in the hue of the skin, and gaunt and unearthly appearance of the

whole form, which no being of this world was ever seen to wear. ‘Who

are you?’ said the new tenant, turning very pale; poising the poker in

his hand, however, and taking a very decent aim at the countenance

of the figure. ‘Who are you?’ ‘Don't throw that poker at me,’ replied the

form; ‘if you hurled it with ever so sure an aim, it would pass through

me, without resistance, and expend its force on the wood behind. I am

a spirit.’ ‘And pray, what do you want here?’ faltered the tenant. ‘In

this room,’ replied the apparition, ‘my worldly ruin was worked, and I

and my children beggared. In this press, the papers in a long, long

suit, which accumulated for years, were deposited. In this room, when

I had died of grief, and long-deferred hope, two wily harpies divided

the wealth for which I had contested during a wretched existence, and

of which, at last, not one farthing was left for my unhappy

descendants. I terrified them from the spot, and since that day have

prowled by night - the only period at which I can revisit the earth -

about the scenes of my long-protracted misery. This apartment is

mine: leave it to me.’ ‘If you insist upon making your appearance

here,’ said the tenant, who had had time to collect his presence of

mind during this prosy statement of the ghost's, ‘I shall give up

possession with the greatest pleasure; but I should like to ask you one

question, if you will allow me.’ ‘Say on,’ said the apparition sternly.

‘Well,’ said the tenant, ‘I don't apply the observation personally to you,

because it is equally applicable to most of the ghosts I ever heard of;

but it does appear to me somewhat inconsistent, that when you have

an opportunity of visiting the fairest spots of earth - for I suppose

space is nothing to you - you should always return exactly to the very

places where you have been most miserable.’ ‘Egad, that's very true; I

never thought of that before,’ said the ghost. ‘You see, Sir,’ pursued

the tenant, ‘this is a very uncomfortable room. From the appearance

of that press, I should be disposed to say that it is not wholly free from

bugs; and I really think you might find much more comfortable

quarters: to say nothing of the climate of London, which is extremely

disagreeable.’ ‘You are very right, Sir,’ said the ghost politely, ‘it never

struck me till now; I'll try change of air directly’ - and, in fact, he

began to vanish as he spoke; his legs, indeed, had quite disappeared.

‘And if, Sir,’ said the tenant, calling after him, ‘if you WOULD have the

goodness to suggest to the other ladies and gentlemen who are now

engaged in haunting old empty houses, that they might be much more

comfortable elsewhere, you will confer a very great benefit on society.’

‘

I will,’ replied the ghost; ‘we must be dull fellows - very dull fellows,

indeed; I can't imagine how we can have been so stupid.’ With these

words, the spirit disappeared; and what is rather remarkable,' added

the old man, with a shrewd look round the table, 'he never came back

again.'

That ain't bad, if it's true,' said the man in the Mosaic studs, lighting

a fresh cigar.

The Pickwick Papers