turbed spirits had often icalked with leas 
reason. 
The only two children of the family had 
met their death by accidental poisoning a few 
months previous to my little adventure — a 
fact which did not decrease the gloom of the 
house nor diminish the prejudice of neigh¬ 
bors. 
The gossips never tired of wondering 
bow poor Mrs. Bulttt — every one liked 
her and called her poor — how poor Mrs. 
Bulitt Could have the heart to sit, evening 
after evening, all alone up there In the very 
chamber where Maggy and little Bess, the 
children, had lain and died—“ let alone the 
rest of ’era.’* 
This room, in particular, had its funereal 
associations to myself; and 1 believe I never 
entered It, either before or afterward, though 
I did so frequently, without hazarding a 
half-frightened glance at ihc bed in the 
corner where 1 had so lately seen Maggy Bu¬ 
litt breathe her last, and at the long light- 
stand and the little table opposite, upon 
which the two lifeless bodies had eventually 
been placed for post-mortem examinations. 
Well, well! All the same, I made sure of 
my bunch of keys, and ran out alone on my 
disagreeable errand. 
I groped along through the dark hall, and 
up the flight of stairs at the eud, as best I 
might. 
A stilling swirl of close air met me on the 
upper landing, and nearly drove me back; 
it smelled so much, to my fancy, like bom¬ 
bazine and fresh coffins. 
The old building was dilapidated and for¬ 
saken, subject to the winds, and so con¬ 
structed that the chance opening of an outer 
door served to establish a current of air, 
through halls and corridors, from cellar to 
garret. 
The place was possessed will) voices. There 
were noises, noises, everywhere. 
Something boomed, rattled, sighed, and 
screeched, and even howled and yelled, like 
a pack Of incarnate demons. 
Indescribable and unaccountable noises 
came down from above; and strange sounds 
and wild shrieks and sobs came up from the 
regions below, as if from the bottomless pit. 
The shaky casements clattered in the 
gusts; the doors clinked and thumped,— 
though they were locked, every one of them. 
A certain broken blind, with a rusted 
hinge, specially caught my cur. Swaying 
loosely in the wind, it flapped dolefully 
backward and forward in the uncertain 
light, like the wing of some ill-boding raven, 
and always with a monotonous screech, 
scrueh, screech, which had a sound in it 
more than half human. 
Right, in the midst of all this hubbub there 
camo a groan, high and clear; it was not 
that of a man, but of a girl; it sounded out 
shrill, penetrating, and oh, how horrible! 
Then something clammy cold struck me 
in the free. I had a little flutter at my heart, 
and I felt as if I had turned pale; but it was 
all over in a minute, for I immediately re¬ 
covered myself sufficiently to perceive that 
the blow was only a slap from one of the 
oiled window hangings just before me, and 
to make sure that the groan also proceeded 
from some natural cause. It came from the 
crazy, old, creaking lightning-rod a few feet 
outside the window, I ascertained, as soon 
as I bad my wits about mo once more. 
After all. there is a great, difference,! enn 
tell yon, between fancying a tiling and ac¬ 
tually seeing and bearing It. So 1 found. 
I unlocked the chamber door to go in; 
but I could not get it open, until I at last 
remembered that the worthy housekeeper, 
after the manner of over-careful old women, 
had, to make assurance doubly sure, fastened 
the latch down with a nail. Let nobody say 
there was no sense in that. I don’t pretend 
there was, but there was comfort in it; for 
the door being secured like that on the out¬ 
side, there could be nobody within. 
As l soon learned by feeling, the matches 
were not on the long stand under the mir¬ 
ror, where I had expected to And them; and 
they were not to be seen anywhere else in 
the darkened apartments. 
I rolled up one of the inner shades, and 
set out to open the windows and throw back 
the blinds. 
