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But. Truly, Mrs. Abigail, I must needs say, Fan. But what good will this do me, if I that this same spirit is a very odd surt of a must remain invisible ? body, after all, to fright Madam and his old Abi. Pray what good will your being visible servants at this rate.
do you? The fair Mr. Fantome thougbt no Gard. And truly, Mrs. Abigail, I must peeds woman could withstand him----But when say, 1 served my diaster contentedly, while he you were seen by my lady in your proper was living; but I will serve no man living person, after she bad taken a full survey (that is, no man that is not living) without of you, and heard all the pretty things you double wages.
could say, she very civiliy disnjissed you for Abi. Ay, 'tis such cowards as you that go the sake of that empty, noisy creature, Tinsel. about with' idle stories, to disgrace the house, She fancies you have been gone from hence and bring so many strangers about it: You this fortnight. first frighten yourselves, and then your neigh- Fan. Why really I loved the lady so well, bours.
that though I had no bopes of gaining her for Gard. Frightened! I scorn your words. I myself, I could not bear to see her given to Frightened, quoth-a !
another, especially to such a wretch as TinAbi. What, you sot, are you grown pot-va-sel. liant ?
Abi. Well, tell me truly, Mr. Fantome, have Garà. Frightened with a drum! that's a not you a great opinion of my fidelity to my good one! It will do us no harm, I'll answer dear lady, that I would not suffer her to be for it: It will bring no bloodshed along with deluded in this manner for less than a thouit, take my word. It sounds as like a train-saod pound ? band drum as ever I beard in my life.
Fan. Thou art always reminding me of my But. Pr’ythee, Peter, don't be so presump- promise - Thou shalt have it, if thou can'st tuous.
bring our project to bear: Dost dot koow that Abi. Well, these drunken rogues take it as 1 | stories of ghosts and apparitions generally end could wish.
(Aside. in a pot of money. Gard. I scorn to be frightened, now I am in Abi. Why, truly now, Mr. Fantome, I should for't; if old Dub-a-dub should come into the thiok myself a very bad woman, if I had done room, I would take him
what I do for a farthing less. But. Pr’ythee bold thy tongue.
Fan. Dear Abigail ! how I admire thy vir. Gard. I would take bim
tue ! [The drum beats : The GARDENER endea- Abi. No, no, Mr. Fantome, I defy the worst vours to get off, and falls.
of my enemies to say, I love mischief for mis. But. and Coach. Speak to it, Mrs. Abigail. chiet’s Bake. Gard. Spare my life, and take all I have. Fan. But is thy lady persuaded that I am
Coach. Make off, make off, good Butler; and the ghost of her deceased husband ? let us go hide ourselves in the cellar.
Abi. I endeavour to make her believe so;
[They all run off and tell her, every time your drum rattles, that Abi. So now the coast is clear, I may ven- her husband is chiding her for entertaining this ture to call out my drummer- But first let new lover. me shut the door, lest we be surprised. Mr. Fan. Pr’ythee make use of all thy art: for Fantome, Mr. Fantome! (He beats.) Nay, I'm tired to death with strolling, round this nay, pray, come out: the enemy's fled- -I wide old house like a rat behind the waipsmust speak with you immediately-Don't stay coat. to beat a parley.
Abi. Did not I tell you 'twas the purest
place in the world for you to play your tricks The back scene opens, and discovers FANTOME in? There's none of the family that knows with a drum.
every hole and corner in it, besides myself.
Fan. Ah, Mrs. Abigail, you have had your Fan. Dear Mrs. Nabby, I have overbeard intriguesall that has been said, and find thou hast man- Abi. For you must know when I was a aged this thing so well, that I could take thee romping young girl, I was a mighty lover of in my arms and kiss thee-if my drum did not hide and seek. stand in my way;
Fan. I believe by this time, I am as well as Abi. Well, o' my conscience, you are the quainted with the house as yourself. merriest_ghost ! and the very picture of Sir Abi. You are very much mistaken, Mr. FanGeorge Truman.
tome. But no matter for that; here is to be Fan. There you flatter me, Mrs. Abigail : your station to-night. This place is unknown Sir George had that freshness in his looks, to any one living besides myself, since the that we men of the town cannot come up to. death of the joiner, who, yqu must understand,
Abi. Oh! death may have altered you, you being a lover of mine, contrived the wainscot know-Besides, you must consider, you lost a to move to and fro, in the manner you find it. great deal of blood in the battle.
