creatures, laughter and tears are separated by a partition of paper. At any rate I was spared that; for had she witnessed the spectacle of her admirer surrounded by police and others, she might have felt inclined to look on it as so much fun.'

6

But was I not losing precious moments? Here was the opened instrument at hand: quick-despatch. A few moments, and the 'job-did it not well deserve the title job, indeed!-would be over. To the work!

'At last' I said, 'and once more my troubles will have an end. Sweet Dorinda, nerve my arm.'

A chair upset behind me gave me such a start, that the instrument being so near my throat, I very nearly severed the jugular. A man was standing by, and had my wrist in his hands. He had a white tie, and I recognised him as the person who said grace at the table-d'hôte, the Reverend Mr. Brigglesworth.

I could do nothing-say nothing.

6

O! Heaven forgive you! Know you not that you are taking away that which belongs not to you, which you have no right to take away!'

I murmured faintly, 'It was lent to me.'

'And therefore you presume to think that you can do what you like with it? You should be thankful that some one has interfered in time to save you from this awful crime!'

I laughed. Crime! cutting one's-'

Hush! No profanity to me at least! You don't even seem to feel. You are hardened, I fear.'

'I am!' I said in a rage, ‘against you! and all who talk such twaddle! Leave the room!'

'Twaddle and, you blinded, insensate young man, you will persist in your wicked, awful purpose!'

You are only fit for a strait-waistcoat!

Can't I do what

I please with my own! The more so as I am sick of it, now.' 'Oh! then,' he sniggered, 'I can at least intercede for youimplore that your poor heart may be softened.'

And this twaddler' actually proceeded to exemplify his intentions in the middle of the room.

I groaned again. What was to become of me? What next was to take place in this wretched room? I recollected an old servant, once in our family, who, when much aggravated, protested vehemently that he could go out into the street and screech!' and it seemed to me admirably to express that strained, nervous, putupon state of mind, which must have a vent or crack. I also felt tempted to rush at the door-run'a-muck' down-stairs, and, gaining the middle of the esplanade in front, 'screech' fearfully, with

arms uplifted, at all the windows of the building! Only that, I felt sure, could relieve me.

Still the clergyman prayed on.

'Stop it!' I cried.

He prayed on.

Then I seized him by the collar, and regardless of the cloth, morally and physically, commenced dragging him along. I wanted to put him out to blot him out, at least so far as I was concerned. This he did not want, and resisted, raising fearful cries for help. At the sound the door flew open, and in streamed the old crowd. Oh, fresh horrors! they had been waiting-listening, I suppose. All was to recommence. And what was to become of me?

This time two figures-indistinctly made out-had me by the arms-one on each side. The clergyman was more dead than alive. I heard them whisper: We told you so! We warned you!' 'I'll not,' I called out,—' I'll not put up with this any more! It is monstrous! intolerable! and cries to Heaven What have I done? What do you mean? I want to cut off my beard!' Yes, yes, to be sure,' said the doctor-like man soothingly. • We know that.'

This

And I will do it so keep off-in spite of you all! room is mine, and this beard is mine! and I'd like to see who'll prevent me!

I caught murmurs at the door, 'Oh, how dreadful! Isn't it sad, now? Don't-don't go near him!'

6

I thought I recognised her presence, and looked eagerly for her among the faces. O joy! There she was, sweet little angel! Ah! There you have come to me,' I cried, making towards her; 'you know me-you will explain to me what it all means; will save me!'

you

But here came a little cry.

"Oh, don't! Go away! I am so frightened!'

The camel's back was broken after that, and I sank back utterly crushed.

Then the voice became tender and compassionate, and like a bird she had flown to me.

Tell me,' she said, 'what is it? What is it you want to do? They say you are so—'

'Just to cut off my beard,' I began. I want to do it.'

Her face fell.

Oh, then I'm afraid it's true. What, my beautiful coal-black beard!'

'Yes,' I said desperately; and I'll tell you the reason now, though I didn't intend doing it, or wish to do it. But it must

come out. The fact is, I met your guardian and insulted him, and I thought—'

Oh, you were the person!' she said, with a roguishly malicious smile. How funny!'

Now broke in a hoarse and angry voice:

'Dorinda! Dorinda! How dare you? Why, that's the fellow! I know him-I've caught him! I give him in charge! Where's the policeman?'

The hubbub was terrific, as may be imagined, and the situation more complicated every moment.

This last stroke overwhelmed me.

'Oh,' said I to the sweet Dorinda, I give up-I give in! It's hopeless! Let him—let them—do what they like to me.'

'You don't mind me! Come away from the fellow,' said the guardian. Do you hear me?'

