having had occasion, one autumn evening, to visit the church, returned hastily, pale and disordered, to his home, and announced that a strange thing had befallen him. He had quitted the church while it was yet light, and was half-way down the path, when a figure appeared to enter by the churchyard gate, and move to meet him. It was that of a woman of the cottage class, decently dressed, and wearing a red cloak. She seemed to be stooping, but, as the distance lessened, the horrified man saw that she was headless! As he shrank instinctively from the path, the spectre, without staying its measured step, passed close beside him, and, having done so, disappeared.

The man's serious and truthful character appears to have considerably narrowed the field of explanation. No one doubted that he had really seen the vision he described, and it was equally undeniable that no one could explain its object and character. The circumstance itself left a very painful impression on the poor clerk's mind, and possibly acted injuriously on his already failing health. He died within a few months, having frequently adverted to the occurrence, adhering to the story as he had from the first related it.

Two years later, at a spot in the graveyard close to that at which he had encountered the vision, there was dug up the headless skeleton of a woman.

This, however, is only half the story. Several years more elapsed, and the rectory of D. had passed into the hands of the Reverend A. W. H., an old friend and schoolfellow of the writer, from whose lips the latter learned the incident that follows.

One morning the rector received an unexpected visit from a friend whom he had not seen for some time, and who had never previously visited that part of the country. During luncheon, the rector happened to speak in commendation of an organ which had been recently placed in his church, upon which the visitor, Mr. S., himself a skilful organist, expressed a wish to try it, and presently, under the guidance of one of his host's daughters, Miss Emily H., proceeded to the spot.

"It is gone," he said, passing his hand across his forehead, with a sigh as of relief. But, do you know, I have seen a spectre !"

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The young lady smiled, as she looked down the aisle, radiant with the westering sun, as it glowed through the stained-glass windows. "You are imaginative. What was it like? Whence did it come?"

"The last question I will not pretend to answer," replied Mr. S. "I only know that she-that is, it-entered at the door, passed hastily up the aisle, and vanished.” "Could you see the face ?"

"There was none, The figure was headless."

"What dress ?"

"Such as a farmer's or cottager's wife might wear going to market. Her red cloak first caught my eye. She carried something on her left arm. It is getting late," continued Mr. S., rising, "and this unexpected auditor has disturbed my nerves Shall we take a turn in the park?"

They did so, meeting the rector, to whom they related the incident that had occurred. Mr. H. said little in reply, but on reaching home requested his visitor to make a sketch on paper of the figure he had seen. Mr. S. complied, when the rector, going to a cabinet, took from it another sketch, and placed them, side by side, on the table. They were in all respects similar.

Relating to his friend the former apparition, Mr. H. explained that the sketch in his possession had been prepared from the minute description of the first seer.

The circumstance next to be related, in illustration of the local character of these "visitings," is unique of its kind, and grotesque enough in its details to justify as minute a narrative as authenticated information can supply.

It is, the writer believes, about five years since, that an advertisement announced to be let, on lease, a handsome mansion, standing in its own grounds (about twenty acres), ten miles from London and one from a railway station, the rent being no more than one hundred a year. Now, seeing that land in that locality could be easily let at three pounds an acre, it followed that any one, willing to dispense with the meadow portion of the property, might inhabit the many-roomed mansion, with its garden, &c., at a rent of fifty pounds.

fessional duties (he was at the bar), obtained an order from the agent in London, and proceeded to examine the mansion. Nothing could be more delightful. It stood in a very sequestered spot, nearly a mile distant even from the very little village of W., whose one modest hostel, the Red Cow, seemed sufficient to supply all the needs of that temperate neighbourhood. The house itself far surpassed the representations of the advertisement; and what even more excited Mr. Ronaldson's astonishment was the fact, first revealed to him by the staid old housekeeper, that several of the best apartments were fitted with old but handsome furniture, the use of which was included in the terms demanded.

So charmed was the visitor with all he saw, that he at once resolved on taking the house, and, only giving himself time to take the measure of the rooms which remained to be furnished, hastened back to London, to close with the agent, having informed the old housekeeper that he would return on the following Saturday to make final arrangements.

It chanced that, on the day in question, Mr. Ronaldson was unable to visit W. until so late an hour that the dark surprised him while still engaged in acquainting himself with the charms and capabilities of his new dwelling. Anxious, however, to complete the business, he expressed an intention of remaining to sleep, and requested that a large bedroom, to which he had taken a strong fancy, might be prepared for him.

The housekeeper began immediately to start a host of difficulties. The room itself was damp-the bed-linen unaired-the chimney choked with soot, &c. The gentleman would find the Red Cow, though small, very clean and comfortable, and, moreover, would there find a good supper, which the unfurnished larder of the mansion certainly could not supply.

But Mr. Ronaldson was of a character that rather relished a contest with difficulties. He would be content, for the nonce, with a sofa. As for supper, a rasher of bacon, with a couple of eggs and a cup of tea, were all that he required, and were, in fact, his favourite refection.