I resolved to hazard no glances at the bed 
in the corner, come what would; because I 
could not help imagining poor Maggy’s 
wan face there, as I had last seen it. 1 
turned my head, after all, in the interdicted 
direction. It was quite In opposition to my 
inclination, as it seemed, quite. I did it, 
just as I was mentally clinching the deter¬ 
mination not to do it. I attribute the fact to 
that subtle force in human nature, which, 
for want of a better name, I will term the 
fascination of repulsion. 
There came a piercing cry, half a sob, 
and half a wail,—a Unman wail. It burst 
from the couch while 1 stood looking at it, 
with my head turned over my shoulder, I 
dropped the sash without catching back the 
blinds. The wind closed one of them, but 
blew the other wide open; and I could see 
well, by the increased and increasiug light, 
that the drapery of the bed was entirely un¬ 
disturbed. There was plainly nothing in, 
nor upon the latter, and no sign of any 
thing. The sheet, was folded down smoothly, 
at top, just as Mrs. Bulttt, who was fas¬ 
tidious in these little matters, always left it. 
The holster and pillows lay plump and un¬ 
rumpled above. 
Believe it or not, as you like; but directly 
the bed began to shake and quiver and toss 
up and down, as if some one inside it was 
in mortal agony. Yet nobody was within 
it as plainly appeared. Nobody could be 
within it. Theonly door of access I had just 
found fastened on the outside; it had been 
so for nearly a fortnight; and as for the win¬ 
dows, they were absolutely unapproachable 
from the exterior. 
What did I do? At first, nothing at all. 
I couldn’t do anything. I was petrified 
with terror. When people talk, in a vague 
way, about being paralyzed with such and 
such an emotion, they do not in the least 
realize the force of their words; but I mean 
exactly what I say. To ray dying day I 
shall never forget the deadly horror of that 
one intense instant. 
Naturally, I tried to scream ; but my 
throat and lips refused their wonted office. 
I thought, perhaps, I was dreaming or 
crazy—who knew but I was turning crazy ? 
—I wanted to pluck my arm to find whether 
or not I could feel the impression; but do 
you think I could stir a linger? Not I. 
I had heard speak of optical illusions, and 
1 said to myself, “ Perhaps this is one;” but 
all the while I knew better; for, as I before 
observed, what 1 see 1 lame. There was no 
imagination about the matter; it was a hor¬ 
rid, horrid reality. 
A second harrowing wail from the couch 
dissolved the spell and set me free. The 
drapery, and even the bed itself, was now 
throbbing fearfully, and soon began to heave 
up and down with the restless, labored mo¬ 
tion which I so well remembered to have 
watched one dreadful morning a few short 
months before during my poor Macgy’s 
parting throes. 
I had no very dazzling array of ethical 
maxima in store in those early days, I am 
afraid ; 1ml 1 hail, even at that time, two 
well-established doctrinal points incorpor¬ 
ated in my religious creed — points which 
have always stood me in good stead. The 
first and cardinal principle was this:—If 
you are elected to be saved you will be saved 
anyhow, and may as well go ahead. Second¬ 
ly, no ghost Is a ghost., but is something 
quite different, if you but. have the sense and 
pluck to find it out. 
Fortified by these two practical generali¬ 
zations 1 made a mad rush toward the 
haunted corner of the chamber, resolute to 
find out, by actual inspection, what was 
really the matter there. It was not an act 
ot personal courage at all. I should have 
run away, of course, if I had only thought of 
it, but I did not, fortunately. 
Instinctively I went toward the head of 
the couch to throw off the pillows, to strip 
down the bedding, and then to take such 
other steps toward a general Investigation, 
as my impulses—none of the bravest, be 
sure—should inspire. 
Now iti approaching the bod 1 projected 
my shadow toward it, and across the pil¬ 
lows. As I moved quite up to it, however, 
and stood beside it. of course my shadow 
flitted off. 
Judge of my horror when I saw that 
something still lingered behind the shadow 
and occupied its place. 
It was like nothing in the world, you can 
think of. It was grey and shadowy, a phan¬ 
tom, an indescribable presence. It seemed 
a palpable vision, an apparition. It was 
without features, without absolute definite 
form. But yet, it had a vague, indistinct 
shape, which, in general outline, impressed 
one as being not unlike the top of a human 
head. Withal, it quivered and palpitated, 
as i fit were alive. 
I stood true to my purpose, notwithstand¬ 
ing, I suppose I was too thoroughly fright¬ 
ened, to be scared at any thing, whatever. I 
snatched the pillow from under the very 
wraith itself, and dashed it against the oppo¬ 
site wall. 
The phantom struggled and groaned. It 
writhed and wailed. And IV T shut my 
eyes, like the week-minded creature I was, 
and am, and heroically tugged, with might 
and main, at the outermost bed-covering. 
Off I dragged it in triumph. 
The apparition seemed rather to like these 
proceedings. As a grand finale it sprang in¬ 
to my arms. At least it would have done 
so, bad I but spread my arms to the embrace. 
The well-known place for the standard 
moral of a story, is at the very close of it. 
Nevertheless, I have a caprice for inserting 
that of the present tale, just here. Behold 
it, therefore: 
MORAL. 
If ever you aspire to figure as an appari- 
iionist, walk, by all means, in gray, spectral 
and shadowy; and let it be of that precise 
tint which matches the back of a Maltese 
cat. 
Black is black, certainly, tlie world over. 
Nobody will deny that—but then ! 
White is ghostly, and is horribly sugges¬ 
tive of tomb stones, and of the awe-inspiring 
etcetera of extinct life. 
But for a good, rousing, spoolcish effect, 
give me plain, neutral gray, a shade which 
is itself, a condensed, substantiated, crystal- 
ized shadow. __ 
Well, after all, it was a cat, only a oat, 
that did it all; a great, abominable, Maltese 
creature. She had the proverbial nine lives 
of her kind, and somehow she had managed 
to live a fortnight, almost, without anything 
to eat or drink, that I could think of. 
The miserable, starving animal, finding 
herself shut in, had mounted the bed at its 
hack, and had worked her way to the mid¬ 
dle of it for warmth, underneath the cover¬ 
ing, and a thin mattrass next below. 
Quite, of course, the creature had tried to 
stand tip when she heard a noise In the 
room, and had made violent efforts to extri¬ 
cate herself from her horrible position. Her 
being half-famished, half-smothered, and 
wholly frantic, accounted for the uncanny 
timhre , as the French call it, of her cry, 
As to the awful presence., the appalUng 
shape, and all the rest of it, the leas said 1 he 
better. Sifted down to plain matter-of-fact., 
the whole resolved itself into the arched, 
and, in that peculiar light, the shadowy figure 
of poor Lady Grimalkin. That was her 
name, by the way. .My Lady had got her 
back up, hi an entirely literal sense. 
Neither more nor less. 
In trying to follow her back into daylight, 
instead of her nose, puss had failed signally, 
until I, all unwittingly, seconded her con¬ 
vulsive efforts. 
Well, as my brother Bob classically ob¬ 
served concerning the affair:—“ It was a big 
scare for Mira it able.” 
That’s me, Hetty. 
I am a horrible old maid, now, but I hate 
cals. 
- - 444 - 
THE FORGOTTEN PROMISE. 
♦ r ” 
A young man and bis wife were preparing 
to attend a Christmas party at the house of 
a friend. 
“Henry, my dear husband, don’t drink 
too much at the party to-day,” said she, put¬ 
ting her hand upon his brow, and raising 
her eyes to his face with a pleading smile. 
“ No, Millie, I will not, you may trust me," 
and she wrapped her infant in a blanket, 
and they descended. The horses were soon 
prancing over the turf, and a pleasant con¬ 
versation beguiled the way. 
•* Now don't you forget your promise,” 
whispered the young wife as they passed up 
the steps. 
Poor thing! she was the wife of a man 
who loved to look upon the wine when red. 
