Now if Venn was a likely man to have seen a ghost, it was not less clear that Venn's studio was the very place of all others in which a ghost-from all one had ever read or heard by tale or history of ghosts -would be likely to make its appearance. It was a large room, so large that it seemed hardly possible by any process of lighting to disperse the gloom that would somehow gather in its corners. Indeed, not the painting-room simply, but every other room in the house, seemed to present itself as a likely and promising haunt for a ghost. Almost everywhere a mysterious murkiness pervaded; projecting masses of wall flung dark shadows, sunken windows starved the light, while dust-crusted panes sullied it. And then the stairs creaked, the boards started, the wainscot cracked in a way that was certainly rather alarming: especially when you had once got thoroughly into your mind the notion that the house was haunted. Hitherto, I confess, such an idea had not occurred to me, and I had constantly visited Venn, passing up and down his great staircase, and in and out of his great grim rooms without ever suspecting that ghosts were possibly dogging my steps, or lurking in corners watching my movements, or creeping into nooks and corners to get out of my way. Now, however, I saw the thing from a very different point of view. It was palpable the place was haunted. As I glanced over my shoulder, and round the roomnot without, I admit, a vague dread of detecting some horrid object, unperceived before, crouching among the distant shadows-I felt more and more convinced of the fact. We had often laughed at Venn about his cheap house, had made facetious reference to its being in chancery, the property of a lunatic landlord, and so on, but I don't think we had ever hit upon the real truth, now so self-evident, it was beyond all question Venn had got his house

cheaply because it was haunted, and no one else could be found to live in it.

And yet, after all, there was little enough in the studio; it was simply a large room, barely habitable from the comfortless way in which it was fitted up. Venn carried his views as to the picturesqueness of dirt and litter to quite an excess; he never permitted the dust to be disturbed, or a cobweb to be removed. Some of us were, on the other hand, very dainty about our studios, decking them with carved oak and choice specimens of china and Venetian glass, hangings of medieval tapestry, cut velvet, or stamped leather, making them as spruce and pretty as a lady's boudoir. Venn denounced all such doings as fopperies and finicking rubbish. 'I hate to be surrounded by things I can smash or spoil. I only want room to turn round and splash my oils or spurt my turps about in. This is a studio, not a hair-cutting saloon. Some of you fellows can't paint unless you have diamond rings on your fingers, and bear's-grease on your hair, and scent on your pockethandkerchiefs. You'll mix your colours with eau-de-Cologne, next. This studio not comfortable! What more do you want? Ar'n't there chairs to sit down upon, and a square of carpet in front of the fire? It is a little ragged, I own; but that's from the hot coals jumping out of the fire now and then, and fellows dropping their fusees about. I'm not going to load the place with gimcracks and furniture, as you do. What good do you get out of them? They only cost money, and absorb the light. There's not too much of either of those articles in this studio, I can tell you.' So he held to his desolate, destitute painting-room, with its few ricketty Windsor chairs, its cloudy ceiling and uneven floor, its bare, dingy wainscoting, only ornamented here and there by a life study, or a vague outline in chalk or charcoal; stray canvases resting here and there with their faces turned to the wall, the failures to be found in all studios: inchoate undertakings which the artist can never persuade himself to complete

or destroy thoroughly, but suffers rather to wear out and perish of their own accord, aided by time and dust and damp.

'Well, tell us about this ghost, Venn,' said Tom Thoroton. We had waited for some few minutes, in hopes that Venn would volunteer a narration on the subject. But he did not seem inclined to speak; sat quietly smoking his pipe, apparently absorbed in the contemplation of its well-coloured bowl. It was evident that he required to be stimulated into talking by coaxing and questioning.

'Tell us about this ghost, Venn.' What do you want to know about it?' he asked.

'When did you first see it?'

Not long after I took this house.'

• Weren't you frightened?'

'Well, not exactly frightened. I was vexed and annoyed at first, but I got used to it afterwards; there was nothing so very alarming about it.'

