian angel only. Its sole dutywas to be in personal attendance on BaronDuncan ofDuncan, and towarn him of impending evil. The traditions of thehousetoldthattheBaronsofDuncanhadagainandagainfeltapremonitionofillfortune.Someofthemhadyieldedandwithdrawnfromtheventuretheyhadundertaken, and it had failed dismally. Some had been obstinate, and hadhardenedtheirhearts,andhadgoneonrecklessofdefeatandtodeath.InnocasehadaLordDuncanbeenexposedtoperilwithoutfairwarning."

"Then how came it that the father and son were lost in the yacht off theHebrides?"askedDearJones.

"Because theywere tooenlightened toyield to superstition.There is extantnowaletterofLordDuncan,writtentohiswifeafewminutesbeforeheandhissonsetsail,inwhichhetellsherhowhardhehashadtostrugglewithanalmostovermasteringdesiretogiveupthetrip.Hadheobeyedthefriendlywarningofthe family ghost, the latter would have been spared a journey across theAtlantic."

"Did theghost leaveScotland forAmerica as soonas theoldbarondied?"askedBabyVanRensselaer,withmuchinterest.

"Howdidhecomeover,"queriedDearJones—"inthesteerage,orasacabinpassenger?"

"Idon'tknow,"answeredUncleLarrycalmly,"andEliphalet,hedidn'tknow.For as hewas in nodanger, and stood in noneedofwarning, he couldn't tellwhethertheghostwasondutyornot.Ofcoursehewasonthewatchforitallthe time.Buthenevergotanyproofof itspresenceuntilhewentdownto thelittleoldhouseofSalem,justbeforetheFourthofJuly.Hetookafrienddown

withhim—ayoungfellowwhohadbeenintheregulararmysincethedayFortSumter was fired on, and who thought that after four years of the littleunpleasantnessdownSouth,includingsixmonthsinLibby,andaftertenyearsoffightingthebadIndiansontheplains,hewasn'tlikelytobemuchfrightenedbya ghost. Well, Eliphalet and the officer sat out on the porch all the eveningsmokingandtalkingoverpointsinmilitarylaw.Alittleaftertwelveo'clock,justastheybegantothinkitwasabouttimetoturnin,theyheardthemostghastlynoiseinthehouse.Itwasn'tashriek,orahowl,orayell,oranythingtheycouldput a name to. It was an undeterminate, inexplicable shiver and shudder ofsound, which went wailing out of the window. The officer had been at ColdHarbor, but he felt himself getting colder this time. Eliphalet knew itwas theghostwhohauntedthehouse.Asthisweirdsounddiedaway,itwasfollowedbyanother, sharp, short, blood-curdling in its intensity. Something in this cryseemedfamiliartoEliphalet,andhefeltsurethatitproceededfromthefamilyghost,thewarningwraithoftheDuncans."

"Do I understand you to intimate that both ghosts were there together?"inquiredtheDuchessanxiously.

"Both of themwere there," answered Uncle Larry. "You see, one of thembelonged to the house, and had to be there all the time, and the other wasattachedtothepersonofBaronDuncan,andhadtofollowhimthere;whereverhewastherewastheghostalso.ButEliphalet,hehadscarcelytimetothinkthisoutwhenheheardbothsoundsagain,notoneafteranother,butboth together,andsomethingtoldhim—somesortofaninstincthehad—thatthosetwoghostsdidn'tagree,didn'tgetontogether,didn'texactlyhititoff;infact,thattheywerequarreling."

"Quarrelingghosts!Well,Inever!"wasBabyVanRensselaer'sremark.

"Itisablessedthingtoseeghostsdwelltogetherinunity,"saidDearJones.

AndtheDuchessadded,"Itwouldcertainlybesettingabetterexample."

"Youknow,"resumedUncleLarry,"thattwowavesoflightorofsoundmayinterfere and produce darkness or silence. So it was with these rival spooks.Theyinterfered,buttheydidnotproducesilenceordarkness.Onthecontrary,assoonasEliphaletandtheofficerwentintothehouse,therebeganatonceaseriesofspiritualisticmanifestations,aregulardarkséance.Atambourinewasplayedupon,abellwasrung,andaflamingbanjowentsingingaroundtheroom."

"Wheredidtheygetthebanjo?"askedDearJonesskeptically.

"I don't know.Materialized it,maybe, just as theydid the tambourine.Youdon'tsupposeaquietNewYorklawyerkeptastockofmusicalinstrumentslargeenoughtofitoutastrollingminstreltroupejustonthechanceofapairofghostscomingtogivehimasurpriseparty,doyou?Everyspookhasitsowninstrumentoftorture.Angelsplayonharps,I'minformed,andspiritsdelightinbanjosandtambourines. These spooks of Eliphalet Duncan's were ghosts with all themodern improvements, and I guess theywere capable of providing their ownmusicalweapons.At all events, they had them there in the little old house atSalemthenightEliphaletandhisfriendcamedown.Andtheyplayedonthem,and they rang thebell, and they rappedhere, there,andeverywhere.And theykeptitupallnight."

"Allnight?"askedtheawe-strickenDuchess.

"All night long," said Uncle Larry solemnly; "and the next night, too.Eliphaletdidnotgetawinkofsleep,neitherdidhisfriend.Onthesecondnightthehouseghostwasseenbytheofficer;onthethirdnightitshoweditselfagain;andthenextmorningtheofficerpackedhisgrip-sackandtookthefirsttraintoBoston.HewasaNewYorker,buthesaidhe'dsoonergotoBostonthanseethatghostagain.Eliphalet,hewasn'tscaredatall,partlybecauseheneversaweitherthe domiciliary or the titular spook, and partly because he felt himself onfriendlytermswiththespiritworld,anddidn'tscareeasily.Butafterlosingthreenights'sleepandthesocietyofhisfriend,hebegantobealittleimpatient,andtothinkthatthethinghadgonefarenough.Yousee,whileinawayhewasfondofghosts,yethelikedthembestoneatatime.Twoghostswereonetoomany.Hewasn'tbentonmakingacollectionofspooks.Heandoneghostwerecompany,butheandtwoghostswereacrowd."

"Whatdidhedo?"askedBabyVanRensselaer.

"Well, he couldn't do anything. He waited awhile, hoping they would gettired;buthegottiredoutfirst.Yousee,itcomesnaturaltoaspooktosleepinthedaytime, but amanwants to sleepnights, and theywouldn't let him sleepnights.Theykeptonwranglingandquarrelingincessantly;theymanifestedandtheydark-séancedasregularlyastheoldclockonthestairsstrucktwelve;theyrappedandtheyrangbellsandtheybangedthetambourineandtheythrewtheflamingbanjoaboutthehouse,andworsethanall,theyswore."

"Ididnotknowthatspiritswereaddictedtobadlanguage,"saidtheDuchess.

"Howdid he know theywere swearing?Could he hear them?" askedDearJones.

"Thatwasjustit,"respondedUncleLarry;"hecouldnothearthem—atleastnot distinctly. Therewere inarticulatemurmurs and stifled rumblings. But theimpression produced on him was that they were swearing. If they had onlyswornrightout,hewouldnothavemindeditsomuch,becausehewouldhaveknown theworst.But the feeling that the airwas full of suppressed profanitywas verywearing and after standing it for aweek, he gave up in disgust andwenttotheWhiteMountains."

"Leavingthemtofightitout,Isuppose,"interjectedBabyVanRensselaer.

"Not at all," explainedUncleLarry. "They couldnot quarrel unless hewaspresent. You see, he could not leave the titular ghost behind him, and thedomiciliary ghost could not leave the house.Whenhewent away he took thefamilyghostwithhim,leavingthehouseghostbehind.Nowspookscan'tquarrelwhentheyareahundredmilesapartanymorethanmencan."

"Andwhathappenedafterward?"askedBabyVanRensselaer,withaprettyimpatience.

"A most marvelous thing happened. Eliphalet Duncan went to the WhiteMountains, and in the car of the railroad that runs to the top of MountWashington he met a classmate whom he had not seen for years, and thisclassmateintroducedDuncantohissister,andthissisterwasaremarkablyprettygirl,andDuncanfellinlovewithheratfirstsight,andbythetimehegottothetopofMountWashingtonhewassodeepinlovethathebegantoconsiderhisownunworthiness,andtowonderwhethershemighteverbeinducedtocareforhimalittle—eversolittle."

"Idon'tthinkthatissomarvelousathing,"saidDearJonesglancingatBabyVanRensselaer.

"Whowasshe?"askedtheDuchess,whohadoncelivedinPhiladelphia.

"ShewasMissKittySutton,ofSanFrancisco,andshewasadaughterofoldJudgeSutton,ofthefirmofPixleyandSutton."

"Averyrespectablefamily,"assentedtheDuchess.

"Ihopeshewasn'tadaughterofthatloudandvulgaroldMrs.SuttonwhomImetatSaratoga,onesummer,fourorfiveyearsago?"saidDearJones.

"Probablyshewas."

"Shewasahorridoldwoman.TheboysusedtocallherMotherGorgon."

"TheprettyKittySuttonwithwhomEliphaletDuncanhadfalleninlovewasthe daughter of Mother Gorgon. But he never saw the mother, who was in'Frisco,orLosAngeles,orSantaFe,orsomewhereoutWest,andhesawagreatdeal of the daughter,whowas up in theWhiteMountains. Shewas travelingwithherbrotherandhiswife,andastheyjourneyedfromhoteltohotel,Duncanwentwith them,and filledout thequartette.Before theendof the summerhebegan to think about proposing. Of course he had lots of chances, going onexcursions as they were every day. He made up his mind to seize the firstopportunity,andthatveryeveninghetookheroutforamoonlightrowonLakeWinnipiseogee.Ashehandedherintotheboatheresolvedtodoit,andhehadaglimmerofasuspicionthatsheknewhewasgoingtodoit,too."

"Girls," saidDear Jones, "never goout in a rowboat at nightwith a youngmanunlessyoumeantoaccepthim."

"Sometimes it's best to refusehim, andget it overonce for all," saidBabyVanRensselaer.

"AsEliphalettooktheoarshefeltasuddenchill.Hetriedtoshakeitoff,butinvain.Hebegantohaveagrowingconsciousnessofimpendingevil.Beforehehad taken ten strokes—and he was a swift oarsman—he was aware of amysteriouspresencebetweenhimandMissSutton."

"Was it the guardian-angel ghost warning him off the match?" interruptedDearJones.

"That'sjustwhatitwas,"saidUncleLarry."Andheyieldedtoit,andkepthispeace,androwedMissSuttonbacktothehotelwithhisproposalunspoken."

"Morefoolhe,"saidDearJones."Itwilltakemorethanoneghosttokeepmefrom proposing when my mind is made up." And he looked at Baby VanRensselaer.

"Thenextmorning,"continuedUncleLarry,"Eliphaletoverslepthimself,andwhenhewent down to a late breakfast he found that theSuttons had gone toNewYorkbythemorningtrain.Hewantedtofollowthematonce,andagainhefeltthemysteriouspresenceoverpoweringhiswill.Hestruggledtwodays,andat lastherousedhimself todowhathewantedinspiteof thespook.WhenhearrivedinNewYorkitwas late in theevening.Hedressedhimselfhastilyandwent to the hotelwhere the Suttons put up, in the hope of seeing at least herbrother. The guardian angel fought every inch of thewalkwith him, until hebegan to wonder whether, ifMiss Sutton were to take him, the spook wouldforbid the banns. At the hotel he saw no one that night, and he went homedeterminedtocallasearlyashecouldthenextafternoon,andmakeanendofit.Whenhelefthisofficeabouttwoo'clockthenextdaytolearnhisfate,hehadnotwalkedfiveblocksbeforehediscoveredthatthewraithoftheDuncanshadwithdrawnhisoppositiontothesuit.Therewasnofeelingofimpendingevil,noresistance,nostruggle,noconsciousnessofanopposingpresence.Eliphaletwasgreatlyencouraged.Hewalkedbrisklytothehotel;hefoundMissSuttonalone.Heaskedherthequestion,andgothisanswer."

"Sheacceptedhim,ofcourse,"saidBabyVanRensselaer.

"Ofcourse,"saidUncleLarry."Andwhiletheywereinthefirstflushofjoy,swappingconfidencesandconfessions,herbrothercameintotheparlorwithanexpressionofpainonhisfaceandatelegraminhishand.Theformerwascaused

bythelatter,whichwasfrom'Frisco,andwhichannouncedthesuddendeathofMrs.Sutton,theirmother."

"Andthatwaswhytheghostnolongeropposedthematch?"questionedDearJones.

"Exactly.Yousee,thefamilyghostknewthatMotherGorgonwasanawfulobstacletoDuncan'shappiness,soitwarnedhim.Butthemomenttheobstaclewasremoved,itgaveitsconsentatonce."

The fog was lowering its thick damp curtain, and it was beginning to bedifficult toseefromoneendof theboat to theother.DearJones tightened therugwhich enwrappedBabyVanRensselaer, and thenwithdrew again into hisownsubstantialcoverings.

UncleLarrypausedinhisstorylongenoughtolightanotherofthetinycigarshealwayssmoked.

"I infer thatLordDuncan"—theDuchesswasscrupulousin thebestowaloftitles—"sawnomoreoftheghostsafterhewasmarried."

"Heneversawthematall,atanytime,eitherbeforeorsince.Buttheycameverynearbreakingoffthematch,andthusbreakingtwoyounghearts."

"You don'tmean to say that they knew any just cause or impedimentwhytheyshouldnotforeverafterholdtheirpeace?"askedDearJones.

"Howcouldaghost,oreventwoghosts,keepagirlfrommarryingthemansheloved?"ThiswasBabyVanRensselaer'squestion.

"Itseemscurious,doesn'tit?"andUncleLarrytriedtowarmhimselfbytwoorthreesharppullsathisfierylittlecigar."Andthecircumstancesarequiteascurious as the fact itself.You see,MissSuttonwouldn't bemarried for ayearafterhermother'sdeath,sosheandDuncanhadlotsoftimetotelleachotherallthey knew. Eliphalet, he got to know a good deal about the girls shewent toschoolwith,andKitty,shelearnedallabouthisfamily.Hedidn'ttellheraboutthe title for a long time, ashewasn't one tobrag.Buthedescribed toher thelittleoldhouseatSalem.Andoneevening toward theendof the summer, thewedding-dayhavingbeenappointedforearlyinSeptember,shetoldhimthatshedidn'twanttobridaltouratall;shejustwantedtogodowntothelittleoldhouseat Salem to spend her honeymoon in peace and quiet,with nothing to do andnobodytobother them.Well,Eliphalet jumpedat thesuggestion. Itsuitedhim

downtotheground.Allofasuddenherememberedthespooks,anditknockedhimallofaheap.Hehad toldherabout theDuncanBanshee,and the ideaofhaving an ancestral ghost in personal attendance on her husband tickled herimmensely.Buthehadnever saidanythingabout theghostwhichhaunted thelittleoldhouseatSalem.Heknewshewouldbefrightenedoutofherwitsifthehouseghostrevealeditselftoher,andhesawatoncethatitwouldbeimpossibleto go to Salem on their wedding trip. So he told her all about it, and howwheneverhewenttoSalemthetwoghostsinterfered,andgavedarkséancesandmanifestedandmaterializedandmadetheplaceabsolutelyimpossible.Kitty,shelistenedinsilence,andEliphalet,hethoughtshehadchangedhermind.Butshehadn'tdoneanythingofthekind."

"Justlikeaman—tothinkshewasgoingto,"remarkedBabyVanRensselaer.

"Shejusttoldhimshecouldnotbearghostsherself,butshewouldnotmarryamanwhowasafraidofthem."

"Justlikeagirl—tobesoinconsistent,"remarkedDearJones.

Uncle Larry's tiny cigar had long been extinct. He lighted a new one, andcontinued: "Eliphaletprotested invain.Kitty saidhermindwasmadeup.ShewasdeterminedtopassherhoneymooninthelittleoldhouseatSalem,andshewasequallydeterminednot togothereas longas therewereanyghosts there.Untilhecouldassureherthatthespectraltenantshadreceivednoticetoquit,andthat therewasnodangerofmanifestationsandmaterializing,sherefusedtobemarried at all. She did not intend to have her honeymoon interrupted by twowranglingghosts,andtheweddingcouldbepostponeduntilhehadmadereadythehouseforher."

"Shewasanunreasonableyoungwoman,"saidtheDuchess.

"Well,that'swhatEliphaletthought,muchashewasinlovewithher.Andhebelievedhecouldtalkheroutofherdetermination.Buthecouldn't.Shewasset.Andwhenagirlisset,there'snothingtodobutyieldtotheinevitable.Andthat'sjustwhatEliphaletdid.Hesawhewouldeitherhavetogiveheruportogettheghostsout;andashe lovedheranddidnotcare for theghosts,he resolved totackletheghosts.Hehadcleargrit,Eliphalethad—hewashalfScotchandhalfYankee,andneitherbreedturnstailinahurry.SohemadehisplansandhewentdowntoSalem.Ashesaidgood-bytoKittyhehadanimpressionthatshewassorryshehadmadehimgo,butshekeptupbravely,andputaboldfaceonit,and saw him off, and went home and cried for an hour, and was perfectly

miserableuntilhecamebackthenextday."

"Did he succeed in driving the ghosts away?" askedBabyVanRensselaer,withgreatinterest.

