palace, and asked to see Señor Martinez de la Rosa.

"He is very much engaged at this moment," said the porter in the antechamber; "but take a chair, and if you will give me your card I will hand it to him."

I drew from my pocket the card and a letter, and handed it to him. The porter returned in a few minutes, saying,

"Follow me, his excellency will see you."

A good many years had elapsed since I had last seen Martinez de la Rosa in Paris. Time had not only thinned but blanched his locks, which were no longer flowing. He was still erect, and in his figure youthful, but the elasticity of gait and spirits were gone, and I could perceive that he was older in constitution than he was in reality, for he was then just entering his fifty-eighth winter. Six years spent in exile in the Presidios of Africa, however, will have their effect on the strongest constitution, and sooner or later affect the health. The appearance and manner of De la Rosa are peculiarly Spanish. His eye is large, long, and well-set, and of a peculiarly rich brown. I have heard such eyes called speckled in the East, where they are considered a great beauty. In youth and early manhood there must have been great power of expression in this organ of his countenance; for even now his eye is brilliant and beaming. The visage of Martinez is long and somewhat lanky, and the lower part of the face decidedly defective. The upper lip is immensely long, giving to the countenance an air of slowness and stupidity; but apart from these defects, the air and figure of the exminister are prepossessing. His manners are flowing and courteous, and without the slightest tincture of dantry or pretence. In his dress, indeed, there is a lingering remnant of coxcombry. Morning, noon, and evening, he is attired in a white waistcoat; and there is somewhat too much of a theatrical air in his gestures, and somewhat too much, too, of attitudinising in his manner; but apart from these slight defects he is a person of winning manners and of graceful deportment. The minister was standing with the Constitutionnel in his hand when I entered. He re

pe

ceived me gracefully, if not warmly, and inquired why I had not been before to visit him, and how I had left his friends in Paris. On my mentioning that I had only arrived in Madrid that morning, he withdrew his reproaches, and said,

"Then, you have been dallying on the way ?"

I informed him I had loitered a good deal in his charming province of Andalusia, or I should have visited him before.

"Well, then," said he, "make the best atonement you can by coming again, and coming often."

"M. le Ministre," said I (for our conversation was carried on in French, which he spoke fluently and correctly, though with a strong Spanish accent), I cannot think of intruding on your valuable time by coming often; but whenever I need the aid of your information or assistance, I may do myself the honour of again visiting you."

"Never mind M. le Ministre," said he; "but if I can be of the least use, command Martinez de la Rosa. You will excuse me now," said he, "for I must go to a council of ministers; but come again as soon as you please."

I then took my leave, and wended my way homewards, where I arrived about half-past four. It was now time to look for dinner-the usual hour for that repast being five. Not being aware of the exact position of the newly established restaurant in the Carrera San Geronimo, I rung for the valet-de-place to accompany me, and found him in the company of a tailor whom he had employed to do certain small repairs for me. These had been begun and completed in the interval, between one and four o'clock, and were of the most trifling description, such as would cost a couple of shillings, or at most half-a-crown, in England. Great was my astonishment, however, to find that the tailor brought me in a bill of two dollars and a half. Finding that the valet lodged in the house of the tailor, I paid him his day's wages, and his friend the tailor his exorbitant demand, and sallied out alone to dinner. But my journey to the restaurant, as well as an account of the entertainment there provided, must be reserved for a separate paper.

"What is here

It was a gloomy autumnal evening; all was hushed and still in the interior of the dwelling in which we sat, while the tall trees without kept up a continual mysterious and confidential whispering, as though they had a thousand things to tell one another; and the wind went searching round the old house, and down the wide chimney, and through the long corridors, as if it had lost something. Or practised all the ancient tunes which it sang hundreds and hundreds of years ago, in a low wailing voice, half human in its melancholy sweetness, or wild revelry. Sometimes it seemed to go a long way off, and then, when you least expected it, back it came again as though it were singing under the window, or in the very room itself, while the heavy drapery swayed to and fro with a strange sympathy. Presently, in restless mood it went out to play with the old trees before mentioned, which at first only shook their heads gently at his frolics, but afterwards laughed and gambolled till their branches creaked again! And finally, elated with its sports, came sweeping along the old corridor and burst open the room door where we sat.

