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should bear me off to Doubting-castle. I knew nothing of the allegory of the work. The combat with Apollyon, the roaring of the lions, the archers in Beelzebub's castle; Great-heart, the enchanted land, the cave strewn with human bones, all existed in my mind. Jack-the-Giant Killer alone came up to my ideas of a great warrior; and as I grew older, I became more daring, and hewed down monsters in the shape of thistles, or with a stick conquered a whole army in a bed of tall nettles, while the harmless insects that flew away from my sturdy strokes were changed by me into troops of distressed damsels and liberated knights.

"While yet a boy, I sought for ghosts, and sped

Through many a listening chamber, cave, and ruin,

And star-light wood, with fearful steps pursuing

Hopes of high talk with the departed dead: I called on poisonous names, with which our youth is fed. I was not heard: I saw them not."

I dare not say I am not superstitious now: I should not like to disbelieve in ghost stories: I believe that this weak feeling (if such it may be called) has prevented many a murder. What is fear, or deep remorse? who ever saw Banquo arise before Macbeth, for the first time, without shuddering? and then our Old Ballads, peopled with

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Airy tongues, that syllable men's names." No! I would not become a disbeliever -for the love of poetry alone will I love the marvellous.

Is there not something truly awful connected with death? (unless it be in a battle field-then, like a star, without feeling a ray of our brightness extinguished, we shoot at one full bound into darkness). Who ever heard the sound of a death-bell, when they were walking alone in a dark wood, without feeling sadly depressed? Seem we not then as if marshalled into the presence of the departed spirit: nothing around us but a dim green light, not a sound perhaps, except that deep booming that seems to shake the vaulted sky; or the low murmur of a brook that hurries along, gibbering and plashing, and moaning, like the stifled words of the dying.

On every hand, trees hoary and old, matted and massed together, in a thousand fantastic forms. What a place for a spirit to arise in !-one whom we had injured by word or deed-a dim moving shadow-a thing of dread and misery, gliding with dull downcast eyes, finger on lip, and arm outstretched,

pointing perhaps through the trees from whence the sound of that hollow bell came. How should we feel?-But to our tale.

As I was comfortably seated, one autumn evening, in the Plough tap-room at the village of L-, among a group of peasants, their conversation turned upon the Old Hall, an ancient desolate building standing near the wood. It had long been an object of terror to the villagers, through rumours in circulation of noises which were heard nightly in and around its walls.

"I don't believe in ghosts," said one of our party, drawing nearer to his companion as he spoke; for just then the wind shook the old swing sign outside. "I don't believe in them, because when we are dead, if we go to heaven, we shall never want to come here again to work; and if we get to the other place, why they'll never let us return whether we want or not, so for that reason I don't believe in ghosts."

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Well, believe what you like," answered his companion; but when my brother Mark died, although he was a hundred miles off, and we did not know of his death, but just at the time the letter said he died, I heard three loud, slow knocks at my chamber door;" (imitating the sounds as he spoke. A dog, concealed under the long settle, gave a deep howl; and the wind, as if to sanction what he said, blew louder

the sceptic also shrugged up his shoulders in fear); "so I believe in ghosts."

"If you don't believe in ghosts," said an old man who sat smoking in the corner, "go sleep for a night at the Old Hall, as I have done,-I would not pass such another night if I might have all London."

"Why would you not?" inquired the first speaker; "I've often looked in at the broken windows in the day-time, but saw nothing."

"Perhaps not," answered the old man, "ghosts never walk at daytime; but if I saw nothing, I heard enough to make me believe in ghosts."

"Well, what did you hear?" inquired another.

"Why," continued the old man, “I lay awake listening until I heard the church clock strike twelve; the night was very still; and after awhile, something came slowly up stairs, pat, pat, pat, until it reached my chamber door, which I had left partly open. Then I pulled the clothes over my head, for I

began to feel terribly alarmed, and I lay listening, and listening"

"Well, what did you see?" inquired another, eagerly.

"Well, I lay listening-and listening," said the old man, determined not to be hurried by his companions; "I should think I listened for ten minutes, and neither stirred hand nor foot, and at last, I heard the same sound go pat, pat, pat, down stairs again."

"Did you see anything?" was the inquiry.

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No," said he, "but I fancy there must be money buried in the Old Hall, and those who concealed it cannot rest until they tell where it is."

"Had I been you," said one, "I should have got up, and have addressed it."

"Would you," replied the old man with a sneer," and pray what should you have said?"