"That's just what I'm coming to," said Uncle Larry, pausing at the criticalmoment,inthemannerofthetrainedstoryteller."Yousee,Eliphalethadgotarather tough job, and he would gladly have had an extension of time on thecontract,buthehadtochoosebetweenthegirlandtheghosts,andhewantedthegirl.Hetriedtoinventorremembersomeshortandeasywaywithghosts,buthecouldn't. He wished that somebody had invented a specific for spooks—somethingthatwouldmaketheghostscomeoutofthehouseanddieintheyard.Hewonderedifhecouldnottempttheghoststorunindebt,sothathemightgetthe sheriff to help him. He wondered also whether the ghosts could not beovercomewithstrongdrink—adissipatedspook,aspookwithdeliriumtremens,might be committed to the inebriate asylum.But none of these things seemedfeasible."

"Whatdidhedo?"interruptedDearJones."Thelearnedcounselwillpleasespeaktothepoint."

"Youwillregretthisunseemlyhaste,"saidUncleLarry,gravely,"whenyouknowwhatreallyhappened."

"What was it, Uncle Larry?" asked Baby Van Rensselaer. "I'm allimpatience."

AndUncleLarryproceeded:

"EliphaletwentdowntothelittleoldhouseatSalem,andassoonastheclockstrucktwelvetherivalghostsbeganwranglingasbefore.Rapshere,there,andeverywhere,ringingbells,bangingtambourines,strummingbanjossailingaboutthe room, and all the other manifestations and materializations followed oneanotherjustastheyhadthesummerbefore.TheonlydifferenceEliphaletcoulddetectwas a stronger flavor in the spectral profanity; and this, of course,wasonlyavagueimpression,forhedidnotactuallyhearasingleword.Hewaitedawhileinpatience,listeningandwatching.Ofcourseheneversaweitheroftheghosts,becauseneitherof themcouldappear tohim.At lasthegothisdanderup,andhethoughtitwasabouttimetointerfere,soherappedonthetable,andasked for silence.As soon as he felt that the spookswere listening to himheexplainedthesituationtothem.Hetoldthemhewasinlove,andthathecould

notmarryunlesstheyvacatedthehouse.Heappealedtothemasoldfriends,andhe laid claim to their gratitude. The titular ghost had been sheltered by theDuncan family for hundreds of years, and the domiciliary ghost had had freelodging in the little old house at Salem for nearly two centuries.He imploredthemtosettle theirdifferences,andtogethimoutofhisdifficultyatonce.Hesuggestedthey'dbetterfightitoutthenandthere,andseewhowasmaster.Hehadbroughtdownwithhimallneedfulweapons.Andhepulledouthisvalise,andspreadon the tableapairofnavy revolvers,apairof shot-guns,apairofduelingswords,andacoupleofbowie-knives.Heofferedtoserveassecondforbothparties,andtogivethewordwhentobegin.Healsotookoutofhisvaliseapackof cards andabottleofpoison, telling them that if theywished to avoidcarnagetheymightcutthecardstoseewhichoneshouldtakethepoison.Thenhewaitedanxiouslyfortheirreply.Foralittlespacetherewassilence.Thenhebecame conscious of a tremulous shivering in one corner of the room, andherememberedthathehadheardfromthatdirectionwhatsoundedlikeafrightenedsighwhenhemadethefirstsuggestionoftheduel.Somethingtoldhimthatthiswasthedomiciliaryghost,andthatitwasbadlyscared.Thenhewasimpressedbyacertainmovementintheoppositecorneroftheroom,asthoughthetitularghostweredrawinghimselfupwithoffendeddignity.Eliphaletcouldn'texactlysee these things, because he never saw the ghosts, but he felt them. After asilenceofnearlyaminuteavoicecamefromthecornerwherethefamilyghoststood—avoicestrongand full,but tremblingslightlywithsuppressedpassion.AndthisvoicetoldEliphaletitwasplainenoughthathehadnotlongbeenthehead of the Duncans, and that he had never properly considered thecharacteristicsofhisraceifnowhesupposedthatoneofhisbloodcoulddrawhis sword against a woman. Eliphalet said he had never suggested that theDuncanghostshouldraisehishandagainstawomanandallhewantedwasthattheDuncanghostshouldfighttheotherghost.AndthenthevoicetoldEliphaletthattheotherghostwasawoman."

"What?"saidDearJones,sittingupsuddenly."Youdon'tmeantotellmethattheghostwhichhauntedthehousewasawoman?"

"ThoseweretheverywordsEliphaletDuncanused,"saidUncleLarry;"buthe did not need to wait for the answer. All at once he recalled the traditionsaboutthedomiciliaryghost,andheknewthatwhatthetitularghostsaidwasthefact. He had never thought of the sex of a spook, but there was no doubtwhateverthatthehouseghostwasawoman.NosoonerwasthisfirmlyfixedinEliphalet'smind thanhesawhiswayoutof thedifficulty.Theghostsmustbe

married!—forthentherewouldbenomoreinterference,nomorequarreling,nomoremanifestationsandmaterializations,nomoredarkséances,withtheirrapsandbellsand tambourinesandbanjos.At first theghostswouldnothearof it.Thevoice in the corner declared that theDuncanwraith hadnever thought ofmatrimony. But Eliphalet argued with them, and pleaded and persuaded andcoaxed,anddweltontheadvantagesofmatrimony.Hehadtoconfess,ofcourse,thathedidnotknowhowtogetaclergymantomarrythem;butthevoicefromthecornergravelytoldhimthatthereneedbenodifficultyinregardtothat,astherewasnolackofspiritualchaplains.Then,forthefirsttime,thehouseghostspoke, in a low, clear, gentle voice, and with a quaint, old-fashioned NewEngland accent,which contrasted sharplywith thebroadScotch speechof thefamilyghost.ShesaidthatEliphaletDuncanseemedtohaveforgottenthatshewasmarried.But thisdidnotupsetEliphalet at all; he remembered thewholecaseclearly,andhetoldhershewasnotamarriedghost,butawidow,sinceherhusband had been hung for murdering her. Then the Duncan ghost drewattention to the great disparity of their ages, saying that he was nearly fourhundredandfiftyyearsold,whileshewasbarelytwohundred.ButEliphalethadnottalkedtojuriesfornothing;hejustbuckledto,andcoaxedthoseghostsintomatrimony.Afterward he came to the conclusion that theywerewilling to becoaxed,butatthetimehethoughthehadprettyhardworktoconvincethemoftheadvantagesoftheplan."

"Didhesucceed?"askedBabyVanRensselaer,withayounglady'sinterestinmatrimony.

"He did," saidUncle Larry. "He talked thewraith of theDuncans and thespecterofthelittleoldhouseatSalemintoamatrimonialengagement.Andfromthetimetheywereengagedhehadnomoretroublewiththem.Theywererivalghosts no longer.Theyweremarriedby their spiritual chaplain thevery sameday that Eliphalet Duncan met Kitty Sutton in front of the railing of GraceChurch. The ghostly bride and bridegroomwent away at once on their bridaltour,andLordandLadyDuncanwentdowntothelittleoldhouseatSalemtopasstheirhoneymoon."

UncleLarrystopped.Histinycigarwasoutagain.Thetaleoftherivalghostswas told. A solemn silence fell on the little party on the deck of the oceansteamer,brokenharshlybythehoarseroarofthefog-horn.

THEDAMNEDTHING

BYAMBROSEBIERCE

I

ONEDOESNOTALWAYSEATWHATISONTHETABLE

Bythelightofatallowcandlewhichhadbeenplacedononeendofaroughtable a man was reading something written in a book. It was an old accountbook,greatlyworn;andthewritingwasnot,apparently,verylegible,forthemansometimesheldthepageclosetotheflameofthecandletogetastrongerlighton it. The shadow of the bookwould then throw into obscurity a half of theroom, darkening a number of faces and figures; for besides the reader, eightothermenwerepresent.Sevenof themsat against the rough logwalls, silent,motionless,andtheroombeingsmall,notveryfarfromthetable.Byextendingan arm any one of them could have touched the eighthman, who lay on thetable,faceupward,partlycoveredbyasheet,hisarmsathissides.Hewasdead.

Themanwiththebookwasnotreadingaloud,andnoonespoke;allseemedto be waiting for something to occur; the dead man only was withoutexpectation.Fromtheblankdarknessoutsidecamein,throughtheaperturethatservedforawindow,alltheeverunfamiliarnoisesofnightinthewilderness—the long nameless note of a distant coyote; the stilly pulsing thrill of tirelessinsectsintrees;strangecriesofnightbirds,sodifferentfromthoseofthebirdsofday; thedroneofgreatblunderingbeetles,andall thatmysteriouschorusofsmall sounds that seem always to have been but half heard when they havesuddenlyceased,as ifconsciousofan indiscretion.Butnothingofall thiswasnotedinthatcompany;itsmemberswerenotovermuchaddictedtoidleinterestinmatters of no practical importance; that was obvious in every line of theirrugged faces—obvious even in the dim light of the single candle. Theywereevidentlymenofthevicinity—farmersandwoodsmen.

Thepersonreadingwasatrifledifferent;onewouldhavesaidofhimthathewas of the world, worldly, albeit there was that in his attire which attested a

certainfellowshipwiththeorganismsofhisenvironment.HiscoatwouldhardlyhavepassedmusterinSanFrancisco;hisfoot-gearwasnotofurbanorigin,andthehat that laybyhimonthefloor(hewastheonlyoneuncovered)wassuchthatifonehadconsidereditasanarticleofmerepersonaladornmenthewouldhavemisseditsmeaning.Incountenancethemanwasratherprepossessing,withjust a hint of sternness; though that he may have assumed or cultivated, asappropriate to one in authority. For hewas a coroner. It was by virtue of hisofficethathehadpossessionofthebookinwhichhewasreading;ithadbeenfoundamong thedeadman'seffects—inhiscabin,where the inquestwasnowtakingplace.

Whenthecoronerhadfinishedreadingheputthebookintohisbreastpocket.Atthatmomentthedoorwaspushedopenandayoungmanentered.He,clearly,wasnotofmountainbirthandbreeding:hewascladasthosewhodwellincities.Hisclothingwasdusty,however,asfromtravel.Hehad,infact,beenridinghardtoattendtheinquest.

Thecoronernodded;nooneelsegreetedhim.

"Wehavewaitedforyou,"saidthecoroner."Itisnecessarytohavedonewiththisbusinessto-night."

Theyoungmansmiled."Iamsorrytohavekeptyou,"hesaid."Iwentaway,nottoevadeyoursummons,buttoposttomynewspaperanaccountofwhatIsupposeIamcalledbacktorelate."

Thecoronersmiled.

"Theaccountthatyoupostedtoyournewspaper,"hesaid,"differs,probably,fromthatwhichyouwillgivehereunderoath."

"That," replied the other, rather hotly and with a visible flush, "is as youplease.IusedmanifoldpaperandhaveacopyofwhatIsent.Itwasnotwrittenasnews,foritisincredible,butasfiction.Itmaygoasapartofmytestimonyunderoath."

"Butyousayitisincredible."

"Thatisnothingtoyou,sir,ifIalsoswearthatitistrue."

Thecoronerwassilentforatime,hiseyesuponthefloor.Themenaboutthesidesof thecabintalkedinwhispers,butseldomwithdrewtheirgazefromthe

face of the corpse. Presently the coroner lifted his eyes and said: "We willresumetheinquest."

Themenremovedtheirhats.Thewitnesswassworn.

"Whatisyourname?"thecoronerasked.

"WilliamHarker."

"Age?"

"Twenty-seven."

"Youknewthedeceased,HughMorgan?"

"Yes."

"Youwerewithhimwhenhedied?"

"Nearhim."

"Howdidthathappen—yourpresence,Imean?"

"I was visiting him at this place to shoot and fish. A part of my purpose,however,wastostudyhimandhisodd,solitarywayoflife.Heseemedagoodmodelforacharacterinfiction.Isometimeswritestories."

"Isometimesreadthem."

"Thankyou."

"Storiesingeneral—notyours."

Someofthejurorslaughed.Againstasomberbackgroundhumorshowshighlights. Soldiers in the intervals of battle laugh easily, and a jest in the deathchamberconquersbysurprise.

"Relate the circumstances of thisman's death," said the coroner. "Youmayuseanynotesormemorandathatyouplease."

Thewitnessunderstood.Pullingamanuscriptfromhisbreastpocketheheldit near the candle and turning the leaves until he found the passage that hewantedbegantoread.

II

WHATMAYHAPPENINAFIELDOFWILDOATS

"...Thesunhadhardlyrisenwhenweleftthehouse.Wewerelookingforquail,eachwithashotgun,butwehadonlyonedog.Morgansaidthatourbestgroundwasbeyondacertain ridge thathepointedout,andwecrossed itbyatrail through thechaparral.On theother sidewascomparatively levelground,thicklycoveredwithwildoats.AsweemergedfromthechaparralMorganwasbutafewyardsinadvance.Suddenlyweheard,ata littledistancetoourrightand partly in front, a noise as of some animal thrashing about in the bushes,whichwecouldseewereviolentlyagitated.

"'We'vestartedadeer,'Isaid.'Iwishwehadbroughtarifle.'

"Morgan,whohadstoppedandwasintentlywatchingtheagitatedchaparral,said nothing, but had cocked both barrels of his gun and was holding it inreadinesstoaim.Ithoughthimatrifleexcited,whichsurprisedme,forhehadareputation for exceptional coolness, even inmomentsof suddenand imminentperil.

"'O, come,' I said. 'You are not going to fill up a deerwith quail-shot, areyou?'

"Stillhedidnotreply;butcatchingasightofhisfaceasheturneditslightlytowardmeIwasstruckbytheintensityofhislook.ThenIunderstoodthatwehadseriousbusinessinhandandmyfirstconjecturewasthatwehad'jumped'agrizzly.IadvancedtoMorgan'sside,cockingmypieceasImoved.

"Thebusheswerenowquietandthesoundshadceased,butMorganwasasattentivetotheplaceasbefore.

"'Whatisit?Whatthedevilisit?'Iasked.

"'ThatDamnedThing!' he replied,without turning his head.His voicewashuskyandunnatural.Hetrembledvisibly.

"Iwasabouttospeakfurther,whenIobservedthewildoatsneartheplaceofthedisturbancemovinginthemostinexplicableway.Icanhardlydescribeit.Itseemedas if stirredbyastreakofwind,whichnotonlybent it,butpressed it

down—crushed it so that it did not rise; and this movement was slowlyprolongingitselfdirectlytowardus.

"NothingthatIhadeverseenhadaffectedmesostrangelyasthisunfamiliarandunaccountable phenomenon, yet I amunable to recall any sense of fear. Iremember—and tell it here because, singularly enough, I recollected it then—thatonceinlookingcarelesslyoutofanopenwindowImomentarilymistookasmalltreecloseathandforoneofagroupoflargertreesatalittledistanceaway.It looked the same size as the others, but being more distinctly and sharplydefined inmass and detail seemed out of harmonywith them. It was amerefalsificationofthelawofaerialperspective,butitstartled,almostterrifiedme.Wesorelyupontheorderlyoperationoffamiliarnaturallawsthatanyseemingsuspensionofthemisnotedasamenacetooursafety,awarningofunthinkablecalamity. So now the apparently causeless movement of the herbage and theslow, undeviating approach of the line of disturbances were distinctlydisquieting. My companion appeared actually frightened, and I could hardlycreditmysenseswhenIsawhimsuddenlythrowhisguntohisshoulderandfirebothbarrelsattheagitatedgrain!Beforethesmokeofthedischargehadclearedaway I heard a loud savage cry—a scream like that of a wild animal—andflinginghisgunuponthegroundMorgansprangawayandranswiftlyfromthespot.AtthesameinstantIwasthrownviolentlytothegroundbytheimpactofsomething unseen in the smoke—some soft, heavy substance that seemedthrownagainstmewithgreatforce.

"BeforeIcouldgetuponmyfeetandrecovermygun,whichseemedtohavebeenstruckfrommyhands,IheardMorgancryingoutasifinmortalagony,andmingling with his cries were such hoarse, savage sounds as one hears fromfighting dogs. Inexpressibly terrified, I struggled tomy feet and looked in thedirectionofMorgan'sretreat;andmayHeaveninmercysparemefromanothersightlikethat!Atadistanceoflessthanthirtyyardswasmyfriend,downuponone knee, his head thrown back at a frightful angle, hatless, his long hair indisorderandhiswholebody inviolentmovement fromside to side,backwardandforward.His rightarmwas liftedandseemed to lack thehand—at least, Icould see none. The other arm was invisible. At times, as my memory nowreportsthisextraordinaryscene,Icoulddiscernbutapartofhisbody;itwasasifhehadbeenpartlyblottedout—Icannototherwiseexpressit—thenashiftingofhispositionwouldbringitallintoviewagain.

"All thismusthaveoccurredwithinafewseconds,yet in that timeMorganassumedalltheposturesofadeterminedwrestlervanquishedbysuperiorweight

andstrength. Isawnothingbuthim,andhimnotalwaysdistinctly.During theentire incident his shouts and curses were heard, as if through an envelopinguproarofsuchsoundsofrageandfuryasIhadneverheardfromthethroatofmanorbrute!

"For a moment only I stood irresolute, then throwing downmy gun I ranforwardtomyfriend'sassistance.Ihadavaguebeliefthathewassufferingfromafit,orsomeformofconvulsion.BeforeIcouldreachhissidehewasdownandquiet. All sounds had ceased, but with a feeling of such terror as even theseawfuleventshadnotinspiredInowsawagainthemysteriousmovementofthewild oats, prolonging itself from the trampled area about the prostrate mantowardtheedgeofawood.ItwasonlywhenithadreachedthewoodthatIwasabletowithdrawmyeyesandlookatmycompanion.Hewasdead."