The housekeeper reluctantly gave way, and only warning the visitor that, if he were not lodged and fed to his entire satisfaction, the blame should not rest with her, withdrew to make preparation.

A far better repast than he had been led to expect rewarded Mr. Ronaldson's perseverance. Furthermore, the housekeeper presently pronounced the enormous bed

to be perfectly dry, and, in point of comfort, worthy of the occupation of royalty itself! It seemed as if-now there was no help for it-the visitor was to be made as comfortable as possible.

On being conducted to his chamber, Mr. Ronaldson found it a perfect blaze of splendour. Every place in the room calculated for the reception of a candle, exhibited one. "My good lady!" said the astonished guest, shading his eyes, "I cannot sleep in the midst of this illumination! Pray help me to reduce it a little."

With curious reluctance the old woman aided in the extinguishment of about fourfifths of the lights; after which she continned to fit restlessly about the room so long, that Mr. Ronaldson, losing patience, announced his intention of retiring instantly to rest.

The housekeeper moved to the door, but, pausing, came back.

"I beg your pardon, sir," she said; "I have one favour to ask, and it is for your own comfort too. Be so kind as to leave at least one light burning when you go to bed."

my

"I am not accustomed to a light in room, and dislike it very much," he replied. "So if you mean it, as you say, for my comfort

"I do, sir, and I request it particularly," said the woman, earnestly.

"All right. I'll remember. Good-night." Mr. Ronaldson sat musing for a little while by the fire; then, starting up, undressed, put out all the remaining lights, and was in the act of stepping into bed when he remembered his promise.

"Deuce take it," he muttered. "But I must be as good as my word." And, relighting a candle, he placed it on a sidetable, and got into bed.

Nothing could be cosier, but still it so happened that he could not sleep. No change of position was of Rest avail. any he could not; and thinking that perhaps the unaccustomed light had banished slumber, he at length sprang out of bed, blew out the candle, and returned to his rest. No sooner had he lain down than a singular hoarse murmur, like a distant sea, made itself audible from below. By degrees, growing louder, it resolved itself into voices-the voices of men engaged in a dispute, which every moment became more violent. Oaths and imprecations succeeded, and, at length, blows. Upon this Mr. Ronaldson jumped out of bed and lit the candle. In an instant all was still as death. He rubbed his eyes:

"I must have been dreaming without knowing it," he muttered.

But, on looking at his watch, he found that not three minutes had elapsed since he had last lain down.

Once more he got into bed; but again the light annoyed him, and he extinguished it. In a second, the mysterious quarrel recommenced, with greater fury than before. The voices rose louder, the execrations were more frequent, there was a rush and trample of feet, then blows, delivered, apparently, with savage purpose. Ronaldson once more lit the candle. The tumult ceased as suddenly and completely as before.

Ronaldson took a turn or two in the chamber, debating what he should do. Was it fancy? Some mental disturbance beyond | his control? He felt his pulse, he bathed his face, and, finally, resolved to try the experiment calmly once again. He placed the lighted candle beside the bed, and, lying down, extinguished it with a wave of his handkerchief. The contest below was resumed with twofold violence. It was, as the listener declared, like a battle of fiends! Foreign languages were used, but little more than imprecations were intelligible, and, strangest feature of all, those expressions which seemed to proceed from English combatants were, as Mr. Ronaldson affirmed, such as belonged to a former age. Cries and groans succeeded, and Mr. Ronaldson, unable to remain quiescent while such a scene was, even in fancy, proceeding beneath him, for the last time left his bed, and lit, not only his bed-candle, but every other candle in the apartment. All again was still, but the visitor had had enough, and paced the haunted room till morning.

Upon questioning the housekeeper, that staid person simply inquired if the request she had made had been complied with, and, finding it was not, respectfully, but positively, refused any responsibility as to the consequences which, she was ready to admit, usually followed. Nor could her questioner obtain any further satisfaction from this quarter.

He was not more fortunate with the agent, to whom he related the disturbances which, if not explained, would certainly compel him to resign the bargain. The agent merely bowed, and handed him back the agreement.

The excitement of that night at W. affected Mr. Ronaldson's health. A week or two later, he was attacked with brain fever, from which, however, he completely

recovered. It might be suggested that this was rather the cause, than effect, of the nocturnal conflict at W.; but how account for the request and conduct of the housekeeper, and the entire absence of surprise on the part of that very practical and business-like man, the agent, when informed that this spacious and most desirable family mansion was uninhabitable by reason of the quarrels of ghostly banditti?

If haunted houses are as plentiful in London itself as some persons assert, it may really become necessary to insert in leases a short conditional clause, having reference to this form of disturbance. The incumbent of a West-end district was but recently consulted on the subject of a large house, but a few hundred yards from Belgrave-square, from which tenant after tenant had departed in despair, and in which no servant could be persuaded to remain. Not to mention mysterious noises, "spirit" hands were both felt and seen. The fact is at least curious that, in this house, several years since, a now defunct spiritualist society held occasional meetings.

