THE DEVIL AND THE PRUSSIAN GRENADIER

      It is an old saying, that " the devil is not so black as he is painted." This proverb receives confirmation from the following story, which shows that the appearance of his Satanic majesty on earth may occasionally be attended with very agreeable consequences.

      In the year 1742, during the first Silesian war, Colonel de la Motte Fouque, afterwards a Prussian general, received orders from Field-marshal Schwerin to occupy the town of Kremsir, in Moravia, with his battalion of grenadiers. Among other precautions which he adopted on taking possession of the place, he stationed a sentry upon the ramparts, not far from the house of a catholic priest. Rumour had given a bad character to this quarter of the town; and it was universally believed that the devil himself was frequently to be seen prowling about there. The Prussian sentinel had ocular demonstration of the accuracy of this report on the very first night; for no sooner had the hour of spirits arrived, than the Prince of Darkness appeared, all in black, with horns, claws, and a long tail, and armed with a dung-fork.

      The grenadier posted at this place was a fearless veteran, who had long wished to fall in with his Infernal Majesty. Instead of being dismayed and deserting his post, he calmly awaited the gradual approach of the sable figure, which seemed to take no notice of his challenge of "Who's there?" Advancing close to him, it held forth the three-pronged weapon, and in a fearful voice threatened him with instant death.

      Conscious that he was engaged in the performance of his duty, the soldier was very little, if at all, alarmed. He coolly awaited the assault, parried the thrust of the dung-fork with his bayonet, and courageously seized his Satanic opponent. He held him tightly grasped, regardless of the screams of agony which his nervous gripe extorted from the writhing daemon. Some of his comrades, who were at hand, soon hastened to the assistance of the brave grenadier, and having secured Old Hornie, dragged him away to the nearest guard-house.

      Next morning he was conducted in his infernal accouterments  escorted by an immense crowd, through the town to the main-guard. Finding himself subjected to a rigorous military examination, the devil had the condescension to answer in the humblest tone every question that was proposed. It came out that he was no other man than the Catholic priest himself, before whose house the sentinel was posted. Annoyed by the incessant challenges of the latter, he imagined that a Protestant grenadier might be terrified as easily as the most superstitious of his own communion; but he was not so fortunate as to drive him from the vicinity of his habitation by the mask which he assumed.

      The other ecclesiastics of the town were aware that their indiscreet colleague had, by his masquerade, not only cast a stigma on his profession, but grossly offended against the laws of war; they, therefore, with all humility solicited his release, and voluntarily offered to pay any fine that might be imposed.

Colonel Fouque seized this opportunity of contributing the comfort of his grenadiers, who, like all the Prussian soldiers in those days, wore white gaiters, and after the arduous campaign which was just over had great need of new ones. He ordered a calculation to be made of the cost of new black gaiters for his whole battalion. It amounted to about one hundred ducats, which sum the Catholic clergy of the town cheerfully paid to atone for the misconduct of their colleague.

      The unlucky representative of Old Nick was sent to a convent to expiate his indiscretion; and the grenadiers were supplied with black gaiters, which rendered them good service in their subsequent marches. They jocularly observed that they had to thank the devil of Kremsir for their new leggings; and the king himself was so well pleased with the innovation of Colonel Fouque, that he determined to furnish his whole army with black gaiters, instead of the white ones which had hitherto been universally worn.

GAKRICK'S GHOST

In the records of his life by Taylor, we read of a trick of the great actor, who, like Brinsley Sheridan, had a fondness for practical jokes. It was on a professional visit of Dr. Moncey. " Garrick was announced for King Lear on that night, and when Moncey saw him in bed, he expressed his surprise, and asked him if the play was to be changed. Garrick was dressed, but had his nightcap on, and a quilt was drawn over him to give the appearance of being too ill to rise. Dr. M. expressed his surprise, as it was time for Garrick to be at the theater to dress for King Lear. Garrick, in a languid and whining tone, told him that he was too much indisposed to perform himself, but that there was an actor named Marr, so like him in figure, face, and voice, and so admirable a mimic, that he had ventured to trust the part to him, and was sure the audience would not perceive the difference. Pretending that he began to feel worse, he requested Moncey to leave the room in order that he might get a little sleep, but desired him to attend the theater  and let him know the result. As soon as the doctor quitted the room, Garrick jumped out of the bed and hastened to the theater  Moncey attended the performance. Having left Garrick in bed, he was bewildered by the scene before him, sometimes doubting, and sometimes being astonished at the resemblance between Garrick and Marr. At length, finding that the audience were convinced of Garrick's identity, Moncey began to suspect a trick had been practiced upon him, and instantly hurried to Garrick's house at the end of the plav ; but Garrick was too quick for him, and was found by Moncey in the same state of illness. These are truths which are indeed stranger than fiction.

