I am only a working woman, and not highly educated, but I feel I must put a pen to your ghost problem. Well, I don't believe in them; there are none. Would any sensible person, having lost their dearest and best, like to feel their spirits were not at rest? Why, Flanders field would be white with ghosts. I believe that nervous people often fancy they see things, as I have proved, having lost a dear sister, whose mind became unbalanced through a nervous breakdown. She used to tell us all sorts of things she saw, but, thank God, we have never seen her ghost. But I believe there are times when we are downcast and warned by a kind of telepathy of impending illness or death among dear ones, but only at times. I have proved this also. No, sir, no Christian people believe in ghosts. Many years ago I was helping my father to build a house, on the side of a main road, near a large village in Lincolnshire. It was early autumn, and the house was nearing completion. A workman was left in charge during the night, but on one occasion, owing to the sudden illness of his wife, he was unable to fulfil his duty, and I elected to remain and take charge. It was a beautiful night, and the moon was in full. I had made a fire in a middle room, and by the light from a candle, I read through an interesting novel by Harrison Ainsworth. I looked at the time: it was close on midnight. I blew out the light and closed my eyes, the happenings which I had just read in the novel rapidly passing through my mind. The silence was intense: the loneliness complete. Suddenly I was startled by a crash and the sound of falling glass on the front-room floor. Feeling sure that someone passing had hurled a broken brick through one of the large bay-window panes, I rushed upstairs, and from one of the windows which overlooked the road, and from which a long distance could be seen both ways, I looked to see in which direction the culprit had gone. Not a soul was to be seen; not a sound was to be heard! Then I went to inspect the damage. Every pane was intact, and there was not a fragment of glass on the floor! Later in life, I have found, on more than one occasion, what tricks one’s imagination and thoughts can play; how they can conjure up pictures, and faces and forms, not only of those we know, but of those we have known, which the eyes, acting in unison, will, under varying circumstances, place momentarily before you. The writer “Norfolk,” in your issue of the 17th inst., had this experience when he saw the face at the window. No, I do not believe in ghosts! Ghosts In The Great War A Pal in Life—and Death My pal and I joined the Army on the 21st day of September, 1914. My mother’s last words to me were, “Be a man; do your duty. If God spares you to come back to me I will be proud of you, my lad!” I was the only son. My pal heard her words and said: “Cheer up; we will come back. ‘England expects every man to do his duty.’”