III

AMANTHOUGHNAKEDMAYBEINRAGS

The coroner rose from his seat and stood beside the deadman. Lifting anedgeof thesheethepulled itaway,exposing theentirebody,altogethernakedand showing in the candle-light a claylike yellow. It had, however, broadmaculations of bluish black, obviously caused by extravasated blood fromcontusions. The chest and sides looked as if they had been beaten with abludgeon.Thereweredreadfullacerations;theskinwastorninstripsandshreds.

The coroner moved round to the end of the table and undid a silkhandkerchiefwhichhadbeenpassedunderthechinandknottedonthetopofthehead.When the handkerchief was drawn away it exposed what had been thethroat. Some of the jurors who had risen to get a better view repented theircuriosityandturnedawaytheirfaces.WitnessHarkerwenttotheopenwindowandleanedoutacrossthesill,faintandsick.Droppingthehandkerchiefuponthedeadman'sneckthecoronersteppedtoanangleoftheroomandfromapileofclothingproducedonegarmentafteranother,eachofwhichheheldupamomentfor inspection.Allwere torn, and stiffwith blood. The jurors did notmake acloser inspection.Theyseemedratheruninterested.Theyhad, in truth,seenallthisbefore;theonlythingthatwasnewtothembeingHarker'stestimony.

"Gentlemen," the coroner said, "we have no more evidence, I think. Yourdutyhasbeenalreadyexplainedtoyou;ifthereisnothingyouwishtoaskyou

maygooutsideandconsideryourverdict."

Theforemanrose—atall,beardedmanofsixty,coarselyclad.

"Ishouldliketoaskonequestion,Mr.Coroner,"hesaid."Whatasylumdidthisyerlastwitnessescapefrom?"

"Mr.Harker,"saidthecoroner,gravelyandtranquilly,"fromwhatasylumdidyoulastescape?"

Harkerflushedcrimsonagain,butsaidnothing,andthesevenjurorsroseandsolemnlyfiledoutofthecabin.

"Ifyouhavedoneinsultingme,sir,"saidHarker,assoonasheandtheofficerwereleftalonewiththedeadman,"IsupposeIamatlibertytogo?"

"Yes."

Harkerstartedtoleave,butpaused,withhishandonthedoorlatch.Thehabitofhisprofessionwasstronginhim—strongerthanhissenseofpersonaldignity.Heturnedaboutandsaid:

"Thebookthatyouhavethere—IrecognizeitasMorgan'sdiary.Youseemedgreatly interested in it;youread in itwhileIwas testifying.MayIsee it?Thepublicwouldlike——"

"Thebookwill cutno figure in thismatter," replied theofficial, slipping itintohiscoatpocket;"alltheentriesinitweremadebeforethewriter'sdeath."

As Harker passed out of the house the jury reëntered and stood about thetable, on which the now covered corpse showed under the sheet with sharpdefinition.Theforemanseatedhimselfnearthecandle,producedfromhisbreastpocket a pencil and scrap of paper andwrote rather laboriously the followingverdict,whichwithvariousdegreesofeffortallsigned:

"We,thejury,dofindthattheremainscometotheirdeathatthehandsofamountainlion,butsomeofusthinks,allthesame,theyhadfits."

IV

ANEXPLANATIONFROMTHETOMB

In thediaryof the lateHughMorganare certain interesting entrieshaving,possibly,ascientificvalueassuggestions.Attheinquestuponhisbodythebookwas not put in evidence; possibly the coroner thought it not worth while toconfuse the jury. The date of the first of the entries mentioned cannot beascertained; the upper part of the leaf is torn away; the part of the entryremainingfollows:

" . . .wouldruninahalf-circle,keepinghisheadturnedalwaystowardthecenter,andagainhewouldstandstill,barkingfuriously.Atlastheranawayintothebrushasfastashecouldgo.Ithoughtatfirstthathehadgonemad,butonreturning to the house found no other alteration in hismanner thanwhatwasobviouslyduetofearofpunishment.

"Canadogseewithhisnose?Doodors impress somecerebralcenterwithimagesofthethingthatemittedthem?...

"Sept.2.—Lookingatthestarslastnightastheyroseabovethecrestoftheridge east of the house, I observed them successively disappear—from left toright. Eachwas eclipsed but an instant, and only a few at the same time, butalong theentire lengthof the ridgeall thatwerewithinadegreeor twoof thecrestwereblottedout.Itwasasifsomethinghadpassedalongbetweenmeandthem; but I could not see it, and the starswere not thick enough to define itsoutline.Ugh!Idon'tlikethis."...

Severalweeks'entriesaremissing,threeleavesbeingtornfromthebook.

"Sept. 27.—It has been about here again—I find evidences of its presenceeveryday.Iwatchedagainalllastnightinthesamecover,guninhand,double-chargedwithbuckshot.Inthemorningthefreshfootprintswerethere,asbefore.YetIwouldhaveswornthatIdidnotsleep—indeed,Ihardlysleepatall. It isterrible, insupportable! If theseamazingexperiencesare real Ishallgomad; iftheyarefancifulIammadalready.

"Oct.3.—Ishallnotgo—itshallnotdrivemeaway.No,thisismyhouse,myland.Godhatesacoward....

"Oct.5.—Icanstanditnolonger;IhaveinvitedHarkertopassafewweekswithme—hehasalevelhead.Icanjudgefromhismannerifhethinksmemad.

"Oct. 7.—I have the solution of the mystery; it came to me last night—suddenly,asbyrevelation.Howsimple—howterriblysimple!

"There are sounds thatwecannothear.At either endof the scale arenotesthatstirnochordofthatimperfectinstrument,thehumanear.Theyaretoohighortoograve.Ihaveobservedaflockofblackbirdsoccupyinganentiretree-top—the tops of several trees—and all in full song. Suddenly—in amoment—atabsolutely the same instant—all spring into the air and fly away.How?Theycouldnotallseeoneanother—whole tree-tops intervened.Atnopointcouldaleader have been visible to all. Theremust have been a signal of warning orcommand,highand shrill above thedin, butbymeunheard. I haveobserved,too, the same simultaneous flight when all were silent, among not onlyblackbirds, but other birds—quail, for example,widely separated by bushes—evenonoppositesidesofahill.

"It is known to seamen that a school ofwhales basking or sporting on thesurfaceoftheocean,milesapart,withtheconvexityoftheearthbetween,willsometimes dive at the same instant—all gone out of sight in a moment. Thesignalhasbeensounded—toogravefortheearofthesailoratthemastheadandhiscomradesonthedeck—whoneverthelessfeelitsvibrationsintheshipasthestonesofacathedralarestirredbythebassoftheorgan.

"As with sounds, so with colors. At each end of the solar spectrum thechemist can detect the presence of what are known as 'actinic' rays. Theyrepresent colors—integral colors in the composition of light—which we areunabletodiscern.Thehumaneyeisanimperfectinstrument; itsrangeisbutafewoctavesofthereal'chromaticscale.'Iamnotmad;therearecolorsthatwecannotsee.

"And,Godhelpme!theDamnedThingisofsuchacolor!"

THEINTERVAL[J]

BYVINCENTO'SULLIVAN

FromTheBostonEveningTranscript

Mrs.WiltonpassedthroughalittlealleyleadingfromoneofthegateswhicharearoundRegent'sPark,andcameoutonthewideandquietstreet.Shewalkedalong slowly, peering anxiously from side to side so as not to overlook thenumber.Shepulledherfurscloserroundher;afterheryearsinIndiathisLondondampseemedveryharsh.Still, itwasnotafogto-day.Adensehaze,grayandtingedruddy, laybetweenthehouses,sometimesblowingwitha littlewetkissagainst the face.Mrs.Wilton'shair andeyelashesandher furswerepowderedwithtinydrops.Buttherewasnothingintheweathertoblurthesight;shecouldseethefacesofpeoplesomedistanceoffandreadthesignsontheshops.

Beforethedoorofadealerinantiquesandsecond-handfurnitureshepausedand looked through the shabby uncleaned window at an unassorted heap ofthings,manyof themofgreatvalue.Sheread thePolishnamefastenedon thepaneinwhiteletters.

"Yes;thisistheplace."

She opened the door, which met her entrance with an ill-tempered jangle.Fromsomewhere in theblackdepthsof the shop thedealercame forward.Hehadaclammywhiteface,withasparseblackbeard,andworeaskullcapandspectacles.Mrs.Wiltonspoketohiminalowvoice.

A look of complicity, of cunning, perhaps of irony, passed through thedealer'scynicalandsadeyes.Buthebowedgravelyandrespectfully.

"Yes,sheishere,madam.WhethershewillseeyouornotIdonotknow.Sheisnotalwayswell;shehashermoods.Andthen,wehavetobesocareful.Thepolice—Not that theywould toucha lady likeyou.But thepoor alienhasnotmuchchancethesedays."

Mrs.Wiltonfollowedhimtothebackoftheshop,wheretherewasawindingstaircase.Sheknockedoverafewthingsinherpassageandstoopedtopickthem

up,butthedealerkeptmuttering,"Itdoesnotmatter—surelyitdoesnotmatter."Helitacandle.

"Youmustgoupthesestairs.Theyareverydark;becareful.Whenyoucometoadoor,openitandgostraightin."

Hestoodatthefootofthestairsholdingthelighthighabovehisheadandsheascended.

Theroomwasnotverylarge,anditseemedveryordinary.Thereweresomeflimsy,uncomfortable chairs ingilt and red.Two largepalmswere in corners.Under a glass cover on the table was a view of Rome. The room had not abusiness-likelook,thoughtMrs.Wilton;therewasnosuggestionoftheofficeorwaiting-roomwherepeoplecameandwentallday;yetyouwouldnotsaythatitwasaprivate roomwhichwas lived in.Therewerenobooksorpapersabout;everychairwasintheplaceithadbeenplacedwhentheroomwaslastswept;therewasnofireanditwasverycold.

To the right of thewindowwas a door coveredwith a plush curtain.Mrs.Wilton sat downnear the table andwatched this door. She thought itmust bethroughitthatthesoothsayerwouldcomeforth.Shelaidherhandslistlesslyoneon topof theotheron the table.Thismustbe the tenthseershehadconsultedsince Hugh had been killed. She thought them over. No, this must be theeleventh.ShehadforgottenthatfrighteningmaninPariswhosaidhehadbeenapriest.Yet of them all itwas only hewho had told her anything definite.Butevenhecoulddonomorethantellthepast.Hetoldofhermarriage;heevenhadthedurationofitright—twenty-onemonths.HetoldtoooftheirtimeinIndia—atleast,heknewthatherhusbandhadbeenasoldier,andsaidhehadbeenonserviceinthe"colonies."Onthewhole,though,hehadbeenasunsatisfactoryastheothers.Noneofthemhadgivenhertheconsolationshesought.Shedidnotwanttobetoldofthepast.IfHughwasgoneforever,thenwithhimhadgoneallherloveofliving,hercourage,allherbetterself.Shewantedtobeliftedoutofthedespair,thedazedaimlessdriftingfromdaytoday,longingatnightforthemorning,andinthemorningforthefallofnight,whichhadbeenherlifesincehis death. If somebody could assure her that it was not all over, that he wassomewhere,nottoofaraway,unchangedfromwhathehadbeenhere,withhiscrisphairandratherslowsmileandleanbrownface,thathesawhersometimes,thathehadnotforgottenher....

"Oh,Hugh,darling!"

When she looked up again the woman was sitting there before her. Mrs.Wiltonhadnot heardher come in.With her experience,wide enoughnow, ofseers and fortune-tellers of all kinds, she saw at once that this woman wasdifferent from the others. She was used to the quick appraising look, theattempts, sometimes clumsy, but often cleverly disguised, to collect somefragmentsofinformationwhereupontoerectaplausiblevision.Butthiswomanlookedasifshetookitoutofherself.

Not thatherappearancesuggestedintercoursewiththespiritualworldmorethan theothershaddone; it suggested that, in fact, considerably less.Someoftheotherswere frail, yearning, evaporatedcreatures, and the ex-priest inParishadsomethingterribleandcondemnedinhislook.Hemightwellsupwiththedevil,thatman,andprobablydidinsomewayorother.

But thiswas a little fat,weary-facedwoman about fifty,who only did notlooklikeacookbecauseshelookedmorelikeasempstress.Herblackdresswasall covered with white threads. Mrs. Wilton looked at her with someembarrassment.Itseemedmorereasonabletobeaskingawomanlikethisaboutalteringagownthanaboutintercoursewiththedead.Thatseemedevenabsurdinsuchaverycommonplacepresence.Thewomanseemedtimidandoppressed:shebreathedheavilyandkeptrubbingherdingyhands,whichlookedmoist,oneover the other; shewas alwayswetting her lips, and coughedwith a little drycough. But in her these signs of nervous exhaustion suggested overwork in acloseatmosphere,bendingtoocloseoverthesewing-machine.Heruninterestinghair,likearat'spelt,wasekedoutwithafalseadditionofanothercolor.Somethreadshadgotintoherhairtoo.

Her harried, uneasy look causedMrs.Wilton to ask compassionately: "Areyoumuchworriedbythepolice?"

"Oh,thepolice!Whydon'ttheyleaveusalone?Youneverknowwhocomesto see you.Whydon't they leaveme alone? I'm a goodwoman. I only think.WhatIdoisnoharmtoanyone."...

She continued in an uneven querulous voice, always rubbing her handstogether nervously. She seemed to the visitor to be talking at random, justgabbling,likechildrendosometimesbeforetheyfallasleep.

"Iwantedtoexplain——"hesitatedMrs.Wilton.

Butthewoman,withherheadpressedcloseagainstthebackofthechair,was

staringbeyondheratthewall.Herfacehadlostwhateverlittleexpressionithad;itwasblankandstupid.Whenshespokeitwasveryslowlyandhervoicewasguttural.

"Can'tyouseehim?Itseemsstrangetomethatyoucan'tseehim.Heissonearyou.Heispassinghisarmroundyourshoulders."

Thiswas a frequentgestureofHugh's.And indeedat thatmoment she feltthat somebody was very near her, bending over her. She was enveloped intenderness.Only a very thin veil, she felt, prevented her from seeing.But thewoman saw.ShewasdescribingHughminutely, even the little things like theburnonhisrighthand.

"Ishehappy?Oh,askhimdoesheloveme?"

The result was so far beyond anything she had hoped for that she wasstunned.Shecouldonlystammerthefirstthingthatcameintoherhead."Doesheloveme?"

"Helovesyou.Hewon'tanswer,buthelovesyou.Hewantsmetomakeyouseehim;heisdisappointed,Ithink,becauseIcan't.ButIcan'tunlessyoudoityourself."

Afterawhileshesaid:

"Ithinkyouwillseehimagain.Youthinkofnothingelse.Heisveryclosetousnow."

Then she collapsed, and fell into a heavy sleep and lay there motionless,hardlybreathing.Mrs.Wiltonputsomenotesonthetableandstoleoutontip-toe.

Sheseemedtorememberthatdownstairsinthedarkshopthedealerwiththewaxenfacedetainedhertoshowsomeoldsilverandjewelryandsuchlike.Butshedidnotcometoherself,shehadnopreciserecollectionofanything,tillshefoundherselfenteringachurchnearPortlandPlace.Itwasanunlikelyactinhernormalmoments.Whydid shego in there?Sheacted likeonewalking inhersleep.

Thechurchwasoldanddim,withhighblackpews.Therewasnobodythere.Mrs.Wiltonsatdowninoneofthepewsandbentforwardwithherfaceinherhands.

Afterafewminutesshesawthatasoldierhadcomeinnoiselesslyandplacedhimself about half-a-dozen rows ahead of her. He never turned round; butpresentlyshewasstruckbysomething familiar in the figure.First she thoughtvaguely that thesoldier looked likeherHugh.Then,whenheputuphishand,shesawwhoitwas.

Shehurriedoutofthepewandrantowardshim."Oh,Hugh,Hugh,haveyoucomeback?"

Helookedroundwithasmile.Hehadnotbeenkilled.Itwasallamistake.Hewasgoingtospeak....

Footstepssoundedhollowintheemptychurch.Sheturnedandglanceddownthedimaisle.

Itwasanoldsextonorvergerwhoapproached."IthoughtIheardyoucall,"hesaid.

"Iwasspeakingtomyhusband."ButHughwasnowheretobeseen.

"Hewashereamomentago."She lookedabout inanguish."Hemusthavegonetothedoor."

"There'snobodyhere,"saidtheoldmangently."Onlyyouandme.Ladiesareoftentakenfunnysincethewar.Therewasoneinhereyesterdayafternoonsaidshewasmarriedinthischurchandherhusbandhadpromisedtomeetherhere.Perhapsyouweremarriedhere?"

"No,"saidMrs.Wilton,desolately."IwasmarriedinIndia."

Itmighthavebeentwoor threedaysafter that,whenshewent intoasmallItalian restaurant in the Bayswater district. She often went out for her mealsnow: she had developed an exhausting cough, and she found that it somehowbecame less troublesome when she was in a public place looking at strangefaces. In her flat therewere all the things thatHughhad used; the trunks and

bagsstillhadhisnameon themwith the labelsofplaceswhere theyhadbeentogether.Theywere like stabs. In the restaurant,people cameandwent,manysoldierstooamongthem,justglancingatherinhercorner.

Thisday,asitchanced,shewasratherlateandtherewasnobodythere.Shewasverytired.Shenibbledatthefoodtheybroughther.Shecouldalmosthavecriedfromtirednessandlonelinessandtheacheinherheart.