I designed it for a wardrobe for my lady's cast Fan. Ay, that's right; let me look never so clothes. Oh! the stomachers, stays, pettipale, this cut cross my forehead will keep me coats, commodes, laced shoes, and good things in countenance.
that I have had in it! Pray take care you Abi. 'Tis just such a one as my master re- don't break the cherry brandy botile that ceived from a cursed French trooper, as my stands up in the corner. lady's letter informed her.
Fan. Well, Mrs. Abigail, I hire your closet Fan. It happens luckily that this suit of of you but for this one night thousand cloaths of Sir George's fits me so well--! pounds, you know, is a very good rent. think I can't fail hitting the air of a man with Abi. Well, get you gone : you have such a whom I was so long acquainted.
way with you, there's no denying you any Abi. You are the very man-I vow I almost thing ! start when I look upon you.
Fan. I'm thinking how Tinsel will stare, when he sees me come out of the wall; for I ever hear of a woman who had power over a am resolved to make my appearance to-night. man when she was his wife, that had none
Abi. Get you in, get you in, my lady's at while she was his mistress! Oh! there's noththe door.
ing in the world improves a man in his comFan. Pray take care she does not keep me plaisance, like marriage ! up so late as she did last night, or depend up- Lady. He is, indeed, at present, too familiar on it t'll beat the tattoo.
(Knocking in his conversation. Abi, I'm undone, I'm undone-[As he's going Abi. Familiar! Madam: in troth he's downin.) Mr. Fantome, Mr. Fantome, have you right rude. put the thousand pound bond into my broth- Lady. But that, you know, Abigail, shows er's hand ?
he has no dissimulation in him-Then he is Fan. Thou shalt have it ; I tell thee thou apt to jest a little too much upon grave subshalt bave it.
[FANTOME goes in. jects. Abi. No more words—Vanish, vanish. Abi. Grave subjects ! he jests upon the
church. Enter LADY.
Lady. But that, you know, Abigail, may be
only to show his wit- - Then it must be owned Abi. [Opening the door.] Oh dear, Madam, he's extremely talkative. was it you that made such a knocking? My Abi. Talkative, d'ye call it! he's downright heart does so beat-I vow you have frighted impertinent. me to death I thought verily it had been Lady. But that, you know, Abigail, is a the drummer.
sign he has been used to good company-Then, Lady. I have been showing the garden to indeed, he is very positive. Mr. Tinsel : he's most insufferably witty upon
Abi. Positive! why, he contradicts you in us about this story of the drum.
every thing you say. Abi. Indeed, Madam, he's a very loose man: Lady. But then, you know, Abigail, he has I'm afraid 'tis he that hinders my poor master been educated at the iods of court. from resting in his grave.
Abi. A blessed education indeed! it has Lady. Well, an intidel is such a novelty in made him forget his catechism ! the country, that I am resolved to divert my- Lady. You talk as if you hated him. self a day or two at least with the oddness of Abi. You talk as if you loved him. his conversation.
Lady. Hold your tongue, here he comes. Abi. Ah, Madam ! the drum began to beat in the house as soon as ever this creature was
Enter TINSEL. admitted to visit you.-All the wbile Mr. Fan. tome made his addresses to you, there was not Tin. My dear widow ! a mouse stirring in the family more than used Abi. My dear widow ! marry come up! to be
Aside. Lady. This baggage has some design upon Lady. Let him alone, Abigail ; so long as he me, more than I can yet discover. (Aside.] does not call me my dear wife, there's po harm Mr. Fantome was always thy favourite. done.
Abi. Ay, and should have been yours too, Tin. I have been most ridiculously diverted by my consent! Mr. Fantome was not such a since I left you—Your servants bave made u slighi fantastic thing as this is--Mr. Favtome convert of my booby; his head is so filled with was the best built man one should see in a this foolish story of a drummer, that I expect summer's day! Mr. Fantome was a man of the rogue will be afraid, hereafter, to go upon honour, and loved you. Poor soul, how has he a message by moon-light. sighed when he has talked to me of my hard- Lady. Ah, Mr. Tinsel, what a loss of billethearted lady-Well! I had as lief as a thou- doux will that be to many a fine lady! sand pound you would marry Mr. Fantome. Abi. Then you still believe this to be a fool.
