Bath is a veritable cockpit of Ghostdom; its grey and venerable mansions abound in ghosts; it is for its size the most psychic town in England.
I say this because I have at my elbow no less than twenty-five well authenticated stories of haunted houses in this city: a collection that is numerically superior to that of any other town in England, saving London, and to the ghosts of London there is, as I stated at my recent lecture in Chandos Street, no end—positively no end.
One evening last January I read a paper on “My Superphysical Experiences” before an extremely intelligent, and, I venture to say, appreciative audience of Theosophists, at their headquarters, Argyll Street, Bath.
Among the number was a gentleman—quite a stranger I believe—who gave me his card and asked me to call on him next day. I did so, and in the course of a very entertaining chat he narrated to me the following story:
“Some years ago some friends of mine, named Hartley, took a house in Park Street, which, as you may know, is built on the side of a hill.
“The house suited them; it was warm, dry, and in a very tolerable state of repair; it was also in a quiet and thoroughly respectable part of the town, and the rent was low—ridiculously low—so low, indeed, that they began to wonder why it was so low.
“Anxious to find out if their neighbours were equally fortunate in the matter of rent, they made enquiries, and learned to their astonishment that every other house in the row was let at more than double the price of theirs.
“Why was this? Was their landlord a philanthropist, a Carnegie, a madman, or what?
“Or did the house contain some subtle flaw they were yet to discover to their disadvantage? Perhaps, very much to their disadvantage; for they were sufficiently worldly to discredit sentiment in business!