Startled a little from our dreamy reveries we looked hastily up, but perceiving no one, naturally concluded that it was only the wind; and were in the very act of putting the finishing stitch to the work on which we were employed, seeking at the same time for the tangled thread of our former pleasant musings thus rudely broken, when a passage which we had been lately reading in a very clever paper, entitled " Miscellanea Mystica," but without making any deep impression upon our minds at the time, came back like a lightning flash "How often do we say, "Tis only the wind, when former inhabitants of the houses we live in may be sweeping past us!”

The words had been uttered in reference to a spirit-story of a poor emigrant's wife, yearning for her forsaken home; the door of which was seen to open wide, one windy night-just such an one, perhaps, as that on which we write. To common eyesight this was all; but a certain woman, gifted with the rare faculty of ghost-seeing, was enabled both to distinguish and describe this strange visitor, who was dressed after her usual fashion, and wore a sad and troubled expression of countenance, as though grieving for all she had

left behind.

Not being gifted with this same supernatural clearness of vision, which must be by no means desirable, if any "forms of the departed entered at the open door," it was unknown to us. And we only remember becoming suddenly conscious that the evening was drawing in, and it might be as well to ring for candles. After which we fell into a train of thought far from unpleasant, in the which all that we had heard and read of such things came back as vividly as though it were but yesterday; the wind, meanwhile, keeping up a sort of running accompaniment to the wild harmony of by-gone recollections.

The house where we were born, and around which some of our earliest reminiscences are entwined, was said to be haunted; but a residence of many years never warranted us to give a less vague assertion than the common one, "it was said to be." Neither are we aware that any member of the family is able to speak more confidently on the subject. It was curious enough, however, that several casual visitors, without the possibility of any previous communication passing between them, and in most instances without their even hearing it mentioned, have united in giving a precisely similar description of the phantom. By which we un

derstood it to be tall, of the male sex, and wearing a loose pepper-and-salt coat, probably the fashion in those days. My father, who was frequently up writing until long after the rest of the family had gone to bed, has repeatedly heard or fancied footsteps upon the stairs, followed by a distinct tapping at his study door; on which occasions he never failed to call aloud “Come in," although his ghostly visitant seems invariably to have declined availing himself of the invitation.

We can remember one thing, however, which as children made a deep impression upon us. All of a sudden a strange noise, like the ticking of a watch, only slower, began to be heard night after night in the room where we generally sat. Some said it was a cricket, or a spider; others spoke of the death-watch! while a few took the opportunity of displaying their entomological knowledge by ascribing it to a certain beetle, belonging to the timber-boring genus anobium, which frequently finds its way into old walls and wainscoting. Anyhow, it was a very solemn sound; and remarked all the more for a curious coincidence which took place about the same time. A large Newfoundland dog, hitherto perfectly quiet, commenced a series of the most dismal howlings; and it was discovered one morning, had actually scratched up a deep hole in the ground, which certainly did look very like a grave! This was repeated more than once, until they took to chaining him. Not long afterwards a little child residing in the house sickened and died; and from that hour we never heard the death-watch again!

Of our own experience in these matters we have little more to tell; but a whole host of incidents heard at different times, and from some who are now spirits themselves, comes thronging into our memory with a strange distinctness, so that we feel tempted to relate a few: for who does not love a ghost story, however they may laugh at it afterwards?

