I brandished my dagger with what I intended to be an awe-inspiring screech; but, owing to the flutter of my breath, the effort ended in a curious mixture of howl and bray.

A most effective sound, nevertheless; for the burglar dropped to the ground as if he had been shot, and, with one upward glance at the white figure dimly seen in the starlight, fled as if a thousand ghosts were at his heels.

"What

99 next? thought I, wondering whether this eventful night would ever come to a close.

I sat and waited, chilly but brave, while the strange sounds went on within the house and silence reigned without, till the cheerful crow of the punctual "cockadoo," as Margie called him, told me that it was sunrise and laid the ghosts.

A red glow in the east drove away my last fear, and I soon lay down and slept quietly, quite worn out.

The sun shining upon my face waked me, and a bell ringing warned me to hurry. A childish voice calling out, "Betfast is most weady, Miss Wee," assured me that

sweet little spirits haunted the cottage as well as ghostly ones.

As I left my room to join Margie, who was waiting for me, I saw two things which caused me to feel that the horrors of the night were not all unreal.

Just outside the back bed-room door was a damp place, as if that part of the floor had been newly washed; and when led by curiosity, I peeped through the keyhole of the haunted chamber, my eye distinctly saw an open razor lying on a dusty table.

My seeing was limited to that one object, but it was quite enough. I went up the hill thinking over the terrible secret hidden in my breast.

I longed to tell some one, but was ashamed; and, when asked why I was so pale and absent-minded, I answered with a gloomy smile

"It is the clams."

All day I hid my sufferings pretty well, but as night approached and I thought of sleeping again in that haunted cottage, my heart began to fail. As we sat telling stories in the dusk, a bright idea came into my head.

I would relate my ghost story, and rouse the curiosity of my hearers, so that some of them would offer to stay at the cottage in hopes of seeing the spirit of the restless Tucker.

Cheered by this fancy, when my turn came I made a thrilling tale about Bezee Tucker and my night's adventure. After my hearers were worked up to a proper state of excitement, I paused for applause.

It came in a most unexpected form, however, for Mrs. Grant burst out laughing, and the two boys-Johnny and Joe-rolled about in convulsions of merriment.

Much displeased, I demanded the cause of their laughter, and then joined in the general shout when Mrs. Grant informed me that Bezee Tucker lived, died in, and haunted the the tumble-down house at the other end of the lane, and not the cottage where I was staying.

"Then who or what made those mysterious noises ?" I asked, relieved but rather displeased at the downfall of my romance.

"My brother Seth," replied Mrs. Grant, still laughing. "I thought you might be afraid to be there all alone, so he slipped

into the bed-room, and I forgot to tell you. He's a powerful snorer, and that's one of the awful sounds.

"The other was the dripping of salt water; for you wanted some, and the girl got it in a leaky pail. Seth swept out the water when he left the cottage early in the morning."

I said nothing about having seen through the keyhole the harmless razor; but wishing to get some praise for my heroic encounter with the burglar, I mildly asked if it was the custom in York for men as well as turkeys to roost in trees.

Another burst of laughter from the boys did away with my last hope of glory. As soon as he could speak, Joe answered

66

‘Johnny planned to be up early to pick the last cherries off that tree. I wanted to get ahead of him, and as I was going a-fishing, I went off quietly before daylight."

"Did you get the cherries?" I asked, bound to have some laugh on my side.

"Guess I didn't," grumbled Joe, rubbing his knees, while Johnny added

"He got a horrid scare and a right good

down there.

scraping, for he didn't know any one was Couldn't go a-fishing, eitherhe was so so lame-and I had the cherries after all. Served him right, didn't it?” Mrs. Grant

No answer was necessary. went off to repeat the tale in the kitchen, and the sounds of hearty laughter that I heard, assured me that Seth was enjoying the joke as well as the rest of us.

Language Lesson.-Let pupils make out an analysis for so much of the last three lessons as may be included under the subject"A Night at the Cottage."

Suggestion.-The analysis of simple subjects, and their treatment, orally or in writing, are valuable exercises, and should be assigned to pupils as frequently as possible during the whole of their school life.

Over the chimney the night-wind sang

And chanted a melody no one knew;

And the Woman stopped, as her babe she tossed,

And thought of the one she had long since lost;