"Late one stormy night, when the snow was falling fast," continued my uncle,--"and one would suppose that any reasonable creature of flesh and blood would wish to be safely housed,--an hostler named Dobbin, who had charge of a stable at one end of the street, was trudging home, swinging a lantern in his hand, to the small house in which he lived, at a little distance beyond the now pretty notorious 'Ghost's Walk.' As he approached the spot, there, to be sure, was the object of terror, taking his usual exercise. 'Now,' as Dobbin told the story, 'thinks I to myself, I'll play you a trick, mister, and find out who you are, if I can. So, jest slyly unfastening the door of the lantern, as I met him, I flung the door wide open and held it up to his face, and I says, says I, "A stormy night, friend." I thought I should know him, and guess I should if ever I do see him again, which I don't want to, I tell _you_; and may I hope to die, if ever I saw that face before. He looked pale, and his eyes, as he fixed 'em on me, had what I call a sort of a stony glare. He never opened his mouth, but just looked. It was only a glance, as it were, for I never was so frightened in my life, and jest dropped lantern and scampered away home as fast as my legs could carry me.'" "Lud-a-massy!" screamed Sally Bannocks, on the verge of hysterics,--and some of the rest of us were not far from that condition. We were mostly on our feet, and as my mother insisted upon our bidding "Good-night," Uncle Richard proposed, after a further trial of his capital cider, to harness his horse and drive us home in his covered wagon. But it was a fine night and, though getting rather late, we concluded that it would do us more good to take the air, in the mile or two of the walk to town. In the course of our preparations for departure, and in answer to a variety of questions, our uncle informed us, that the mystery was never cleared up, nor the trick, if trick it were, ever discovered. As to the tale of such a person as Dobbin, we might place what reliance upon it we saw fit; and though the motive seemed certainly difficult to see, it might have been, after all, a well-contrived piece of deception, to be sure, a very laborious and unaccountable one, concealed by the collusion of parties in the secret. How long the ghost continued to walk he did not know; but it finally disappeared, and the house had been inhabited by respectable people ever since, who had suffered no disturbance. We reached home after a brisk walk, crossing rapidly--and with now and then a furtive look--the very premises so haunted in other days, and "Thanks be to Praise!" ejaculated Sally Bannocks, as we entered and closed the door. The house was cold, after having been shut up all day. We quickly separated to our several chambers, and as I laid my head upon the pillow and was soon sound asleep, I too, murmured to myself, "Thanks be to Praise!"