One stormy night in the month of December, two travellers entered the inn at Lucrete and desired lodgings for the night.

      "Sorry, gents," said the landlord, in reply to their interrogations, "but owing to the great trial which is to come off to-morrow, every bed is engaged, and I have not a spare corner."

      "Trial of what?" asked one of them.

      "Can it be possible that you've not heard of the murder of Janette Rochelle by young Fallow, whose case is to come up to-morrow?"

      "No; we've just arrived in town and were ignorant of the fact. But cannot you give us a sofa or lounge to sleep on in the parlor, or any other convenient place?"

      "Impossible, gents; every inch is bargained for."

      "Well, then, direct us to some private house where we can stay tor the night."

      "There isn't a spare bed in the village except one, and I don't think you'd fancy that much."

      "Anything is better than walking the streets all night. What's the objection to the one you name?"

      "Hush!" replied Boniface, seriously. — "The house is haunted."

      "Bab!" sneered traveller number one. — "I'm not afraid of any of your hob-goblins. Where is the house?"

      "The one directly opposite with the closed shutters."

      "Well, give us an armful of wood, a light, some food and drink, and we'll risk the consequences."

      With many dubious shakes of the head and sundry shrugs of his broad shoulders, the landlord brought the desired articles, handed over a key, and wishing them a pleasant time, remarked, in parting:

      "You'll find the house well furnished, and the bed room directly over the parlor."

      "Good night," replied the travellers, and out they went, crossed the street, passed through the creaking gate, unlocked the front door, and entered the mysterious dwelling.

      "Here's a rum go," said number one, whose name was Walker; "we start off on a trip of pleasure, and get stuck into a haunted house the very first night. But never mind; we'll make ourselves as comfortable as possible, and if his ghostship pays us a visit, let him look out for himself."

      So they build a rousing fire in the grate, drew a stand up before it, and while Walker concocted a hot punch, his companion spread out the viands, and they sat to, eating as only hungry men can. Then, after sipping their beverage and smoking their cheroots, they made a careful inspection of the whole house, found it splendidly furnished as the landlord had told them, but discovered nothing unusual, or signs of anything supernatural. Carefully closing all the doors after them, they then retired to the bedroom, and they were, a few moments after, neatly tucked in bed, where Walker soon fell into a sound sleep, and companion, DeMarr, was just following suit, when he imagined he heard the door open. He immediately jumped up, and going to it found that it was indeed ajar. After carefully searching the hall, he closed the door, and placing a table against it, went back to bed.

      Scarcely had his head touched pillow, when noiselessly the table slid away, the door flew wide open, and in stalked a huge, white figure, with the usual ghostly accompaniments, and of course approached the bed. Being a sensible young man, and naturally endowed with strong nerves, he was in no way disconcerted. On the contrary, he concluded it was a sell, and sitting up in bed, quietly inquired of the spectre what it wanted.

      Retreating towards the door, it beckoned him to follow.

      "Nix cum a rouse," said DeMarr; "you've got to speak before you get me out of this bed room. What do you want?"

      "Follow me," said the vision.

      "Well," thought DeMarr, "it hasn't got a voice to scare anybody; besides, I wonder what it will amount to, anyway. I'm not a coward, so here goes," and he slipped into his pants and boots and followed. Out into the hall, down stairs, then down into the cellar, stopping in the middle of which the ghost raised a large stone, disclosing another pair of stairs, down which he pointed DeMarr to descend.

      "No you don't old fellow," he answered. "Go down first yourelf."

      "Down!" said Mr. Ghost, and down he went, the ghost after, and the stone closing tightly behind them. He now found himself in a long, narrow passage, lit only by the sort of phosphorecent light emitting from the figure which with long strides was leading him — whither? A strange suspicion suddenly crossed his mind that there might be something in this midnight adventure after all. Suppose he was led into some snare where he was wanted to commit a horrid deed! How could he escape? He looked behind, but it was all dark; there was no backing out, and besides, it might turn out a hoax; so on he pressed. After going, as it seemed to him a mile, the passage turned abruptly to the right, they ascended a long flight of stone steps, and after about half an hour's walking, again descended by means of a rope Ladder. On, on went the ghost, and after him plodded DeMarr, now beginning to get tired, and — it must be admitted — a little shaky. However, he was bound to see the thing out, and so struggled on, now up stairs, now down, till it seemed as though they must have gone through the whole village. At last they came to a heavy iron door, which swung open at a touch, and admitted them to a long, narrow room, hung with heavy damask drapery at the opposite end from which they entered. — Two smoky lamps depended from the ceiling, throwing a gloomy light through the apartment, which was entirely unfurnished. As DeMarr entered, he cast a hasty glance around, and his eye falling on the curtains, he was convinced that he saw them move as though some person was concealed behind their folds. This immediately aroused his former suspicions, which were not at all allayed by the figure producing a huge double-edged sword, which it placed in his hand and motioned for him to thrust through the drapery.

      The horrid truth at once flashed through his mind. He had been brought there to commit a cold blooded murder! To slay some innocent victim who had never wronged him — one whom he had never seen! How could he commit such a horrible deed? Impossible!

      With resolute determination he flung the weapon from him, and started for the door, when the figure by his side quietly laid its hand on his shoulder. It seemed as though ten thousand electric shocks had passed through his system from that slight touch, and he screamed out in agony.

      Once more it handed him the sword and pointed to the drapery. The cold sweat poured off him in a stream, and trembling in every limb, poor DeMarr dropped on his knees and begged the demon to let him off. But prayer and supplication were alike in vain; it was immovable; there was no getting out of the scrape except by doing as it directed him to. So, folding his hands, DeMarr essayed to say his prayers, asked forgiveness for the crime he was about to commit, etc., etc., and again grasping the sword, advanced with, tottering feet toward the curtain. But his heart once more failed him; he resolved to die rather than go through the awful tragedy, and again flung down the weapon. Once more the spectre touched his shoulder; once more the blood chilled in his veins, and he fell prostrate to the floor.

      On recovering, he found the sword again in his grasp, and the figure still pointing its long finger toward, the drapery.

      DeMarr repeated his prayers, arose, and feeling that another such shock would be worse than death, staggered forward, and with all his remaining strength thrust the sword through the curtain.

      Did a heart rending shriek arise? No; it was a gurgling, choking groan which fell on his ear, followed by an awful voice which exclaimed:

      "Thunder and lightning! what are you ramming your finger down my throat for?"

      And Walker kicked him out of bed.