How he awoke, one night, with the uneasy feeling that someone or something was near, and how he saw a little lady clad in brown at his bedside; how he thought it was his wife because she, too, was small, but, on second thoughts, knew her to be asleep at his side; how he saw the “little brown lady” walk—not glide—into a large cupboard at the end of the room; how he roused his wife, and how she, not he, went to the cupboard, only to find no trace of the “little lady.” All this he recounts, and, on his word as a Christian, swears it to be true. He appeals to his wife, who nods, and tells us of the colour of his face, of the beads of perspiration on his brow, and emphasises how terrified he was, and that it was she who investigated. If a member of the circle ventures to suggest that it was the after-effects of a good supper, my uncle has his answer ready, and recommences: How a special organist, playing in the village, stayed at his house for the night; how, next day at breakfast, on being asked how he slept, he replied, ‘Very fair, but I have had a disagreeable nightmare,’ how the organist had seen a “little lady” enter his room, walk to his bedside, and then disappear into a cupboard. This is the final point in the narrative, and my uncle sits up straight in his chair and exclaims, “Here's his address, go to him and ask him; he is still alive!” And the doubting one does not move—my uncle’s ghost story has another believer. We of the family know that our uncle would never have told of the incident if he had not actually experienced it, and are, thus, bound to believe in ghosts. Yet this ghost signified nothing—no one died, neither misfortune nor pleasant surprise occurred, and we have no family tradition. The Ghost Horse of the Derbyshire Moors SOME years ago a friend of ours bought a house which was spoken of for miles around as “haunted”; one family after another had at various times lived at the place, but each of them, in turn, abruptly gave up the tenancy, declaring the house was indeed haunted. All round the house was a wide drive, and the story ran that every midnight at certain periods of the year a horse was heard to gallop round the drive, and, at times, reared itself so high as to touch the bedroom windows. Though the horse itself was not visible, it was known to be a white one, and sometimes sent out flashing lights.