Lady. To tell thee truly, I loved him well ish story? I thought my lady had told you, enough till I found he loved me so much. But that she had heard it herself. Mr. Tinsel makes his court to me with so much Tin. Ha, ha, ha! neglect and indifference, and with such an Abi. Why, you would not persuade us out of agreeable sauciness—Not that I say I'll marry our senses. him.
Tin. Ha, ha, ha! Abi. Marry, him, quoth-a !-No, if you Abi. There's manners for you, Madam. should, you'll be awakened sooner than mar
[Aside. ried couples generally are- -You'll quickly Lady. Admirably rallied! that laugh is unhave a drum at your window.
answerable! Now I'll be banged if you could Lady. I'll bide my contempt of Tinsel for forbear being witty upon me, if I should tell once, if it be but to see what this wench drives you I heard it no longer ago than last night, at.
Tin. Fancy! Abi. Why, suppose your husband after this Lady. But what if I should tell you my fair warning he has given you, should sound was with me! you an'alarm at midnight; then open your cur- Tin. Vapours! vapours! Pray, my dear tains with a face as pale as my apron, and cry widow, will you answer me one question ?--out with a hollow voice, What dost thou do in Had you ever this noise of a drum in your bed with this spindle-shanked fellow ? head, all the while your husband was living ?
Lady. Why wilt thou needs bave it to be my Lady. And pray, Mr. Tinsel, will you let husband? He never had any reason to be of me ask you another question? Do you think fended at me. I always loved bim while he we can hear in the country, as well as you do was living; and should prefer him to any man in town? were he so still. Mr. Tinsel is indeed very idle T'in. Believe nie, Madam, I could prescribe in his talk; but I fancy, Abigail, a discreet you a cure for these imaginations. woman might reform him.
Abi. Don't tell my lady of imaginations, Abi. That's a likely matter indeed! Did you Sir; I bave heard it myselí.
Tin. Hark thee, child-art thou not an old Lady. Do you think your principles would naid ?
make a woman the better wife? Abi. Sir, if I am, it is my own fault.
Tin. Pr'ythee, widow, don't be queer. Tin. Whims! freaks! megrims ! indeed, Lady. I love a gay temper, but I would not Mrs. Abigail.
have you rally things that are serious. Abi. Marry, Sir, by your talk one would be- Tin. Well enough, faith! Where's the jest of lieve you thought every thing that was good rallying any thing else? is a megrim.
Abi. Ah, Madam, did you ever hear Mr. Lady. Why truly I don't very well under- Fantome talk at this rate ?
(Aside. stand what you meant by your doctrine to me Tin. But where's this ghost ? this son of a in the garden just now, that every thing we whore of a drummer? là fain hear him, mesaw was made by chance.
thinks. Abi. A very pretty subject indeed for a lover Abi. Pray, Madam, don't suffer him to give to divert his mistress with.
the ghost such ill language, especially when Lady. But I suppose that was only a taste yon have reason to believe it is my master. of the conversation you would entertain me Tin. That's well enough faith, Nab; dost with after marriage.
think thy master is so unreasonable, as to conTin. Oh, I shall then have time to read you tinue his claim to his relict after his booes such lectures of motions, atoms, and nature-are laid? Pray, widow, remember the words that you shall learn to think as freely as the of your contract, you bave fulfilled them to a best of us, and be convinced in less than a titile-Did not you marry Sir George to the month, that all about us is chance work. tune of Till death us do part ?
Lady. You are a very complaisant person Lady. I must not hear Sir George's memory indeed; and so you would make your court treated in so slight a manner-This fellow to me, by persuading me that I was made by must have been at some pains to make himself chance ?
such a finished coxcomb.
(Aside. Tin. Ha, ha, ha! well said, my dear! why, Tin. Give me but possession of your person, faith, thou wert a very lucky hit, that's cer- and I'll whirl you up to town for a winter, and tain !
cure you at once. Oh! I have known many Lady. Pray, Mr. Tinsel, where did you learn a country lady come to London with frightful this odd way of talking ?
stories of the hall-house being haunted, of fair. Tin, Ab, widow, 'lis your country innocence ies, spirits, and witches; that by the time she makes you think it an odd way of talking. had seen a comedy, played at an assembly,
Lady. Though you give no credit to stories and ambled in a ball or two, has been so little of apparitions, I hope you believe there are afraid of bugbears, that she has ventured home such ihings as spirits !
in a chair at all hours of the pight. Tin. Simplicity!
