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 strange adventure. For some time he doubted its reality, and thought he must have been dreaming, until happening to put his hand to his head, he found that it was all but too true; he felt very cold, and he had no wig to protect it. After reflecting a little while, he retired to rest, and it was near noon next day before he awoke.

The wicked landlord had watched from early dawn for the arrival of the castle guest. Anticipating a bald head, he was prepared to receive him with well affected surprize, but secret ridicule, at his night’s adventure. As mid-day came, and no guest appeared, he grew uneasy lest the spectre had treated him too roughly—perhaps strangled, or frightened him to death. Not wishing to have carried the joke so far, he hastened with his servants in some anxiety towards the castle; and sought out the room where he had seen the light the preceding evening. He found a strange key in the door, but it was bolted, a measure Frank adopted on the ghost’s departure. He knocked with such violence that Frank leaped up at the noise, thinking, at first, that the spectre was coming on another visit. But hearing it was mine host’s voice intreating him to give some sign, Frank rose and opened the door.

“Great God, and all his saints!” cried the landlord, lifting up his hands with apparent terror, “then old Red Mantle has been here;” (the spectre