"I should have had a Bible in my hand," was the answer, and have said, "Who art thou? what wantest thou? Why dost thou appear? I should have said so three times three; then it would have been compelled to answer me. I know this would have done, because I'ye heard my father say, that his great grandfather once heard of a man who spoke to a ghost in that way. It told him why it could not rest, and when he had done all it wanted, it never appeared again."

"Is it true," inquired another, "that a woman in white, without a head, is seen on Morton Bank every night, at twelve o'clock?"

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in, and after some further conversation, during which we plunged deeply into the "berry brown ale," it was decided, that on the next evening four of us should stay all night in the Old Hall; thereby hoping to settle all further disputes respecting the existence of ghosts.

On the next evening, we set out upon our journey to the Old Hall. Autumn had already far advanced, and the variegated foliage, which had so beautifully decorated the trees, was fast falling, and the "sere and yellow leaf" rustled along our footpath, or careered in the winds over the deep valleys; saving here and there, where a few branches still retained their hues of crimson, gold, and purple, last relics of the rich autumnal dyes.

We descended into a wild glen, or ravine, which extended for nearly a mile; its sides were broken and rugged, and precipices of rock-sand jutted out above our heads, and as we looked upward, their gnarled summits appeared almost to meet, leaving visible a faint line of light, through which was seen the blue sky. Old knotty trees were occasionally thrown across their ridgy heights, and overhung the deep glen, bending their aged heads, and looking down upon the close-woven underwood of hazel, ivy, and bramble, which were matted and mossed together amid long faded grass, which all combined to make a dusky twilight.

Not a sound was heard in the ravine, excepting the low murmur of a brook, that moaned restlessly along, like the gibbering tongues of supernatural beings.

We ascended from this gloomy glen, which terminated by the side of an old wood, by which stood the Old Hall. Never had I witnessed a finer abode for a ghost, not another house was visible from its site, and it stood nearly hidden in dark fir trees, yews, and hollies, which even at this season of the year still retained their verdure. Towering conspicuously above these, were goodly groups of ancient oaks and elms, that tossed out their hoary and fantastic boughs to the wind, in which they had waved for centuries. Among them, were visible innumerable ruins of an extensive rookery; but these dusky peoplers of the old trees, like the former inhabitants of the hall, had long since fled.

The building was one of those so well calculated to call up recollections of scenes of yore: its old oaken doors heavily studded with iron, and bearing marks of former batterings, told that there had been a day when banners were

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on high, and battles passed below. deep stone window-frames were glazed with painted glass; but this was in many places broken, and the free wind swept through the old mansion, The massy porch leaned, with its rudely carved pillars, awry, from whose strong summits bended the figures of fullcheeked cherubs, who appeared as if blowing their stony trumpets lustily. The huge slab that rested before the porchway, was covered with a green moss, which told that years had swept by since the foot of man echoed over it. The large chimneys and buttresses, that projected from the sides of the immense fabric, outdid, in size, many of our modern apartments. We entered the venerable mansion, and saw the walls, which were once wainscoted, now nearly naked, or where here and there, an old oaken panel hung loosely, it had become a plaything to the wind. A doorless cellar stood at the end of the kitchen, but its entrance was blocked up by the ruins of a stone staircase, which had fallen therein, portions of it still being visible. In the kitchen, or servants' hall, stood an ancient oaken table, supported by four large, urn-like legs: it was black with age, and well calculated to support those heavy joints on which our forefathers were wont to dine; while the black-jack rumbled on wheels that bore the nut-brown ale. Two old highbacked chairs, such as an antiquarian loves to look upon, also stood in the apartment; these were the only remnants of its former furniture, unless we reckon a large grate, before which a whole sheep might with ease have been roasted. A wide balustraded staircase stood at the end of this room, which we ascended with caution, for many of the steps were broken. In the large room, that extended over the farthest apartment, stood one of those quaint, hightestered bedsteads, with its curious old curtains, on which some long-forgotten hand had enwrought in the tapestry Jacob's dream, where troops of red winged angels were ascending a blue ladder, that led to a yellow heaven. I thought the bed bore signs of having been slept in recently, but made no remark to my companions.

We re

entered the servants' hall, and kindled a fire in the rusty grate, which caused a rustling among the tenants of the chimney; we then went out to examine the interior of the building.