'Did it stay long?'
"Some few days.'

What! then you saw it by daylight? I thought ghosts never appeared except at night?'

'Ah, it's clear you get your notion of ghosts from the theatre; you're thinking of "his majesty of buried Denmark," and Banquo, and the tent scene in Richard the Third. But the ghosts have changed all that; they take their walks by day now as well as by night.'

'You're joking, Venn.'

'Very well, then, let's change the subject; I didn't start it; and I'm sure I don't want to go on with it.'

But of course we were not going to let the thing drop in that unsatisfactory way. Venn's coyness only piqued our curiosity the more.

'No, no,' I said, 'let's hear all about it, old fellow. Does it come often?'

'Well, no. I couldn't stand it constantly; it would be rather too much of a good thing, you know. A little of it I don't so much mind; but of course it would be terribly in the way of my work if it were here always. I should have to give up the place, in fact.'

'But how often does it come?' 'Well; two or three times a year, say-not more.'

And stop a few days each time?' 'Exactly.'

'Hanged if I should like it, though,' said Tom Thoroton; and he passed his hand across his forehead. 'It's all very well for you, Venn, to talk in that cool way about it; but I know I should be terribly upset if a ghost were to come and take up his abode in my place for days together. I shouldn't be able to do a stroke of work while it stayed, or to get a wink of sleep, or to eat or drink ever so little.' Tom Thoroton emptied his tumbler. He looked very white, I thought. He was at all times a young fellow of rather an active imagination.

And

'One gets used to things,' said Venn, with a philosophical air; 'and I always find that if one's appetite goes away, it comes back again, sure enough. I wish one's money would do the same.'

'Does it come upon you suddenly, or do you know when to expect it?' 'Well, some time before, I have a notion that it will make its appearance.'

'Ah! I see; a presentiment?' 'A presentiment, if you like.' 'A presage of coming misfortune?'

'That, too, if you will have it so. I don't go in for fine language much, myself."

You find yourself disturbed in mind; oppressed in an unaccountable way?"

'I find that after certain bad attacks of extravagance and idleness, comes a depression of spirits, and then, the ghost.'

if he gives his mind to it. For my part I feel penitent, and a little ashamed; and I lock myself up till I'm better. I don't care to go whining about, making everybody miserable under the pretence of obtaining their sympathy.'

I don't know whether Venn meant it so or not; but this was certainly rather hard upon some of us, who, I own, were a little apt to impart not only our joys but also our griefs, in fact, especially our griefs, to our friends, without much regard to their feelings so long as we obtained some small sense of relief by the proceeding.

'But you're not speaking of a real ghost, Venn, but a sort of apparition of the mind, born of gloom, and idleness, and some irregularity of life, and consequent contrition. Your ghost is only the result of a disordered fancy, weakened nerves, disturbed health.'

'Nothing of the kind,' said Venn, quietly. 'I'm speaking of a real ghost, tangible, unmistakable, who comes into this studio, and sits in that chair for long, long hours together.'

He pointed to the 'sitter's' chair, raised on a dais, the usual studio property. Of course we all turned to look at the chair, following his hand as he pointed to it, almost expecting to see the ghost then and there occupying that seat of vantage. No ghost was there, however.

'By George! it must be very awful,' said Tom Thoroton, in a moved voice. Fancy a ghost coming into a fellow's studio, and sitting down there for hours together! By George! enough to drive a fellow mad.'

'As I said before, Tom, it's annoying until one gets accustomed to it.'

Is the ghost-a woman?' asked Frank Ripley.

'No, Frank-you needn't grinnot a woman; not at all like a woman.'

Frank Ripley's organ of veneration was by no means well developed. It was no laughing matter that we were discussing. Perhaps in truth he was only laughing--as the scoffer will sometimes laughto conceal his fears.