The first is told by a distant relative of our own, living far away in a quiet country place, where a belief in these things comes quite natural. Her father had been long ill, and as she lay thinking of him one summer

night, and how improbable it was they should ever meet again, she became suddenly conscious of a heavy weight, as though a head rested upon her bosom, and stretching forth her hand distinctly felt the thick, crisped curls with which she had played a thousand times when a child, and which were only just beginning to be tinged with grey when she married and left home. She knew that it was her father, and yet, somehow, she was not frightened, but lay quite still; and presently heard a sweet voice singing an old familiar hymn, which he had often taught and sang to them long ago. And when its last tones died lingeringly away, the spirit, if it were one, had also departed.

Many have said it was only a dream, that she had gone to bed thinking of her poor father, and so dreamt the rest. Well, it might have been thus. But it is curious enough, nevertheless, that the old man actually died upon the very night, and, as near as could be ascer tained, the very hour when all this happened.

Our next anecdote was frequently related by the individual himself, and with a serious truthfulness, that seems to have made a deep impression on several who heard it from his own lips. He had, it appeared, been the only child of a good and pious woman, who was early left a widow; and after struggling with poverty and ill health for above twelve years, during which she maintained herself and child by the poorly remunerated labours of the needle, died at length of very weariness and exhaustion, preserving her meek and cheerful spirit to the last, and recommending her orphan boy, with many prayers, to the protection of Him who is "the Father of the fatherless."

For the first week or two after her death every one thought that the poor lad would have broken his heart for grief, and soon followed. Instead of which, as its passionate violence passed away, and its yearning affections were repelled and thrown back upon themselves, it hardened. And forgetting all her warning admonitions, he soon became as idle and restless as those into whose society he seemed hence

forth east. We will draw a veil over the next few years. It will be sufficient to mention, that at the time of which we are about to speak, his character, if he could be said to have one, was at its lowest ebb. And even those who out of pity for the boy, or from some lingering recollection of her who was gone, had hitherto continued his friends, dropped off one by one, until he was left an alien, as it were, from all good.

He had been out one evening with some young companions as wild and reckless as himself, and it was late before they thought of separating. It chanced that his nearest way home lay through the churchyard. Most of them would have preferred the high-road, although it was nearly a quarter of a mile farther round, rather than pass so lonely a spot; but the young man of whom we write used to make his boast that he feared neither the living nor the dead! It was a bright moonlight night, and as our hero walked onwards through the green, quiet fields, the bacchanalian song which he had commenced out of defiance upon separating with the rest died away upon his lips, and he lapsed into silence.

Late as it was a female form sat on one of the gravestones wringing her hands, and swaying backwards and forwards, as though in deep affliction. Naturally kind-hearted, the young man turned out of his way to see if there was anything he could do for her; but somehow, as he approached nearer, the figure seemed strangely familiar-ay, even the old bonnet with its faded black riband, and the well-worn dress; and while he was still attentively regarding it it vanished suddenly away! It was, as we have said, a bright moonlight night-so bright that, stooping down over the spot from whence the figure had so strangely disappeared, the orphan distinctly read the name of his lost parent, together with the date of her death; and he knew now that it was her spirit he had seen! But why did she weep? She whose deep trust in God had kept her always cheerful amid poverty and disease, so that she died at last blessing and thanking Him for all His mercies? The conscience-stricken youth felt that it was his sins that would not let her rest even in the

grave; and bowing down his face upon the damp grass, asked pardon of Heaven, and of her.

It seems that for a long while past his old master had meant to give him warning, but had put it off from time to time in hopes he would amend his present wild course of life; but his protracted absence on the night in question determined him, and he met his young apprentice with a sternness that disappeared all at once at the sight of his pale and agitated countenance. And he spoke kindly instead, bidding him get to to bed as fast as he could. Touched by the mild and pitying tones of his voice, the youth told his master every thing, who, although he had no great faith in ghosts, took care not to say a word which should lessen the evident impression made upon the mind of his companion, who became from that time a changed and better man.

