was going a haunted chamber. It seemed as if my surly host had the
power of divining what was passing in my mind, for when he had ushered
me into the room, and placed the candle on the light stand, he said,--

"I hope you'll sleep comfortable, for there ain't many rats here, sir.
And as for the ghost they say frequents this chamber, I believe that's
all in my eye, though, to be sure, the window does look out on the
burial ground."

"Umph! a comfortable prospect."

"Very, sir; you have a fine view of the squire's new tomb and the
poorhouse, with a wing of the jail behind the trees. And I've stuck my
second-best hat in that broken pane of glass, and there's a chest of
drawers to set against the door; so you'll be warm and free from
intrusion. I wish you good night, sir."

All that night I was troubled with strange dreams, peopled by phantoms
from the neighboring churchyard; but a _bona fide_ ghost I cannot say
I saw. In the morning I rose very early, and took a look from the
window, but the prospect was very uninviting. The churchyard was a
bleak, desolate place, overgrown with weeds, and studded with slate
stones, bounded by a ruinous brick wall, and having an entrance
through a dilapidated gateway. One or two melancholy-looking cows were
feeding on the rank herbage that sprang from the unctuous soil,
spurning many a _hic jacet_ with their cloven hoofs. But afar, in the
most distant part of the field, I espied the figure of a man who was
busily occupied in digging a grave. There was something within that
impelled me to stroll forth and accost him. I dressed, descended, and
having ordered breakfast, left the inn, clambered over the ruinous