Thensuddenlyhewasbeforeher,sittingthereoppositeatthetable.Itwasasitwas in thedaysof their engagement,when theyused sometimes to lunchatrestaurants.Hewasnotinuniform.Hesmiledatherandurgedhertoeat,justasheusedinthosedays....

Imet her that afternoon as shewas crossingKensingtonGardens, and shetoldmeaboutit.

"IhavebeenwithHugh."Sheseemedmosthappy.

"Didhesayanything?"

"N-no.Yes.I thinkhedid,butIcouldnotquitehear.Myheadwassoverytired.Thenexttime——"

Ididnotseeherforsometimeafterthat.Shefound,Ithink,thatbygoingtoplaceswhereshehadonceseenhim—theoldchurch, thelittlerestaurant—shewasmorecertaintoseehimagain.Sheneversawhimathome.Butinthestreetortheparkhewouldoftenwalkalongbesideher.Oncehesavedherfrombeingrunover.Shesaidsheactually felthishandgrabbingherarm,suddenly,whenthecarwasnearlyuponher.

Shehadgivenmetheaddressoftheclairvoyant;anditisthroughthatstrangewomanthatIknow—orseemtoknow—whatfollowed.

Mrs.Wiltonwasnotexactlyilllastwinter,notsoill,atleast,astokeeptoherbedroom.Butshewasverythin,andhergreathandsomeeyesalwaysseemedtobe staring at some point beyond, searching. There was a look in them thatseamen'seyessometimeshavewhentheyaredrawingonacoastofwhichtheyarenotverycertain.Shelivedalmostinsolitude:shehardlyeversawanybodyexcept when they sought her out. To those who were anxious about her she

laughedandsaidshewasverywell.

Onesunnymorningshewas lyingawake,waitingfor themaid tobringhertea.TheshyLondonsunlightpeepedthroughtheblinds.Theroomhadafreshandhappylook.

Whensheheardthedooropenshethoughtthatthemaidhadcomein.ThenshesawthatHughwasstandingat thefootof thebed.Hewasinuniformthistime,andlookedashehadlookedthedayhewentaway.

"Oh,Hugh,speaktome!Willyounotsayjustoneword?"

Hesmiledandthrewbackhishead,justasheusedtointheolddaysathermother'shousewhenhewantedtocallheroutoftheroomwithoutattractingtheattentionoftheothers.Hemovedtowardsthedoor,stillsigningtohertofollowhim.He picked up her slippers on hisway and held them out to her as if hewantedhertoputthemon.Sheslippedoutofbedhastily....

It isstrange thatwhen theycame to look throughher thingsafterherdeaththeslipperscouldneverbefound.

"DEYAIN'TNOGHOSTS"[K]

BYELLISPARKERBUTLER

Once'ponatimedeywasali'l'blackboywhuthenamewasMose.An'whinhecomeerlongtobe'boutknee-hightoamewel,he'gintogitpowerful'fraidobghosts,'ca'sedatamsureamightyghostlylocationwhuthelib'in,'ca'sedey'sagrabeyard in de hollow, an' a buryin'-ground on de hill, an' a cemuntary inbetwixtan'between,an'deyain'tnuffin'buttreesnowharexciptindeclearin'bydeshantyan'downdehollowwhardepumpkin-patcham.

An'whindenightcome'erlong,deyain'tnosoundsatallwhutkinbeheardin dat locality but de rain-doves, whut mourn out, "Oo-oo-o-o-o!" jes dattrembulousan' scary, an' deowls,whutmournout, "Whut-whoo-o-o-o!"moretrembulous an' scary dan dat, an' dewind,whutmourn out, "You-you-o-o-o!"mos'scandalous'trembulousan'scaryoball.Datapowerfulonpleasantlocalityforali'l'blackboywhuthenamewasMose.

'Ca'sedatli'l'blackboyhesospeciallyblackhecan'tbeseenindedarkatall'ceptbydewhitesobheeyes.Sowhinhego'outendehouseatnight,heain'tdast shut he eyes, 'ca'se den ain't nobody can see him in de least. He jest asinvidsibleasnuffin'.An'whoknow'butwhutagreat,bigghostbumprightintohim'ca'seitcan'tseehim?An'datshorew'u'dscaredatli'l'blackboypowerful'bad,'ca'seyever'bodyknowswhutacold,damppussonalityaghostis.

Sowhindat li'l' blackMosego' outende shanty at night, he keep' he eyeswideopen,youmaybeshore.Bydayheeyes 'boutdesizeobbutter-pats,an'comesundownheeyes'boutdesizeobsaucers;butwhinhego'outendeshantyatnight,heeyesamdesizeobdewhitechinyplatewhutsetondemantel;an'itpowerful'hardtokeepeyeswhutamdesizeobdatfroma-winkin'an'a-blinkin'.

SowhinHallowe'encomeerlong,datlil'blackMosehejesmek'uphemindheain'tgwineoutenheshackatall.Hecogitate'hegwinestayrightsnugindeshack wid he pa an' he ma, 'ca'se de rain-doves tek notice dat de ghosts arephilanderin'roun'decountry, 'ca'sedeymournout,"Oo-oo-o-o-o!"an'deowlsdeymournout,"Whut-whoo-o-o-o!"anddewindmournout,"You-you-o-o-o!"Deeyesobdatli'l'blackMosedeyasbigasdewhitechinyplatewhutsetonde

mantelbysidedeclock,an'desunjesa-settin'.

Sodatallright.Li'l'blackMosehescrooge'backindecornerbydefireplace,an' he 'low' he gwine stay dere till he gwine to bed.But byme-by SallyAnn,whut live' upde road,draps in, an'MistahSallyAnn,whut isherhusban', hedrapsin,an'ZackBadgetan'deschool-teacherwhutboard'atUnc'SilasDiggs'shousedrapin,an'apowerfullotobfolksdrapin.An'li'l'blackMoseheseendatgwinebeones'prise-party,an'herightdowncheerful'boutdat.

Soalldemfolksshakederehandsan' 'low"Howdy,"an'someobdemsay:"Why, dere 's li'lMose!Howdy, li'l'Mose?"An' he so please' he jes grin' an'grin','ca'seheaintreckonwhutgwinehappen.Sobyme-bySallyAnn,whutliveupderoad,shesay',"Ain'tnosorto'Hallowe'enlestwegotajack-o'-lantern."An' de school-teacher, whut board at Unc' Silas Diggs's house, she 'low',"Hallowe'en jes no Hallowe'en at all 'thout we got a jack-o'-lantern." An' li'l'blackMosehestop'a-grinnin',an'hescrooge'sofarbackindecornerhe'mos'scrooge frough dewall. But dat ain't no use, 'ca'se hema say', "Mose, go ondowntodepumpkin-patchan'fotchapumpkin."

"Iain'twanttogo,"say'li'l'blackMose.

"Goonerlongwidyo',"say'hema,rightcommandin'.

"Iain'twanttogo,"say'Moseag'in.

"Whyain'tyo'wanttogo?"hemaask'.

"'CaseI'safraidobdeghosts,"say'li'l'blackMose,an'datdeparticulartruthan'nomistake.

"Deyain'tnoghosts,"say'deschool-teacher,whutboardatUnc'SilasDiggs'shouse,rightpeart.

"'Co'sedeyain'tnoghosts,"say'ZackBadget,whutdat 'fear'dobghostsheain'tdar'come to li'l'blackMose'shouseefdeschool-teacherain'tercompanyhim.

"Go'longwidyourghosts!"say'li'l'blackMose'sma.

"What'yo'pickupdatnomsense?"say'hepa."Deyain'tnoghosts."

An'datwhutalldats'prise-party 'low:deyain'tnoghosts.An'dey 'lowdeymus' hab a jack-o'-lantern or de fun all sp'iled. So dat li'l' black boywhut he

nameisMosehedonegottofotchapumpkinfromdepumpkin-patchdowndehollow.Sohestep'outendeshantyan'hestan'ondedoor-steptwellheget'heeyespriedopen asbig as debottomobhema'swash-tub,mostly, an' he say',"Deyain'tnoghosts."An'heput'onefootondeground,an'datwasdefuststep.

An'derain-dovesay',"Oo-oo-o-o-o!"

An'li'l'blackMosehetuckanudderstep.

An'deowlmourn'out,"Whut-whoo-o-o-o!"

An'li'l'blackMosehetuckanudderstep.

An'dewindsob'out,"You-you-o-o-o!"

An'li'l'blackMosehetuckonelookoberheshoulder,an'heshutheeyessotightdeyhurtrounddeaidges,an'hepick'uphefootsan'run.Yas,sah,herun'rightpeart fast.An'hesay': "Deyain'tnoghosts.Deyain'tnoghosts."An'herun'erlongdepaffwhutlead'bydeburyin'-groundondehill,'ca'sedeyain'tnofinceerounddatburyin'-groundatall.

Nofince;jesdebigtreeswhutdeowlsan'derain-dovessotinan'mournan'sob,an'whutdewindsighan'cryfrough.An'byme-bysomefin'jesbrush' li'l'Moseondearm,whichmek'himrunjesabitmorefaster.An'byme-bysomefin'jesbrush' li'l'Moseondecheek,whichmek'himrunerboutasfastashecan.An'byme-by somefin'grab' li'l'Mosebyde aidgeofhe coat, an' he fight' an'struggle' an' cry' out: "Dey ain't no ghosts.Dey ain't no ghosts."An' dat ain'tnuffin'butdewildbrierwhutgrab'him,an'datain'tnuffin'butdeleafobatreewhutbrush' he cheek, an' dat ain't nuffin' but debranchob ahazel-bushwhutbrush he arm.But he downright scared jes de same, an' he ain't lose no time,'ca'sedewindan'deowlsan'derain-dovesdeysignerfywhutain'tnogood.Sohescoot'pastdatburyin'-groundwhutondehill,an'datcemuntarywhutbetwixtan'between,an'datgrabeyardindehollow,twellhecome'todepumpkin-patch,an'herotch'downan'tek'erholdobdebestestpumpkinwhutindepatch.An'herightsmartscared.Hejesdemostestscaredli'l'blackboywhutyeverwas.Heain'tgwineopenheeyesfo'nuffin', 'ca'sedewindgo,"You-you-o-o-o!"an'deowlsgo,"Whut-whoo-o-o-o!"an'derain-dovesgo,"Oo-oo-o-o-o!"

Hejesspeculate',"Deyain'tnoghosts,"an'wish'hehairdon'tstandoninddatway.An'hejescogitate',"Deyain'tnoghosts,"an'wish'hegoose-pimplesdon't rise up dat way. An' he jes 'low', "Dey ain't no ghosts," an' wish' he

backboneain'talltrembulouswidchillsdatway.Soherotch'down,an'herotch'down,twellhegit'agoodholdondatpricklesomestemofdatbestestpumpkinwhutindepatch,an'hejesyank'datstemwidallhemight.

"Letloosenmyhead!"say'abigvoiceallonasuddent.

Dat li'l' blackboywhuthename isMosehe jump' 'mostoutenhe skin.Heopen'heeyes,an'he 'gin' toshakelikedeaspen-tree, 'ca'sewhutdata-standin'rightdarbehinthimbuta'mendjousbigghost!Yas,sah,datdebigges',whites'ghostwhutyeverwas.An'itain'tgotnohead.Ain'tgotnoheadatall!Li'l'blackMosehejesdrap'onhekneesan'hebeg'an'pray':

"Oh,'scuseme!'Scuseme,MistahGhost!"hebeg'."Ahain'tmeannoharmatall."

"Whutforyoutrytotakemyhead?"ask'deghostindatfearsomevoicewhutlikededampwindoutendecellar.

"'Scuseme!'Scuseme!"beg'li'l'Mose."Ahain'tknowdatwasyo'head,an'Iain'tknowyouwasdaratall.'Scuseme!"

"Ah 'scuse you ef you do me dis favor," say' de ghost. "Ah got somefin'powerful important to sayuntoyou, an'Ahcan't sayhit 'ca'seAhain't got nohead;an'whinAhain'tgotnohead,Ahain'tgotnomouf,an'whinAhain'tgotnomouf,Ahcan'ttalkatall."

An'datright logicalfo'shore.Can'tnobodytalkwhinheain'tgotnomouf,an' can't nobody have nomoufwhin he ain't got no head, an'whin li'l' blackMosehelook',hesee'datghostain'tgotnoheadatall.Naryhead.

Sodeghostsay':

"Ahcomeondownyerefo'togitapumpkinfo'ahead,an'Ahpick'datixactpumpkinwhutyo'gwinetek,an'Ahdon'tlikedatonebit.No,sah.AhfeellikeAhpickyo'upan'carryyo'away,an'nobodyseeyounomoreforyever.ButAhgotsomefin'powerfulimportanttosayuntoyo',an' ifyo'pickupdatpumpkinan'sotinondeplacewharmyheadoughttobe,Ahletyouoffdistime,'ca'seAhain'tbeenabletotalkfo'solongAhrighthongrytosaysomefin'."

Soli'l'blackMoseheheftupdatpumpkin,an'deghosthebend'down,an'li'l'blackMosehesotdatpumpkinondatghostsesneck.An'rightoffdatpumpkinhead'gin'towinkan'blinklikeajack-o'-lantern,an'rightoffdatpumpkinhead

'gin'toglimmeran'glowfroughdemouflikeajack-o'-lantern,an'rightoffdatghoststart'tospeak.Yas,sah,dassso.

"Whutyo'wanttosayuntome?"inquire'li'l'blackMose.

"Ahwant to tellyo'," say'deghost, "datyo' ain'tneedyeverbe skeeredofghosts,'ca'sedeyain'tnoghosts."

An'whinhesaydat,deghostjesvanish'awaylikedesmokeinJuly.Heain'tevenlingerrounddatlocalitylikedesmokeinYoctober.Hejesdissipate'outendeair,an'hegoneintirely.

Soli'l'Mosehegrab'updenex'bestestpumpkinan'hescoot'.An'whinhecome' tobegrabeyard indehollow,hegoin'erlongsameasyever,on'yfaster,whinhereckon'he'llpickupaclubincasehegwinehavetrouble.An'herotch'downan'rotch'downan'tek'holdofalikelyappearin'hunko'woodwhutrightdar.An'whinhegrab'dathunkofwood——

"Letloosenmyleg!"say'abigvoiceallonasuddent.

Datli'l'blackboy'mostjump'outenheskin,'ca'serightdarindepaffissix'mendjusbigghostes,an'debigges'ain'tgotbutoneleg.Soli'l'blackMosejesnatchullyhandeddathunkofwoodtodatbigges'ghost,an'hesay':

"'Scuseme,MistahGhost;Ahain'tknowdisyourleg."

An'whutdemsixghostesdobutstandroundan'confabulate?Yas,sah,dassso.An'whindeydoso,onesay':

"'Pearslikedisamightylikelyli'l'blackboy.Whutwegwinedofo'torewardhimfo'politeness?"

An'anuddersay':

"Tellhimwhutdetruthis'boutghostes."

Sodebigges'ghosthesay':

"Ahgwinetellyo'somefin'importantwhutyever'bodydon'tknow:Deyain'tnoghosts."

An'whinhesay'dat,deghostesjesnatchullyvanishaway,an'li'l'blackMoseheproceed'updepaff.Hesoscaredhehair jesyank'atde roots,an'whindewindgo',"Oo-oo-o-o-o!"an'deowlgo',"Whut-whoo-o-o-o!"an'derain-doves

go, "You-you-o-o-o!" he jes tremble' an' shake'. An' byme-by he come' to decemuntarywhutbetwixtan'between,an'heshoreismightyskeered,'ca'sedeyisawholecomp'nyofghostes linedupalongderoad,an'he 'low'heain'tgwinespindnomore timepalaverin'widghostes.Sohe step'oftende road fo' togorounderbout,an'hestep'onapine-stumpwhutlayrightdar.

"Gitoffenmychest!" say' abigvoiceallona suddent, 'ca'sedat stumpambeenselectedbydecaptainobdeghostesfortobehechest,'ca'seheain'tgotnochest betwixt he shoulders an' he legs. An' li'l' blackMose he hop' offen datstumprightpeart.Yes,sah;rightpeart.

"'Scuseme!'Scuseme!"datli'l'blackMosebeg'an'plead,an'deghostesain'tknowwhuthertoeathimallupornot,'ca'sehestep'ondebossghostes'schestdata-way.Butbyme-bythey'lowtheylethimgo'ca'sedatwasanaccident,an'decaptainghosthesay',"Mose,youMose,Ahgwineletyouoffdistime,'ca'seyou ain't nuffin' but a misabul li'l' tremblin' nigger; but Ah want you shouldremimimberonethingmos'particular'."

"Ya-yas,sah,"say'datli'l'blackboy;"Ah'llremimber.WhutisdatAhgottoremimber?"

Decaptainghostheswell'up,an'heswell'up,twellheasbigasahouse,an'hesay'inavoicewhutshake'deground:

"Deyain'tnoghosts."

Soli'l'blackMoseheboundtoremimberdat,an'herise'upan'mek'abow,an'heproceed'towardhomerightlibely.Hedo,indeed.

An' he gwine along jes as fast as he kin'whin he come' to de aidge ob deburyin'-groundwhutondehill, an' rightdarhebound tostop, 'ca'sedekentryroundaboutamsopopulate'heain'tabletogofrough.Yas,sah,seem'likealldeghostes in de world habin' a conferince right dar. Seem' like all de ghosteseswhutyeverwasamhavin'aconvintionondatspot.An'dat li'l'blackMosesoskeeredhejesfall'downona'oldlogwhutdaran'screech'an'moan'.An'allonasuddentdelogupandspoketoli'l'Mose:

"Getoffenme!Getoffenme!"yell'datlog.

