general air of nausea, I concluded this ghost to be the ghost of a boy who had habitually taken a great deal too much medicine.
"Where am I?" said the little spectre, in a pathetic voice. "And why was I born in the calomel days, and why did I have all that calomel given me?"
I replied, with sincere earnestness, that upon my soul I couldn't tell him.
"Where is my little sister," said the ghost, "and where my angelic little wife, and where is the boy I went to school with?"
I entreated the phantom to be comforted, and above all things to take heart respecting the loss of the boy he went to school with. I represented to him that probably that boy never did, within humanexperience, come out well, when discovered. I urged that I myself had, in later life, turned up several boys whom I went to school with, and none of them had at all answered. I expressed my humble belief that the boy never did answer. I represented that he was a mystic character, a delusion, and a snare. I recounted how, the last time I found him, I found him at a dinner party behind a wall of white cravat, with an inconclusive opinion on every possible subject, and a power of silent boredom absolutely Titanic. I related how, on the strength of our having been together at "Old Doylance's," he had asked himself to breakfast with me (a social offense of the largest magnitude); how, fanning my weak embers of belief in Doylance's boys, I had let him in; and how he had proved to be a fearful wanderer about the earth, pursuing the race of Adam with inexplicable notions concerning the currency, and with a proposition that the Bank of England should, on pain of being abolished, instantly strike off and circulate, God knows how many thousand millions of ten-and-six-penny notes.
The ghost heard me in silence, and with a fixed stare,
"Barber!" it apostrophized me when I finished.
"Barber?" I repeated—for I am not of that profession.
"Condemned," said the ghost, "to shave a constant change of customers—now me—now a young man—now thyself as thou art—now thy father—now thy grand-father; condemned, too, to lie down with a skeleton every night, and to rise with it every morning—"
