“My interest is exceedingly keen,” said I, “and though only a coward will boast of his nerves in situations wholly unfamiliar to him, yet my nerves have been seasoned in such variety of danger that I have the right to rely on them—­even in a haunted house.”

Mr. J——­ said very little more; he took the keys of the house out of his bureau, gave them to me—­and, thanking him cordially for his frankness, and his urbane concession to my wish, I carried off my prize.

Impatient for the experiment, as soon as I reached home, I summoned my confidential servant—­a young man of gay spirits, fearless temper, and as free from superstitious prejudices as any one I could think of.

“F——­,” said I, “you remember in Germany how disappointed we were at not finding a ghost in that old castle, which was said to be haunted by a headless apparition?  Well, I have heard of a house in London which, I have reason to hope, is decidedly haunted.  I mean to sleep there to-night.  From what I hear, there is no doubt that something will allow itself to be seen or to be heard—­something, perhaps, excessively horrible.  Do you think if I take you with me, I may rely on your presence of mind, whatever may happen?”

“Oh, sir! pray trust me,” answered F——­, grinning with delight.

“Very well; then here are the keys of the house—­this is the address.  Go now—­select for me any bedroom you please; and since the house has not been inhabited for weeks, make up a good fire—­air the bed well—­see, of course, that there are candles as well as fuel.  Take with you my revolver and my dagger—­so much for my weapons—­arm yourself equally well; and if we are not a match for a dozen ghosts, we shall be but a sorry couple of Englishmen.”

I was engaged for the rest of the day on business so urgent that I had not leisure to think much on the nocturnal adventure to which I had plighted my honor.  I dined alone, and very late, and while dining, read, as is my habit.  I selected one of the volumes of Macaulay’s Essays.  I thought to myself that I would take the book with me; there was so much of the healthfulness in the style, and practical life in the subjects, that it would serve as an antidote against the influence of superstitious fancy.

Accordingly, about half-past nine, I put the book into my pocket, and strolled leisurely towards the haunted house.  I took with me a favorite dog—­an exceedingly sharp, bold and vigilant bull-terrier—­a dog fond of prowling about strange ghostly corners and passages at night in search of rats—­a dog of dogs for a ghost.

It was a summer night, but chilly, the sky somewhat gloomy and overcast.  Still there was a moon—­faint and sickly, but still a moon—­and if the clouds permitted, after midnight it would be brighter.

I reached the house, knocked, and my servant opened with a cheerful smile.

“All right, sir, and very comfortable.”