Soli'l'blackMosehegit'offendatlog,an'nomistake.

An'soonashegit'offendelog,deloguprise,an'li'l'blackMosehesee'dat

dat log am de king ob all de ghostes. An' whin de king uprise, all decongregationcrowdroundli'l'blackMose,an'deyamaboutlebenmilliuman'afew lift over. Yes, sah; dat de reg'lar annyul Hallowe'en convintion whut li'l'blackMoseinterrup'.Rightdaramalldesperitsindeworld,an'alldeha'ntsindeworld,an'alldehobgoblinsindeworld,an'alldeghoulsindeworld,an'alldespictersindeworld,an'alldeghostesindeworld.An'whindeyseeli'l'blackMose, dey all gnash dey teef an' grin' 'ca'se it gettin' erlong toward dey-all'slunch-time.Sodeking,whuthenameoldSkull-an'-Bones,hestep'ontopobli'l'Mose'shead,an'hesay':

"Gin'l'min,deconvintionwillcometoorder.Desicretarypleasenotewhoisprisint.Defirs'businesswhutcome'beforedeconvintionam:whutwegwinedotoa li'l'blackboywhutstip'ondekingan'maul'alloberdekingan' treat'dekingdatdisrespictful'."

An'li'l'blackMosejesmoan'an'sob':

"'Scuseme!'Scuseme,MistahKing!Ahain'tmeannoharmatall."

Butnobodyain'tpaynoattintiontohimatall, 'ca'seyeveryonelookin'atamonstrousbigha'ntwhutnameBloodyBones,whutroseupan'spoke.

"YourHonor,MistahKing,an'gin'l'minan' ladies,"hesay',"disamarightbadcaseoblazymajesty,'ca'sedekingbeenstepon.Whinyiveryli'l'blackboywhutchoose'gwinewanderroundatnightan'stipondekingobghostes,itain'tno timefor topalaver, itain'tno timefor toprevaricate, itain'tno timefor tocogitate,itain'tnotimedonuffin'buttelldetruth,an'dewholetruth,an'nuffin'butdetruth."

An' all demghostes sicond demotion, an' dey confabulate out loud erboutdat,an'denoisesoun'likederain-dovesgoin',"Oo-oo-o-o-o!"an'deowlsgoin',"Whut-whoo-o-o-o!" an' dewind goin', "You-you-o-o-o!" So dat risolution ampassedunanermous,an'nomistake.

Sodekingobdeghostes,whutnameoldSkull-an'-Bones,heplace'hehandondeheadobli'l'blackMose,an'hehandfeellikeawetrag,an'hesay':

"Deyain'tnoghosts."

An'oneobdehairswhutondeheadobli'l'blackMoseturn'white.

An'demonstrousbigha'ntwhuthenameBloodyBoneshelayhehandonde

headobli'l'blackMose,an'hehandfeellikeatoadstoolindecoolobdeday,an'hesay':

"Deyain'tnoghosts."

An'anudderobdehairswhutondeheadobli'l'blackMoseturn'white.

An'aheejussperitwhuthenameMoldyPa'mplace'hehandondeheadobli'l'blackMose,an'hehandfeellikedeyunnersideobalizard,an'hesay':

"Deyain'tnoghosts."

An'anudderobdehairswhutondeheadob li'l'blackMose turn'whiteassnow.

An'aperticklarbend-uphobgoblinheput'hehandondeheadobli'l'blackMose, an' he mek' dat same remark, an' dat whole convintion ob ghostes an'spictersan'ha'ntsan'yiver-thing,whichammore'namillium,passbysoquickdey-all'shandsfeellakdewindwhutblowoutendecellarwhindedayamhot,an'dey-allsay,"Deyain'tnoghosts."Yas,sah,dey-allsaydemwo'dssofas'itsouun' like de wind whin it moan frough de turkentine-trees whut behind decider-priss.An'yiveryhairwhutonli'l'blackMose'sheadturn'white.Datwhuthappen'whinali'l'blackboygwinemeetaghostconvintiondat-away.Dat'ssoheain'gwineforgit toremimberdeyain'tnoghostes. 'Ca'seefali'l'blackboygwineimaginatedeyisghostes,hegwinebeskeeredindedark.An'datafoolishthingfortoimaginate.

Soprisintlyalldeghostesamwhiffaway,likedefogoutendehollerwhindewind blow' on it, an' li'l' blackMose he ain' see no ca'se for to remain in datlocality no longer. He rotch' down, an' he raise' up de pumpkin, an' heperambulate'rightquicktohema'sshack,an'helift'updelatch,an'heopen'dedo',an'heyenter'in.An'hesay':

"Yere'sdepumpkin."

An'hemaan'hepa, an'SallyAnn,whut liveupde road, an'MistahSallyAnn,whut her husban', an' Zack Badget, an' de school-teacherwhut board atUnc'-SilasDiggs'shouse,an'alldepowerfullotoffolkswhutcometodedoin's,dey all scrooged back in de cornder ob de shack, 'ca'se ZackBadget he beendone tellaghost-tale,an'de rain-dovesgwine,"Oo-oo-o-o-o!"an'deowlsamgwine,"Whut-whoo-o-o-o!"anddewind itgwine, "You-you-o-o-o!" an' yiver-bodypowerfulskeered.'Ca'seli'l'blackMosehecome'a-fumblin'an'a-rattlin'at

dedo'jeswhindatghost-talemos'skeery,an'yiver'bodygwineimaginatedatheaghosta-fumblin'an'a-rattlin'atdedo'.Yas,sah.Soli'l'blackMoseheturn'hewhitehead,an'helook'roun'an'peer'roun',an'hesay':

"Whutyouallskeeredfo'?"

'Ca'seefanybodyskeered,hewant'tobeskeered,too.Dat'snatural.Butdeschool-teacher,whutliveatUnc'SilasDiggs'shouse,shesay':

"Fo'delan'ssake,wefoughtyouwasaghost!"

Soli'l'blackMosehesortobsniffan'hesortobsneer,an'he'low':

"Huh!deyain'tnoghosts."

Den he ma she powerful took back dat li'l' black Mose he gwine be souppetish an' contrydict folks whut know 'rifmeticks an' algebricks an' gin'ralcountin'widoutfingers,likedeschool-teacherwhutboardatUnc'SilasDiggs'shouseknows,an'shesay':

"Huh!whutyouknow'boutghosts,annerways?"

An'li'l'blackMosehejeskinderstan'ononefoot,an'hejeskindersuck'hethumb,an'hejeskinder'low':

"Idon'knownuffin'erboutghosts,'ca'sedeyain'tnoghosts."

So he pa gwine whop him fo' tellin' a fib 'bout dey ain' no ghosts whinyiver'bodyknow'deyisghosts;butdeschool-teacher,whutboardatUnc'SilasDiggs'shouse,shetek'notedehairobli'l'blackMose'sheadamplumbwhite,an'shetek'noteli'l'blackMose'sfaceamdecolorobwood-ash,soshejesretch'onearmrounddatli'l'blackboy,an'shejessnuggle'himup,an'shesay':

"Honey lamb, don't yoube skeered; ain' nobodygwinehurt you.Howyouknowdeyain'tnoghosts?"

An'li'l'blackMosehekinderlean'up'g'instdeschool-teacherwhutboardatUnc'SilasDiggs'shouse,an'he'low':

"'Ca'se—'ca'se—'ca'se Imetde cap'nghost, an' Imetdegin'ral ghost, an' Imetdekingghost,an'Imetalldeghosteswhutyiverwasindewholeworl',an'yiveryghostsay'desamething:'Deyain'tnoghosts.'An'ifdecap'nghostan'degin'ralghostan'dekingghostan'alldeghostesindewholeworl'don'knowefdaramghostes,whodoes?"

"Das right; das right, honey lamb," say' de school-teacher.And she say': "Ibeen s'picious dey ain' no ghostes dis longwhiles, an' now I know. Ef all deghostessaydeyain'noghosts,deyain'noghosts."

Soyiver'body'low'datso'cep'ZackBadget,whutbeentellin'deghost-tale,an'heain'gwinesay"Yis"an'heain'gwinesay"No,"'ca'seherightsweetondeschool-teacher;butheknowrightwellhedoneseenplintyghostesinheday.Soheboun'tobesurefust.Sohesay'toli'l'blackMose:

"'Tain'likelyyoumetupwidamonstrousbigha'ntwhutlive'downdelanewhuthenameBloodyBones?"

"Yas,"say'li'l'blackMose,"Idonemetupwidhim."

"An' did old Bloody Bones done tol' you dey ain' no ghosts?" say ZackBadget.

"Yas,"say'li'l'blackMose,"hedonetellmeperzacklydat."

"Well,ifhetol'youdeyain'tnoghosts,"say'ZackBadget,"Igotto'lowdeyain'tnoghosts,'ca'seheain'gwinetellnolieerboutit.IknowdatBloodyBonesghost sence I was a piccaninny, an' I donemet up wif him a powerful lot o'times,an'heain'gwinetellnolieerboutit.Efdatperticklarghostsay'deyain'tnoghosts,deyain'tnoghosts."

Soyiver-bodysay':

"Dasright;deyain'tnoghosts."

An'datmek'li'l'blackMosefeelmightygood,'ca'seheain'lakghostes.Hereckon'hegwinebeaheapmo'comfortableinhemindsenceheknow'deyain'noghosts,an'hereckon'heain'gwinebeskeeredofnuffin'nevernomore.Heain'gwinemin'dedark,an'heain'gwinemin'derain-doveswhutgo',"Oo-oo-o-o-o!" an' he ain' gwinemin' de owlswhut go', "Who-whoo-o-o-o!" an' he ain'gwinemin'dewindwhutgo',"You-you-o-o-o!"nornuffin',nohow.Hegwinebebraveasa lion, senceheknow' fo' suredeyain'noghosts.Soprisintlyhemasay':

"Well, time fo' a li'l' black boywhut he name isMose to be gwine up deladdertodelofttobed."

An'li'l'blackMosehe'low'hegwinewaitabit.He'low'hegwinejeswaitali'l'bit.How'low'hegwinebenotroubleatallefhejesbeenletwaittwellhemashegwineupdeladdertodelofttobed,too.Sohemashesay':

"Giterlongwidyo'!Whutyo'skeeredobwhindeyain'tnoghosts?"

An'li'l'blackMosehescrooge',andhetwist',an'hepucker'uphemouf,an'herub'heeyes,an'prisintlyhesay'rightlow:

"Iain'skeeredobghostswhutam,'ca'sedeyain'noghosts."

"Denwhutamyo'skeeredob?"askhema.

"Nuffin',"say'deli'l'blackboywhuthenameisMose;"butIjesfeelkinder

oneasy'boutdeghostswhutain't."

Jeslakwhitefolks!Jeslakwhitefolks!

SOMEREALAMERICANGHOSTS

THEGIANTGHOST

(PhiladelphiaPress,Sept.13,1896)

A case in point is the Benton, Indiana, ghost, which is attracting muchattention.Ithasbeenseenandinvestigatedbymanypeoplewithreputationsforintelligenceandgoodsense,butsofarnoexplanationofthestrangeappearancehasbeenfound.

A farmer named John W. French and his wife were the first to see thisapparition. They live in the country nearBenton, andwere driving home onenight from a neighbor's. The road passed an old church, moss-covered andsurroundedbyagraveyard,overgrownwithshrubberyandfilledwiththebonesofhundredswhooncetilledthesoilinthelocality.Tenyearsagoanagedmanwho lived alone not far from the old church and visited the graveyard almostdailytoprayovertherestingplaceofsomerelativewasfoullymurderedforthestore of gold he was supposed to have hidden about his hermit abode. Therobbersandmurderersescapedjustice,andthelucklessgraybeardwasburiedinthegraveyardwherehe spent somuch time. Just asFrenchandhiswifedrewwithinsightofthewhiteheadstonesinthechurchyardthehorsesrearedbackontheir haunches and snorted in terror. French was alarmed, and suspectinghighwaymenhadbeenscentedbythehorses,hereachedforashotgunwhichlayin the bottom of the wagon for just such an emergency. But before his handtouched it he was startled by a scream from his wife. Clutching his arm shepointedstraightaheadandgasped:"Look,John,look!"

Far down the road, just beside the glimmering monuments of the oldgraveyard,he sawanapparition. Itwas thatofamanwitha longwhitebeardsweepingoverhisbreast.Thefigureappeared tobeeight feet inheightand inonehanditcarriedaclub,suchasthebrainsoftheoldmanhadbeenbeatenoutwith tenyearsbefore.Slowly raisingonearm theghostwithamajesticsweepbeckonedFrenchtocomeahead.Hewastoostartledtodoanythingexcepttrytorestrain theprancinghorses,whichwerestrainingat theharness inattempts tobreakawayandrun.Acoldsweatstartedoutalloverthebodyofthefarmerasherealizedthathewasatlastlookingataghost,andthenthesoundofhiswife's

voicecametohimbegginghimtoreturnthewaytheyhadcomeandescapethedoomwhichseemedimpending.Frenchwasstilltoomuchscaredandexcitedtocontrolthehorses,andashegazedsteadfastlyatthefearfulwhiteobjectintheroaditslowlybegantomovetowardthewagon.Theclubwasnowraisedtoitsshoulder, as a soldier carries a rifle, and it seemed to move forward withouttouchingtheground,likeawingedthing.

Then the farmer recovered his faculties and, whirling his team around, helashedthehorsesintoarunandbeganthetriptothehouseofthefriendhehadjustleft.Whentheyarrivedthereboththemanandhiswifewerealmostfaintingfromfright.

Thenextmantosee theghostwasMiltonMoon.Hehadthereputationforbeingnotonlyamanof intelligencebutonewithout fear.His experiencewasmuchthesameasthatoftheFrenchesanditbroughtaboutseveralinvestigationsbypartiesof citizens. Ineachcase they sawandwereconvincedof theactualpresence of the ghost without being able to discover any satisfactoryexplanation.

SOMEFAMOUSGHOSTSOFTHENATIONALCAPITOL

(PhiladelphiaPress,Oct.2,1898)

TheCapitolatWashingtonisprobablythemostthoroughlyhauntedbuildingintheworld.

Notlessthanfifteenwell-authenticatedghostsinfestit,andsomeofthemareofamorethanordinarilyalarmingcharacter.

Whatparticularly inspires this last remark is the fact that theDemonCat issaid tohavemade itsappearanceagain,aftermanyyearsofabsence.This isatrulyhorrificapparition,andnoviewlessspectersuchastheinvisiblegrimalkinthatevennowtripspeopleuponthestairsoftheoldmansionwhichPresidentMadison and hiswife,Dolly, occupied, at the corner ofEighteenthStreet andNew York Avenue, after the White House was burned by the British. That,indeed,isaltogetheranotherstory;butthefelinespookoftheCapitolpossessesattributes much more remarkable, inasmuch as it has the appearance of anordinarypussywhenfirstseen,andpresentlyswellsuptothesizeofanelephantbeforetheeyesoftheterrifiedobserver.

The Demon Cat, in whose regard testimony of the utmost seeming

authenticity was put on record thirty-five years ago, has been missing since1862. One of the watchmen on duty in the building shot at it then, and itdisappeared. Since then, until now, nothingmore has been heard of it, thoughoneortwooftheolderpolicemenoftheCapitolforcestillspeakofthespectralanimalinawedwhispers.

Theirwork,whenperformedinthenight,requiresmorethanordinarynerve,inasmuchas the interiorof thegreatstructure is literallyalivewithechoesandothersuggestionsof thesupernatural. In thedaytime,when theplace is fullofpeople and the noises of busy life, the professional guides make a point ofshowingpersonshowawhisperutteredwhenstandingonacertainmarbleblockisdistinctlyaudibleatanotherpointquiteadistanceaway,thoughunheardinthespacebetween.

Agoodmanyphenomenaofthiskindareobservableinvariouspartsof theCapitol,andtheextent towhichtheybecomeaugmentedinstrangenessduringthe silence of the night may well be conceived. The silence of any ordinaryhouse is oppressive sometimes to the least superstitious individual. There areunaccountable noises, and a weird and eerie sort of feeling comes over him,distractinghimperhapsfromtheperusalofhisbook.Hefindshimselfindulginginavaguesenseofalarm,thoughhecannotimagineanycauseforit.

Such suggestions of the supernatural are magnified a thousand fold in theCapitol,whenthewatchmanpursueshislonelybeatthroughthegreatcorridorswhose immense spaces impress him with a sense of solitariness, while theshadowsthrownbyhislanterngatherintostrangeandmenacingforms.

OneofthemostcuriousandalarmingoftheaudiblephenomenaobservableintheCapitol,soallthewatchmensay,isaghostlyfootstepthatseemstofollowanybodywhocrossesStatuaryHallatnight.Itwasinthishall,thenthechamberof the House of Representatives, that John Quincy Adams died—at a spotindicatednowbyabrasstabletsetinastoneslab,wherestoodhisdesk.Whetherornotitishisghostthatpursuesisaquestionopentodispute,thoughitistobehoped that the venerable ex-President rests more quietly in his grave. At allevents, the performance is unpleasant, and even gruesome for himwhowalksacross that historic floor, while the white marble statues of dead statesmenplacedaroundthewallsseemtopointathimwithoutstretchedarmsderisively.LikethemaninColeridge'sfamouslineshe

"—walksinfearanddread,

Becauseheknowsafrightfulfienddothclosebehindhimtread."

