There was a house on Prospect Street, nearly finished, and I engaged it. I was particular to tell the agent that I wanted a house in which no crime had been committed. For I believed that the house I was then living in, like the one at Hydesville, was haunted; and I presumed that in this case as in the other it must have had its origin in hidden crime. He smiled as he remarked that he "thought that I would have no difficulty on that account." We moved into this house as soon as possible, and congratulated ourselves on our good fortune in finding a place that had never before been tenanted. Two houses stood on one foundation. On the ground floor was a kitchen, cellar, and pantry. The staircase led from the kitchen to the second floor. On the outside, a front and rear flight of steps led to a balcony from which we could enter the parlor and dining-room, on the second floor. Another flight of steps led from the dining-room to the third floor, which was one room the entire length and breadth of the house. In this last-named room we put up three beds, and one bed in the room on the parlor floor. I partitioned off a small room in one corner of the upper floor with chintz curtains. This lessened the size of the large room and afforded us a store-room. In the rear of the house was an old cemetery, called "the Buffalo Burying-ground." This cemetery was separated from our lot by a high fence. I remember I disliked the idea of seeing those tall monuments every time I went into the pantry. (The entrance into the dining-room from the kitchen was through the pantry.) Nothing occurred, during the first night of our occupancy of this house, of an unusual character, and we slept undisturbed. I had written to our family at Arcadia, and told them what was transpiring with us nightly. This worried mother, and she determined to come immediately, and find some plan for suppressing it, if it could possibly be done. She, with Margaretta, arrived the next day, and we rejoiced to tell her that we had occupied the new house one night, and no sounds had been heard to disturb us. After supper we remained at the table a long time, until mother suggested that it was getting late, and we had better retire for the night. All was quiet until about midnight, when we distinctly heard footsteps coming up the stairs, walking into the little room I had partitioned off with curtains, which seemed admirably adapted to their purposes. We could hear them shuffling, giggling, and whispering, as if they were enjoying themselves at some surprise they were about to give us. Occasionally they would come and give our bed a tremendous shaking, lifting it (and us) entirely from the floor, almost to the ceiling, and then let us down with a bang; then pat us with hands. Then they would retire to the little room, which we subsequently named "the green room." At length we were quiet, and all fell asleep and slept until late in the morning.