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DO you believe in ghosts,
Mrs. Partington?” it was
asked of the old lady, somewhat
timidly.

“To be sure I do,” replied
she, “as much as I
believe that bright fulminary
there will rise in the
yeast to-morrow morning, if
we live and nothing happens.
Two apprehensions have
sartinly appeared in our
own family. Why, I saw
my dear Paul, a fortnight
before he died, with my own eyes, jest as plain as I see
you now; and though it turned out arterwards to be a
rosebush with a night-cap on it, I shall always think, to
the day of my desolation, that it was a forerunner sent
to me. 'T other one came in the night, when we were
asleep, and carried away three candles and a pint of
spirits that we kept in the house for an embarkation.
Believe in ghosts, indeed! I guess I do, and he must
be a dreadful styptic as does n't!” and she piously turned
to the part of the Book relating to the witch of Endor.