The party passed pleasantly; the wife de¬ 
scended from the upper chamber to join her 
husband. A pnng shot through her beating 
heart as she met him, for lie was intoxicated; 
he had also broken his promise. 
Silently they drove homeward, save when 
the drunken man broke into snatches of 
song or unmeaning laughter. But the wife 
rode on, her babe pressed closely to her 
grieved heart. 
“Give me the baby. Millie I I can’t trust 
you with him,” lie said, as they approached 
a dark and swollen stream. 
After some hesitation she resigned her 
first-born — her darling babe, so closely 
wrapt in a great blanket—to bis arms. • 
Over the dark waters the noble steeds 
bore them, and when they reached the bank 
the mother asked for her child. With much 
care and tenderness he placed the bundle in 
her arms, but when she clasped it to her 
breast no babe was there! It lmdslipped 
from the blanket, and tlie drunken father 
knew it not. A wild shriek from the mother 
aroused him, and he turned just in time to 
see the little rosy face rise one moment above 
the dark waters, and sink forever—and that 
by his own intemperance. The anguish of 
the mother and the remorse of the father are 
better imagined than described. 
-♦♦♦- 
WINNING PROMOTION. 
The late Duke of York once remarked to 
Colonel W., at the mess of the Eleventh 
Regiment , that the Colonel was uncommonly 
bald, and, although a much younger man 
than his Royal Highness, he stood in more 
need of a wig. Tlie Colonel, who had been 
of very long standing in the service, and 
whose promotion had been by no means 
rapid, informed his Royal Highness that his 
baldness could easily be accounted for. 
“ In what manner,” asked the Duke. To 
which Colonel W. replied: 
“By junior officers stepping over my 
head.” 
The Duke was so pleased with the reply 
that the gallant colonel received promotion 
in a few days. 
- 44-4 - 
A blushing damsel called at one of the 
agencies the other day to buy a sewing ma¬ 
chine. “ Do you want a feller ?” inquired 
the modest clerk in attendance. Tlie in¬ 
genuous maid replied with some asperity, 
“ No, sir! I have one.” 
(Hie jlrabtlcr. 
AT WASHINGTON. 
BY KENTWOOD. 
Men are the most considerate creatures in 
the world, especially railroad conductors. 
On the night train from New York here, 
passengers have about an hour to get to 
sleep in, and when the first gentle prelimi¬ 
nary doze is soothing (be brain to stupor, 
down the aisle, thrusting couch curtains 
aside, stalks a man shouting “ tickets 1” like 
an ante-GABiUEL, Of course it is difficult to 
get to sleep again, and you worry the night 
through, and at six o'clock next morning 
find yourself at the Capital. 
The gray dawn lifts itself and tlie identity 
of the city is unmistakable. The Capitol 
itself rises fair and stately above all the debris 
and dilapidation about it. Avenues radiate 
from it like spokes from a wheel bub. Col¬ 
ored people are astonishingly plenty, and 
saunter and lounge equal to tlie most hopeful 
office-seeker. Poverty is always above par | 
in tlie District of Columbia. Congress is 
discussing an appropriation of thousands of 
dollars for the poor of the District. It is a 
species of National extortion. 11 is slip-shod 
charity, to say tlie least. The famous Miss 
Burdett Coutts gives the poor work instead 
of money. She builds factories and shops, 
and demands an equivalent for money. Such 
aid breeds true independence and escapes 
demoralization. It is time enough a hun¬ 
dred years hence for tlie Government to es¬ 
tablish and support a perpetuity of beggary. 
A Peep nt Congress. 
Would you like to be an M. C ? This is 
the Chamber of the Representatives. You 
might sit here all day and wonder when the 
session is to be called to order. It is bedlam 
incarnate. Clapping of hands, running of 
messengers, promenading and talking of 
members, rustling of papers, combine to 
make an absence of silence that is distract¬ 
ing. A member is tailring and gesticulating 
toward the Speaker. Nobody seems to heed 
bis speech unless it be visitors in the gallery. 