'Not a woman, Frank, nor anything so very awful, Tom. I'm not setting up to be tremendous in the way of nerve and pluck. But the ghost doesn't come to me in an alarming form; it is, on the contrary, a simple, unpretending ghost enough, is quiet and pacific in its nature and demeanour, seems indeed anxious to give me as little trouble as possible under the circumstances.'

'What form does it take then?'

"That of a little wizen old man in a shabby long brown great-coat, with a red comforter round his neck.'

'Why then-' I began.

'What have you got to say on the subject?' Venn inquired rather sharply, I fancied.

'Why, don't you remember? I called on you one day-there was some difficulty about my seeing you, but I was let in at last-and there was some one sitting here, answering that description: a little old man in a long brown coat, with a comforter round his neck; he was sitting quietly in that chair he didn't speak a word-in fact, I don't remember that he moved.'

'When was it?'

'Not long after Christmas.'

'Ah! yes, I remember now. Well, that was the ghost that haunts this house.'

'By Jove! then I've seen him.' I took a new interest in myself. I was master of an extraordinary experience. I also had seen a ghost. That seeing it, I didn't at the time know it to be a ghost was a little disappointing, I admit; yet in truth it did not materially affect the question.

'Then I've seen him!' I became an object of attention to the whole

old fellow?' Tom Thoroton inquired of me.

'Well, not so much as you might fancy, Tom; because, don't you see, I never thought about the man being a ghost. In fact, he didn't look the least like a ghost-that is to say, according to one's preconceived ideas as to what a ghost should look like. No more like a ghost than I look, or you, for that matter-not so much as you, perhaps, Tom, for you're looking uncommonly white to-night, old man.'

'What! the ghost was sitting there, and you didn't know that it was a ghost?'

'No; I thought the old man was a model. In fact, I think Venn said he was a model. Certainly he made a sketch of him.'

'You made a sketch of the ghost, Venn?' they all exclaimed in amazement.

'Yes, a very slight thing,' he said. 'By George, you have a nerve!' cried Tom Thoroton, admiringly.

'Here's the sketch,' said Venn, as he took a millboard from a corner of the room. 'It's flimsy enough, and a little too low in tone; but it was done on a very dark day. It will give you some idea of the man. I described him as a model, because -well—because,' he explained, halflaughing, I thought it would be pleasanter for all parties that his real character should not be revealed; it saved a great deal of awkwardness and troublesome explanation; nothing could be more embarrassing, I should think, than a formal introduction to a ghost, as a ghost; it was better to regard him for the nonce in the light of an ordinary human being. I'm sure he was grateful to me for so considering him. You're not afraid to look at the drawing, Tom? That can't hurt you, at all events.'

We all looked at the drawing. Certainly there was nothing very remarkable about it. It was very slight, in oils; thinly painted, and sketchily treated: not well-definedhardly made out at all in places. Yet undoubtedly it bore a decided resemblance to the old man I had seen in the studio.

'Still, I wonder at your nerve,' persisted Tom Thoroton.

'Well, you see, Tom, I'm a practical sort of fellow. Given a ghost

in your studio, the question arises how to utilize him? Well,' why not make a study of him? It always is good practice to make sketches and studies of any and everything. The thing's very simple.'

'Did the ghost make any objection?'

'Not the least in the world. He was rather pleased at the idea-was flattered-glad to be of use. Ghosts, it seems to me, have a good many of the weaknesses of the flesh, and they are not nearly so black, or for that matter so white as they are often painted. For instance, the ghost in question was very happy to make himself at home. I begged him to do so, and he complied. He was even so accommodating as to smoke a pipe with me.'

'He smoked a pipe!' we all exclaimed.

Fancy smoking a pipe with a ghost!' cried Tom Thoroton in a scared voice.

'Yes; here's the identical pipe! I put it on one side for him in case he should want it again.' And Venn took from the high mantelpiece a long clay' churchwarden.' We all examined it with deep interest, though of course it was a fac-simile of thousands of other churchwardens.' But then a pipe which had been smoked by a ghost was naturally a curiosity, of its kind almost unique.

'He smoked! Did he talk?'

'Yes. But he was not a ghost of any great conversational powers. He did his best, however, to make himself agreeable. I think he appreciated my method of treating him, which was decidedly polite. I flatter myself I'm polite to every one. Why should I alter my usual line of conduct in the presence of a ghost? I was polite to him and considerate. I endeavoured to make his abode here, while it lasted, as agreeable as I could to both of us. I fancy in other haunts he meets with a less pleasant reception. When you come to think of it, you know, people generally are really very rude to

ghosts. Instead of treating them with any sort of respect, they stare at them, scream at them, call them names, such as "horrible shadow," "unreal mockery," "goblin damned;" apply to them other equally offensive epithets, and sometimes go into convulsive fits, or faint right off at the sight of them. Well, you know that's really not pleasant to the ghost, and a ghost (has his feelings like anybody else places him, indeed, in a very awkward and painful position. He doesn't want to disturb the peace of families, or to do any harm really. He only asks to be let alone. Perfect quiet is much more congenial to him than indecent uproar and alarm. If his appearance is not attractive, that's hardly to be considered as his fault. presence is objectionable, he can't very well help that. I'll undertake to say he doesn't really want to be wandering about to and fro upon the earth, making himself unpleasant. He'd much prefer sitting quietly at home-wherever that may be-if he could have altogether his own way in the matter.'

If his

This is all very well, you know, Venn; but if the ghost were to come in now, you wouldn't like it.'

'I quite admit it, Frank. I should dislike it very much. Still, I trust I should know how to behave with a proper regard for the decencies of life. A ghost understands seemly behaviour; while for good manners I'm convinced that ghosts have quite as good manners, as-well, let us say picture-dealers.'

'But are you sure this is a ghost, Venn? Are there no other lodgers in the house?'

'None, only the old woman-my housekeeper-who let you fellows in and who'll let you out, presently; there's no hurry.'

'But how do you account for this ghost?'

'Ah, that's a very grave question (I don't mean a pun). I may have a notion myself on the subject.' 'Well, what is it?'

'No. I won't state it just at present. I should like to hear first what is the usual theory about ghosts. Can any one tell me?-in a few words, of course. No one wants to

have a long lecture on the subject.'

'Well. A man dies with something on his mind, consequently his spirit can get no rest, but continues to haunt the earth,' explained Tom Thoroton.

And that something on his mind?'

'Well, let us say that in his lifetime he has hidden a treasure, which remains undiscovered; he has died suddenly without time to make a revelation on the subject. Perhaps for want of the money his family are in great distress, so he can't rest quiet, but haunts the place where his treasure lies secreted. Plenty of ghost stories run like that. There may be some treasure hidden beneath the floor of this room.'

'If I thought it I'd soon have the boards up and secure it. But I don't believe a word of it. The only treasure in this room amounts to about fifteen and fourpence, which I have here'-Venn slapped his pocket as he spoke. Only fifteen and fourpence-and I owe-well, never mind how much I owe. Of course I don't include in my calculation such small coin as you fellows may have in your pockets. Your money can't be said in any way to pertain to the room. No, Tom: I can't admit your explanation about the buried treasure. It's too improbable. A buried treasure in a studio! Impossible!'

'But it needn't be a buried treasure,' cried Thoroton; 'ghosts haunt places for other reasons than that. Instance, a sin committed, unatoned for, unavenged.'

'Ah!' Venn seemed to think this explanation more reasonable. But what sort of a sin? Something rather strong in that way, of course?'

'Well, say a bigamy!' Thoroton exclaimed rather at random. I fancy he had been reading a good many sensation novels of late.

'Or a forgery!' suggested some one. 'Or embezzlement!' 'Or arson!' 'Or murder!' Then there was silence for a few minutes. 'What do you say, Venn?' Thoroton asked breathlessly.