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 to 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 further. I paid for my week, and too happy
were my wife and I 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 toward 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 neighboring areas, said to
me, "Do you want any one at that house, sir?"

"Yes, I heard it was to be let."

"Let!--why, the woman who kept it is dead,--has been dead these