Atall eventshe isuncertain lest suchmaybe thecase.And,ofcourse, thedutiesofthewatchmanobligehim,whensoassigned,topatrolthebasementofthebuilding,whereallsortsofhobgoblinslieinwait.

OneoftheCapitolpolicemenwasalmostfrightenedoutofhiswitsonenightwhenapairofflamingeyeslookedoutathimfromthevaultsunderthechamberof theHouseofRepresentativeswhere thewood is stored for the fires. Itwassubsequently ascertained that the eyes in questionwere thoseof a fox,which,being chevied through the town, had sought refuge in the cellar of the edificeoccupiedbythenationalLegislature.Theanimalwaskilledforthereasonwhichobligesawhitemantoslayanyinnocentbeastthatcomesunderhispower.

But,speakingofthestepswhichfollowapersonatnightacrossthefloorofStatuaryHall, aboldwatchmanattemptednot longago to investigate themonscientificprinciples.Hesuspectedatrick,andsoboughtapairofrubbershoes,withtheaidofwhichheproceededtoexamineintothequestion.Inthestillnessof the night he made a business of patrolling that portion of the principalGovernmentedifice,and,sureenough,thefootstepsfollowedalongbehindhim.Hecorneredthem;itwassurelysometrickster!Therewasnopossibilityforthejoker togetaway.But,amoment later, thestepswereheard inanotherpartofthe hall; they had evaded him successfully. Similar experimentswere tried onothernights,buttheyallendedinthesameway.

Four years ago there died inWashington an old gentleman who had beenemployed for thirty-fiveyears in theLibraryofCongress.Thequartersof thatgreatbookcollection,whilehousedintheCapitol,weredistressinglyrestricted,andmuch of the cataloguingwas done by the veteranmentioned in a sort ofvaultinthesub-cellar.Thisvaultwascrammedwithmustytomesfromfloortoceiling, and practically no airwas admitted. Itwas awonder that he lived solong,but,whenhecame todie,hedid it rathersuddenly.Anyhow,hebecameparalyzedandunabletospeak,thoughuptothetimeofhisactualdemisehewasabletoindicatehiswantsbygestures.Amongotherthings,heshowedplainlybysignsthathewishedtobeconveyedtotheoldlibrary.

Thiswishofhiswasnotobeyed,forreasonswhichseemedsufficienttohisfamily,and, finally,herelinquished itbygivingup theghost. Itwasafterwardlearned that he had hidden, almost undoubtedly, $6000 worth of registeredUnited States bonds among the books in his sub-cellar den—presumably,

concealedbetween the leavesof someof themoth-eatenvolumesofwhichhewastheappointedguardian.Certainly,therecouldbenobetterorless-suspectedhiding-place,butthiswasjustwherethetroublecameinfortheheirs,inwhoseinterest the books were vainly searched and shaken, when the transfer of thelibrary from the old to its new quarters was accomplished. The heirs cannotsecurearenewalofthebondsbytheGovernmentwithoutfurnishingproofofthelossoftheoriginals,whichislacking,and,meanwhile,itissaidthattheghostoftheoldgentlemanhauntsthevaultinthesub-basementwhichheusedtoinhabit,lookingvainlyforthemissingsecurities.

Theoldgentlemanreferredtohadsomecurioustraits,thoughhewasbynomeansamiser—suchasthekeepingofeveryburntmatchthathecameacross.Hewouldputthemawayinthedrawerofhisprivatedesk,togetherwithexpiredstreet-cartransfers—thelatterdoneupinneatbundles,withIndia-rubberbands.

Quiteanintimatefriendhehad,namedTwine,wholosthisgripontheperch,sotospeak,aboutsixyearsback.Mr.Twinedweltduringtheworkinghoursofthe day in a sort of cage of iron, like that ofDreyfus, in the basement of theCapitol.Asamatterof fact,Dreyfusdoesnotoccupyacageatall; thenotionthathedoessoarisesfromamisunderstandingoftheFrenchword"case,"whichsignifiesahut.

However,Twine'scagewasarealoneofironwire,andinsideofithemadeabusinessofstampingthebooksofthelibrarywithamixturemadeofalcoholandlampblack. If the observation of casual employees about the Capitol is to betrusted,Mr.Twine'sghostisstillengagedatintervalsinthebusinessofstampingbooksat theoldstand, thoughhis industrymustbeveryunprofitablesincetheGovernment'sliterarycollectionhasbeenmovedoutoftheCapitol.

Ghosts are supposed to appertain most appropriately to the lower regions,inasmuchastheancientswhodescribedthemfirstconsignedtheblessedaswellas thedamned toanetherworld.Consequently, it isnotsurprising to find thatphantomsoftheCapitolaremostlyrelegatedtothebasement.

Exceptions aremade in the case ofVice-PresidentWilson,who, aswill beremembered,died inhis roomat theSenateendof thebuilding,andalsowithrespecttoJohnQuincyAdams,whosenocturnalperambulationsaresoannoyingtothewatchmen.Mr.Wilsonisonlyanoccasionalvisitoronthepremises,itisunderstood,findinghiswaythither,probably,whennothingelseofimportanceis"up,"sotospeak,inthespiritualrealmwhichnowclaimshimforitsown.Itis

relatedthatononeoccasionhenearlyfrightenedtodeathawatchmanwhowasguardingthecoffinofaTennesseeSenatorwhowaslyinginstateintheSenateChamber. The startle was doubtless uncontemplated, inasmuch as the Senatorwastoowellbredamantotakeanybodyunpleasantlybysurprise.

There was a watchman, employed quite a while ago as a member of theCapitolpolice,whowasdischargedfinallyfordrunkenness.Nofaith,therefore,is tobeplaced inhis sworn statement,whichwas actuallymade, to the effectthatonacertainoccasionhepassed through theoldHallofRepresentatives—nowStatuaryHall—andsawinsessiontheCongressof1848,withJohnQuincyAdamsandmanyothermenwhosenameshavelongagopassedintohistory.Itwas, if theword of thewitness is to be believed, a phantom legislative crew,resembling in kind if not in character the goblins which Rip Van WinkleencounteredonhistriptothesummitsofthestoriedCatskills.

But—to come down to things that are well authenticated and sure,comparatively speaking—thebasement of theCapitol, as has been said, is thepart of the building chiefly haunted. Beneath the hall of the House ofRepresentativesstrollsbynightamelancholyspecter,witherectfigure,agreatmustache, and his hands clasped behind him. Who he is nobody has eversurmised; hemight be, judging from his aspect, a foreigner in the diplomaticservice,butthatismerelyguess.Watchmenatnighthaveapproachedhiminthebeliefthathewasanintruder,buthehasfadedfromsightinstantly,likeapictureonamagic-lanternslide.

Atprecisely12.30oftheclockeverynight,soitissaid,thedooroftheroomoccupiedbytheCommitteeonMilitaryandMilitiaoftheSenateopenssilently,andtherestepsforththefigureofGeneralLogan,recognizablebyhislongblackhair,militarycarriage,andthehathewasaccustomedtowearinlife.

Loganwas thechairmanof thiscommittee, and, if reportbecredited,he isstillsupervisingitsduties.

AGENUINEGHOST

(PhiladelphiaPress,March25,1884)

DAYTON, O., March 25.—A thousand people surround the grave yard inMiamisburg,atownnearhere,everynighttowitnesstheanticsofwhatappears

tobeagenuineghost.Thereisnodoubtabouttheexistenceoftheapparition,asMayorMarshall, the revenue collector and hundreds of prominent citizens alltestifytohavingseenit.Lastnightseveralhundredpeople,armedwithclubsandguns, assaulted the specter, which appeared to be a woman in white. Clubs,bullets and shot tore the air in which the mystic figure floated withoutdisconcerting it in the least.Aportionof the town turnedout enmasse to-dayandbeganexhumingallthebodiesinthecemetery.

TheremainsoftheBussfamily,composedofthreepeople,havealreadybeenexhumed. The town is visited daily by hundreds of strangers and none aredisappointed, as the apparition is always on duty promptly at 9 o'clock. Thestrangefigurewasatoncerecognizedbytheinhabitantsofthetownasayounglady supposed to have been murdered several years ago. Her attitude whiledriftingamongthegravesisoneofdeepthought,withtheheadinclinedforwardandhandsclaspedbehind.

THEBAGGAGEMAN'SGHOST

"The corpses of the passengers killed in the disaster up at SpuytenDuyvilwasfetcheddownhereandlaidoutin[1]TheroomwasdarkenedandIcouldjustmakeout theout that storage room," saidaGrandCentraldepotbaggageman."That'swhatgiveitthenameofmorgue.Someoftheboysgotscaredofgoinginafterthat,'speciallyinthedark;andalotofstorieswasstartedaboutspooks.Wehad a helper (a drunken chap that didn't know whether he saw a thing ordreamedit),andhesworetothetoughestoftheyarns.Hesayshewentintogetatrunk.Itwasawhopper,andhebracedhimselfforabigstrain;but,whenhegrippedit,itcomeupjustasiftherewasn'tnothinginitmore'nairorgas.Thatunexpected kind of a lift is like kicking at nothing—it's hurtful, don't youknow?"

"Ishouldthinkso."

"Well, Joe felt as light-headed as the trunk, he says, but he brought it out.Whenhewasputtingitdownhewasstunnedtoseeaghostsittingstraddleofit."

"Whatdidtheghostlooklike?"

"Joewassoscaredthathecan'ttell,exceptthatithadgrave-clotheson.Anditwentoutofsightassoonashegotoutintothedaylight—floatedoff,andatthe

sameinstantthetrunkbecameasheavyassuchatrunkgenerallyis.SomeofusbelieveJoe'sstory,andsomedon't,andhe'soneofthemthatdoes.Hethroweduphisjobratherthangointothemorgueagain."

DRUMMERSSEEASPECTER

(StLouisGlobe-Democrat,Oct.6,1887)

[Thelastmanintheworldtobeaccusedofabeliefinthesupernaturalwouldbeyourgo-ahead,hard-headedAmerican"drummer"ortraveling-man.Yethereis aplain taleofhownotonebut twoof thewestern fraternity sawagenuineghostinbroaddaylightafewyearsago.—ED.]

JACKSON,MO., October 6. At a place on the Turnpike road, between CapeGirardeau and Jackson, is what is familiarly known as Spooks' Hollow. TheplaceissituatedfoursmilesfromtheCapeandisawfullydismallookingwheretheroadcurvesgracefullyaroundahighbluff.

Twodrummers, representinga single leadingwholesalehouseofSt.Louis,wererecentlymakingthedrivefromJackson to theCape,when theirattentionwassuddenlyattractedattheSpooks'Hollowbyawhiteandairyobjectwhicharose in its peculiar form so as to be plainly visible and thenmaneuvered ineveryimaginablemanner,finallytakingazigzagwaywardjourneythroughthelow dismal-looking surroundings, disappearing suddenly into the mysteriousregionfromwhenceitcame.

More than one incident of dreadful experience has been related of thisgloomy abode, and the place is looked upon by the midnight tourist and thelonesomecitizenonhisnocturnaltravelsasanunpleasantspot,isolatedfromthebeautifulcountrywhichsurroundsit.

DR.FUNKSEESTHESPIRITOFBEECHER

(NewYorkHerald,April4,1903)

Whilehewillnotadmitthatheisabelieverinspiritualism,theRev.Dr.IsaacFunk,headof thepublishinghouseofFunk&Wagnalls, is so impressedwithmanifestationshehasreceivedfromthespiritofHenryWardBeecherthathehas

laid theentirematterbefore theBostonSociety forPsychicalResearch,and isanxiously awaiting a solution or explanation of what appears to him, aftertwenty-fiveyears'studyofthesubject,themostremarkabletestofthemeritoftheclaimsofspiritualiststhathasevercomewithinhisobservation.

Althoughhe has resorted to everymeanswithin his power to discover anyfraud thatmay have been practiced upon him, he has been unable to explainaway not only messages to him from the great minister, but the actualappearancetohimofMr.Beecherintheflesh.

Dr.FunkandMr.Beecherwereintimatefriends,anditwouldbedifficulttopracticedeceptionastoMr.Beecher'sappearance.WhentheapparitionappearedtoDr.FunkataséanceashorttimeagoDr.Funkwaslessthanthreefeetdistantfrom it, and had plenty of opportunity to detect a fraud if it was beingperpetrated,hebelieves.

"Everyfeaturestoodoutdistinctly,"Dr.Funksaidyesterday,indescribinghisexperience,"eventothehairandeyes,thecoloroftheskinandtheexpressionofthemouth.[2] lines of the body, but it was still light enough tomake the faceplainlyvisible. Ihadashortconversationwith theembodiedspirit,and then itappearedtosinktothefloorandfadeaway."

MYSTERYOFTHECOINS

Dr.FunkwasespeciallyanxioustohaveanopportunitytoseeandtalkwithMr. Beecher, in the hope that light would be thrown on the mystery whichsurroundsapreviousmanifestation.Throughthespiritofone"Jack"Rakestraw,whosaysheusedtoleadthechoirinoneofMr.Beecher'schurches,butfranklyadmits that he cannot remember exactlywhere the churchwas located—evenspirits have a way of forgetting things, spiritualists declare—Dr. Funk wasinformed that Mr. Beecher was troubled because the publisher had failed toreturnacoin,knownasthe"widow'smite,"whichhehadborrowedsomeyearsago,fromthelateProfessorCharlesE.West,awellknownnumismatist,tomakeacut to illustrateadictionary.Dr.Funksupposedthecoinhadbeenreturnedalong time ago, but upon looking thematter up found it in a drawer of a safe,amongsomeoldpapers,exactlyasMr.Rakestrawmaintained.

WhenMr.Beecherappearedtohiminperson,sofarashecoulddetermine,Dr. Funk asked him several direct questions, to which the replies, he admits,

were somewhat sublime. Although Dr. Funk has found the long-lost coin—which, by the way, is said to be worth $2,500—he is not certain to whom itshouldbereturned,nowthatProfessorWestisdeadandhiscollectionofcoinssold.Shouldthe"widow'smite"gotoProfessorWest'sheirsortothepurchaserofthecollection?isaquestionwhichhasasyetremainedunanswered.

"ThatisamatterIamleavingtobedeterminedbytheSocietyforPsychicalResearch andMrs. Piper,who ought to be able to learn from the spiritworldwhatdispositionProfessorWestwishestohavemadeofthecoin,"saidDr.Funk.ItisatanyrateamatterthatdoesnotappeartoconcernthespiritofMr.Beecher.

MR.BEECHERAPPEASED

"WhenwhatseemedtobeMr.Beecher'sembodiedspiritappearedtome,"Dr.Funksaid,"Iasked thatveryquestion.Hesmiledandreplied that itwasnotamatterthatconcernedhimespecially,andthatthewholethingwasinthenatureofatest, toprovetomethatthereactuallyarespirits,andthatit ispossibletohave communication with them when all the conditions are favorable. Heremarkedthathewasgladtheoldcoinhadbeenfound,butseemedtoconsiderthedispositionofitamatterofminorimportance.HetoldmehewasgladIwastakinginterestinthesubject,ashebelieveditwouldresultingoodfortheworld,and then, excusinghimselfon theground thathehadanengagementwhich itwasnecessaryforhimtokeep,theapparitiondisappeared."

Dr. Funk borrowed the coin from ProfessorWest's collection, as a lightercoloredonehealreadyhadwasofdoubtfulauthenticity.BothcoinsweresenttothegovernmentexpertinPhiladelphiaandthelighteronewasdeclaredtobethegenuineone.Bythespiritsitisnowdeclared,however,thatamistakewasmadeandthatthedarkeronebelongingtoProfessorWesthasthegreatervalue.

"Ifoundboththelightandthedarkoneinthedrawer,"saidDr.Funk,"andremembereddistinctly that itwas thedarkerof the twowhich Ihadborrowedfrom ProfessorWest. I went to the next séance, and when Rakestraw's spiritarrived I asked him to find out which one was to be returned. After a briefintervalhisvoicecametome.

"'Returnthedarkone,ofcourse,'hesaid.'ThatisthegenuinecoinandistheoneyouborrowedfromDr.Beecher'sfriend.'

"WhileIdonotwishtobeclassedasabelieverinSpiritualism,Icertainlyamopen to conviction after what has come under my personal observation," Dr.Funkconcluded."IamconfidentthatnofraudwaspracticedonmeattheséanceatwhichIwastoldabouttheoldcoin.ThemediumisanelderlywomanlivinginBrooklyn,who never appears in public, and the only persons presentweremembers of her family and known tome. But none of them knew anymoreaboutthecoinbeinginmysafethanIdid."

MARYLANDGHOSTS

(BaltimoreAmerican,May,1886)

ForfortyyearstheRev.Dr.B.hasbeentherectorofaprominentparishontheEasternShore.Hehad,when the scenes recordedbelowhappened twenty-twoyearsago,amissionchargesixteenmilesdistantfromthetowninwhichheresided, and he was therefore constantly traveling between these two places.AboutsixmilesdistantwasthecountryresidenceofJudgeS.,awell-knownandvenerableparishioneroftheworthydoctor.Thesodhadbeenturnedabovethisgentleman's grave only about sixweeks,whenDr.B. chanced to be returningfromhismission charge in companywith a friend. Itwas broaddaylight, justaboutsunset,andnotfarfromJudgeS.'sgate,whenacarriage,drawnbyawhitehorse,passedthemrapidlyfrombehindandwassoonoutofsight.

"ThatfellowmustbeinahurrytoreachC.,"remarkedthedoctor.

