words were Italian, written in a crabbed, old-fashioned hand, and the whole seemed to be a plan, or sketch, rudely drawn, of what I at first thought was a camp—but, on closer examination, I saw was part of a churchyard, with tomb stones, from one of which lines were drawn to various dots, and along these lines were numbers, and here and there a word as right, left, &c. There were also two lines forming a right angle, which intersected the whole, and after contemplating the thing for some time, it struck me that it was a rude sort of map of the old churchyard and the hedge, which had formed the subject of conversation some days before.
"At breakfast, I mentioned what I had observed to Mr. and Mrs. Greathead, and they said they believed it was; it had been found when the old house was pulled down, and was kept on account of its antiquity.
"'Of what period is it,' I asked, 'and how happens it to have been made by an Italian?'
"'The last question I can't answer,' said Mr. Greathead; 'but the date is on it, I believe.'
"'No,' said I, 'I examined it particularly—there is no date.'
"'Oh, there is a date and name, I think—but I never examined it myself;' and to settle the question he desired his son Harry to run up and fetch it, adding, 'you know Italian architects and designers of various kinds, were not rare in this country a few centuries ago.'
"Harry brought the frame, and we were confirmed in our conjectures of what it represented, but we could find no date or name.
"'And yet I think I've heard there was one,' said Mr. Greathead. 'Let us take it out of the frame?'
"This was easily done, and we found the date and the name; the count paused, and then added, 'I dare say you can guess it?'
"'Jacopo Ferraldi?' I said.
"'It was,' he answered; and it immediately occurred to me that he had buried the money supposed to have been stolen on the night he was murdered, and that this was a plan to guide him in finding it again. So I told Mr. Greathead the story I have now told you, and mentioned my reasons for supposing that if I was correct in my surmise, more gold would be found.
"With the old man's map as our guide, we immediately set to work—the whole family vigorously joining in the search; and, as I expected, we found that the tombstone in the garden was the point from which all the lines were drawn, and that the dots indicated where the money lay. It was in different heaps, and appeared to have been enclosed in bags, which had rotted away with time. We found the whole sum mentioned in the memoir, and Mr. Greathead being lord of the manor, was generous enough to make it all over to me, as being the lawful heir, which, however, I certainly was not, for it was the spoil of a murderer and a thief, and it properly belonged to the Allens. But that family had become extinct; at least, so we believed, when the two unfortunate ladies were executed, and I accepted the gift with much gratitude and a quiet conscience. It relieved us from our pressing difficulties, and enabled me to wait for better times.
"'And,' said I, 'how of the ghost? was he pleased or otherwise, by the denouement?'
"'I cannot say,' replied the count; 'I have not heard of his being seen since; I understand, however, that the villagers, who understand these things better than we do, say, that they should not be surprised if he allowed the hedge and tombstone to be removed now without opposition; but Mr. Greathead, on the contrary, wished to retain them as mementoes of these curious circumstances.'"
The Dutch Officer's Story
"Well, I think nothing can be so cowardly as to be afraid to own the truth?" said the pretty Madame de B., an Englishwoman, who had married a Dutch officer of distinction.
"Are you really venturing to accuse the General of cowardice?" said Madame L.
"Yes," said Madame de B., "I want him to tell Mrs. Crowe a ghost story—a thing that he saw himself—and he pooh, poohs it, though he owned it to me before we were married, and since too, saying that he never could have believed such a thing if he had not seen it himself."
While the wife was making this little tirade, the husband looked as if she was accusing him of picking somebody's pocket—il perdait contenance quite. "Now, look at him," she said, "don't you see guilt in his face, Mrs. Crowe?"
"Decidedly," I answered; "so experienced a seeker of ghost stories as myself cannot fail to recognise the symptoms. I always find that when the circumstances is mere hearsay, and happened to nobody knows who, people are very ready to tell it; when it has happened to one of their own family, they are considerably less communicative, and will only tell it under protest; but when they are themselves the parties concerned, it is the most difficult thing imaginable to induce them to relate the thing seriously, and with its details; they say they have forgotten it, and don't believe it; and as an evidence of their incredulity, they affect to laugh at the whole affair. If the General will tell me the story, I shall think it quite as decisive a proof of courage as he ever gave in the field."
Betwixt bantering and persuasion, we succeeded in our object, and the General began as follows:—
"You know the Belgian Rebellion (he always called it so) took place in 1830. It broke out at Brussels on the 28th of August, and we immediately advanced with a considerable force to attack that city; but as the Prince of Orange hoped to bring the people to reason, without bloodshed, we encamped at Vilvorde, whilst he entered Brussels alone, to hold a conference with the armed people. I was a Lieutenant-Colonel then, and commanded the 20th foot, to which regiment I had been lately appointed.
"We had been three or four days in cantonment, when I heard two of the men, who were digging a little drain at the back of my tent, talking of Jokel Falck, a private in my regiment, who was noted for his extraordinary disposition to somnolence, one of them remarked that he would certainly have got into trouble for being asleep on his post the previous night, if it had not been for Mungo. 'I don't know how many times he has saved him,' added he.
"To which the other answered, that Mungo was a very valuable friend, and had saved many a man from punishment.
"This was the first time I had ever heard of Mungo, and I rather wondered who it was they alluded to; but the conversation slipt from my mind and I never thought of asking any body.
"Shortly after this I was going my rounds, being field-officer of the day, when I saw by the moonlight, the sentry at one of the outposts stretched upon the ground. I was some way off when I first perceived him; and I only knew what the object was from the situation, and because I saw the glitter of his accoutrements; but almost at the same moment that I discovered him, I observed a large black Newfoundland dog trotting towards him. The man rose as the dog approached, and had got upon his legs before I reached the spot. This occupied the space of about two minutes—perhaps, not so much.
"'You were asleep on your post,' I said; and turning to the mounted orderly that attended me, I told him to go back and bring a file of the guard to take him prisoner, and to send a sentry to relieve him.
"'Non, mon colonel,' said he, and from the way he spoke I perceived he was intoxicated, 'it's all the fault of that damné Mungo. Il m'a manqué.'
"But I paid no attention to what he said and rode on, concluding Mungo was some slang term of the men for drink.
"Some evenings after this, I was riding back from my brother's quarter—he was in the 15th, and