Far around this decaying edifice breathing ruin was visible; what were

once beautiful gardens, was now nearly a mass of rank grass and weeds, with only here and there a few flowers, which had grown and seeded year after year, without an eye to mark their beauty or decay. There might be seen the towering sunflower's blackened stem peering above the hemlock and anemone, standing "a ruin amid ruins." The wide moat had long been dry, and many were the huge stones which once had strengthened its steep sides, as bulwarks of the soil, but they now lie nearly buried by moss and fungus in its deep bosom. Two lofty columns, formed of the small bricks which were so much in use during the early part of the sixteenth century, command what doubtless was formerly the carriage entrance to the hall; one leans as if it sought a tomb amid the portions of its fallen strength, that have long since safely rested in the surrounding moat. The pillars are surmounted by two urns, or cups, but they have also shared the fate of everything around, one having had its head broken off, and the base turned uppermost; the other leaning in a different direction from the falling column it decorates. The orchard contains a variety of trees, whose grey stems have grown into grotesque figures, and form a striking contrast to the stately forest trees with which they are surrounded. In the centre, stands an immense pear tree, rising like a giant above its pigmy companions; some have long ago ceased to bring forth fruit, others have been torn from their foundation by some tree-tearing wind, and lean over, with a portion of their fantastic roots visible, as if they were waiting to lay their heavy heads among the long grass, which has not been disturbed by the sweeping scythe for many years. At one end of the orchard is a deep black pond, overhung by hawthorn, brambles, and three dwarf oaks, that look quietly down upon the pool in which their strong stems are faithfully reflected. A few aged willows and alders complete the rugged fence: here have frogs dwelt undisturbed for many generations, no hoof-mark of kine or steed being visible. From the remains of bricks and stone beyond the moat, it appears that the hall was formerly separated from the wood by a long wall; very little of it is visible, excepting that part where formerly stood the postern door. have been intended as a place of retreat, as the old trees which stood in various parts of the wood, leave no doubt of its antiquity.

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As the darkness was now advancing, and we had closely examined the most striking parts of this ghost-tenanted edifice, we threw a portion of our fuel upon the fire, which gave the old hall a cheerful appearance. We then drew our heavy chairs towards the fire, trimmed our lamp, filled our pipes, and uncorked a bottle of humming ale, and sat in readiness for the entrance of either Mr. or Mrs. Ghost.

Night came on in deep autumnal blackness one of those moonless nights, whose "nodding horrors make darkness visible." The wind had arisen, and lifting up its deep voice, roared loudly, sweeping along the bending forest, which groaned beneath its airy thunder, and shouting through the grated windows of the dark cellars beneath our feet, as if a host of shrieking demons had bestrode the rolling gale.

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The loosened wainscoting flapped upon the echoing walls, the owls had been disturbed from their dark abode in the chimney by our crackling fire, and were now abroad hooting and answering to each other from the roof and surrounding forest trees. As we sat in silence, eyeing the ruddy blaze, or listening to the wild outcry abroad, we heard something fall heavily upon the oaken floor above our heads, which caused us to start involuntarily from our Cautiously did we ascend the balustraded staircase abreast, assuming all the courage we were masters of ;carefully did we look around; and had one of those inhabitants of the invisible world stood in the centre of that room, we should not have been so much surprised as terrified; indeed, we had wrought up our minds to that pitch, which was readily prepared to witness something extraordinary. We looked around, and perceived the faded curtaining of the antique bed to move, but were soon convinced by the flickering of our lamp that this was owing to the wind. On the floor we observed a board which had fallen, having been blown down from its station in the window, where it had but recently been reared, to keep out the wind from entering in at a broken pane. While we were replacing the cause of this "needless alarm," a low whine issued from below, and as we stood listening with suspended breath, we distinctly heard the tread of soft footsteps, pacing rapidly to and fro in the hall. My companions looked me full in the face, and tried to smile; it would not do, it was

more like a fearful grin-the contracted lip, alarmed eye, and trembling hand which held the smoky lamp, bore too evident signs of fear. I, too, felt as if my heart had diminished to nothing-a kind of low fearful dread had taken full possession of my soul, and at that moment I did of a verity believe in ghosts. Slowly, sadly, and fearfully did we descend the wide staircase abreast, when, behind the door which we had left open, and which the wind had further moved, we beheld a pair of bright fiery eyes fully rivetted upon us. I do not believe it is possible for the hair to stand on end, however alarmed a person may be, if so, ours would at that moment have been erected like porcupines' quills. But our glances were attracted to those wild eyes, which shone so clearly out from the gloom of that door, whose shadow preventing us from recognizing the form to whom they belonged, we stood as a charmed bird is supposed to stand before the awe-striking rattlesnake, and big drops of cold sweat were gathered upon and dropping from our brows. We had no pistols; indeed we had not for a moment anticipated hearing of anything beside the howling wind and hooting owls. But we had now distinctly heard the tread of naked footsteps; and there were those eyes, which had already twice moved. I had just made up my mind for a spring down the remainder of the steps, intending to dart through the open door, clear the wood, and come no more a ghosting,when lo! out came the dreaded object from behind the door-shadow, which was nothing less than a noble fox-hound, that had doubtless been lost during the chase that day in the woods. We once more drew up to the cheering hearth, and laughed at our own fears, while we gave the hungry animal a portion of our supper, who soon stretched his lazy length before the fire in true doggish ease. It was about ten o'clock when we decided upon clearing away the rubbish which obstructed the entrance of the cellar; and as we had found a couple of spades and a pickaxe in one of the outhouses, in a few minutes we commenced labouring with as much eagerness and more curiosity than grave-diggers, and by eleven had succeeded in boring several steps. We now resigned our labours, and commenced an attack upon the bottle and tobacco, until we got "as we didna' mind the wind a whistle ;" and as we sat chatting and trolling forth old staves of "Robin Hood and

