HOUSES.--A NIGHT SPENT ALONE WITH A GHOST.--KIRBY, THE
ACTOR.--COLT'S PISTOLS VERSUS HOBGOBLINS.--THE MYSTERY EXPLAINED.

A great many persons believe more or less in haunted houses. In almost
every community there is some building that has had a mysterious
history. This is true in all countries, and among all races and nations.
Indeed it is to this very fact that the ingenious author of the
"Twenty-seventh-street Ghost" may attribute his success in creating such
an excitement. In fact, I will say, "under the rose," he predicted his
hopes of success entirely upon this weakness in human nature. Even in
"this day and age of the world" there are hundreds of deserted buildings
which are looked upon with awe, or terror, or superstitious interest.
They have frightened their former inhabitants away, and left the
buildings in the almost undisputed possession of real moles, bats, and
owls, and imaginary goblins and sprites.

In the course of my travels in both hemispheres I have been amazed at
the great number of such cases that have come under my personal
observation.

But for the present, I will give a brief account of a haunted house in
Yorkshire, England, in which some twenty years ago, Kirby, the actor,
who formerly played at the Chatham Theatre, passed a pretty strange
night. I met Mr. Kirby in London in 1844, and I will give, in nearly his
own language, a history of his lone night in this haunted house, as he
gave it to me within a week after its occurrence. I will add, that I saw
no reason to doubt Mr. Kirby's veracity, and he assured me upon his
honor that the statement was literally true to the letter. Having myself
been through several similar places in the daytime, I felt a peculiar
interest in the subject, and hence I have a vivid recollection of nearly
the exact words in which he related his singular nocturnal adventure.
One thing is certain: Kirby was not the man to be afraid of trying such
an experiment.

"I had heard wonderful stories about this house," said Mr. Kirby to me,
"and I was very glad to get a chance to enter it, although, I confess,
the next morning I was about as glad to get out of it."

"It was an old country-seat--a solid stone mansion which had long borne
the reputation of a haunted house. It was watched only by one man. He
was the old gardener,--an ancient servant of the family that once lived
there, and a person in whom the family reposed implicit confidence.

"Having had some inkling