Whatever the ghost did to the Frenchman,
the latter held the premises for a considerable
number of years, and afterwards retired to his
native land, to be succeeded by a lawyer's clerk,
who was succeeded by an auctioneer, who was
succeeded by a Yankee speculator, who was
succeeded by a melodramatic actor accustomed
himself to play ghosts and demons in sensation-
pieces, who was succeeded by somebody who
used the premises for offices only, and did not
care sixpence what happened upon them after
nightfall, while he was in the enjoyment of
rural tranquillity at Shacklewell. And thus
the troubled house gradually became a very
marketable property, not to be had for less
than £60 per annum, and a contract on the
part of the tenant to execute all substantial
repairs.

And this, of course, was the end of the ghost?
Not at all. Through all the successive occupancies
the ghost was as active and vigorous as
ever, rustling, rattling, slamming, clattering,
and casting shadows without the aid of a
substance. Nay, popular rumour, far from being
confuted, had actually been confirmed, for the
Frenchman, the lawyer's clerk, the Yankee, the
auctioneer, the actor, and the epicurean of
Shacklewell (who on one occasion had remained
after dark), had all heard, felt, or seen, something.
Still, as we have said, the house had become
a good marketable property.

One Christmas evening a number of young
people were assembled in the drawing-room of
the troubled house, celebrating the revels proper
to the season with more than average hilarity,
the chief promoter of mirth being a pert whipper-
snapper, who, having recently adapted from the
French a short farce for a transpontine theatre,
was regarded by himself and his friends (more
particularly the former) as a prodigy of dramatic
genius. The merriment was at its height, when
a sound as of rustling silk was heard outside the
drawing-room door.

"There's a lady coming," exclaimed a strapping
lad from the country, who was on his first
visit.

"No there isn't," replied a dark-haired young
lady, with a smile, which was reciprocated by all
the rest of the company.

Bang went a heap of chains, apparently cast
with great violence on the stairs.

"Jingo! what's that?" cried the rustic, with
a start.

"That's nothing," was the satisfactory answer.
And again the smile went round.

A bell rang, a door slammed, a window
clattered; and again was each exclamation of
surprise followed by the universal smile. At
last the shadow of a human face, in defiance
of every optical law, was unmistakably visible
on the wall. The rustic could bear himself
no longer. Starting from his chair, he
pointed to the apparition, and in a voice of
horror shrieked, " For goodness' sake, what's
that?"

Everybody laughed.

"Take it easy, old fellow," said the dramatic
genius. " That's only the ghost."

At these words, the lights began to burn blue,
the shadow became something more than a mere
undefined profile, and a melancholy voice spake
as follows:

"True, I am only the ghost, and much do I
deserve your pity. Many years ago I resolved
to make a sensation in this neighbourhood, and
I effected my purpose chiefly by means of the
noises, which most of you know but too well.
But people have grown used to my rustle,
accustomed to my rattle, habituated to my clatter,
familiar with my ring. Even my shadow—my
grand effect—scarcely elicits a remark. My
invention has been exhausted long ago, and noisy
as I may be, I cannot command attention. If
any one here among you, having greatly
distinguished himself in youth, thinks he can go on
for ever on the strength of his early reputation,
by simply repeating himself, without giving any
new direction to his talent, let him take warning
by me, or he will find in time that he is only a
ghost."

The young folks were all edified, and the
prodigy of genius went to his bed a sadder and
a wiser man.

Now ready, Stitched in a Cover, price Fourpence,
MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS,
FORMING THE
EXTRA DOUBLE NUMBER FOR CHRISTMAS.
CONTENTS:
How Mrs. Lirriper carried on the Business.
How the First Floor went to Crowley Castle.
How the Side-Room was attended by a Doctor.
How the Second Floor kept a Dog.
How the Third Floor knew the Potteries.
How the Best Attic was under a Cloud.
How the Parlours added a Few Words.
On the 4th of January, 1864, will be commenced, to be completed in Six Numbers of ALL THE YEAR ROUND, a New Story, called A WHITE HAND AND A BLACK THUMB.
Volume XI. will begin on the 15th of February, 1864, with a New Serial Story, entitled QUITE ALONE, by GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA.