out of which rose another fine and beautiful church, the stones of which had taken upon themselves a lovely soft gray with age. I think there is no country in the world where Time tones and tints the stones of buildings so pleasantly as it does in England. The people in this part of Lincolnshire should be good, if an ample supply of fine churches makes for goodness. Still one can never be certain of anything in this uncertain world, for does not the poet declare that—
Wherever God erects a house of prayer,
The Devil always builds a chapel there:
And 'twill be found upon examination,
The latter has the largest congregation.
We had been informed by a Lincolnshire antiquary, whom by chance we had become acquainted with during the journey, that the rectory at Wrangle was haunted by a ghost in the shape of a green lady, and that this ghost had upon one occasion left behind her a memento of one of her nocturnal visitations, in the shape of a peculiar ring—surely a singular, if not a very irregular thing, for a spirit to do. Moreover, the enthusiastic and good-natured antiquary most kindly gave us his card to be used as an introduction to the rector, who he said would gladly give us all particulars. The story interested us, and the opportunity that fortune had placed in our way of paying a visit to a haunted house was too attractive to be missed. So, bearing this story in mind, and finding ourselves in Wrangle, we forthwith drove straight up to the rectory, an old-fashioned