Abi. Hom-Sauce box.
(Aside. Abi. I fancy you don't believe women have Tin. 'Tis the solitude of the country that souls, d'ye, Sir?
creates these whimsies; there was never such Tin. Foolish enough!
a thing as a ghost heard of at London, except Lady. I vow, Mr. Tinsel, I'm afraid mali. in the play-house-Oh we'd pass all our cious people will say I'm in love with an time in London. 'Tis the scene of pleasure atheist.
and diversions, where there's something to Tin. Oh, my dear, that's an old fashioned amuse you every hour of the day. Life's not word-I'm a free-thinker, child !
life in the country. Abi. I'm sure you are a free-speaker.
Lady. Well, then, you have an opportunity of Lady. Really, Mr. Tinsel, considering that showing the sincerity of that love to me which you are so fine a gentleman, I'm amazed you profess. You may give a proof that you where you got all this learning ? I wonder have an affection to my person, not my joisit has not spoiled your breeding:
ture. Tin. To tell you the truth, I have not time Tin. Your jointure! How can you think me to look into these dry matters myself; but I such a dog ! But, child, wont your jointure be am convinced by four or five learned men, the same thing iv London, as in the country! whom I sometimes overhear at a coffee house, Lady. No, you're deceived! You must know I frequent, that our forefathers were a pack of it is settled on me by marriage-articles, on CODasses, that the world has been in an error for dition that I live in this old mansion-house, some thousands of years, and that all the and keep it up in repair. people upon earth, excepting those two or three Tin. How! worthy gentlemen, are imposed upon, cheated, Abi. That's well put, Madam. bubbled, abused, bamboozled —
Tin. Why faith I have been looking upon Abi. Madam, how can you hear such a pro- this house, and think it is the prettiest habitafligate ? he talks like the London prodigal. tion I ever saw in my life.
Lady. Why really, I'm a thinking, if there Lady. Ay, but then this cruel drum! be no such things as spirits, a woman has po Tin. Something so venerable in it! occasion for marrying--She need not be afraid Lady. Ay, but the drum! to lie by herself.
Tin. For my part, I like this Gothic way of Tin. Ah! my dear! are husbands good for building better than any of your new orders nothing but to frighten' away spirits ? Dost -it would be a thousand pities it should thou think I could not instruct thee in several fall to ruin. other comforts of matrimony ?
Lady. Ay, but the drum ! Lady. Ah! but you are a man of so much Tin. How pleasantly we two could pass knowledge, that you would always be laugh- our time in this delicious situation. Our lives ing at my ignorance- -You learned men are would be a continued dream of happiness. so apt to despise one!
Come, faith, widow, let's go down upon the Tin. No, child! I'd teach thee my princi- leads, and take a view of the country, ples; thou shouldst be as wise as I am-in al Lady. Ay, but the drum! the drum! week's time
Tin. My dear, take my word for't "tis
all fancy: besides, should he drum in thy very Vel. Believe me, my good master, I am as bed-chamber, I should only hug thee the much rejoiced to see you alive, as I was upon closer.
the day you were born. Your name was in Clasp'd in the folds of love, I'd meet my doom, all the newspapers, in the list of those that And act my joys, though 'thunder shook the were slain.
Sir G. We have not time to be particular.
taken prisoner in the battle, and was under ACT II.
close confinement several mooths. Upon my
release, I was resolved to surprise my wife SCENE 1.-Opens, and discovers Vellum in with the news of my being alive. I know, his office, and a letter in his hand. Vellum, you are a person of so much penetra
tion, that I need not use any further arguments Vel. This letter astonisheth ; may I believe to convince you that I am so. my own eyes-or rather my spectacles—" To Vel. I am-and moreover, I question not but Humphrey Vellum, Esq. Steward to the Lady your good lady will likewise be convinced of Truman.
it. Her honour is a discerning lady: “ VELLUM,
Sir G. I'm only afraid she should be con“ J doubt not but you will be glad to hear vinced of it to her sorrow, Is not she pleased
Tell me your master is alive, and designs to be with with her imaginary widowhood ? you in half an hour. The report of my being truly, was she afilícted at the report of my slain in the Netherlands bas, I find, produced
death? some disorders in my family. I am now at
Vel. Sorely. the George Inn : If an old man with a gray
Sir G. How long did ber grief last? beard, in a black coat, inquires after you, give
Vel. Longer than I have known any wia, him admittance. He passes for a conjuror,
dow's—at least three days. but is really
Sir G. Three days, say'st thou? Three whole “ Your faithful friend,
days! I'm afraid thou flatterest me!-Owo“G. TRUMAN.
man ! woman ! “P.S. Let this be a secret, and you shall find
Vel. Grief is twofold.