"Did you notice anything peculiar about that vehicle?" inquired hiscompanion.

"Onlythatitmovesveryquietly.Iheardnosoundasitwentby."

"NordidI,"saidhisfriend."Neitherrattlingofwheelsnornoiseofhoofs.Itiscertainlystrange."

Thematter,however,wassoonforgotteninotherconversation,andtheyhadtraveled perhaps a mile, when suddenly, the same horse and carriage passedthem as before. Nothing was discernible of the driver except his feet, the

carriagecurtainshidinghisbody.Therewasnocrossroadbywhichavehicleinfrontcouldpossiblyhavegotbehindwithoutmakingacircuitofmanymilesandconsuming several hours. Yet there was not the shadow of a doubt as to theidentity of the vehicle, and the two gentlemen gazed at each other in blankamazement, and with a certain defined sense of awe which precluded anydiscussion of the matter, particularly as the horse was to all appearances thewell-knownwhitehabituallydrivenbythedeceasedJudge.AhalfmilebroughttheminsightofJudgeS.'sgate,whenforthethirdtimetheghostlyteamdashedbyinthesamedreadfulmysterioussilence.Thistimeitturnedinfullviewintothegate.Withoutawordofcommentthedoctorquickenedhishorse'sspeed,andreached the gate only a few yards behind the silent driver. Both gentlemenpeeredeagerlyupthelong,openlaneleadingtothehouse;butneithercarriagenorwheel-trackwasvisible,thoughitwasstillcleardaylight,andtherewasnooutletfromthelane,norcouldanyvehicleinthetimeoccupiedaccomplishhalfthedistance.Thepeculiarfeaturesofthisstrangeincidentarethatitwasequallyand simultaneously evident to twowitnesses, both entirely unprepared for anysuchmanifestation,anddifferingwidely in temperament,habitsof life,mentalcapacityandeducationalattainments,andbymereaccidentmakingthisjourneytogether, and that to this day both of them—witnesses, be it noted, ofunimpeachable credibility—attest it, and fully corroborate each other, butwithoutbeingabletosuggesttheslightestexplanation.

THEGHOSTOFPEGALLEY'SPOINT

PegAlley'sPointisalongandnarrowstripofwoodedland,situatedbetweenthemainstreamofMilesriverandoneofthenavigablecreekswhichflowintoit.Thislittlepeninsulaisabouttwomileslong,fromfiftytothreehundredyardsinwidth and is bounded by deepwater and is overgrownwith pine and thickunderbrush.ThereisextantatraditiontotheeffectthatmanyyearsagoapartyofBaltimoreoystermenencampedonthepoint,amongwhomwasamannamedAlley, who had abandoned his wife. The deserted woman followed up herhusband, and found him at the camp. After some conversation had passedbetweenthem,themaninducedher,uponsomeunknownpretext,toaccompanyhim into a thicket. The poor wife never came out alive. Her husband cruellymurderedherwithaclub.ThepointoflandhaseversincebeenknownbyPegAlley'sname,andherperturbedspirithasbeensupposedtohaunt thesceneofheruntimelytakingoff.Abouttwelveyearsagoagangofrail-splitterswereat

workonthepoint,andonedaytheforemanflatlyrefusedtogoback,declaringthat queer things happened down there, and that he had seen a ghost. Mr.Kennedy,hisemployer,laughedathimanddismissedthematterfromhismind.Some time after thisMr.Kennedy had occasion to ride through thewoods tolookaftersomesheep,therebeingbutoneroadandthewateroneitherside.Ashe approached the point his horse started violently and refused to go on,regardlessofwhiporspur.Glancingaboutforthecauseofthisunnaturalfright,hesawawomanriseup froma log,a fewyards inadvance,andstandby theroadside,lookingathim.Shewasverypoorlycladinafadedcalicodress,andwore a limp sun-bonnet, frombeneathwhich her thin, jet-black hair straggleddown on her shoulders; her facewas thin and sallow and her eyes black andpiercing.Knowing that shehadnobusiness there, andoccupied in controllinghishorse,hecalledtohersomewhatangrilytogetoutoftheway,ashisanimalwasafraidofher.Slowlysheturnedandwalkedintothethicket,utteringnotasyllableandlookingreproachfullyathimasshewent.Withmuchdifficultyheforcedhishorse to thespot,hoping to findoutwho thestrange intrudermightbe, but themost careful search failed to reveal the trace of any one, althoughtherewas no place of concealment and no possiblewayof escape, forwhich,indeed,therewasnotsufficienttime.

ANAPPARITIONANDDEATH

The old family seat of the T.'s, one of the most prominent names in thecommunity,isnotfarfromthescenesoftheabove-mentionedadventure.Inallthisregionof lovelysituationsandcharmingwaterviews, itssite isoneof themost beautiful. The brickmansion,with all the strangelymixed comforts anddiscomforts of ancient architecture, rears its roof up from an elevated lawn,whilethesilverythreadofaland-lockedstreamwindsnearlyaroundthewhole.Overthefurtherbankdancethesparklingwatersofabroadestuary,flashingintheglanceofthesunshineortossingitswhite-cappedbillowsinangrymimicryof the sea. The gleam of white sails is never lacking to add variety andpicturesqueness to the scene. In the dead, hushed calm of a summer evening,when the lifted oar rests on the gunwale, unwilling to disturbwith its dip theglassysurface,onehasastrange,dreamysenseofbeingsuspendedinspace,thesky,inallitschangingbeauties,beingaccuratelyreflectedinillimitabledepthbythestillwater,untilthecharmisbrokenbythesplashandrippleofaschoolofnomadicalewivesor thegliding,sinuousfinofapiraticalshark. In this lovely

homeitwaswontforthefamilytoassembleontheoccasionofcertaindomesticcelebrations,anditwasatoneofthesethatthefollowingincidentoccurred:Allwerepresentexceptonemember,whowasdetainedbysicknessatherresidence,fifteenmilesaway.Itwasinearlyafternoonthatoneoftheladiesstandingatanopenwindow,suddenlyexclaimed:"Why,there'sAuntMillycrossingtheflowergarden!" The party approached thewindow, and beheld, in great surprise, thelady, inher ordinary costume, slowly strolling among the flowers.Shepausedand lookedearnestlyat thegroup,her featuresplainlyvisible; then turnedanddisappearedamidsttheshrubbery.Notraceofherpresencebeingdiscoverable,itwasnaturalthatagloomfelluponthecompany.Afewhourslateramessengerarrivedwiththeintelligenceofherdeath.Thetimeofherapparitionandthetimeofherdeathcoincided.

ANIDIOTGHOSTWITHBRASSBUTTONS

(PhiladelphiaPress,June16,1889)

In a pretty but old-fashioned house in Stuyvesant square—ghosts likesquares,Ithink—isanotherghost.Thishousestoodemptyforseveralyears,andaboutsixyearsagoagentleman,hiswifeandlittledaughtermovedinthere,andwhile fitting up allowed the child to play about the empty attic, which hadapparently been arranged for a children's playroom long ago. There was afireplaceandalargefireboardinfrontofit.

Whenthehousewasaboutfinisheddownstairsthemotherbegantopaymoreattentiontothelittlegirlandtriedtokeepherdowntherewithher,butthechildalways stole away and went back up stairs again and again, until finally themotheraskedwhyshelikedtogouptheresomuch.Sherepliedthatshelikedtoplaywiththefunnylittleboy.Investigationshowedthatitwasutterlyimpossibleforanyperson,manorchild,togetinthatplaceorbeconcealedthere,butthelittle girl insisted and told her parents that he "went in there," pointing to thefireboard.

The parents were seriously concerned, believing that their daughter wastelling themanuntruth,and threatened topunishher for it,but she insistedsostrongly that she saw and played with a "funny little boy, with lots of brassbuttons on his jacket," that they finally gave up threatening and resolved toinvestigate.

The father, who is an old sea captain, found out that this house had beenoccupiedbyanEnglishmannamedCowderywhohadhadthreechildren—twoboysandagirl.Oneoftheboyswasanidiot.ThisidiotwassupposedtohavefallenintotheEastRiver,ashiscapwasfoundthere,andhehadalwaysshownaliking for the riverwhenhisnurse tookhimout.Soonafter thisMr.CowderymovedWest.

Thiswasenoughformyfriend's friend,whohad the fireboard takendown,andshortwork in thewallby thesideof thechimneybrought thebodyof theunfortunateidiotboy.Thebackofhisskullwascrushedin.Hestillhadthedarkbluejacketon,withfourrowsofbuttonsonthefront.Thepoorlittleboneswereburiedandtheaffairkeptquiet,butthecaptainleftthehouse.

AMODELGHOSTSTORY

(BostonCourier,Aug.10)

Averysingularstorywhichformsoneofthesensationalsocialtopicsoftheday is the best authenticated of themany stories of the supernatural that havebeenlately told.Onlyashort timeagoayoungandwell-knownartist,Mr.A.,wasinvitedtopayavisittohisdistinguishedfriend,Mr.Izzard.Thehousewasfilledwith guests, but a large and handsome roomwas placed at his disposal,apparentlyoneofthebestinthehouse.Forthreedayshehadadelightfulvisit;delightful in all particulars save one, he had each night a horrible dream. Hedreamedhewas—orwas really—suddenlyawakenedbysomepersonenteringhis room, and in looking around saw the roombrilliantly lighted,while at thewindowstoodaladyelegantlyattired,intheactofthrowingsomethingout.Thisaccomplished, she turned her face toward the only spectator showing acountenancesodistortedbyevilpassionsthathewasthrilledwithhorror.Soonthe light and the figure with the dreadful face disappeared, leaving the artistsuffering from a frightful nightmare.On returning to his city homehewas sohaunted by the fearful countenance which had for three consecutive nightstroubled him, that hemade a sketch of it, and so real that the evil expressionseemedtohorrifyeveryonewhosawit.Notagreatwhileafter,theartistwenttomakeaneveningvisitonMr. Izzard; thatgentleman invitedhim tohispicturegallery,ashewishedtoshowhimsomeremarkable,oldfamilyportraits.WhatwasMr.A.'ssurprisetorecognizeamongthem,inthelikenessofastately,well-dressed lady, the onewho had so troubled his slumbers on his previous visit,

lacking, however, the revolting, wicked expression. Soon as he saw it heinvoluntarily exclaimed, "Why, I have seen that lady!" "Indeed!" saidMr. I.,smiling,"thatishardlypossible,asshediedmorethanahundredyearsago.Shewas thesecondwifeofmygreat-grandfather,and reflectedanythingbutcreditonthefamily.Shewasstronglysuspectedofhavingmurderedherhusband'ssonbyaformermarriage,inordertomakeherownchildheirtotheproperty.Theunfortunate boy broke his neck in a fall from awindow, and therewas everyreasontobelievethathewasprecipitatedfromthewindowbyhisstepmother."Theartistthentoldhishostthecircumstancesofhisthrice-repeatedexperience,ordream,andsentforhissketch,which,sofarasthefeatureswereconcerned,wasidenticalwiththeportraitinMr.Izzard'sgallery.Thesketchhassincebeenphotographed,butfromitshideousexpressionisnotverypleasanttolookupon.

AGHOSTTHATWILLNOTDOWN

(CincinnatiEnquirer,Sept.30,1884)

GRANTSVILLE,W.VA.,September30.—TheghostofBetts' farmwillnot lay.Something over a year ago the Enquirer contained an account or an occultinfluence ormanifestation at the farm house ofMr.CollinsBetts, about threemiles below this town, in which story were delineated a number of weird,strange instances of ghostlymanifestations, all of whichwere verified by thetestimony of honest, brave and reliable citizens, the names ofmany ofwhomwerementioned.Thatstorywenttheroundsofnewspapersalloverthecountryandresultedintheproprietoroftheplacereceivinghundredsoflettersfromalloverthecountry.

Since then the old house has been torn down, the family of Mr. Bettsrebuilding a home place on a different portion of the farm. This act, it wasbelieved, would lay or forever quiet the ramblings and queer doings of theinexplicablemystery.Butsuchhasnotbeenthecase.Sincethebuildinghasbeenrazed themysteriousmanifestationhasmade itselfvisibleatplaces sometimesquiteadistancefromthesceneofitsformerdomicile.

AtadistanceofseveralhundredyardsfromtheoldBettsplaceaneighboringfarmerhaderectedahouseinwhichheintendedtoreside,andinfactdidresideashorttime,butthe"CaleBettsghost,"asthemanifestationiscommonlycalledfor a distance of many miles, was no respecter of persons and oblivious of

distance,anditsoannoyedandfrightenedthefarmerandhisfamilyatuntowardtimesthathehasremovedhishousetotheoppositeendofthefarm,leavinghisgarden,orchardandall the improvementsusuallymadeabouta farm-house totakecareofthemselves.

Thisinitselfwasconsideredstrangeenough,buttheghostlyvisitantdidnotstopthere.Thehighroad,runningsomedistanceaway,hasbeenthetheaterofalmost numberless scenes of frights and frightful appearances. Among thosewhohavelatelyseentheghostisayoungmannamedVandevener,whosefatherhad once been frightened nearly to death, as related in a former letter.YoungVandevenerhadfrequentlymadesportoftheoldman'sfright,buthedoessonomore—in fact, the youngman is willing tomake affidavit that the oldman'sstorywasmildlydrawn.

Theyoungmanwasdrivingalongquietlyonenightabouthalfamile fromthe Betts place, when he saw a strange being, which, in the pale light of themoon,hetooktobeamanwalkingattheheadofhishorses.Afewminuteslatertheman,orwhateveritwas,glided,withoutmakingaparticleofnoise,aroundthehorses'headsandgotintothewagonandtookaseatbyhisside.

YoungVandevener says it rode alongwith him several hundred yards, andspoketohim.Itfirsttoldhimnottobeafraid,asitdidnotintendtoinjurehimintheleast.Whatitsaidhewillnottell,exceptthatitadmonishedhimnottosayanything about it until a certain time.After it had spoken to himVandevenersaysitgotupandglidedoffintothewoodsanddisappeared.Hesaystheshapewasthatofaheadlessman,andthatwhileitwaswithhimhefeltacoldchillrunoverhim,althoughitwasawarmevening,andthischillyfeelingdidnotleavehimuntilthedisappearanceoftheshape.

SincethenVandevenercannotbeinducedtogooverthegroundafternight.Hestillpersistsinthesamestory,andasheisatruthfulyoungfellow,thepeoplewhoknowhimaresatisfiedthathereallysawwhatheclaimstohaveseen.

Onlyonedaylastweekanotheryoungman,HenryStephensIbelieve,onhiswaypastthesameplace,sawapeculiarshaperiseoutofthebrushbythesideoftheroadandglidealongbythesideofthewagon.Stephensgotoutofhiswagonandgatheredtogetherahandfulofrocks,whichhethrewattheobject.Someofthestonesappearedtogothroughit,butdidnotseemtoaffectitintheleast.Itstill continued to float along at a short distance away until Stephens becamefrightenedandwhippeduphishorsesuntiltheyflewatatwo-minutegaitdown

theroad,theobjectfollowingatsomedistanceuntilquiteawayfromthesceneof its first appearance, when it disappeared like a cloud of vapor. There aredozensofauthenticstoriesoftheghostlypeculiaritiesoftheBettsghostwhicharenewandpeculiar.

Itappears,sincethedestructionoftheBettshomestead,tohavetakenupitsquarters near the highway, and here it appears to people who have generallyscoffedand laughedat the formerstories.That it isbullet-proofdoesnotneedtestimony,located,asitis,inasectionofcountrywhichhasforyearsbeennotedforitsfearlessmen—suchastheDuskys,Downsandothersofnationalfameassharp-shooters, scouts, etc., during the late war. None of these men havesucceededin"laying"orputtingaquietustoit.Thereisastorythatacoupleofmenhadbeenmurderedordisappearedinthisvicinity,andthattheghostistheuneasyspiritofoneofthesemen,butthereisnorealevidencethatanybodywaseverkilledthere.

There is no doubt that Calhoun County has amysterywhich neither time,bullets,couragenorphilosophycaneitherdriveawayorexplain.Ithascometostay.IfyoumeetaCalhounerjustmentionit,andhewilltellyouthatthe"Bettsghost"isacountypossessionwhichitwillgladlydisposeofatanyprice.

TOMCYPHER'SPHANTOMENGINE

(SeattlePress-Times,Jan.10,1892)

Locomotive engineers are as a class said to be superstitious, but J.M.Pinckney,anengineerknowntoalmosteveryBrotherhoodman,isanexceptionto the rule. He has never been able to believe the different stories told ofapparitions suddenly appearing on the track, but he had an experience lastSunday night on the Northern Pacific east-bound overland that made his hairstandonend.

Bythecourtesyoftheengineer,alsoaBrotherhoodman,Mr.Pinckneywasridingon theengine.Theywere recountingexperiences,and the fireman,whowasagreenhand,wasgettingverynervousashelistenedtothetalesofwrecksand disasters, the horrors of whichwere graphically described by the veteranengineers.

Thenightwasclearandtheraysfromtheheadlightflashedalongthetrack,and,althoughtheywereinterestedinspinningyarns,asharplookoutwaskept,fortheywererapidlynearingEaglegorge,intheCascades,thesceneofsomanydisastersandtheplacewhichissaidtobethemostdangerousonthe2,500milesof road.The engineerwas relating a story andwas just coming to the climaxwhenhesuddenlygraspedthethrottle,andinamomenthad"thrownherover,"thatis,reversedtheengine.TheairbrakeswereappliedandthetrainbroughttoastandstillwithinafewfeetoftheplacewhereEngineerCyphermethisdeathtwoyearsago.Bythistimethepassengershadbecomecuriousastowhatwasthe matter, and all sorts of questions were asked the trainmen. The engineermadeanexcusethatsomeofthemachinerywasloose,andinafewmomentsthetrainwasspeedingontoherdestination.

