THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS;


OR, THE HOUSE AND THE BRAIN.





* * * * *

A friend of mine, who is a man of letters and a philosopher, said to
me one day, as if between jest and earnest, "Fancy! since we last met
I have discovered a haunted house in the midst of London."

"Really haunted,--and by what?--ghosts?"

"Well, I can't answer that question; all I know is this: six weeks ago
my wife and I were in search of a furnished apartment. Passing a quiet
street, we saw on the window of one of the houses a bill, 'Apartments,
Furnished.' The situation suited us; we entered the house, liked the
rooms, engaged them by the week,--and left them the third day. No
power on earth could have reconciled my wife to stay longer; and I
don't wonder at it."

"What did you see?"

"Excuse me; I have no desire to be ridiculed as a superstitious
dreamer,--nor, on the other hand, could I ask you to accept on my
affirmation what you would hold to be incredible without the evidence