Sir G. This blockhead is as methodical as your account in it.”
ever-but I know he's honest. [Aside. This amazeth me! and yet the reasons why I
Vel. There is a real grief, and there is a meshould believe he is still living are manifold-thodical grief: she was drowned in tears till First, because this has often been the case of such time as the tailor had made her widow's other military adventurers.—Secondly, because weeds-Indeed they became her. this news of his death was first published in
Sir G. Became her! and was that her com. Dier's Letter.-Thirdly, because this letter fort?. Truly a most seasonable consolation ! can be written by none but himself-I know Vel. But I must needs say she paid a due his band and mander of spelling.–Fourthly-- regard to your memory, and could pot forbear
weeping when she saw company: Enter ButLER.
Sir G. That was kind indeed! I find she
grieved with a great deal of good breeding.But. Sir, here's a strange old gentleman But how comes this gang of lovers about her ? that asks for you ; he says he's a conjuror, but Vel. Her jointure is considerable. he's very suspicious; I wish he ben't a Je- Sir G. How this fool torments me! (Aside. suit.
Vel. Her person is amiableVel. Admit him immediately.
Sir G. Death!
[Aside. But. I wish he ben't a Jesuit; but he says Vel. But her character is unblemished. She he's nothing but a conjuror.
has been as virtuous in your absence as a PeVel. He says right-He is no more than a nelopeconjuror. Bring him in, and withdraw.
Sir G. And has had as many suitors.
[Exit BUTLER. Vel. Several have made their uvertures. And fourthly, as I was saying, because
Sir G. Several !
Vel. But she has rejected all.
Sir G. There thou revivest me. But what
means this Tipsel ? Are bis visits acceptable ? But. Sir, here is the conjuror— What a devil- Vel. He is young: ish long beard he has ! I warrant it has Sir G. Does she listen to him ? been growing these hundred years.
Vel. He is gay.
[Aside. Exit. Sir G. Sure she could never entertain a Sir G. Dear Vellum, you have received my thought of marrying such a coxcomb ? letter; but before we proceed, lock the door. Vel. He is not ill made. Vel. It is bis voice.
(Shuts the door. Sir G. Are the vows and protestations that Sir G. In the next place, help me off with passed between us come to this! I can't bear this cumbersome cloak.
the thought of it! Is Tinsel the man designed Vel. It is bis shape.
for my worthy successor ? Sir G. So ; now lay my beard upon the ta- Vel. You do not consider that you har ble,
been dead these fourteen monthsVel. (After having looked on Sir George Sir G. Was there ever such a dog? [Aside. through his spectacles.] It is his face, every Vel. And I bave often heard her say, that lineament!
she must never expect to find a second Sir Sir G. Well, now I have put off the conjur. George Truman-meaning your ho--nour. or, and the old man, I can talk to thee more at Sir G. I think she loved me; but I must my ease.
search into tbis story of the drummer before I
discover myself to her. I have put on this ha- fourteen months, and have had twice as many bit of a conjuror, in order to introduce myself. lovers, all of them professed admirers of my It must be your business to recommend me as person, but passionately in love with my joida most profound person, that by my great ture. I think it is a revenge I owe my sex, to knowledge in the curious arts can silence the make an example of this worthless tribe of fel. drummer, and dispossess the house.
lows, who grow impudent, dress themselves Vel. I am going to lay my accounts before fine, and fancy we are obliged to provide for my lady, and I will endeavour to prevail upon them. But of all my captives, Mr. Tinsel is her bo--nour to admit the trial of your art. the most extraordinary in his kind. I hope
Sir G. I have scarce heard of any of these the diversion I give myself with him is unstories that did not arise from a love intrigue- blameable; I'm sure 'tis necessary to turn my Amours raise as many ghosts as murders. thoughts off from the memory of that dear man
Vel. Mrs. Abigail endeavours to persuade who has been the greatest happiness and af. ns, that 'tis your ho--nour who troubles the fliction of my life. My heart would be a prey house.