"Whatmadeyoustopbackthere?"askedPinckney."Iheardyourexcuse,butIhaveruntoolongontheroadnottoknowthatyourexcuseisnotthetruth."

His question was answered by the engineer pointing ahead and sayingexcitedly:

"There!Lookthere!Don'tyouseeit?"

"Lookingoutofthecabwindow,"saidMr.Pinckney,"Isawabout300yardsaheadofustheheadlightofalocomotive."

"Stopthetrain,man,"Icried,reachingforthelever.

"Oh,it'snothing.It'swhatIsawbackatthegorge.It'sTomCypher'sengine,

No.33.There'snodangerofacollision.ThemanwhoisrunningthataheadofuscanrunitfasterbackwardthanIcanthisoneforward.HaveIseenitbefore?Yes, twenty times. Every engineer on the road knows that engine, and he'salwayswatchingforitwhenhegetstothegorge."

"Theengine aheadofuswas running silently, but smokewaspuffing fromthestackandtheheadlightthrewoutraysofred,green,andwhitelight.Itkeptashortdistanceaheadofus for severalmiles, and then for amomentwe sawafigureonthepilot.Thentheengineroundedacurveandwedidnotseeitagain.Weranbyalittlestation,andatthenext,whentheoperatorwarnedustokeepwellbackfromawildenginethatwasahead,theengineersaidnothing.Hewasnot afraid of a collision. Just to satisfy my ownmind on the matter I sent atelegramtotheenginewiperatSprague,askinghimifNo.33wasin.IreceivedareplystatingthatNo.33hadjustcomein,andthathercoalwasexhaustedandboxesburnedout.Isupposeyou'llbeinclinedtolaughatthestory,butjustaskanyoftheboys,althoughmanyofthemwon'ttalkaboutit.IwouldnotmyselfifIwererunningontheroad.It'sunluckytodoso."

WiththiscommentuponthetaleMr.PinckneyboardedapassingcabooseandwassoononhiswaytoTacoma.ItisbelievedbyNorthernPacificengineersthatThomasCypher'sspiritstillhoversnearEaglegorge.

GHOSTSINCONNECTICUT

(N.Y.Sun,Sept.1,1885)

"ThereisasmuchsuperstitioninNew-Englandto-dayastherewasinthoseold timeswhen they slashedQuakers andbuilt bonfires forwitches." Itwas aNewYorkmanwho gave expression to this rather startling statement.He hasbeen summering in Connecticut, and he avers that his talk about nativesuperstition is founded on close observation. Perhaps it is; anyhowhe regaledthe Times's correspondent with some entertaining incidents which he claimsestablishthetruthofhissomewhatastonishingtheories.

Old Stratford, the whitewashed town between this place and Bridgeport,made famous by mysterious "rappings" many years ago, and more recentlycelebrated as the scene of poorRoseClarkAmbler's strangemurder, ismuchconcerned over a house which the almost universal verdict pronounces"haunted."ThefamilyofElihuOsbornlivesinthishouse,andghostshavebeen

clamberingthroughitlatelyinawonderfullypromiscuousfashion.Twoorthreefamilieswerecompelled tovacate thepremisesbefore theOsborns,proudandskeptical, took possession of them. Now the Osborns are hunting for a newhome.Childrenofthefamilyhavebeenawakenedatmidnightbyvisitorswhichpersisted in shaking them out of bed;Mrs. Osborn has been confronted withghostlyspectacles,andthroughthehallsandvacantroomsstrangefootstepsarefrequentlyheardwhenallthefamilyaretryingtosleep;soundsloudenoughtoarouse every member of the household. Then the manifestations sometimeschange tomoaningsandgroaningssufficientlyvehementandpitiful todistractallwhohearthem.Onceuponatime,perhapsadozenyearsago,JonathanRiggslivedinthishouse,andasthelocalgossipsassert,Riggscausedthedeathofhiswifebyhisbrutalconductandthenswallowedpoisontoendhisownlife.Theanniversary of the murderous month in the Riggs family has arrived and themanifestationsare so frequent and so lively that "the likehasneverbeen seenbefore," as is affirmed by a veteran Stratford citizen. There is no shadow ofdoubtinStratfordthatthespiritsoftheRiggsesaresprylycavortingaroundtheirformerabode.

OverattheThimbleIslands,offStonyCreek,isanacreortwoofsoilpiledhighonalotofrocks.ThenativescallitFrisbieIsland.Notmorethanahundredyards off shore it contains a big bleak looking house which was built abouttwentyyearsagotoserveasaSummerhotelwhenConnecticutcapitalistsweredeepinschemestotemptNewYorkerstothispartoftheSoundshoretospendtheirSummers.NewYorkersdeclinedtobetempted,andtheoldhouseisrapidlyapproachingdecay.IthasrecentlyassumedapeculiarinterestfortheresidentsofStony Creek. Midnight lights have suddenly appeared in all its windows atfrequentintervals,fitfullyflashingupanddownliketheblazeintheLongIslandlighthouses.Ghosts!This is theuniversalverdict.Nobodydisputes it.Onceortwiceahardycrewoflocalsailorshavevolunteeredtogooutandinvestigatethemystery,butwhenthetimeforthetesthasarrived,theresomehowhavealwaysbeenreasonsforpostponingtheexcursion.Cynicalpeopleprofesstobelievethatpracticaljokersareattherootofthemanifestations,butsuchaprofaneviewisnotwidelyentertainedamong thegoodpeoplewhohave theirhomesatStonyCreek.

OvernearMiddletownisafarmernamedEdgarG.Stokes,agentlemanwhois said to have graduated with honor in a New England college more than aquarterofacenturyago.Heenjoys,perhaps,themostnotablebitofsuperstitiontobefoundanywhereinthiscountry,inoroutofConnecticut.Heownsthefarm

onwhichhelives,anditisvaluable;notquitesovaluablethoughasitoncewas,forMr. Stokes's eccentric disposition has somewhat changed the usual tacticsthatfarmerspursuewhentheyownfertileacres.Theaveragemanclearshissoilofstones;Mr.Stokeshasbeenpilingrocksalloverhisland.Littlebylittletheweakness—orphilosophy—hasgrownuponhim;andnotonlyfromeverypartofMiddlesexCounty,butfromeverypartofthisStatehehasbeenaccumulatingwagonloadsofpebblesandrocks.Heseeksfornopeculiarstoneeitherinshape,color,orquality.Iftheyarestonesthatissufficient.Andhistheoryisthatstoneshave souls—souls, too, that are not so sordid and earthly as the souls thatanimate humanity. They are souls purified and exalted. In the rocks are thespirits of the greatest men who have lived in past ages, developed by somedivinity until they have become worthy of their new abode. NapoleonBonaparte'ssoulinhabitsastone,sodoesHannibal's,sodoesCæsar's,butpoorplebeianJohnSmithandWilliamJenkins,theyneverattainedsuchimmortality.

FarmerStokeshasdumpedhisrockswithmoreorlessreverenceallalonghisfields,andthisbyonenameandthatbyanotherheknowsandhailsthemall.Achoicegalaxyof thedistinguished lightsof theolddaysare inhispossession,andjustbetweentheburlybitsofgraniteattheverythresholdofhishomeisasmooth-facedcrystalfromtheRockyMountains.Thisstonehasnosoulyet.Therough,jaggedrockonitsleftisGeorgeWashington.ThegranitesparontherightisglorifiedwiththespiritofgoodQueenBess.Thesmooth-facedcrystaloneofthesedaysistoknowtheblissofswallowingupthespiritofgoodFarmerEdgarGarton Stokes. It was not until recently thatmystified neighbors obtained thesecretofthevastaccumulationofroughstonesontheStokesfarm.Mr.Stokeshas a family. They all seem to be intelligent, practical business people. TheremaybeawillcontestedinMiddletownoneofthesedays.

THESPOOKOFDIAMONDISLAND

(St.LouisGlobe-Democrat,Sept.18,1888)

HARDEN, Ill.,Sept.18.—Forsome timepast rumorshavebeencirculated inHardintotheeffectthatDiamondIsland,intheriverabouttwomilesfromthisplace,was the homeof a ghost.The stories concerning themovements of thealleged spookwere,of course, notgivenanycredence at first, but later,whenseveralreputablecitizensofHardinannouncedthattheyhadpositivelyseenanuncanny looking objectmoving about on the island at night, the rumorswere

moreseriouslyconsidered.Now,afterinvestigation,themysterioussomethingisnolongerconsideredamyth.

Alongtowardmidnightapeculiarlightisseenatthefootoftheisland.Ithasthe appearance of a huge ball of fire, and is about the size and shape of anordinarybarrel.

Afewnightsagoapartyofyoungmenfromthisplacedeterminedtovisittheisland and fathom the mystery if possible. Equipped with revolvers, knives,shotguns,andclubs,thepartysecuredaboatandweresooncuttingthroughthewaterat agoodspeed forapointon the islandnearwhere the specterusuallymade itsappearance.Arrivingat the landingplace, theskiffwashauledupontheshoreandtheyoungmentookupapositioninaclumpoftreescloseathandtowatchandwait.

Suddenly thewholepointof the islandwas illuminedasabrightredobjectroseapparentlyfromthewaterandglidedupintotheair.Ascendingprobablytoa height of forty yards, the watchers saw the lurid ball fade away. Theinvestigatingpartyhadseenalltheywanted.Theymadeamadrushfortheboat,but,justastheyreachedtheplacewhereithadbeenleft,theywerehorrifiedtosee the little craft moving out on the water from the island. At first its onlyoccupantseemedtobetheredballoffire,butthenextmomentthewatcherssawthecrimsonobjectgraduallytaketheformofaman,andtheysawhim,too,diptheoars at regular intervals andpull a long, steady stroke.Theman's featureswere fullyconcealedbyawide-rimmedslouchhat,whichwasdrawnoverhisface.A peculiar light illumined the boat and thewaters around it,making thecraftanditsmysteriousoccupantperfectlydiscernibletothepartyontheshore,whostoodparalyzedwith fear,unable to speakormove, their eyes rivetedbysomemysterious influence they could not resist on the spectral object beforethem.

Theboatwasnowabout inmidstream,andsuddenly thegroupofwatcherssawtheskiff'soccupantchangeagainintothecrimsonball.Thenitslowlybegantomoveupward,andwhenitwasaboutparallelwiththetopsofthetreesontheisland it disappeared. Next instant the watchers looking across the river sawnothingbuttheflickeringlightsinHardin.

Thecriesof thecrowdon the islandawakeneda sleeping fishermanon theopposite side of the river, and he kindly pulled across and rescued the ghost-seeking youths. The fiery spook, it is said, still makes its nightly trips to

DiamondIsland,butnomoreinvestigatingpartieshaveventuredacrosstosolvethemystery.

Itissaidthatsomeyearsagoafoulmurderwascommittedonthisisland,andbythesuperstitiousthecrimsonobjectisbelievedtobetherestlessspiritoftheslainman.

THEGHOST'SFULLHOUSE

(N.Y.Sun,April10,1891)

The Bleecker street ghost drew as large a "house" last night as Barnum'sCircusoranyofthetheaters.Therewasabiggercrowdabout"Cohnfeld'sFolly"than there was three weeks ago when the flames gutted the buildings fromMercer toGreene streets anddiddamageawayup in themillions.Thewraithwasnotduetillmidnight,butthestreetwaspackedwithwatchersasearlyas9o'clock.Thecrowdwassodensethatpedestrianswithdifficultyforcedtheirwaythroughitandtwiceasquadofblue-coatsdescendedonthemobandroutedit.Fiveminutesafterthepolicehadretiredthestreetwasasimpassableasbefore.

Inthemidstoftheruinsofthebigfireasinglewalltowersawayabovethesurroundingbrickpartitions. It looks feebleandalmost totteringand the shop-keepersinthevicinitysaythatwhenthereisahighwinditswaystoandfroandthreatenstocomedowninaheap.Afterdarktheoutlinesofthesummitofthiswallareveryindistinct.Thedetailofthewreckcouldnotbemadeouteveninlast night's bright starlight.There is a sheet of tin, however, on the top of thewall, which was probably a cornice before the fire. Only one side of it isattachedtothebrickwork,andwhenthereisanywindittremblesinthebreezeandrattleswithanuncertainsound.Itmayhavebeenthatthesheenofthetininthestarlightorawindynightfirstsuggestedtheideaofaghost tosomeweirdimagination.

There is an old Frenchman living in the vicinity, however, who avers thatthreenightsagohesawwithhisowneyesaladyinwhitestandingoutagainstthe darkened sky on the very summit of the totteringwall.Her long, flowingrobes fluttered in the breeze, and even while he watched there came a low,wailing sound, and thewraith dissolved into air.He kept his eye fixed on thespotforafullminute,butthevisiondidnotreappear,andasheturnedtowalkawayhethoughtheheardgroaningasofalostspirit.Thesound,hesays,made

hisbloodruncoldandkepthimshiveringthewholenightthrough.

The alleged appearance of the ghost has set the whole neighborhood atalking, and some of the "old residenters" have recalled amurderwhich tookplaceinthevicinitymanyyearsago,whenA.T.Stewartlivedthereandthestreetwasoneofthefashionableplacesofresidenceofthetown.Therewasawealthyoldgentlemanofforeignbirthwholivedinthestreetandwasquitearecluse.Hewouldpassthetimeofdaywithhisneighborswhenhemet theminthestreet,but he was never known to enter into conversation with any one. The blindswerealwaysdrawninhisfrontwindows,andatnighttherewasnotarayoflighttobeseenaboutthehouse.Hisonlyservantswereacouplesomewhatadvancedinyears,whowereas foreignanduncommunicativeashimself.Themasterofthehousewouldbeawayformonthsatatimeandtheneighborshadallsortsoftheories as to his disappearances. Some thought he was engaged in unlawfulbusiness, others suggested that his absence might be attributed to thesupernatural,butthosewhowerelessflightyconcludedthathesimplywentoffonperiodicalvisitstohisnativeland.

Onhis return fromoneof thesevisits, however, theoldgentlemanbroughtwithhimabeautifulyounggirl.Shewaslittlemorethanachildinappearance,andhadthesofteyes,olivecomplexionandlithe,gracefulfigureofaSpaniard.Shewasneverseenaliveaftershepassedtheshadowoftheoldman'sdoorway.A fewweeks later theoldgentlemandisappearedasmysteriouslyas ifhehadbeen snatched up into the clouds. The old couplewho kept his homewalkedawayonedayandneverreturned.Therewasaninvestigation,andinaholedugin the cellar was found the body of the beautiful young girl. There were nomarksonherbody,anditwassupposedshehadbeensmothered.Theexactdateofthistragedyisnotfixed.InspectorByrnessaysthatifiteveroccurreditwasbeforehistime.

Theghost,ifghostthereis,isundoubtedlythespiritofthisunfortunateandnamelessyoungwoman.AWorldreporterwatchedtheBleeckerstreetruinswiththecrowdlastnight andwas there at themidnighthour,butnever a signof aghostdidhesee.Therewere those in thecrowd,nevertheless,who thoughtorpretended to think that they did.Once therewas a rattling sound in the ruins,which caused a commotion among the lookers-on, but it was only because asmallboyhadshiedabrickattheoldwall.Thelivingspiritsboomedtheliquorbusinessinthesaloonsofthevicinity.Askullandcross-bonesoveroneofthesebarswassurmountedwiththesomewhatappropriatelegendfreshlypainted:

"Inthemidstoflifeweareindebt."

FOOTNOTES:

[A]Wenowknow that these leaves did contain a considerable fragment of thatwork,ifnotofthatactualcopyofit.

[B] He died that summer; his daughter married, and settled at St. Papoul. Sheneverunderstoodthecircumstancesofherfather's"obsession."

[C]I.e.,TheDisputeofSolomonwithademonofthenight.DrawnbyAlbericdeMauléon.Versicle. O Lord,make haste to helpme.Psalm.Whoso dwelleth (xci.).SaintBertrand,whoputtestdevilstoflight,prayformemostunhappy.Isawitfirstonthe night ofDec. 12, 1694: soon I shall see it for the last time. I have sinned andsuffered,andhavemoretosufferyet.Dec.29,1701.The"GalliaChristiana"givesthedateoftheCanon'sdeathasDecember31,1701,"inbed,ofasuddenseizure."DetailsofthiskindarenotcommoninthegreatworkoftheSammarthani.

[D]Copyright,1890,byHarperBros.

[E]From"TrueIrishGhostStories."

[F]Scott'sLadyoftheLake,notestoCantoIII(editionof1811).

[G]A.G.Bradley,NotesonsomeIrishSuperstitions,p.9.

[H]OccultReviewforSeptember,1913.

[I]Takenbypermission from"TheListener andOtherStories,"—E.P.Dutton&Co.

[J]Copyright, 1917, byTheBostonTranscriptCo.Copyright, 1918,byVincentO'Sullivan.

[K]Copyright,1913,byTheCenturyCompany.

Transcriber'sNotes:

Obviousprintingpunctuationerrorswererepaired.

[1]Theoriginalismissingtextfollowingthismark.Bothitandareprintofthesameweresearchedandwereprintedinthisway.[2]Seenote[1].

The remaining correctionsmade are indicated by dotted lines under thecorrections.Scrollthemouseoverthewordandtheoriginaltextwillappear.

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