At a certain old castle on the confines of Hungary, the lord to whom it belonged had determined upon giving an entertainment worthy of his own rank and of the magnificence of the antique mansion which he inhabited.  The guests of course were numerous, and among them was a veteran officer of hussars, remarkable for his bravery.  When the arrangements for the night were made this officer was informed that there would be difficulty in accommodating the company in the castle, large as was, unless some one would take the risk of sleeping in a room supposed to be haunted, and that, as he was known to be above such prejudices, the apartment was in the first place proposed for his occupation, as the person least likely to suffer a bad night’s rest from such a cause.  The major thankfully accepted the preference, and having shared the festivity of the evening, retired after midnight, having denounced vengeance against any one who should presume by any trick to disturb his repose; a threat which his habits would, it was supposed, render him sufficiently ready to execute.  Somewhat contrary to the custom in these cases, the major went to bed, having left his candle burning and laid his trusty pistols, carefully loaded, on the table by his bedside.

He had not slept an hour when he was awakened by a solemn strain of music.  He looked out.  Three ladies, fantastically dressed in green, were seen in the lower end of the apartment, who sung a solemn requiem.  The major listened for some time with delight; at length he tired.  “Ladies,” he said, “this is very well, but somewhat monotonous—­will you be so kind as to change the tune?” The ladies continued singing; he expostulated, but the music was not interrupted.  The major began to grow angry:  “Ladies,” he said, “I must consider this as a trick for the purpose of terrifying me, and as I regard it as an impertinence, I shall take a rough mode of stopping it.”  With that he began to handle his pistols.  The ladies sung on.  He then get seriously angry:  “I will but wait five minutes,” he said, “and then fire without hesitation.”  The song was uninterrupted—­the five minutes were expired.  “I still give you law, ladies,” he said, “while I count twenty.”  This produced as little effect as his former threats.  He counted one, two, three accordingly; but on approaching the end of the number, and repeating more than once his determination to fire, the last numbers, seventeen—­eighteen—­nineteen, were pronounced with considerable pauses between, and an assurance that the pistols were cocked.  The ladies sung on.  As he pronounced the word twenty he fired both pistols against the musical damsels—­but the ladies sung on!  The major was overcome by the unexpected inefficacy of his violence, and had an illness which lasted more than three weeks.  The trick put upon him may be shortly described by the fact that the female choristers were placed in an adjoining room, and that he only fired at their reflection thrown forward into that in which he slept by the effect of a concave mirror.