ns volens,
for an untimely death. I, who had so carefully kept out of the way of
gunpowder as a sportsman, very narrowly escaped being twice shot as a
ghost. This was but a poor reward for a walk more than a mile long, in
nights by no means of cloudless climes and starry skies; accordingly I
resolved to "give up the ghost" in earnest rather than in metaphor, and
to pay my last visit and adieus to the mansion of Farmer Sinclair. The
night on which I executed this resolve was rather memorable in my future
history.

The rain had fallen so heavily during the day, as to render the road to
the house almost impassable, and when it was time to leave, I inquired
with very considerable emotion, whether there was not an easier way
to return. The answer was satisfactory, and my last nocturnal visit at
Farmer Sinclair's concluded.

CHAPTER VI.

Why sleeps he not, when others are at rest?--Byron.

According to the explanation I had received, the road I was now to
pursue was somewhat longer, but much better, than that which I generally
took. It was to lead me home through the churchyard of--, the same, by
the by, which Lord Vincent had particularized in his anecdote of the
mysterious stranger. The night was clear, but windy: there were a few
light clouds passing rapidly over the moon, which was at her full,
and shone through the frosty air, with all that cold and transparent
brightness so peculiar to our northern winters. I walked briskly on till
I came to the churchyard; I could not then help pausing (notwithstanding
my total deficiency in all romance) to look for a few moments at the
exceeding beauty of the scene around me. The church itself was extremely
old, and stood alone and grey, in the rude simplicity of the earliest
form of gothic architecture: two large dark yew-trees drooped on each
side over tombs, which from their size and decorations, appeared to be
the last possession of some quondam lords of the soil. To the left, the
ground was skirted by a thick and luxuriant copse of evergreens, in the
front of which stood one tall, naked oak, stern and leafless, a very
token of desolation and decay; there were but few grave stones scattered
about, and these were, for the most part, hidden by the long wild grass
which wreathed and climbed round them. Over all, the blue skies and
still moon shed that solemn light, the effect of which, either on the
scene or the feelings, it is so impossible to describe.

I was just about