night after this event she was frightened almost to death by a strange unaccountable noise in the said cellar.  The household was called up and a search made, but nothing was found to clear up the mystery.  The next night, as soon as the lights were extinguished and the house quiet, this dreadful noise was heard again.  This time it was most alarming:  a sound of squeaking, crying, knocking, pattering feet; then a dull scratching sound, with many other such ghostly noises, which continued throughout the livelong night.  The old lady lay in bed with the candle alight, pale and sleepless with fright, anon muttering her prayers, anon determined to fire off the rusty old blunderbuss that hung over the chimneypiece.  At last the morning broke, and the cock began to crow.  “Now,” thought she, “the ghosts must disappear.”  To her infinite relief, the noise really did cease, and the poor frightened dame adjusted her nightcap and fell asleep.  Great preparations had she made for the next night; farm servants armed with pitchforks slept in the house; the maids took the family dinner-bell and the tinder-box into their rooms; the big dog was tied to the hall-table.  Then the dame retired to her room, not to sleep, but to sit up in the arm-chair by the fire, keeping a drowsy guard over the neighbor’s loaded horse-pistols, of which she was almost as much afraid as she was of the ghost in the cellar.  Sure enough, her warlike preparations had succeeded; the ghost was certainly frightened; not a noise, not a sound, except the heavy snoring of the bumpkins and the rattling of the dog’s chain in the hall, could be heard.  She had gained a complete victory; the ghost was never heard again on the premises, and the whole affair was soon forgotten.  Some weeks afterward some friends dropped in to take a cup of tea and talk over the last piece of gossip.  Among other things the wine was mentioned, and the maid sent to get some from the cellar.  She soon returned, and gasping for breath, rushed into the room, exclaiming, “’Tis all gone, ma’am;” and sure enough it was all gone.  “The ghost has taken it”—­not a drop was left, only the empty cask remained; the side was half eaten away, and marks of sharp teeth were visible round the ragged margins of the newly made bungholes.

This discovery fully accounted for the noise the ghost had made, which caused so much alarm.  The aboriginal rats in the dame’s cellar had found out the wine, and communicated the joyful news to all the other rats in the parish; they had assembled there to enjoy the fun, and get very tipsy (which, judging from the noise they made, they certainly did) on this treasured cask of wine.  Being quite a family party, they had finished it in two nights; and having got all they could, like wise rats they returned to their respective homes, perfectly unconscious that their merry-making had nearly been the death of the rightful owner and “founder of the feast.”  They had first gnawed out the cork, and got as much