A LONDON GHOST

      In the year 1704, a gentleman, to all appearance of large fortune, took furnished lodgings in a house in Soho-square. After he had resided there some weeks with his establishment, he lost his brother, who had lived at Hampstead, and who on his death-bed particularly desired to be interred in the family vault in Westminster Abbey. The gentleman requested his landlord to permit him to bring the corpse of his brother to his lodgings, and to make arrangements there for the funeral. The landlord without hesitation signified his compliance.

      The body, dressed in a white shroud, was accordingly brought in a very handsome coffin, and placed in the great dining-room. The funeral was to take place the next day, and the lodger and his servants went out to make the necessary preparations for the solemnity. He stayed out late ; but this was no uncommon thing. The landlord and his family, conceiving that they had no occasion to wait for him, retired to bed as usual, about twelve o'clock. One maid-servant was left up to let him in, and to boil some water, which he had desired might be ready for making tea on his return. The girl was accordingly sitting all alone in the kitchen, when a tall, spectre-looking figure entered, and clapped itself down in a chair opposite to her.

      The maid was by no means one of the most timid of her sex; but she was terrified beyond expression, lonely as she was, at this unexpected apparition. Uttering a loud scream, she flew out like an arrow at a side door, and hurried to the chamber of her master and mistress. Scarcely had she awakened them, and communicated to the whole family some portion of the fright with which she was herself overwhelmed, when the spectre, enveloped in a shroud and with a face of death-like paleness, made its appearance, and sat down in a chair in the bedroom, without their having observed how it entered. The worst of all was, that this chair stood by the door of the bed chamber, so that not a creature could get away without passing close to the apparition, which rolled its glaring eyes so frightfully, and so hideously distorted its features, that they could not bear to look at it. The master and mistress crept under the bed clothes, covered with profuse perspiration, while the maid-servant sunk nearly insensible by the side of the bed.

      At the same time the whole house seemed to be in an uproar; for though they had covered themselves over head and ears, they could still hear the incessant noise and clatter, which served to increase their terror.

At length all became perfectly still in the house. The landlord ventured to raise his head, and to steal a glance at the chair by the door; but behold, the ghost was gone! Sober reason began to resume its power. The poor girl was brought to herself after a good deal of shaking. In a short time, they plucked up sufficient courage to quit the bedroom, and to commence an examination of the house; which they expected to find in great disorder. Nor were their anticipations unfounded. The whole house had been stripped by artful thieves, and the gentleman had decamped without paying for his lodging. It turned out that he was no other than an accomplice of the notorious Arthur Chambers, who was executed at Tyburn in 1706; and that the supposed corpse was this arch rogue himself, who had whitened his hands and face with chalk, and merely counterfeited death. About midnight he quieted the coffin, and appeared to the maid in the kitchen. When she flew up stairs, he softly followed her, and, seated at the door of the chamber, he acted as a sentinel, so that his industrious accomplices were enabled to plunder the house without the least molestation.

THE HAUNTED INN

    The following story, which we recollect to have heard from an uncle of ours, more than thirty years since, will be perused by most of our readers with additional interest, from its evidently being the identical German legend on which is founded the opera of Bellini, " La Sonnambula," to which the talents of Malibran, Mrs. Wood, and Mrs. Seguin, have given such remarkable eclat.

      Robert was a rich innkeeper in a town on the Upper Rhine. All at once, however, custom fell off; for travelers who had been in the habit of putting up with him, either avoided the place entirely, or preferred the inferior accommodations of another inn. The cause of this decline was, that his house was haunted by a ghost; and what traveler  weary with his journey, would like to have his rest broken at night by the pranks of a spectre?

