be--and allowed, after the third night, that it was impossible to stay a
fourth in that house. Accordingly, on the fourth morning, I summoned the
woman who kept the house and attended on us, and told her that the rooms
did not quite suit us, and we would not stay out our week. She said,
dryly: 'I know why; you have stayed longer than any other lodger; few
ever stayed a second night; none before you, a third. But I take it they
have been very kind to you.'

"'They--who?' I asked, affecting a smile.

"'Why, they who haunt the house, whoever they are. I don't mind them; I
remember them many years ago, when I lived in this house, not as a
servant; but I know they will be the death of me some day. I don't
care--I'm old, and must die soon, anyhow; and then I shall be with them,
and in this house still.' The woman spoke with so dreary a calmness,
that really it was a sort of awe that prevented my conversing with her
farther. I paid for my week, and too happy were I and my wife to get off
so cheaply."

"You excite my curiosity," said I; "nothing I should like better than to
sleep in a haunted house. Pray give me the address of the one which you
left so ignominiously."

My friend gave me the address; and when we parted, I walked straight
towards the house thus indicated.

It is situated on the north side of Oxford Street, in a dull but
respectable thoroughfare. I found the house shut up--no bill at the
window, and no response to my knock. As I was turning away, a beer-boy,
collecting pewter pots at the neighbouring areas, said to me, "Do you