"Well, that is all natural enough," exclaims the philosopher. "The boy, you tell us, ceased to sing soon after parting with his comrades. The stillness and the moonlight evidently subdued and saddened him, bringing back memories of old times, until from thinking of his mother, and how grieved she would have been had she lived to see this day, his active imagination was worked into the conviction that he actually saw her, wailing and wringing her hands as he describes; although the impression must have been a powerful one, certainly, to have given a colouring to his whole future life."

Oh, let ours, gentle reader, be a simpler, and a holier faith! The finger of God might have been in all this; and if so, it was easy for grace to hallow and perfect a work began in mercy.

The next incident that we shall relate is of a more complicated and mysterious nature, and the purpose to be answered less clearly defined, although we can see no cause to question its authenticity, the narrator being one whose veracity was beyond dispute.

She had, it appears, been kept from church one Sunday evening, in consequence of ill health; but her indisposition not being of sufficient importance to warrant her detaining any one else, even the servants were

permitted to go, and she remained at home alone. This was, however, a matter of too frequent occurrence to be much noticed; and having ascertained that the doors were securely fastened, the young lady took her book and began to read. It may be as well to mention that the work in question was a volume of sermons, of by no means an exciting nature; and from the perusal of which she presently rose up and proceeded to the library, with the intention of consulting some book of reference. What was her surprise on pushing open the door, which was only half closed, to see her father sitting in the easy chair which he generally occupied! She instantly addressed him in a cheerful voice, thinking he must have returned without her knowledge, for she distinctly remembered seeing him depart with the rest. Until upon receiving no answer, the utter impossibility of such a thing suddenly came over her, and she had only strength to totter from the room and seat herself upon the stairs outside, where she remained until the return of the family from church; when, having with difficulty unfastened the door, she instantly fainted away.

The young lady's first question upon coming to herself, was for her father; and seeing him bending over her she became gradually more composed, and had sufficient self-possession to forbear mentioning what had occurred to any member of the family, although she afterwards related it to one or two intimate friends. Had she done so, it is probable that the effect upon the imagination of her father might, as it has been too frequently the case, have brought about the realisation of her worst fears; instead of which they gradually passed away; although for some time afterwards she continued to watch over him with the most affectionate anxiety, and was observed to be restless and uneasy whenever he was out of her sight for long together. The old man lived, however, many years after this occurrence, and in the full enjoyment of his usual health.

We have heard tell of a gentleman of high literary attainments, possessed of a peculiarly nervous temperament, combined with a very

powerful imagination, who was in the frequent habit of seeing persons coming towards him, as it were, and then suddenly vanishing all at once; so that he was occasionally puzzled to distinguish these illusions from what was actually taking place around him. Very much of this may be explained away by simple pathological causes. But the incident which we are about to relate, in which the same illusion was present to two persons at once, is less easy of solution. The parties to whom it occurred are well-known to us, and the neighbourhood by no means remarkable for any associations of a romantic or spiritual na

ture.

It happened a few years ago, that two sisters passing along the outside of the Regent's Park, on their way home, and somewhat later than was their usual custom, in consequence of having been unavoidably detained, saw an old woman a few paces before them, the ancient appearance of whose dress and manner seems to have at first afforded them ample materials for criticism. And yet there was nothing extraordinary about her attire, which consisted of a dark cotton dress and shawl, with a black silk bonnet, which, it was facetiously observed, might from its size and shape have been made in the " year one!" And still they could not help noticing her.

It was just that soft, twilight hour which is so rapidly followed in England by the dusk of evening; but as yet all was clear and easily defined; when on a sudden the sisters simultaneously missed the old woman from before them, although she had been there but a moment previous, laughingly exclaiming, that she had most decidedly vanished! And so it appeared. She was certainly nowhere to be seen; and being about the middle of one of the terraces, it was impossible that she could have escaped down any turning in such an instant of time. It was also evident that she had not crossed the road, or if so, no traces of her were visible in that direction. The sisters said little at the time, but involuntarily quickening their steps were soon at home. And to this day, it is the strong impression upon both their minds that the old woman was no woman at all,