      Sigismund, a distant relative, who had an eye on the fair Rosina, the only daughter of the host, had of late years been frequently in this house, either on visits to the family, or when travelling upon business. He slept always in the same room, in the upper story ; and there he made the discovery, so unlucky to his kinsman, that the house was haunted.

      One night, when all the family had retired to bed, Sigismund was roused by the spectre. Almost beside himself with terror, he rushed out in his shirt, ready to break his neck down stairs, and called up the master of the house. With difficulty Robert drew from him an explanation respecting the cause of such vehement alarm. Having at length somewhat recovered from the fright occasioned by the apparition, he gave the landlord the following account :"I was fast asleep, when a white, death-like figure opened my door, which I had locked before I went to bed. The noise awoke me. The spectre had a hunch of key's in one hand, and in the other a lamp which gave but a feeble light. It walked past my bed, paced the room several times, then set the lamp down on the table and slipped into bed to me. I endeavored to cry out, but could not. Fear and horror paralyzed my senses. God knows how I got out of bed without falling a prey to the hideous apparition!"

The trembling Robert awoke his people, and he ventured, in their company and well armed, to approach the haunted chamber. He found the door fast: Sigismund, as far as he could recollect, had pulled it after him, that the ghost might have less chance of overtaking him in his flight. As the key had been left on the table that stood by the bed-side, it was found necessary to fetch the master-key before they could gain admission. This was accordingly done; and all eyes looked round for the spectre, but in vain—it was gone. Sigismund, however durst not resume possession of his deserted bed for the remainder of the night.

      Robert could not tell what to think of the story of his kinsman. He was too well acquainted with his character to suspect deception; he supposed that he was not a great coward : he had, therefore, no just cause to doubt the accuracy of his statement. At the same time he was vexed when he reflected that the spectre might think fit to return : his house would, in consequence, get a bad name, and his business might be ruined. To investigate the matter more closely, he repaired the following night, accompanied by his trusty servant Peter, well armed, to the haunted chamber. He assigned to Peter the post of danger and honor by the door, while he himself took possession of an easy chair, at the remotest corner of the room. The great house-lantern, containing a lighted candle, was placed on the table.

      Long did they thus wait in vain for the visit of the spectre. Both of them found it difficult to keep their eyes open, and nothing but the supposed danger of their enterprise furnished them with unusual powers of vigilance. Sleep nevertheless began to exercise its despotic sway over the landlord. Peter meanwhile heard, as he thought, something coming up stairs, and imagined that he could distinguish soft steps. The effect on his sleepy senses was powerful and instantaneous. He gave his master notice of the impending attack. Sleep, however, had completely overpowered the landlord ; and under these circumstances Peter deemed himself justified in leaving his post, and rousing his master by no very gentle shake to the. conflict. Both trembling drew their cutlasses and took post behind the arm-chair. The spectre was already at the door, and the bunch of keys which it carried rattled like chains. The door opened, and the figure of a living corpse presented itself. It was covered from head to foot by a white shroud, walked twice round the room, and then glided with a deep sigh into the bed.

      Glad to see the coast thus far clear, Robert seized the lantern and made a precipitate retreat down stairs, not only leaving his arms in the possession of the enemy, but, in his haste, dashing the lantern with such force against the balusters that it was shattered to pieces.

      Peter, who, at the first appearance of the spectre, had squeezed his eyes together, and in his fright commended his soul to all the saints, had meanwhile sunk on the floor behind the arm-chair. He saw nothing, heard but little of what was passing about him, and awaited his fate with patient resignation. The crash of the lantern, which should have recalled his senses, only served to increase his stupefaction. Fatigued and exhausted with terror, he sunk into the arms of sleep, and was found in the morning snoring at full length on the floor behind the arm-chair.

      Robert hurried back to bed, without undressing, and covered himself over head and ears in the clothes ; so low had his courage fallen. The cheering light of day, which dispels fear, and restores courage to the faint-hearted, once more raised Robert's spirits. Accompanied by his people, he went in quest of his lost attendant, to the place where he had left him. He rejoiced sincerely that the spectre had not bodily carried off the poor fellow.

      The adventure of the night was soon known to all the towns-folk. The more sensible of them laughed heartily at the landlord's absurd conduct, and called him a stupid, superstitious, chicken-hearted coward. This language soon reached his ears, and vexed him to such a degree, that he repaired to the burgomaster of the town, made affidavit of the particulars of the affair, and requested the magistrate to take measures for ascertaining the reality of the apparition, and the truth of his supernatural adventure ; that he might retrieve his lost honor in the estimation of the incredulous public.

      The magistrate complied with his request, and the town-sergeant was sent with four courageous fellows to pass the next night in the haunted chamber. Whether the spirit deemed its opponents in this instance too formidable, or whether it had actually decamped, so much is certain, that it did not think fit to show itself to the party which was anxious for its appearance. The men repaired to their post the two succeeding nights, but the obstinate ghost was not to be seen.

      Robert had thus put himself to a useless expense; and, if he had previously been the talk of the whole town, he now became the butt of general ridicule.

      It was not long before Sigismund, in company with a friend, again passed through the place. He was informed that the spectre had terrified the landlord and Peter almost out of their lives; and he resolved not to sleep any more at his kinsman's. The courteous solicitations of the fair Rosina, however, had great influence over him : he ventured once more to lodge under the same roof with her, but only on the express condition that he should not lie in the haunted chamber.

      His friend, however, desirous of an interview with a ghost, insisted on having a bed prepared for him in the very room which the spirit had been accustomed to visit. The landlord was not a little gratified to think that he had at last met a person willing to avenge, as he termed it, the honor of his house.

      Sigismund's friend took his measures with coolness and deliberation. He placed on the table by his bed a brace of loaded pistols, provided himself with a couple of candles, in addition to the night-lamp, went to bed unconcerned, slept soundly, and awoke next morning without hearing or seeing any thing of a spirit. He endeavored to impress upon the mind of his companion the silliness of his fears, and begged him as a friend to bear him company the following night.

      Sigismund, sensible that his friend's exhortations were well-meant, plucked up a spirit and repaired with him at bed-time to his former chamber. Towards mid-night faint steps were heard ascending the stairs, and slowly approaching nearer and nearer to the room. The same pale spectre, dressed in white, which had terrified him once before, again made its appearance. Sigismnnd, overwhelmed with horror, never thought of the pistols, which lay near the bed, but again sought safety in flight, leaving his friend to cope by himself with the ghost.

      His fellow-traveller closely watched the apparition. It approached him; and he could not help shuddering, when he saw it preparing to get into bed to him; he sprung out, and had a good mind not only to quit that, but, like Sigismund, to abandon the field altogether. On second thoughts, however, he mustered courage, seized a pistol in one hand, and a candle in the other, drew back a little, and thus awaited what was to happen.

      The ghost seemed to take no notice of its armed antagonist, but so much the more closely did he watch the apparition. It seemed to be of the female sex, to judge from the bosom, which was not very carefully covered. He approached nearer to the bed, on which the unwelcome visitor lay most quietly, and scrutinized its features. Heavens! how agreeably was he surprised, to recognize in the slumbering figure the lovely Rosina! For fear of disturbing the fair night-walker, he durst not, though strongly tempted, steal a single kiss, but softly quitted the room to call her parents and his friend.

      None of them, however, was in any hurry to obey the summons. The jocose and confident manner in which their guest spoke of his discovery, and a word which he whispered in the ear of the landlady, induced the latter to follow him alone to the haunted chamber, for the purpose of ascertaining the nature of the nocturnal apparition. Robert and Sigismund sneaked after the advanced guard, and, before they ventured to go into the chamber, cautiously peeped in at the door, while the mother's eyes had been for some time fondly fixed on her darling. She knew from former experience that Rosina had a predisposition to walking in her sleep, and she was too thoroughly convinced of her virtue and innocence to attribute her being in such a situation to any other cause than that singular disorder.

