s forced to spend the night in the King's Lynn Inn,
owing to a violent snowstorm. Retiring to bed directly after supper, he
tried to forget his disappointment in reading a volume of sermons he had
bought at a second-hand shop in Bury St. Edmunds.

"I think I can use this one," he said to himself. "It will do nicely for
the people of Aylesham. They are so steeped in hypocrisy that nothing
short of violent denunciation will bring it home to them. This I think,
however, will pierce even their skins."

A sudden noise made him spring up.

"Hounds!" he exclaimed. "And at this time of night! Good heavens!"

He flew to the window, and there, careering through the yard, baying as
they ran, were, at least, fifty luminous, white hounds. Instead of
leaping the stone wall, they passed right through it, and the bishop
then realized that they were Gabriel Hounds. The following evening he
received tidings of his son's--his only son's--death.

I have heard that the "Yeth Hounds" were seen, not so long ago, in a
parish in Yorkshire by an old poacher called Barnes. Barnes was walking
in the fields one night, when he suddenly heard the baying of the
hounds, and the hoarse shouts of the huntsman. The next moment the whole
pack hove in view and tore past him so close that he received a cut from
"the whip" on his leg. To his surprise, however, it did not hurt him, it
only felt icy cold. He then knew that he had seen the "Yeth Hounds."

_A Spectral Pack of Hounds in Russia_

A gentleman of the name of Rappaport whom I once met in Southampton told
me of an experience he had once had with a spectral pack of hounds on
the slope of the Urals. "It was about half-past eleven one winter's
night," he said, "and I was driving through a thick forest, when my
coachman suddenly leaned back in his seat and called out, 'Do you hear
that?' I listened, and from afar came a plaintive, whining sound. 'It's
not Volki, is it?' I asked. 'I'm afraid so, master,' the coachman
replied, 'they're coming on after us.'

"'But they are some way off still!' I said.

"'That is so,' he responded, 'but wolves run quick, and our horses are
tired. If we can reach the lake first we shall be all right, but should
they overtake us before we get there--' and he shrugged his great
shoulders suggestively. 'Not another word,' I cried. 'Drive--drive as if
'twere the devil himself. I have my rifle ready, and will shoot the
first wolf that shows itself.'

"'Very good, master