to melancholy, if I did not find these innocent Sir G. That convinces me 'tis a cheat; for I methods of relieving it. But here comes Abithink, Vellum, I may be pretty well assured it gail ; I must teaze the baggage, for I find sbe is not me.
bas taken it into her head that I'm entirely at Vel. I am apt to think so, truly. Ha, ha, her disposal. ha ! Sir G. Abigail had always an ascendant
Enter ABIGAIL. over her lady, and if there is a trick in this matter, depend upon it she is at the bottom of Abi. Madam! Madamn! yonder's Mr. Tinit. I'll be hanged if this ghost be not one of sel has as good as taken possession of your Abigail's familiars.
house. Marry, he says, he must have Sir Vel. Mrs. Abigail has of late been very George's apartment enlarged; for truly, says mysterious
he, I hate to be straitened. Nay, be was so Sir G. I fancy, Vellam, thou couldst worm impudent as to show me the chamber where he it out of her. I know formerly there was an intends to consummate, as he calls it. amour between you.
Lady. Well! he's a wild fellow, Vel. Mrs. Abigail hath ber allurements, Abi. Indeed he's a very sad man, Madam. and she knows I bave picked up a competency Ludy. He's young, Abigail ; 'tis a thousand in your ho--nour's service.
pities he should be lost; I should be mighty Sir G. If thou hast, all I ask of thee in re- glad to reform him. turn is, that thou wouldst immediately renew Abi. Reform him! marry, hang him! thy addresses to ber. Coax her up. Thou bast Lady. Has not be a great deal of life? such a silver tongue, Vellum, as 'twill be im- Abi. Ay, enough to make your heart acb. possible for her 10 withstand, Besides, she is Lady. I dare say thou thinkest him a very so very a woman, that she'll like thee the bet- agreeable fellow. ter for giving ber the pleasure of telling a se- *Abi. He thinks himself so, I'll answer for cret. In short, wheedle her out of it, and I him. sball act by the advice which thou givest me. Lady. He's very good-natured!
Vel. Mrs. Abigail was never deaf to me, Abi. He ought to be so, for he's very silly. when I talked upon that subject. I will take Lady. Dost thou think he loves me? an opportunity of addressing myself to her in' Abi. Mr. Fantome did, I am sure. the most pathetic manner.
Lady. With what raptures he talked! Sir G. In the mean time, lock me up in your Abi. Yes, but 'twas in praise of your joinoffice, and bring me word what success youture-house. have-Well, sure I am the first that ever was Lady. He has kept bad company. employed to lay himself.
Abi. They must be very bad indeed, if they Vel. You act, indeed, a threefold part in were worse than himself. this house ; you are a ghost, a conjuror, and Lady. I have a strong fancy a good woman my ho-- poured master, Şir George Truman ; might reform him. he, he, he! You will pardon me for being jo- Abi. It would be a fine experiment if it should cular.
not succeed. Sir G. Oh, Mr. Vellum, with all my heart.
Lady. Well, Abigail, we'll talk of that anoYou know I love you men of wit and humour. ther time ;-here comes the steward; I have Be as merry as thou pleasest, so thou dost thy no further occasion for you at present. business. (Mimicking him.) You will remem
[Exit ABIGAIL, ber, Vellum, your commission is twofold: first, to gain admission for me to your lady; and, secondly, to get the secret out of Abi
Enter VELLUM. gail. Vel. It sufficeth.
Vel. Madam, is your ho--nour at leisure to look into the account of the last
week ? They
rise very bigh-house-keeping is chargeable is SCENE
Lady. How comes that to pass ? I hope the
drum neither eats nor drinks! But read your
accounts, Vellum. Lady. Women who have been happy in a Vel. (Putting on and off his spectacles in first marriage, are the most apt to venture upon this scene.) A hogshead and an half of ale It a second. But for my part, I bad a husband so is not for the ghost's drinking-But your hoevery way suited to my inclinations, that I nour's servants say they must have something must entirely forget him, before I can like ano. to keep up their courage against this strange ther man. I have now been a widow but noise. They tell me they expect a double quan