      It was long before Robert would trust either the assurances of his better half or his own senses ; till at last Rosina herself furnished evidence too strong to be resisted. She quitted the bed with her eyes shut, took up the night-lamp which had gone out, and walked through the astonished company, who made way for her, out of the room. They followed her in silence, because they had either not had sufficient presence of mind to wake her at first, or because they wished to spare her the embarrassment of so awkward a situation.

      She found the way down stairs, to her chamber. All retired again to rest, and Sigismund, in particular, resumed the place which his Rosina had occupied with very different feelings from those with which he had left it. The inference which he drew in regard to her sentiments towards him from her behaviour in the liveliest of all dreams, could not but be exceedingly flattering to him. Nothing therefore could prevent him next morning from making Rosina a formal offer of his hand, and explaining to her parents his further views. They had little to object, and the heart of Rosina still less.

      Thus the horror and apprehension of a supernatural visitation terminated in a joyous wedding, which was consummated in the same chamber where the innocent Rosina had twice filled her lover with inexpressible alarm.

THE COLD HAND

      An eminent American artist relates the following story of a terrible adventure which befell him during his residence in Europe. I was travelling from Paris to Brussels in the diligence On my arrival one evening at a little village near Dieppe —I forget the name of it-I found the village inn so crowded that the landlord could not even give me a bed upon which I might sleep in the house. He undertook, however, to receive my luggage, and give me a lodging in the neighborhood; and with this arrangement I was obliged to be satisfied. After having partaken of a comfortable supper I was waited upon by a servant with a lantern, who was to conduct me to the house where I was destined by my evil stars to pass the night. It was a lone house, of two stories, and quite small, situated on a wide heath, some half a mile distant from the inn. There were but three rooms on a floor ; and on knocking at the door, I was greeted by a melancholy-looking young woman, whose dress and appearance bespoke poverty, although she was neat and tidy. On being conducted into the apartment which served as a kitchen, I found no one there. It appeared that the house was inhabited only by this young woman. Seeing in my countenance a look of wonder and inquiry, she merely remarked, that she was often in the habit of receiving lodgers from the inn when it was full, and that she would endeavor to afford me a comfortable room for the night. As it would have been ill-bred to ask any questions after this I sat looking at the fire for half an hour speculating on the oddity of the thing, when the melancholy damsel went on with her sewing, which she had taken up as soon as I was seated. At last, being quite fatigued with my day's ride,I desired to be shown to my sleeping room. It was of very moderate dimensions, and situated on the ground floor. In fact it was but barely large enough to afford room for a single bed, and a few inches of floor on one side of it where I might undress ; and there was a window opening near the head of the bed. When my hostess had set down the candle, I locked the door and undressed myself, threw my clothes upon the bed, and was soon fast asleep. I suppose I might have slept two hours, so that it was "in the dead waist and middle of night," when I was suddenly awakened by a cold hand, as it might be the hand of a corpse, drawn deliberately over my face, from the forehead to the chin, and so passing off a space downward towards my feet! Horror-struck, I bolted upright, and I shouted in a tremulous but loud voice, " Who's there ?" No answer. I stretched out my hands, and felt all the three walls of the room near the head of the bed, arid found nothing but the said bare walls. I then got upon my knees on the bed, and felt the walls all round the room, as I could easily do, by reason of its exceedingly limited dimensions. I then crept under the bed, and fully satisfied myself that there was no living creature in the room but myself. It was mighty strange, I could have sworn that I had felt that awful cold hand passing over my face. The thing was done so coolly and deliberately, that there could be no mistake about it. Why did I not grasp the hand ? you may say. In fact I was waked out of profound sleep by its touch ; and before I had time to seize it, it was gone. I stood wondering at the strange and incomprehensible nature of the thing for some minutes, and finally arrived at the reluctant admission that I must have been dreaming—that it was my imagination—that it was no hand at all, but the ghost of a hand. In a very confused and unsettled state of mind, I at length got into bed again, and, still unrested from my fatigue, I speedily fell into a doze. Before I had completely lost my consciousness, however, I felt the same appalling sensation as before—that horrible corpse-like hand dragging itself like the body of a serpent over my face. Horror of horrors! I screamed out at the utmost pitch of my voice, " Who's there? Who, what are you? Speak! Avaunt! Begone!" I sprang instantly out of bed, and felt in. the darkness all round the room again. There was no one to be found. There was nothing but empty space as before. I was, to use a homely phrase completely dumb-founded. The former theory of dreams and imaginations would not hold good now. The thing was too real. It was a hand, and nothing but a hand. I could swear to it. It might be and probably was, the hand of a dead man; but it had skin and bones, and muscles and motion; and it had sent, I thought, all the blood in my body, back to my heart, as it passed over my face. It came and went this time more suddenly, so that I had not time to grasp at it, both of my hands being under the bed-clothes. Now I am an indifferently well informed person—something of a philosopher, anal never had been a believer in ghosts or supernatural appearances of any sort or kind. But this thing staggered me. I could not but think, with Hamlet, that "there are many things which are not dreamt of in your philosophy. Where could the owner of the hand be? He was not in the room. That was clear. There had not been time enough for him to escape from it, even if the door had not been locked, which it was, very securely, as I had just proved. There was no fire-place. So he could not have crawled up the chimney. There was no closet or hiding-place of any kind. The thing was utterly inexplicable. I could make nothing of it; and in a desperate state of doubt and bewilderment I once more betook myself to bed, and thought and thought about it Jill my brain ached again but all to no purpose. Fatigue and drowsiness at length overcame me, and I slept till morning without further disturbance. l| had been arranged that I should breakfast at the house where I slept. When I sat down, my melancholy hostess inquired how I had slept—hoped I had a comfortable night. "On the contrary," replied I, "the night was rather ail uncomfortable one for me, such as I never desire to pass again." I then proceeded to narrate the whole affair as it had passed. She listened with fixed attention, only interrupting me with two or three questions. When I had concluded, she said, " It must have been my poor drunken brother. I must tell you, sir," she continued, " that I have an unfortunate brother, of dissipated habits, who lives with me here, since the death of our parents. He often goes away and stays for weeks together, without my hearing a word of his whereabouts. He probably came home in the middle of the night, and not wishing to disturb me, went to the window of his bed-room which you occupied last night, and thrust in his hand in order to ascertain whether any lodger was occupying his bed. He was probably too much intoxicated to take any notice of your exclamations; and having found his bed occupied, he has gone off and found a lodging with some one of his acquaintance." Whether young hopeful came home in the course of the day I never learned; for in half an hour after this conversation I was on my way to Brussels, perfectly satisfied with the melancholy young woman's solution of the dreadful mystery of the Cold Hand.

