by the collar. He was attired, as I had expected, in a cos, tume altogether similar to my own; wearing a Spanish cloak of blue velvet, begirt about the waist with a crimson belt sustaining a rapier. A mask of black silk entirely covered his face.

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Scoundrel!" I said, in a voice husky with rage, while every syllable I uttered seemed as new fuel to my fury, "Scoundrel! impostor! accursed villain! you shall notyou shall not dog me unto death! Follow me, or I stab you where you stand!" And I broke my way from the ball-room into a small ante-chamber adjoining, dragging him unresistingly with me as I went.

Upon entering, I thrust him furiously from me. He staggered against the wall, while I closed the door with an oath, and commanded him to draw. He hesitated but for an instant; then, with a slight sigh, drew in silence, and put himself upon his defence.

The contest was brief indeed. I was frantic with every species of wild excitement, and felt within my single arm the energy and power of a multitude. In a few seconds I forced him by sheer strength against the wainscoting, and thus, getting him at mercy, plunged my sword, with brute ferocity, repeatedly through and through his bosom.

At that instant some person tried the latch of the door. I hastened to prevent an intrusion, and then immediately returned to my dying antagonist. But what human language can adequately portray that astonishment, that horror which possessed me at the spectacle then presented to view ? The brief moment in which I averted my eyes had been sufficient to produce, apparently, a material change in the arrangements at the upper or farther end of the room. large mirror-so at first it seemed to me in my confusionnow stood where none had been perceptible before; and, as I stepped up to it in extremity of terror, mine own image, but with features all pale and dabbled in blood, advanced to meet me with a feeble and tottering gait.

A

Thus it appeared, I say, but was not. It was my antagonist-it was Wilson, who then stood before me in the

agonies of his dissolution. His mask and cloak lay, where he had thrown them, upon the floor. Not a thread in ali his raiment not a line in all the marked and singular lineaments of his face-which was not, even in the most absolute identity, mine own!

It was Wilson; but he spoke no longer in a whisper, and I could have fancied that I myself was speaking while he said

"You have conquered, and I yield. Yet, henceforward art thou also dead-dead to the World, to Heaven, and to Hope! In me didst thou exist—and, in my death, see by this image, which is thine own, how utterly thou hast mur dered thyself!"

expound to you as

I alone can, the secret of the enginery that effected the Rattleborough miracle-the one, the true, the admitted, the undisputed, the indisputable miracle, which put a definite end to infidelity among the Rattleburghers, and converted to the orthodoxy of the grand-dames all the carnal-minded who had ventured to be sceptical before.

This event, which I should be sorry to discuss in a tone of unsuitable levity, occurred in the summer of 18. Mr. Barnabas Shuttleworthy, one of the wealthiest and most

respectable citizens of the borough, had been missing for several days under circumstances which gave rise to suspition of foul play. Mr. Shuttleworthy had set out from Rattleborough very early one Saturday morning, on horseback, with the avowed intention of proceeding to the city of

about fifteen miles distant, and of returning the night of the same day. Two hours after his departure, however, his horse returned without him, and without thesaddle-bags which had been strapped on his back at starting. The animal was wounded, too, and covered with mud. These circumstances naturally gave rise to much alarm among the friends of the missing man; and when it was found on Sunday morning that he had not yet made his appearance, the whole borough erose en masse to go and look for his body.

The foremost and most energetic in instituting this search was the bosom friend of Mr. Shuttleworthy, a Mr. Charles Goodfellow, or, as he was universally called, "Charley Goodfellow," or "Old Charley Goodfellow." Now, whether it is a marvellous coincidence, or whether it is that the name itself has an imperceptible effect upon the character, I have never yet been able to ascertain; but the fact is unquestionable, that there never yet was any person named Charles who was not an open, manly, honest, good-natured and frank-hearted fellow, with a rich, clear voice, that did you good to hear it, and an eye that looked you always straight in the face, as much as to say, "I have a clear conscience myself, am afraid of no man, and am altogether above doing a mean action." And thus all the hearty, careless "walking gentlemen" of the stage are very certain to be called Charles.

Now, "Old Charley Goodfellow," although he had been in Rattleborough not longer than six months or thereabouts, and although nobody knew anything about him before he came to settle in the neighbourhood, had experienced no difficulty in the world in making the acquaintance of all the respectable people in the borough. Not a man of them but would have taken his bare word for a thousand at any moment; and as for the women, there is

no saying what they would not have done to oblige him. And all this came of his having been christened Charles, and of his possessing, in consequence, that ingenuous face which is proverbially the very "best letter of recommendation."

I have already said that Mr. Shuttleworthy was one of the most respectable, and undoubtedly he was the most wealthy man in Rattleborough; while "Old Charley Goodfellow" was upon as intimate terms with him as if he had been his own brother. The two old gentlemen were nextdoor neighbours, and although Mr. Shuttleworthy seldom if ever visited "Old Charley," and never was known to take a meal in his house, still this did not prevent the two friends from being exceedingly intimate, as I have just observed; for "Old Charley" never let a day pass without stepping in three or four times to see how his neighbour came on, and very often he would stay to breakfast or tea, and almost always to dinner; and then the amount of wine that was made away with by the two cronies at a sitting it would really be a difficult thing to ascertain. Old Charley's favourite beverage was Chateau Margaux; and it appeared to do Mr. Shuttleworthy's heart good to see the old fellow swallow it, as he did, quart after quart; so that, one day, when the wine was in and wit, as a natural consequence, somewhat out, he said to his crony, as he slapped him on the back, "I tell you what it is, Old Charley; you are, by all odds, the heartiest old fellow I ever came across in all my born days; and since you love to guzzle the wine at that fashion, I'll be darned if I don't have to make thee a present of a big box of the Chateau Margaux. Od rot me" (Mr. Shuttleworthy had a sad habit of swearing, although he seldom went beyond "Od rot me," or "By Gosh," or "By the jolly golly")—" Od rot me," says he, "if I don't send an order to town this very afternoon for a double box of the best that can be got, and I'll make ye a present of it, I will. Ye needn't say a word, now—I will, I tell ye, and there's an end of it; so look out for it, it will come to hand some of these fine days, precisely when you are looking for