horrible distinctness. The rising and the walking of the dead! Their midnight revels; their capture of the living for interment with themselves.

Terrified, I rise to go; but as I do so a sight meets my gaze which to my dying day I shall never forget. A dark, uncertain mass advancing towards me rapidly; irrespective of their sanctity, up and over the graves with a strange and uncouth mode of locomotion; a headless, trunkless body, with two unnaturally long arms, borne, now straight upright, now distended wide on either side. of the Nothing to which they are attached.

To fly or to remain-which?

Flight? Impossible!

What progress can I make against this lithe thing—I, with my trembling limbs stiffened with cold, and my whole body paralyzed with terror?

Remain? For what?

Great Heaven, how do I know? For the doom which mortals meet when they meddle with the immortal-for torture-for agony-for despair! Tremblingly and with averted eyes I await my fate, for It is close upon me! As it nears me it speaks-my blood freezes at the voice of Nothing!

66

Sa-ay, Ma'am, can't I walk on.my hands bully?"

A ragged, saucy brat, offspring, perhaps, of the angry father and the invective mother, walking on his hands across the churchyard on a dark Sunday night for a wager of one cent with a timid chum!

Disgusted, I rise. Disgusted with all things, particularly myself. Annoyed that the phantom was not what I had prayed it might not be, wishing it had been what I was overjoyed to find it was not, humiliated unto blushes, fallen into the ridiculous, myself a laughing-stock to myself, ashamed of my fright, laughing through tears, biting my lips with annoyance while their corners were distended

into smiles, I leave the churchyard and walk back to the hotel.

Thus ever;

Behind the cloud, the silver lining; behind Grief, Mirth; behind the sallow, forbidding mask of Tragedy, the grinning, obese cheeks of Momus.

Life and Death, Sorrow and Gladness, Birth and Pain, Love and Hate, Eternity and Futurity, are but other names for that indefinite word-Mystery.

When I get back, the gong is sounding loudly for supper, the gas is flaring and hurts my eyes, that pretty girl is still flirting with the same gentleman in the ladies' parlor, and above all there is a strong odor of baked griddle cakes.

The next day I have a bad cold in my head, and at the end of the week two dozen handkerchiefs in the wash. This is the end of the episode.

I feel I must say something about Indianapolis. An irregularly built town, not without charm. Two rival hotels, both of which might be better. One only "Square," paradoxically called "The Circle." But the prevailing feature of the town seemed to be the undue amount of that unpleasant specimen genus homo known as the "Loafer." Both for quantity and nasty quality in this article, Indianapolis bore off the palm. Loafers everywhere. On the hotel steps, in the streets, and even in the sacred circular square itself.

Shabby wretches who stand for hours picking their teeth —which are, in all probability, quite innocent of dinner. Flashy wretches who wear ponderous watch-chains and loudly pass comment on every female who goes by. Boy wretches trying in vain to master their first cigar, which finally masters them, and sends them skulking off, looking very pale. Old men, leering wretches, standing in the uncomfortable posture of one foot in the grave and the

other on the hotel steps in Indianapolis, go to make up a group which, for ugliness and even vice, is worthy of the pencil of a Hogarth.

English writers comment frequently on the inappropriateness of American nomenclature, and, in truth, with some reason. Why Why "Pea Ridge" should be, and "Sugar Creek," also, we know not. Neither one nor the other has any characteristic of the descriptive adjective, and, in point of accuracy, "Sugar Ridge" and "Pea Creek” would answer every purpose. But there are other peculiarities which puzzle me quite as much, if not more than these. For instance, Indianapolis is invariably pronounced Indianoppolis, Cincinnati converted and perverted into Cincinnatta, while, to do the thing according to rule, you must not call Chicago as that combination of letters would lead you to do, but change it into Chicawgo, under pain of being considered either a "prig" or a "muff;" in other words, a pedant or an ignoramus.

True, in support of this singular practice, we have the well-known example of the English, who call their Pall Mall Pell Mell; but I do not see that this is in the slightest degree a palliation for error on our parts. For, call the great English thoroughfare either as the letters spell it, or as custom pronounces it, and it is still the most outrageously unmeaning name for a street that could well be found.

They manage these things, as they do so many others, better in France. One reads the history of the country, from the days of Charlemagne down to those of the third Emperor, written up on the houses at corners of streets; from the Rues Agincourt and Rivoli, Otranto and Magenta, we turn to the broad sweep of the Rue de la Paix and the inspiring vastness of the Place de la Concorde. Chieftains figure largely-les Rues de Saxe, Prince Eugene, and Bonaparte. Nor are great men other than