ood, for instance, the very bluest
in England; but I know you Americans don't care for things of this
kind."

"You know nothing about it, and the best thing you can do is to emigrate
and improve your mind. My father will be only too happy to give you a
free passage, and though there is a heavy duty on spirits of every kind,
there will be no difficulty about the Custom House, as the officers are
all Democrats. Once in New York, you are sure to be a great success. I
know lots of people there who would give a hundred thousand dollars to
have a grandfather, and much more than that to have a family ghost."

"I don't think I should like America."

"I suppose because we have no ruins and no curiosities," said Virginia,
satirically.

"No ruins! no curiosities!" answered the Ghost; "you have your navy and
your manners."

"Good evening; I will go and ask papa to get the twins an extra week's
holiday."

"Please don't go, Miss Virginia," he cried; "I am so lonely and so
unhappy, and I really don't know what to do. I want to go to sleep and I
cannot."

"That's quite absurd! You have merely to go to bed and blow out the
candle. It is very difficult sometimes to keep awake, especially at
church, but there is no difficulty at all about sleeping. Why, even
babies know how to do that, and they are not very clever."

"I have not slept for three hundred years," he said sadly, and
Virginia's beautiful blue eyes opened in wonder; "for three hundred
years I have not slept, and I am so tired."

Virginia grew quite grave, and her little lips trembled like
rose-leaves. She came towards him, and kneeling down at his side, looked
up into his old withered face.

"Poor, poor Ghost," she murmured; "have you no place where you can
sleep?"

[Illustration: "'POOR, POOR GHOST,' SHE MURMURED; 'HAVE YOU NO PLACE
WHERE YOU CAN SLEEP?'"]

"Far away beyond the pine-woods," he answered, in a low, dreamy voice,
"there is a little garden. There the grass grows long and deep, there
are the great white stars of the hemlock flower, there the nightingale
sings all night long. All night long he sings, and the cold crystal
moon looks down, and the yew-tree spreads out its giant arms over the
sleepers."

Virginia's eyes grew dim with tears, and she hid her face in her hands.

"You mean the Garden of Death," she whispered.

"Yes, death. Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth,
with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen t