the morning, before
breakfast, I went to the nearest baths to get a shower-bath. They kept
me waiting longer than I thought reasonable, and seeing a man in a cap
in the passage, I went to him and said: "I really must request that
you'll be good enough to see about this shower-bath;" and it was Hullah!
waiting for another bath.

Rumours were brought into the house on Saturday night, that there was a
"ghost" up at Larkins's monument. Plorn was frightened to death, and I
was apprehensive of the ghost's spreading and coming there, and causing
"warning" and desertion among the servants. Frank was at home, and
Andrew Gordon was with us. Time, nine o'clock. Village talk and
credulity, amazing. I armed the two boys with a short stick apiece, and
shouldered my double-barrelled gun, well loaded with shot. "Now
observe," says I to the domestics, "if anybody is playing tricks and has
got a head, I'll blow it off." Immense impression. New groom evidently
convinced that he has entered the service of a bloodthirsty demon. We
ascend to the monument. Stop at the gate. Moon is rising. Heavy shadows.
"Now, look out!" (from the bloodthirsty demon, in a loud, distinct
voice). "If the ghost is here and I see him, so help me God I'll fire at
him!" Suddenly, as we enter the field, a most extraordinary noise
responds--terrific noise--human noise--and yet superhuman noise. B. T.
D. brings piece to shoulder. "Did you hear that, pa?" says Frank. "I
did," says I. Noise repeated--portentous, derisive, dull, dismal,
damnable. We advance towards the sound. Something white comes lumbering
through the darkness. An asthmatic sheep! Dead, as I judge, by this
time. Leaving Frank to guard him, I took Andrew with me, and went all
round the monument, and down into the ditch, and examined the field
well, thinking it likely that somebody might be taking advantage of the
sheep to frighten the village. Drama ends with discovery of no one, and
triumphant return to rum-and-water.

Ever affectionately.

[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

BIDEFORD, NORTH DEVON, _Thursday Night, Nov. 1st, 1860._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

I write (with the most impracticable iron pen on earth) to report our
safe arrival here, in a beastly hotel. We start to-morrow morning at
nine on a two days' posting between this and Liskeard in Cornwall. We
are due in Liskeard (but nobody seems to know anything about the roads)
on Saturday