THE GHOST OF LARNEVILLE

      Madame Deshoulieres, the French poetess, was much admired by her countrymen ; yet, except her pastorals, the subjects chosen by her have little interest, ana rather evince strength of mind than harmony of verse or delicacy of feeling. Indeed, they are what might have been expected from a character endued with the self-possession displayed in the following adventure, in which she conducted herself with an intrepidity and coolness which would have done honour to a hero.

      Madame Deshoulieres was invited by the Count and Countess de Larneville to pass some time at their chateau, several leagues from Paris. On her arrival, she was freely offered the choice of all the bed-chambers in the mansion except one, which, from the strange noises that had been for some time nocturnally heard within it, was generally believed to be haunted, and as such had been deserted. Madame Deshoulieres was no sooner informed of this circumstance by her friends, than, to their great surprise and terror, she immediately declared her resolution of occupying this dreaded room in preference to any other. The Count looked aghast as she disclosed this determination, and in a tremulous voice entreated her to give up so rash an intention ; since, however brave curiosity might at present make her, it was more than probable that in her situation she would pay for its gratification with her life. The Countess, observing that all that her husband said failed of intimidating the high-spirited Madame Deshoulieres, now added her persuasions to divert her friend from an enterprise from which the bravest man might shrink appalled. "What have we not to fear, then," she added, " for a woman on the eve of becoming a mother? Let me conjure you, if not for your own sake, for that of your unborn infant, give up your daring plan." All these arguments, repeated over and over again, were insufficient to shake the determined purpose of the adventurer. Her courage rose superior to these representations of the dangers to which she was going to expose herself, because she was convinced that they owed their colouring to superstition acting upon weak minds: she entertained no faith in the "fleshless arm" of a departed spirit, and from an immaterial one her life was safe.

      Her noble host and hostess pleaded, pitied, blamed, but at length yielded to her wish of taking possession of the haunted chamber. Madame Deshoulieres found it grand and spacious—the windows dark from the thickness of the walls—the chimney antique and of a cavernous depth. As soon as madame was undressed, she stepped into bed, ordered a large candle to be placed on a stand near it, and enjoining herfemme de chambre to shut the door securely, dismissed her. Having provided herself with a book, according to custom, she calmly read her usual time, then sunk to repose ; from this she was soon roused by a noise at the door—it opened, and the sound of footsteps succeeded. Madame Deshoulieres immediately decided that this must be the supposed ghost, and therefore addressed it with an assurance that, if it hoped to frighten her from her purpose of detecting the imposture which had created such foolish alarm throughout the castle, it would find itself disappointed in the attempt; for she was resolutely bent on discovering and exposing it at all hazards. This threat she reiterated to no purpose, for no answer was returned. At length the intruder came in contact with a large screen, which it overturned so near the bed, that, getting entangled in the curtains, which played loosely on their rings, they returned a sound so sharp, that any one under the influence of fear would have taken it for the shrill scream of an unquiet spirit, but madame was perfectly undismayed, as she afterwards declared. On the contrary, she continued to interrogate the nocturnal visitor, whom she suspected to be one of the domestics; but it still maintained an unbroken silence, though nothing could be less quiet in its movements, for it now ran against the stand on which was placed the heavy candlestick, which fell with a thundering noise. In fine, tired of all these exertions, it came and rested itself against the foot of the bed. Madame Deshoulieres was now more decidedly called upon to evince all that firmness of mind and intrepidity of spirit of which she had boasted ; and well did she justify the confidence she had placed in her own courage, for, still retaining her self-possession, she exclaimed, "Ah! now I shall ascertain what thou art;" at the same time she extended both her hands towards the place against which she felt that the intruder was resting. They came in contact with two soft velvety ears, which she firmly grasped, determined to retain them till day should lend its light to discover to whom or to what they belonged. Madame found her patience put to some trial, but not her strength, for nothing could be more unresisting and quiet than the owner of the imprisoned ears. Day at length released her from the awkward, painftr position, in which she had remained for so many hours and discovered her prisoner to be Gros-Blanc, a large dog belonging to the chateau, and as worthy, if fidelity and honesty deserve the title, as any of its inhabitants. Far from resenting the bondage in which Madame Deshoulieres had so long kept him, he licked the hands which he believed had been kindly keeping his ears warm all night; while Madame Deshoulieres enjoyed a hearty laugh at this ludicrous end to an adventure, for the encounter of which she had braced her every nerve.

In the mean time, the Count and Countess, wholly given up to their fears, had found it impossible to close their eyes during the night. The trial to which their friend had exposed herself grew more terrible to their imagination the more they dwelt upon it, till they at length persuaded themselves that death would be the inevitable consequence. With these forebodings they proceeded as soon as it was light to the apartment of Madame Deshoulieres—scarcely had they courage to enter it, or to speak when they had done so. From this state of petrifaction they were revived by their friend undrawing her curtains, and paying them the compliments of the morning with a triumphant look. She then related all that had passed with an impressive solemnity, and having roused intense curiosity to know the catastrophe, she smilingly pointed to Gros-Blanc, as she said to the Count, " There is the nocturnal visitor whom you have so long taken for the ghost of your mother;" for such he had concluded it, from having been the last person who had died in the chateau. The Count looked at his wife— then at the dog—and blushed deeply, not knowing whether it were better to laugh or be angry. But Madame, who possessed a commanding manner, which at the same time awed and convinced, ended this state of irresolution by saying—"No, no, Monsieur, you shall no longer continue in an illusion which long indulgence has endeared you to. I will complete my task, and emancipate your mind from the shackles of superstition, by proving to you that all which has so Jong disturbed the peace of your family has arisen from natural causes." Madame arose, made her friends examine the lock of the door, the wood of which was so decayed as to render the locking it useless against a very moderate degree of strength. This facility of entrance had been evidently the cause of Gros-Blanc, who liked not sleeping out of doors, making choice of this room. "The rest is easily accounted for: Gros-Blanc smelt, and wished to possess himself of the candle, in attempting which he committed all the blunders, and caused all the noises, which have annoyed me this night; and he would have taken possession of my bed, also, if he had not given me an opportunity of seizing his ears. Thus are the most simple events magnified into omens of fearful and supernatural augury."

