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Ghost Stories

Erichtho
When Sextus sought Erichtho he chose his time in t...

The Ghost Of Peg Alley's Point
Peg Alley's Point is a long and narrow strip of wooded ...

In The Blackfriars Wynd
''Twill be a black day for auld Scotland when she cea...

General Suggestions
In ascertaining what is desirable to the conveniences, ...

The Dog In The Haunted Room
The author's friend, Mr. Rokeby, lives, and has lived f...

The Vision Of The Bride
Colonel Meadows Taylor writes, in The Story of my Life ...

The Stalls Of Barchester Cathedral
This matter began, as far as I am concerned, with the r...

The Credulous Peasants
No longer ago than the year 1788, when the husbandmen...

The Starving Millionaire
This story was also in the papers. It created a sensa...

'meenister' Machiavelli
The soul of the Minister of Bleakhope was disquieted ...





Black Spirits And White






No 252 Rue M Le Prince
When in May, 1886, I found myself at last in Paris, I naturally determined to throw myself on the charity of an old chum of mine, Eugene Marie d'Ardeche, who had forsaken Boston a year or more ago on receiving word of the ...

In Kropfsberg Keep
To the traveller from Innsbrueck to Munich, up the lovely valley of the silver Inn, many castles appear, one after another, each on its beetling cliff or gentle hill,--appear and disappear, melting into the dark fir trees ...

The White Villa
When we left Naples on the 8.10 train for Paestum, Tom and I, we fully intended returning by the 2.46. Not because two hours time seemed enough wherein to exhaust the interests of those deathless ruins of a dead civilizati...

Sister Maddelena
Across the valley of the Oreto from Monreale, on the slopes of the mountains just above the little village of Parco, lies the old convent of Sta. Catarina. From the cloister terrace at Monreale you can see its pale walls a...

Notre Dame Des Eaux
West of St. Pol de Leon, on the sea-cliffs of Finisterre, stands the ancient church of Notre Dame des Eaux. Five centuries of beating winds and sweeping rains have moulded its angles, and worn its carvings and sculpture do...

The Dead Valley
I have a friend, Olof Ehrensvaerd, a Swede by birth, who yet, by reason of a strange and melancholy mischance of his early boyhood, has thrown his lot with that of the New World. It is a curious story of a headstrong boy a...