Mumford. 'Who wrote them, now? Such
pathos—such——Was Grüntergrönen a family-
man? I am convinced that he composed that
work in commemoration of some domestic
difference. I am sure he was a kind, indulgent
parent—witness that feeling teeeumptitye—and
yet firm of purpose—hence that inexorable
ti-lo.'

"'He does not seem to have had it all his
own way,' remarked my brother; 'for there
ensues a jolly row, all the four instruments
talking together, until—hist!—comes in that
movement, replete with softness and dignity—
twee-tweeio-twee—— '

"'That's the maiden aunt interposing,'
remarked Miss Julia; 'I recognise her voice.'

"There was more chat, no doubt, of equal
interest; but I need not pursue the dialogue.
It was arranged that my brother should go
down to Hilderton for, say, a fortnight, and I,
having no engagement on hand, agreed to bear
him company. I could not repress the idea
that Sir Simon regarded my brother's temporary
occupation of the house, while in a fiddling-fit,
as a means of exorcising the ghost. Touching
the latter, Miss Julia's sole comment was:

"' Fiddlestick!'

"And my brother replied that was precisely
the instrument he intended to use.

"You see what Hilderton is—one of those
jolly old buildings such as may be met with in
the eastern parts of Belgium, which seem to
have been castles in their youth, but have since
taken to farming, and been unlucky. Excepting
that the rooms were darkish, we found it very
comfortable. The gardener, who, with his
wife, dwelt in two back rooms on the ground
floor, on being questioned as to the nature of
the haunting influences, replied, succinctly:

"'Shadders.'

"Pressed further, he added:

"' Wices.'

"And this was all he would say. The
process of cross-examination was too fatiguing to
follow up, inasmuch as this gentleman had
acquired a habit of condensing his speeches into
a single word—an eccentricity for which I was
conscious of a secret longing to punch his head.

"It was from the clerk, sexton, beadle,
constable, postmaster, and general gossip of the
village, Mr. Adolphus Dollums—called Dol-dol
for short—that we learned the real story of the
Hilderton ghost, which, though sufficiently
curious, was nothing more than this: Every
family—and they were not a few—who had
attempted to occupy the house, had, after a few
days' residence, become aware of a low muttering
sound, as of distant conversation—or,
rather, of that peculiar hum which, when issuing
from behind the scenes, is, with the initiated,
the certain precursor of a popular row,
the observations of the insurgents being
confined to the repetition of the one word—
'Mum-mum-m-m-m!'

"At first hardly distinguishable, the sound,
by slow advances, resolved itself more clearly
into the measured note of conversation, broken,
resumed, with cadences, and, sometimes,
apparently a climax, yet never, on any occasion,
reaching the intelligible. All efforts to trace
this sound to its origin had proved fruitless.
Time after time had the house been cleared of
every living thing, the listeners excepted, and
still the strange debate went on, sometimes by
day, sometimes by night, without, apparently,
coming to a division.

"Time might have reconciled the tenants of
Hilderton to what the gardener called the
'wices' (as for the 'shadders,' I hold them to
be but the illegitimate offspring of the former),
but for the one distinctive feature, that the
sound, through many months, always seemed
to be drawing nearer. How it happened that
this fact, instead of affording satisfaction to the
curious listeners, only impressed them with
fear, our informant could not explain. An idea
had got abroad that, whenever the mysterious
voices of Hilderton should become intelligible,
something of an awful nature as concerning
the then existing tenants would be revealed, or
would occur. Strange as it may appear, the
effect produced by this tradition was such as
to occasion the departure of three sets of
occupants, and the haunted mansion, which had
passed into the possession of my friend Sir
Simon, had remained untenanted, save by the
gardener, until he suddenly offered it to my
brother in the manner I have mentioned.

"Such was the story; and, I need not say, it
had little effect upon our nerves. We enjoyed
ourselves, each after his own fashion, very much.
Charley fiddled and scraped in a manner that
must have compelled the spirit of Grüntergrönen,
if it were within hearing, to come forward with
some sort of acknowledgment of so much
perseverance; and I lived the life of a frog. You
have seen that splendid plunging-bath,
constructed at some expense, by the original
proprietor. Well, I, who emulate the ancient
Romans in their love of water, passed a considerable
part of the hot summer's days in that cool
grot. The tap was always running.
Fortunately, the spring that supplied it, and which
rose close beside the house, was an abundant
one.

"We had been here nearly a fortnight, and
nothing had occurred to remind us of the ghost,
when, one evening, as we sat smoking in this
very room, Charles suddenly removed the cigar
from his lips, and assumed the appearance of a
listener. Almost at the same moment I became
sensible of a distant grumbling sound, which
gradually increased in volume until it resembled
very many voices engaged in earnest discussion.
Not one word, however, was intelligible. We
could distinguish breaks, ripples, and rushes, in
the mysterious rivulet of talk, but that was all.
There could be no doubt that we were listening
to the invisible debaters of Hilderton.

"Taking our candles, we commenced a careful
scrutiny. The sound evaded us. Go into
what room we would, it seemed remote as ever.
Once or twice, indeed, the voices appeared to
combine in a rushing murmur, so as to convince
us that they must now inevitably become
distinct. But no; that point was never fully