1 would as soon lift up my voice agaiust a 
thunder stonu or a whirlwind, or hi a herd 
of bellowing Mexican oxen, as here. Gen. 
John A. Logan puts ihc House in a roar of 
laughter by some witticism. lie saunter# 
down the aisle with both hands in his pock¬ 
ets, “black but comely.” He is one of the 
most striking men in the n<>uso. Bat if his 
face and eyes do not belie him, anything but 
a saint keeps watch and ward over his heart. 
There is a “taking” air about him that 
makes him all the more dangerous. 
Quite opposed iu person is the notorious 
Fernando Wood. Hair and mustache are 
grown white, and he walks to and fro with 
his hands crossed behind his too long-waisted 
coat. He is a gay, youthful-looking old fel¬ 
low, with an air of dandyism about him. 
In the Senate one finds more dignity and 
quiet, because, perhaps, there are fewer men. 
Parson Browni.ow shakes with the palsy 
like a leaf iu the wind. Charles Sumner 
is nowhere near so handsome as you thought, 
lie looks stolid, obstinate, self-willed and 
sensual. Roscois Conkung looks bright 
and quick, and clear and handsome, although 
red-headed and bearded. But Matt Car¬ 
penter of Wisconsin is king of the realm. 
Large and grand and genial, the women all 
say, “Ain’t he just splendid ?” There is a 
bit of importance in his air, but he undoubt¬ 
edly has aright to it, and no one objects. 
A glance among the ladies In the gallery 
and a woman in black with a small, leathern 
bag gives a glance of recognition. 
“ I thought it was you,” she began, com¬ 
ing near. “ I’ve been here a month; I am 
trying to get a bill through. Read this let¬ 
ter from W-of New York.” 
I read, and the thought flashes through 
my brain this woman is a lobbyist. It chills 
my ardor in meeting a woman not seen since 
early girlhood. But it is one of woman’s 
rights, I suppose. If the presence of women 
in Congressional chambers will harmonize 
he elements, let us pray that they enter in 
quickly. If I had a surplus of eloquence or 
wit, I would rather not waste it in the tur¬ 
moil of the Nation’s legislative halls. 
But Congress, single or double, is only a 
sort of side-show in Washington, it. loses 
its prestige when you have once seen its 
operations. Some other day we will look in 
again. 
Society Gossip. 
This afternoon we, a friend and I, at¬ 
tended the Reception at the Russian Lega¬ 
tion. These afternoon receptions are public, 
but we found only a few in the drawing¬ 
room. A carpet ran down the steps and 
across to the curbstone for the benefit of 
visitors who should come in carriages. Two 
or three lackeys, in swallow-tailed coats and 
white kids, took our cards and introduced 
us to the extraordinary lady from Russia, 
Madame de Catacazy. Bhe quite electrified 
us with her beauty, as she swept toward us 
in her royal velvet robe, with graceful, flow¬ 
ing sacque, heavy with gold embroidery. 
Just a magnificent woman, large and sym¬ 
metrical, with angelic hair, and a face fair 
as a lily and fresh as a rose. Angelic hair 
may be somewhat indefinite, but. Madame 
de Catacazy'h is gold, and sunshine and 
buttercups, nnd—in short it is quite like the 
color of the skeins of crude silk that are seen 
in cases with silk worms — a pale yellow. 
Massive braids formed a coronet, which 
was pierced through with a huge gold¬ 
headed pin. She was gracious and charm¬ 
ing os a Frenchwoman knows how to he. 
She is French, and deprecated, in a pretty 
way, the lack of French talk among Ameri¬ 
cans who read Frcuch so readily. 
The evening following came the Presi¬ 
dent’s reception, and we prepared to attend. 
It began at 8 P. M. and continued until 10. 
Any and every body could attend. We felt 
the crush of mortals at the entrance, which 
was intensified at every step. In the dress¬ 
ing-room there was hardly space to unbutton 
your cloak. And such a scene t women of 
all ages and nations, no two dressed alike, 
drawing on gloves, arranging hair, holding 
up trains and waiting anxiously for their 
escorts. 
