There was abundance of wholesome fruits
and herbs by the wayside, which the wild
man tried to reach by springing at them, but
could not.

"I am starving," the wild man complained.

"It's a Rebuke," said the very fine gentleman.

"It's the handcuffs," said the wild man.
For, he had submitted to be handcuffed before
he came out.

However, his companion wouldn't hear of
that (he said it was not official, and was
unparliamentary), so they went on and on, a
weary journey; and the wild man got nothing,
because he was handcuffed, and because the
very fine gentleman couldn't reach the fruit
for him on account of his stays; and the very
fine gentleman got what he had in his pocket.

By and by, they came to a house on fire,
where the wild man's brother was being burnt
to death, because he couldn't get out at the
door: which door had been locked seven years
before, by the very fine gentleman, who had
taken away the key.

"Produce the key," exclaimed the wild
man, in an agony, " and let my brother out."

"I meant it to have been here the day
before yesterday," returned the very fine
gentleman, in his leisurely way, " and I had it
put a-board ship to be brought here; but, the
fact is, the ship has gone round the world
instead of coming here, and I doubt if we shall
ever hear any more about it."

"It's Murder!" cried the wild man.

But, the very fine gentleman was uncommonly
high with him, for not knowing better
than that: so the brother was burnt to death,
and they proceeded on their journey.

At last, they came to a fine palace by a
river, where a gentleman of a thriving appearance
was rolling out at the gate in a very
neat chariot, drawn by a pair of blood horses,
with two servants up behind in fine purple
liveries.

"Bless my soul! '' cried this gentleman,
checking his coachman, and looking hard at
the wild man, " what monster have we here!"

Then the very fine gentleman explained
that it was a hardened creature with
whom Providence was very much incensed;
in proof of which, here he was, rebuked, crippled,
handcuffed, starved, with his brother
burnt to death in a locked-up house, and the
key of the house going round the world.

"Are you Providence? " asked the wild
man, faintly.

"Hold your tongue, sir," said the very fine
gentleman.

"Are you? " asked the wild man of the
gentleman of the palace.

The gentleman of the palace made no reply;
but, coming out of his carriage in a brisk
business-like manner, immediately put the wild man
into a strait-waistcoat, and said to the very
fine gentleman, " He shall fast for his sins."

" I have already done that," the wild man
protested weakly.

"He shall do it again," said the gentleman
of the palace.

"I have fasted from work too, through
divers causes— you know I speak the truth —
until I am miserably poor," said the wild man.

"He shall do it again," said the gentleman
of the palace.

"A day's work just now, is the breath of
my life," said the wild man.

"He shall do without the breath of his
life," said the gentleman of the palace.

Therewith, they carried him off to a hard
bench, and sat him down, and discoursed to him
ding-dong, through and through the dictionary,
about all manner of businesses except the
business that concerned him. And when they
saw his thoughts, red-eyed and angry though
he was, escape from them up to the true
Providence far away, and when they saw that he
confusedly humbled and quieted his mind before
Heaven, in his innate desire to approach it
and learn from it, and know better how to
bear these things and set them right, they said
"He is listening to us, he is doing as we would
have him, he will never be troublesome."

What that wild man really had before him,
in his thoughts, at that time of being so
misconstrued and so practised on, History shall
tell — not the narrator of this story, though he
knows full well. Enough for us, and for the
present purpose, that this tale can have no
application — how were that possible!— to the
year one thousand eight hundred and fifty-five.

A GHOST STORY.

I will relate to you, my friend, the whole
history, from the beginning to nearly the
end.

The first time that—  that it happened,
was on this wise.

My husband and myself were sitting in a
private box at the theatre— one of the two
large London theatres. The performance
was, I remember well, an Easter piece, in
which were introduced live dromedaries and
an elephant, at whose clumsy feats we were
considerably amused. I mention this to show
how calm and even gay was the state of both our
minds that evening, and how little there was
in any of the circumstances of the place or
time to cause, or render us liable to— what
I am about to describe.

I liked this Easter piece better than any
serious drama. My life had contained
enough of the tragic element to make me
turn with a sick distaste from all imitations
thereof in books or plays. For months, ever
since our marriage, Alexis and I had striven
to lead a purely childish, common-place
existence, eschewing all stirring events and
strong passions, mixing little in society, and
then, with one exception, making no associations
beyond the moment.

It was easy to do this in London; for we
had no relations— we two were quite alone