THE HARVARD COLLEGE GHOST

       Old Harvard, in our time, though frequently troubled with spirits, suffered no annoyance whatever with ghosts. Science and unbelief had frightened them all away, and the increase of population had left no secluded spot in all Cambridge suitable for a ghost's promenade. Still, however, there lingered some old traditions of ghosts, in former times, who had made these classic shades their haunt— ghosts real and fictitious. Among those of the latter description, one has still dwelt in our memory from the narrative of the lamented artist, Washington Allston. The story is in substance as follows:

      In those reunions which used so often to take place in the students' chambers, for conversation, cigar-smoking, and social enjoyment, the subject of ghosts had been very frequently discussed. Some students from the country told long and dreadful stories, well authenticated by their grandmothers and maiden aunts, of real, veritable ghosts appearing in the old fashioned legitimate way, dressed in long white robes and making appalling revelations of crimes and hidden treasures, and then vanishing instantly —going off without beat of drum, and leaving the astonished and horrified spectator in the most pitiable state.

      To these narratives many of the student auditors would "seriously incline," while others counterfeited belief, in order to induce the narrators to afford them more entertainment of the same sort. In fact, on one occasion, the whole coterie, with a single exception, declared their unqualified belief in ghosts. The stories they had just heard were too accurate, circumstantial, and authentic, to be doubted. There was no withstanding the accumulation of evidence. The single dissenter from this opinion, however, stubbornly declared that there must be some mistake. The thing was too absurd in itself to gain his belief. He would never believe in ghosts till he should see one with his own eyes. As for fearing them, “he would like to see the ghost that could frighten him."

      One of his fellow students, as far from a real belief in supernatural appearances as himself, resolved, nevertheless, to put the hero's courage to the proof.

Accordingly on the next evening after that when this remarkable conversation took place, at a very late hour, he dressed himself up in white, and quietly glided into the chamber of his companion, who was lying alone in his bed and wide awake.

      The ghost-student, knowing that his friend always slept with loaded pistols under his pillow, had previously taken care to draw out the bullets from them; for he was too well acquainted with the impetuous character of the other to doubt that he would use them on such an occasion. On the appearance of the specter, the hero sat up in bed and very deliberately took a survey of him, as well as the "struggling moonbeam's misty light" shining in at the windows would permit. The ghost glided across the room, and, standing before the bed, raised his hand in an awful and menacing manner, according to the most approved fashion of ghostdom. Still the whole performance failed to shake the firm nerves of the Harvard ghost-seer. He only laughed, and shouted aloud in melodramatic form of speech, " Vanish! I fear you not!". The spectre was motionless, still standing and gazing upon him with ghastly masked face. Our hero, at length, determined to put the apparition to the proof, and “teach him never to come there no more," took one of the pistols from beneath his pillow and fired it point blank in the spectre's face. When the smoke cleared away—there stood the grim figure, as before, immovable and apparently invulnerable. Instantaneously the appalling belief came over the mind of the unhappy beholder that he was actually in the presence of a spirit from the other world. All his preconceived opinions—all his habits of thought, all his vaunted courage vanished at once. His whole being was changed; and he instantly fell into the most frightful convulsions.

      His companion, who had been watching the effect'of his experiment, became alarmed in his turn; and called in others from the entry who had participated in the ill-timed joke. Medical aid was called in, and every appliance resorted to for his recovery. But it was all in vain. Convulsion succeeded convulsion; and the unfortunate youth never recovered sufficient consciousness to be made aware of the trick that had been played upon him, until the melancholy scene was closed by his untimely death.

      This story has its moral. The mind of man is too delicate and complicated a structure to be tampered with by experiments of this description. Whatever may be one's opinion of ghosts, it is dangerous to counterfeit anything of this kind for the purpose of producing terror in the mind of another.