Another very large house, in a fashionable street, had to be given up by the lessce, a distinguished general officer, at a considerable sacrifice, his lady's rest, and indeed his own, being perpetually broken by smothered shrieks, of which it proved impossible to ascertain the cause.

But, of all the spectres of our time, none have, in amount and character of testimony, exceeded that of B., personally investigated by the writer, a few weeks after the commencement of the disturbing influence.

It was in a letter from a friend residing in the neighbourhood-Sir C. S.-that the writer received intimation of certain occurrences at B., so remarkable, yet so authentic, as to justify a visit of inquiry to the spot.

The pretty, sequestered village of B. is " situated a few miles from Rugby, and consists only of a few small dwellings of the cottage class, the inhabitants of which appeared both clean, sober, and intelligent, with manners which might have done honour to a more polished community.

In this village died, March the 3rd, 1851, a Mrs. Knebb, aged sixty-seven. Born and bred in the place, she had married, late in life, a person of some means, who, dying, left her in easy circumstances for persons of her class, the cottage in which she resided forming a portion of her own property. She was, however, of a most penurious disposition, concealing to the utmost

her means of subsistence, and denying herself the necessaries of life to such an extent as to bring on the illness of which she subsequently died.

During this illness she was supplied with all she needed by her nephew, Mr. Hart, a farmer, and was nursed by her neighbours, Mrs. Holding and Mrs. Griffin, her habits retaining such hold upon her that she, on one occasion, pretending to be penniless, sent Mrs. Holding to beg for sixpence to purchase brandy.

As her end approached she betrayed no mental disquietude, but, when turned in her bed by her two attendants, expressed an opinion that she should not survive that night, adding that she trusted it would prove so, and that before another she would be in paradise.

She did, in fact, die that night, having a short time before left everything, by will, with the executorship, to her nephew, Mr. Hart.

A month after the funeral, Mrs. Holding and her uncle, who occupied the cottage adjoining that of the deceased, which had been shut up, were alarmed by loud thumps against the partition wall, slamming of doors, and sounds as of furniture violently thrown about. This last circumstance was the stranger, seeing that everything had been removed from the building. But, on entering the house, all was quiet.

These noises generally commenced about two o'clock A.M. (the time of the old woman's death), but sometimes earlier, and caused so much alarm that Mrs. Holding declared they could never bear to go to bed till eleven, an unheard-of dissipation at B., in order that, when they did retire, fatigue might enable them to sleep through it all.

One night, however, the noise was so fearful that Mrs. Holding got up and went in search of her uncle, who was absent. His consolatory comment was simply:

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'Well, missis, I do believe there's our Missis Knebb come back!"

On the 9th of April the family of a respectable sawyer, named Accleton, tempted by the low rent, came into the disturbed house.

Mrs. Accleton informed the writer that she occupied the bedroom in which the old woman died, a rather lofty and commodious apartment, having in the ceiling a small trap-door, leading to a sort of loft among the rafters. Accleton was much from home, but the eldest child, a girl of ten, slept in a small bed in a corner, about three paces from her mother.

On one occasion, soon after they entered, Mrs. A. was awakened, about two in the morning, by a tremendous crash in the room below. Thinking it was her husband, who had gone to Hilmorton feast, she called out, "Oh, so you've come home at last, I can hear."

No answer was returned, but the noises were renewed, at intervals, until seven o'clock, when the husband returned.

Similar sounds were heard nearly every night, but nothing was seen until one night, or rather morning, about two, the elder Accletons were aroused by loud shrieks. from the child:

"Mother, mother!

There's a woman standing by my bed, a-shaking her head at me."

The parents saw nothing, but the child persisting, Accleton got up, and approached the bed, saying:

"Nonsense, nonsense, girl. It's only your mother's cap and gown hanging on your bed."

(This was not the case, it being merely said to pacify her.)

The girl, however, reiterated her story, adding that the woman wore a white cap and mottled gown, and was very tall. (The deceased, Mrs. Knebb, was five feet eleven inches in height.)

All was now quiet till about four, when the child, who had been lying with her face to the wall, shrieked out again in an agony of terror: Here's that woman

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Mother, mother! again!"

She declared that the visitor had awakened her by turning the corner of the sheet over her face.

The apparition was seen by the little girl in all, seven times, and her health, the mother declared, had been seriously injured by the nervous shock, though, by the blessing of God, and with youth on her side," she would now get over it.

She was a pretty, blue-eyed, intelligent child, with a frank, infantine manner, the reverse of cunning. She told the writer that the spectre came with a low laughing, or singing voice, was surrounded by a "brown light," stood erect with folded hands, and gazed at her in a bold, firm manner.

Up to this time, some degree of incredulity existed among the neighbours as to the child's statement, a feeling never partaken by the mother. But all doubts were soon to be set at rest.

Mrs. Accleton, whose mother was sleeping with her, in the absence of her husband,