'Indeed I won't, Guardian,' said the spirited little lady, her seashell cheek glowing with excitement. I understand it all now. He met you in the train, and was afraid of your recognising himafter that practical joking-and wanted to cut off his beau-I mean, his coal-black beard, to prevent you recognising him. I'm so glad he didn't now,' said the undaunted little maid, looking round defiantly on them all, and quite taking me under her pro

tection.

Guardian was not so bad a fellow, after all, or, rather, he laughed so loud and heartily at my position and curious adventures, that he laughed himself into a good humour. Perhaps it was that he could not well relapse into hostility after such a display of enjoyment.

And so the beautiful coal-black beard remains and is now-two years later—often taken hold of with a sort of wistful admiration by the fairest and most delicate of fingers-for, as will be guessed, the lovely Dorinda is now the wife of the narrator.

My Uncle Ben.

My Uncle Ben believe in ghosts? Of course he did; he used to say: No modern mansion of stucco and plaster for me; give me a grand old house, all covered with ivy and hidden by trees, whose walls are hung with tapestry, and whose passages, extending from room to room, make the blood curdle with their gloom and length. Why, sir, there is something enlivening even in its decay; the dampness of its walls, and the cracks in the discoloured ceilings, which only suggest to the vulgar mind ague and rheumatism, are evidences to me of its venerable age and respectability. The very mice that scamper up and down in the time-worn wainscoting, give me a friendly greeting that I never meet in your newfashioned houses, built for a race of mammon worshippers who have made their wealth out of shoddy and petroleum.

'People mourn over the various ills that flesh is heir to, over the loss of money, lands, and health, and other insignificant things, but I mourn over the decline in the race of our ghosts-that is a real loss; but what can you expect? They are sneered at by foolish sceptics, and insulted by dictionary-concocters like Walker; what decent spectre could feel any respect for himself when people spell him specter? It is enough to make him contemptible in his own eyes, and cause him to let himself out to be exhibited at an entertainment combining instruction, amusement, and horrors, for the small sum of one shilling per head. What honest gentlemanly ghost, who lives in a quiet respectable country house, would have any connection with the disreputable roving spirits that can be called up by any charlatan or impostor to play on a cracked accordion, to make stupid jokes, to untie knots, and to rap out ghastly revelations from a dirty deal table? An old-fashioned, aristocratic phantom would despise the tricks of such nomadic nonentities, as he wanders through the dreary corridors of the haunted house, or remains in his garret or cellar, thinking over the good old times when he appeared with clanking chains to frighten weary wayfarers, and make the awe-struck folks shudder as they sat in the old chimney corner.

'Think of the thrilling interest he excited when he revealed to the true heir the place where the money was concealed, that he had robbed him of before he left this life for the land of shades.

Such a ghost was well worth knowing; and so was the good old scholarly phantom, who required you to speak to him in Latin, who appeared only at the canonical hour of twelve, and who could not be got rid of with your furniture, but remained one of the fixtures of the ancient mansion.

'To have such a ghost in your family is the only criterion of age and respectability; once a man was known to be a gentleman by the house he inhabited, by his carriage, and his coat-of-arms. Now Mr. Solomon Stubbs, the retired cheesemonger, buys the house of the ruined Marquis de Sang-Azur; and purchases a crest at the Heralds' College; he may purchase almost anything, may keep a dozen carriages, but he cannot buy a ghost; it is only the ancient families that can keep that proof of respectability.'

I really believe that Uncle Ben valued the shade that was said to haunt his house far higher than all his more tangible property. Nothing made him more angry than for any one to doubt its existence; he was always ready to break a lance with any sceptic on the subject, and to offer him a bed in the haunted room; and, although many of the younger members of the family scoffed at the story, very few had the courage to accept the challenge.

One winter night, when the wind was moaning round the chimney pots and through the eaves, singing a dirge among the leafless branches of the gaunt old spectral trees for the joys of the dead summer, the family was gathered round the fire in the drawing-room.

Uncle Ben, who was standing with his back to the fire, said to his nephew:

'I think, Joe, we had better put on another log of wood; I don't feel inclined for bed yet, and I suppose you youngsters intend to sit up half the night, as usual.'

'I don't mean to turn in yet, for one, uncle,' replied Joe. 'Tell us one of your ghost stories; a regular blood-curdler.'

Ah, Joe,' said the old man, I am afraid you are a thorough sceptic. You disbelieve in all supernatural appearances.'

'Certainly,' answered Joe, who was secretary to the Literary Debating Society in the little town of Mudborough, and who had written an essay to prove the non-existence of everything, and that we are simply the creations of our own thoughts. Certainly these impalpable spectres are only optical illusions which the disordered condition of our weak physical organs brings before us.'

'I own you are a clever lad, Joe, but I don't care a button for your arguments. I believe in ghosts because I have seen them.'

'Oh, I am open to conviction; if you introduce me to a