discussing whether it was a real ghost, or a trick to
frighten people.

Julia uttered a low cry, and redoubled her
speed, and was soon at Mr. Richard Hardie's
door: but the street was deserted, and she was
bewildered, and began to think she had been too
hasty in her conjecture. A chill came over her
impetuosity. The dark, drizzly, silent night,
the tall masts, the smell of the river, how strange
it all seemed: and she to be there alone at such
an hour.

Presently she heard voices somewhere near.
She crossed over to a passage that seemed to
lead towards them; and then she heard the
voices plainly, and among them one that did not
mingle with the others, for it was the voice she
loved. She started back and stood irresolute.
Would he be displeased with her?

Feet came trampling slowly along the passage.

His voice came with them.

She drew back and looked round for Sarah.

While she stood fluttering, the footsteps came
close, and there emerged from the passage into
the full light of the gas-lamp Alfred and two
policemen carrying a silent, senseless, figure, in a
night-gown, with a great-coat thrown over part
of him.

It was her Father; mute and ghastly.

The policemen still tell of that strange meeting
under the gas-light by Hardie's Bank; and
how the young lady flung her arms round her
father's head, and took him for dead, and kissed
his pale cheeks, and moaned over him; and how
the young gentleman raised her against her will,
and sobbed over her; and how they, though
policemen, cried like children. And to them I
must refer the reader: I have not the skill to
convey the situation.

They got more policemen to help, and carried
him to Albion Villa.

On the way, something cold and mysterious
seemed to have come between Julia and Alfred.
They walked apart in gloomy silence broken only
by foreboding sighs.

I pass over the tempest of emotions under
which that sad burden entered Albion Villa;
and hurry to the next marked event.

Next day the patient had lost his extreme
pallor, and wore a certain uniform sallow hue;
and at noon, just before Sampson's return, he
opened his eyes wide and fixed them on Mrs.
Dodd and Julia, who were now his nurses. They
hailed this with delight, and held their breath to
hear him speak to them the first sweet words of
reviving life and love.

But soon to their surprise and grief they found
he did not know them. They spoke to him, each
in turn, and told him piteously who they were,
and implored him with tears to know them, and
speak to them. But no, he fixed a stony gaze
on them, that made them shudder; and their
beloved voices passed over him like an idle
wind.

Sampson, when he came, found the ladies weeping
by the bedside.

They greeted him with affection, Julia especially:
the boisterous controversialist had come
out a gentle, zealous, artist, in presence of a real
danger.

Dr. Sampson knew nothing of what had
happened in his absence. He stepped to the
bedside cheerfully; and the ladies' eyes were
bent keenly on his face in silence.

He had no sooner cast eyes on David than his
countenance fell, and his hard but expressive
features filled with concern.

That was enough for Mrs. Dodd: " And he
does not know me," she cried: " he does not
know my voice. His voice would call me back
from the grave itself. He is dying. He will
never speak to me again. Oh, my poor orphan
girl!"

"No! no!" said Sampson, "you are quite
mistaken: he will not die. But —"

His tongue said no more. His grave and
sombre face spoke volumes.

AN ESCAPE FROM PRISON.

IN the month of April, 1803, my ship, the
brig Rachel, of Liverpool, two hundred and
forty tons burden, sixteen guns and thirty-five
men, was captured, while on her voyage to
Honduras, by the French frigate Vaillant,
commanded by one Captain Etienne.

On arriving at Bordeaux we were lodged in
a filthy fort, and on the fifth day we commenced
our march to Verdun, five or six hundred miles
distant, each of us receiving thirty sous a day
for travelling expenses. On the thirty-sixth
day we entered Verdun, having made an average
march of eighteen miles a day. At the citadel,
the commandant took a careful description of
our persons, we signed our parole, and, having
had billets given us on the various inns, were
turned loose into the town.

The détenus lodged at the different inns and
shops in the town, employed themselves chiefly
in gambling. A young man named J— having
just come into a large legacy, tried to break
the bank, but eventually lost all he had, besides
a large sum he borrowed from the bankers.
The governor, hearing of this, shut him up in
the Tour d'Angoulême, hoping that his friends
would send and discharge his debts; but they
left him to his bread- and- water. Another
poor young fellow, surgeon of a gun-brig that
had run ashore off Dunkirk, lost all his money;
he borrowed a rouleau of fifty Louis and lost
them; he then drew bills upon his agent and
forged his senior officer's signature as indorser,
and all these too he lost. He then invited his
friends to a grand supper, and next morning
was found dead in bed,— he had poisoned himself;
an empty laudanum-bottle was upon the
table, labelled, " The Cure for all Diseases;"
scattered near it were scraps of paper on which
the poor fellow had been practising Captain B.'s
signature.