its shadows, and the actual terrors of the yawning tomb left me no heart for the bugbear speculations of Transcendentalism. I have before mentioned that my eyes were but imperfectly closed --- yet I could not move them in any degree, those objects alone which crossed the direct line of vision were within the sphere of my comprehension.

But across that line of vision spectral and stealthy figures were continually flitting, like the ghosts of Banquo. They were making hurried preparations for my interment.

First came the coffin which they placed quietly by my side. Then the undertaker with attendants and a screw-driver. Then a stout man whom I could distinctly see and who took hold of my feet --- while one whom I could only feel lifted me by the head and shoulders.

Together they placed me in the coffin, and drawing the shroud up over my face proceeded to fasten down the lid. One of the screws, missing its proper direction, was screwed by the carelessness of the undertaker deep down into my shoulder, and a convulsive shudder ran

through-out my frame. With what horror, with what sickening of heart did I reflect that one minute sooner a similar manifestation of life would, in all probability, have prevented my inhumation. But alas! it was now too late, and hope died away within my bosom as I felt myself lifted upon the shoulders of men --- carried down the stair-way --- and thrust within the hearse.

During the brief passage to the cemetery my sensations, which for sometime had been lethargic and dull, assumed, all at once, a degree of intense and unnatural vivacity for which I can in no manner account.

I could distinctly hear the rustling of the plumes --- the whispers of the attendants --- the solemn breathings of the horses of death. Confused as I was in that narrow and strict embrace, I could feel the quicker or slower, movement of the procession --- the restlessness of the driver, the windings of the road as it led us to the right or left. I could distinguish the peculiar odor of the coffin --- the sharp acid smell of the steel screws. I could see the texture of the shroud

as it lay close against my face; and was even conscious of the rapid variations in light and shade which the flapping to and fro of the sable hangings occasioned within the body of the vehicle. In a short time however, we arrived at the place of sepulture, and I felt myself deposited within the tomb.

The entrance was secured --- they departed --- and I was left alone. Sullenly I lay at length, the quick among the dead, Anacharsis inter scythas From what I overheard early in the morning, I was led to believe that the occasions when the vault was made use of were of very rare

occurrence.

It was probable that many months might elapse before the doors of the tomb would be again unbarred --- and even should I survive until that period, what means could I have more than at present, of making known my situation or of escaping from the coffin? I resigned myself, therefore, with much tranquility to my fate, and fell, after many hours, into a deep and deathlike sleep.

How long I remained thus is a mystery. When I awoke my limbs were no longer cramped with the cramp of death--1 was no longer without the power of motion. A very slight exertion was sufficient to force the lid of my prison --- for the dampness of the atmosphere had already occasioned decay in the wood-work around the screws. My steps as groped around the sides of my habitation were, however, feeble and uncertain, and I felt all the gnawings of hunger with the pains of intolerable thirst. Yet, as time passed away, it is strange that I experienced little uneasiness from these scourges of the earth, in comparison with the more terrible visitations of the fiend Ennui.

Stranger still were the resources by which I endeavor to banish him from my presence. The sepulchre was large and subdivided into many compartments, and I busied myself in examining all things in the immediate surrounding, and you can, no doubt, imagine my surprise when I observed upon my coffin lid the words: Teddy Roosevelt

GONE BUT NOT FOR LONG

Being toujours pret, I left the tomb, more than delighted with the prophesy thus inscribed.

Marco Popperrelli, is the name by which the World knows me, and in fine; by which I know myself. Should I, through lack of sufficient egotism forget my euphonious appellation, I would, no doubt, be at a great loss in calling to mind, as to who I really was

or am.

At one time I was a great socialist: (here 1 blush with shame) but now I am an anti-socialist. (1 blush again) But I want to say right now; that both Anties and Sociasists should be properly secured in Davy Jones' locker.

During the days that I was such a great sociaist I was asked many questions, none of which 1 could answer. Like all dunderheads of the ism, I contended that if any man was given opportunity he would prove himself as competent as his more prosperous brother. But! I never thought then, of the thousands that cast the greatest of opportunities aside, to give reign to their true psychological characters. Any man that wishes to go down, can; likewise, any man wishing to better himself can easily do so, unless his will is