Chevy Chase," smoking and patting the noble dog, we forgot all about the ghost, until all in a moment, sudden and startling as would have been the sound of the last trumpet, we heard one of the doors up-stairs close with a loud bang, and a heavy foot walked slowly, or seemed to stagger, across the floor overhead. This was no dream: it sounded like the foot of a heavy warrior, loud and firm, and made the old rickety window frames chatter at every stride. The noble foxhound erected his ears to listen, high as the long laps would allow.—

"Inspiring John Barleycorn,

What dangers dost thou make us scorn."

We had now grown hardened, and I believe if his Satanic majesty had entered we should not have fled without first having a squint at his club-feet and long tail, or being satisfied if he really were horned.

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"Come along,' said Pedagogue, shouldering the pickaxe, "come along, bring the lamp (hiccup); if it be the devil I'll have a shy at him, if I lose my stick."

Seizing the lamp, we once more ascended the staircase; but before we had reached the landing-place, we heard something fall heavily upon the floor. A deep groan followed the fall-then we heard a heavy breathing-we clung together-we endeavoured to look drunkenly brave, but the clenched teeth belied our courage. Could we retreat? No We listened again, and heard a thick husky voice exclaim, "Fill this pint." We rushed in, and found our old companion, who had so strongly argued for the existence of ghosts at the publichouse. He had come there drunk, by a well-known entrance, and lest any one should drive him from his domicile, he still maintains that there are ghosts, and continues to live rent-free; and when he is not too tipsy, regularly haunts the Old Hall.

THOMAS MILLER.

COMPOSITION.

BUFFON says, "Invention depends on patience: contemplate your subject long; it will gradually unfold, till a sort of electric spark convulses for a moment the brain, and spreads down to the very heart and glow of irritation," etc. etc. It is certain an author should not be discouraged because the parts of his story do not present themselves to him at once.

MOHAMMEDANISM.

GREAT part of the success, if not the origin of a religion which, from the extensiveness of its operations, may be considered as one of the greatest events in the history of mankind, may be traced to the importance of wealth and the influence of women. Poverty, as Cardinal de Retz justly observes, is the grave of many a grand design. And so low in circumstances was Mohammed in the early part of his life, that had it not been for the weight and power which he derived from his marriage with a rich widow, his enthusiasm might perhaps have just existed and expired with himself. His father Abdallah was a younger son of Abdollmotalleb, chief of the Koreish tribe: but dying young, he left Mohammed and his mother, for all their estate, only five camels and an Ethiopian slave. When he arrived at man's estate, his fortune was, of consequence, so humble, that he was recommended by his uncle as factor to the widow Kadijah, who carried on an extensive trade with Syria and other countries. This lady was of a noble family and of the same tribe. She had been twice married, she had been largely left by both husbands, and had improved the whole by commerce. Her young factor was esteemed the handsomest man of his age: his genius was quick, and his address insinuating. She made him her third husband; and with her hand she gave him the disposal of her fortune. Being a man of birth, this raised him at once from a menial station to a level with the first nobles of Arabia, and gave him consequence, independence, and leisure sufficient to prepare the plans for his future greatness. It was fifteen years after this marriage before he publicly assumed the prophetical character; and he then met with such vigorous opposition, particularly from the leading men of his own tribe, that, nearly crushed as he often was, he must probably have been quite overwhelmed, had not his riches, by increasing his power, his importance, and his proselytes, furnished him with resources to overcome difficulties which might otherwise have baffled all the vigour of his genius. The prophet at his death left many widows, four of whom, whilst they lived, had considerable weight in the councils of the Arabs, and thus contributed to the spread of Mohammedanism.

G. M. J.

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