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 crowned his efforts to advance himself in the world. Having ascertained that his mistress was in good health, he left Bremen once more.

Francis now intended travelling towards one of the sea-port towns in the Netherlands, in order to sail for the New World, in hopes of there redeeming his fortunes. Accordingly, on his route thither he crossed the deserts of Westphalia, and at last, wearied with his toilsome journey, while not far from the boundary of the Low Countries, he desired to rest himself at an inn, in the village of Rummelsberg, near Rhineberg. The landlord thinking that his worn-out garments boded ill for the good-luck of the house, refused him quarters, on the plea that there was no room for him to lodge in. Our hero muttered heavy imprecations between his teeth, while he confronted mine host with a wrathful grin. Mine host was provoked, and being rather a waggish rogue, wished slyly to have his revenge. “Stay, young man,” said he calling him to return, “I can tell you where there is room enough, and comfortable lodgings to boot, over in that old castle there, but I shall forewarn you that a ghost is said to haunt it.”

“Oh, as for that,” said Francis, “give me plenty of candles, a chopin of good Rhenish wine, and shelter for the night, as it is now sunset, and I am