At each step he retraced his courage began to fail him, while he thought of the galloping goblin, and passed by the spot where he usually put on his boots. At this instant a loud thunder-clap shook the very heavens, and the publican made sure that it was a signal for the sprite to mount. The blast howled along the lawn, and as ever and anon the moon peeped forth from amid a dark mass of clouds, the undulating pines and gaunt shadowy elm-trees looked like a row of ghosts standing rank and file upon the road.

The great gates of the park now appeared in sight, but our luckless wight had scarcely ventured a few paces towards them, when distant shouts arrested his attention. The sound lengthened as it advanced, and the quick echo of approaching footsteps was distinctly heard. "Heaven and earth, who or what can it be!" thought Boniface. His conjectures then wandered over every probable perand at last settled in the consoling assurance sonage, that the sound was produced by the clattering of the ghost's jack-boots, who was come to maul him for the wilful exposure of his pranks. Horrid idea! For a set-too with man his fists and punch had prepared him; but a turn-up with a spectre, to whom twelve stone weight was no object, was a job more unexpected than welcome. He paused to

listen the cold sweat streamed down his face. "Our father," he began, "defend us from all temptations," and "from galloping goblins" he would have added, but fear overcame religion, and he fell senseless on the ground, floored by horror and two bowls of punch.

spree." As

It is now high time to relieve the reader of his curiosity. The fact is, that on the evening of this adventure a dinner had been given at Ditton park by the sons of its owner, who were young and lively members of the University. As usual, the party was kept up till a late hour, when the gownsmen, flushed with wine sallied out for a they hastened on, roaring Bacchanalian pæans, one of them happened to stumble over something that resembled a human form. He called immediately to another, and the carcase of the genealogist was forthwith conveyed into the hall, when it was discovered, from the strong odor that exhaled from his mouth, that the patient was dead drunk.

A curious whim at this instant entered into the prolific imagination of the Cantabs. As the London waggon was about to start from an ale-house hard-by, it was resolved that our inebriated publican should be packed up in the huge family plate chest, with holes bored for ventilation, and this direction nailed to the box, "Hatchett's old White Horse

Cellar, to be left till called for."

The joke,

assisted by the facetious servility of the domestics was put into immediate execution, and the waggon started for the metropolis.

On waking from his trance, the genealogist turned round as well as his domicile would permit, and took a survey of the premises he inhabited. His disordered fancy which had not yet recovered the effects of the punch, naturally connected his present situation with the goblin foreigner, and, aided by the harsh grating of the waggon wheels, informed him that he was sure enough in the infernal regions. Visions of past iniquities then flitted across his soul. Overcharged customers, wine which forgetful of the seventh commandment had committed adultery with water, and punch innocent of spirits. Miss Susan too-the interesting defunct Miss Susan appeared before his startled imagination in a chemise lined with blue taffety, the identical dress which she wore when, suffocated by an overwhelming torrent of punch and passion, she gave up the ghost in his protecting arms. Her image now knocked hard at the well-cased chambers of his pericranium, accusing him of being in league with the punch-bowl to destroy her. "I am damned," she said, or seemed to say; while the heavily creaking waggon wheels, as they clattered along the

streets of Brentford, appeared to reverberate a sympathetic "Amen." Palsied with affright, the genealogist wist not what to do until it luckily occurred to him that his lungs had often astounded the visitors at the Castle, and he instantly resolved to ascertain whether such admiration was well founded.

George," said the driver, who was an Irishman, to his assistant, "by St. Patrick I believe that the waggon is bewitched this morning, for I have heard such a noise from that huge chest in the corner, that St. Vitus, himself must be hidden among the boxes." At this instant the trial of the publican's lungs arrested his attention. "There," said the panic-struck waggoner, "by the powers, man, he's at it again tuning up for an Irish jig, and the devil a box shall I have left. Who are you?" he continued. "The galloping goblin," returned the publican, whose ideas could dwell on nothing else. "Did'nt I tell you so?" replied the waggoner; "it's St. Vitus himself, and we shall have all the Dutch cheeses arranging themselves for a country dance."

After some such further symptoms of fear, the driver proceeded to break open the chest, and the genealogist raised himself from his imprisonment. He was at all times a singular figure but never

more so than on the present occasion. His little fat cheeks were crimsoned with every variety of color that insulted dignity assumes, and his wig independent of shape and grace, hung down with pleasing irregularity of curls upon his almost denudated occiput. When the apprehensions of the trio had abated, enquiry relative to his incarcera tion followed in due course. To this no satisfactory reply could be made. The landlord was still possessed with the idea of his having been nefariously kidnapped by the galloping goblin, for in what other manner could he account for his extraordinary imprisonment? With renewed horror therefore he gave the story of the ghost, of their former encounter, of the mention of him at the inn, and the subsequent retaliation of the phantom: Much virtuous feeling was elicited on this occasion, and all three were forthwith seized with the most confirmed symptoms of piety.

It was now day-break, the gloom had vanished from the sky, and the fresh dew glistened on the bright blades of meadow grass. The sweetness of the morning communicated its tranquillizing influence to the perturbed spirits of our genealogist, and he had just contrived to regain his usual phlegm, when the waggon rattled along the stoney pavement of Piccadilly. On reaching the White