Another ghost, fearfully emaciated, now attracted my attention. He looked more like the shadow of a skeleton than a man, and was evidently at the point of starvation, but engaged in the ludicrous occupation of composing a bill of fare, while he himself had nothing whatever to eat. I looked over his shoulder and saw him write out the following prescription: DEJEUNER À LA FOURCHETTE. _Huîtres._ _Consommé tapioca à la Julienne._ _Potage crême d’asperges._ _Fruites au bleu; sauce à la Russe._ _Bœuf à la mode aux maccaroni a l’Italienne._ _Selle de mouton Hollandaise._ _Œufs bruillé aux melettes._ _Emincé de faiseur à la Windsor._ _Canard braisé en Bordeaux._ _Omelette souflée._ _Plum pudding._ _Purée de pommes et nocles au naturel._ _Fromage suisse._ _Glacé panachée aux gaufres cornets._ _Bordeaux._ _Champagne._ _Desert._ _Café._ “And where are all the good things whose names you have written?” I asked. “This,” he answered haughtily, “you will have to find out yourself. It is sufficient if I indicate to you the order in which I might eat them if I had them. Does this not satisfy you?” “It might satisfy my curiosity,” I replied, “but it will not cure your hunger or make you fat. You seem to me to need something more substantial than mere theories.” “Knowledge is power!” said the ghost. “When you have acquired the knowledge how to eat in good style you may apply it as soon as you get the chance.” “Look here, my friend,” I answered, “it seems to me that you need very much a chance to get something to eat, even if it were not served up in the style proposed by you. Would it not be better to let this bill of fare alone, and seek for some food?” “I have no time to attend to that,” replied the ghost. “I must first settle the theory; the practice may wait.” “But by that time,” I said, “you may be starved to death.” This remark seemed to annoy the ghost, for it was true, and ghosts never like to hear any truth that goes against their own pet theories. Being themselves made up of delusions, a spark of truth is to them a foreign element, and burns them like fire. “Go away!” he cried angrily. “Do not waste my time. I shall not permit any scoffing at science.” As I turned away I saw another ghost of still more pitiful aspect, clothed in rags, the very personification of abject poverty. Want and misery were looking out of his hollow cheeks, and his eyes were buried deep in their sockets. He was making a long calculation. “What are you calculating?” I asked.