stories, which had for their burden the
delusions of insane persons."

"But did you never hear the carriages
come and go, and the music?" enquired Mrs.
Walderburn.

"What carriages? what music?" said
Mr. Estrelle.

"The carriages which brought the guests,
and the music to which they danced."

"Never! I never saw nor heard anything
of the kind, but attributed all that occurred
to Sir Hugh's madness. It was the only
point upon which he was mad."

Mr. Estrelle was astounded when he heard
from the Walderburns the particulars of the
noises which were heard on the first night of
their occupancy of the mansion. It was agreed,
however, that the story should not gain
currency, insomuch as it would not only create a
commotion in the neighbourhood, but lessen
the value of the property, perhaps. It was
further arranged, that, in the event of the
shadowy vehicles again visiting the mansion,
Mr. Estrelle should be summoned.

Six weeks passed away and not a sound
was heard, save sounds for which everyone
could account; when, one night at half-past
nine, there came that loud and vigorous
rapping which bespeaks the arrival of some
important personage. The Walderburn
family, who where all in the drawing-room,
involuntarily started. The lady of the house,
very much agitated, rang the bell. The
footman, pale and trembling, entered the
room, and was requested to open the hall door.
This he refused to do, unless accompanied by
some one. Mr. Walderburn and his sons
went with him. There was no one at the
door; but the rustling of silk dresses was
again heard and the other noises which have
been already described. A groom was
dispatched to Mr. Estrelle. He came and
heard, as distinctly as every one else did, a
repetition of what occurred on the first night,
when the unseen ghosts looked in upon the
Walderburn family.

People may not believe in, or be afraid of
ghosts, nevertheless it is far from pleasant
to inhabit a house where airy nothings take
such liberties with the knocker, and whose
visits defy all calculation. Mr. Walderburn
therefore determined on leaving Carlville, and
advertised the property to be let. He was
too conscientious, however, to do so, without
informing a tenant who proposed, of the cause
why the family vacated so very desirable a
residence.

Notwithstanding this great drawback, as
it was called, the mansion was let to a
Mr. Southdown: a gentleman who laughed
to scorn the idea of a house being haunted,
and who was so confident of the Walderburn
family being under a delusion, that he took it
on lease for three years. The Southdowns
occupied it, however, for only four months.
Of course, they offered to pay the rent, but
live in it, they would not;—for on one
occasion, when they had an evening party of their
own friends, the ghosts thought proper to
join it, and two-thirds of the ladies in the
room fainted.

It now became notorious, throughout the
county, that Carlville was haunted; and, from
that time, the mansion was locked up and
left entirely to shadows, and spiders. Three
or four times it was put up to auction, but
no one would make anything like a bid for
it. An eminent builder was once sent down
to inspect the house and report upon it. Mr.
Walderburn junior accompanied him. The
eminent builder at once discovered the cause
of the noises. It was as "plain as a
pike-staff," he said. "The portico attracted a
strong current of air, which passed rapidly
through it, and hence &c." The portico was
pulled down. But the invisible ghosts came
as usual. All the drains on the premises
were then opened and examined under the
supervision of the eminent builder. There
was not a single rat or mouse or other animal
to be found in them. Then the eminent
builder said, "it must be the trees by which
the mansion was surrounded," and those
stately elms and venerable oaks, which had
been planted in the reign of Henry the
Eighth, were cut down and sold for timber.
But the ghosts visited Carlville, nevertheless.
The knocker was then removed; then the
door and the windows, and the remaining
articles of furniture carried away. To no
purpose. The same noises were distinctly
heard. The land was now sold separately,
and the mansion, which Mr. Walderburn
would not have pulled down, was suffered to
go to ruin.

About three years ago I was in the
neighbourhood of Carlville, the place of which I
had so often heard the Walderburns speak.
Curiosity prompted me to pay the place a
visit. I rode over in the company of a
friend, and on my way recounted to him the
facts above narrated. To my surprise, I
found the ruin peopled. Several poor families
had taken up their abode within those
walls. I asked them if they ever saw the
ghosts? They replied:— "No, but we
sometimes hear 'em plain enough. Hows'ever
they never meddle with us, nor us with
them."

"And the music?" I enquired.

"Yes, and very pleasant it is on a winter's
evening, or a summer's either," responded a
dark-eyed young woman with a child in her
arms.

FRENCH TAVERN-LIFE.
IN TWO CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER THE FIRST.

IT was at a very early period that Paris
became, what it has ever since remained, the
metroplis of gastronomy, or—as Bob Fudge
calls it—"the head quarters of prog." When
Father Bonaveuture Calatagirone, the General
of the Cordeliers, and one of the negotiators