with a horse and cow that he could call his own. Milk punch, too, naturally enough popped into his head, and then out again, to make room for thoughts of hot cakes swimming in butter. His song, however, still went on, as the music was not so difficult of execution as to require much thought in its performance—when the conclusion of a stanza seemed suddenly to have been frozen on his lips, and he started back with the ejaculation— “Mine Got! vat ish dat? der spooke—der divel!” The cause of his alarm the reader will understand, and so did “Stoffel.” He had heard it rumored that a ghost in white had been seen airing himself upon Chew’s wall, and he was not the man to scoff at rumor, and, even if he had been, there was the identical thing before him, slightly changed in appearance, it is true, not in white, nor sitting erect, but in black, running along the wall towards him, like a hyena or a bear; and, sure enough, as if to establish his character beyond the possibility of a doubt, _rattling his chain_ with a clangor truly appalling. In any other situation Christopher, perhaps, would have run, but in the present instance his limbs refused to do their work, his knees knocked together, his teeth set to chattering, and he seemed rooted to the spot. Nor can it be supposed that he was a coward, as we think the contrary has been clearly demonstrated in his valiant exploits in courting. The ghost, however, as if to settle the difficulty, to clear all doubt in the mind of Christopher, and to prevent any more profane exclamations, coolly descended from the wall, and before he knew where he was, knocked him down “with one blow of his _tail_,” as was afterwards affirmed. “So,” said the ghost, “your time has come to die!” “Mine Got, nay—I be’s—so young—and pin—tink—to git—marry,” chattered the horror-stricken Dutchman. “You are going to get married; ha! who do you think will have you?” “’Squire—Hanz—Sus, me tinks.” “When you marry her you will be a dead man,” said the ghost in a hollow, sepulchral voice, “and unless you stay away from ’Squire Hanz’s two months from this time, remember I have warned you! you are a dead man! Beware!” and having released his throat from a loving squeeze, vanished, as Christopher asserted, “in de ground.” When he arose, his brain whirled, and his memory was confused; the sun was just peeping over the hills, and a group of astonished neighbours were around him. Christopher told his story, and related the adventure exactly as it had occurred, excepting what related to Susan, that he kept close in his own bosom—why? we cannot say. Some believed him, but others, of the most knowing, shook their heads—guessed he had drank too freely of the ’Squire’s cider, and wondered how he knew “the ghost vanished in the ground when he was lying on his face in the dirt.”