Falling in line we were home on toward 
tlie august presence of His Excellency. A 
small man, en swallow-tail, white kids and 
white neck-tie, with a hard, stolid, dreadfully 
bored look, took our hand, looked us in the 
face seriously, and repeated the operation to 
the one behind us. He had been standing 
there nnd doing that precise thing for nearly 
two hours. Further on, Mrs. Grant was 
receiving, likewise. She seemed to endure 
it with better grace than tlie General. She 
is a short, plump body, with dark eyes which 
might lie straightcr, dark hair, and has a 
happy, good-natured look. She is retiring 
in her manners, but seems equal to her posi¬ 
tion. She was attired in a ltlnc-colored silk 
w ith fichu and trimming of point lace. 
After ten o’clock the crowd was less, and 
the President made a tour of the parlors with 
his little daughter Nellie. Bhe is a sweet¬ 
faced girl of twelve years, perhaps, and ap¬ 
pears simple and unaffected. She wore a 
white Swiss over a dress of blue silk, with 
her bonny brown hair flowing over her 
shoulders. 
The band crashed music, and tlie belles 
and beaux shone brilliantly. Trained dresses 
v'ere mostly worn, and in every sense a 
nuisance. One lady in an elegant dress of 
white satin, with point lace flounces, at¬ 
tracted general attention, because her dress 
was short. The toilettes, in the main, were 
very tasty and various. But where dress at¬ 
tracts so much attention the women inside 
are lost sight of. A few were in ordinary' 
street costume which gave, perhaps, national 
character to the scene. It was democratic. 
It may be a line thing to be in power, but I 
rather sit in a quiet nook, with a letter to 
read, than lie a President—Mr. or Mrs. 
The weather lias been delightful, soft and 
balmy and spring-like. I have kept eyes 
and ears open, but have neither time nor 
space to make even a beginning of a letter. 
1 had a charming visit with Superintendent 
Saunders at the Experimental Gardens to¬ 
day, and will give you, auon, some of his 
heretical views. The remainder of the day 
has been spent in a convent, and my head 
is full of clean, white beds, crosses, cruci¬ 
fixes, statues, holy water, beautiful girls, 
charming music and the best-n attired “ Sis¬ 
ter ” that ever lived in a black gown and 
wore a cross and rosary. 
---- ■ 
FEMININE BEAUTY AT RIO. 
A Rro Janeiro correspondent of the St. 
Louis Republican says: 
“ Female beauty is not very common here. 
Perhaps the elements are not well combined. 
But the rich colors of the skin—more charm¬ 
ing than the rose and more Boft than tlie 
sunny peach—I have seen on the Campos 
Geraes, where health, clime and culture con¬ 
spire to perfection. Tlie cheeks seem ani¬ 
mated like the diamond with inner light; 
t he eyes are black, seldom blue, and brilliant; 
the dress and deportment always modest, 
and wliat they lack in regular beauty i9 for¬ 
gotten in their amiable deportment. They 
have intelligence without much book knowl¬ 
edge. I remember a senora who asked mo 
if my country—the United States—bordered 
on Spain. 
- 444 - 
SUNKEN LAKE. 
The great natural curiosity known as 
Sunken Lake, is situated in tlie Cascade 
Mountains, about seventy-five miles north¬ 
east of Jacksonville, Oregon. The walls 
are two thousand feet high, and almost per¬ 
pendicular, running down into the water 
and leaving no beach. The depth is un¬ 
known, the surface is smooth and unruffled, 
and it lies so far below the surface of the 
mountain that the air currents'do not affect 
it. Its length is estimated at twelve miles 
and its breadth at ten. No living man has, it 
is said, ever readied the water’s edge. The 
lake lies “ silent, still, and mysterious in the 
bosom of the everlasting hills, like a huge 
well scooped out by hands of genii.” 
