rough manufacturing towns had
become demoralized, and reaching the city had plunged into extravagant
dissipation and wild excesses. A roistering wind that indulged in
Bacchanalian shouts on the street corners, that knocked off the hats
from the heads of helpless passengers, and then fulfilled its duties by
speeding away, like all young prodigals,--to sea.

He sat alone in a gloomy library listening to the wind that roared in
the chimney. Around him novels and story-books were strewn thickly; in
his lap he held one with its pages freshly cut, and turned the leaves
wearily until his eyes rested upon a portrait in its frontispiece. And
as the wind howled the more fiercely, and the darkness without fell
blacker, a strange and fateful likeness to that portrait appeared above
his chair and leaned upon his shoulder. The Haunted Man gazed at the
portrait and sighed. The figure gazed at the portrait and sighed too.

"Here again?" said the Haunted Man.

"Here again," it repeated in a low voice.

"Another novel?"

"Another novel."

"The old story?"

"The old story."

"I see a child," said the Haunted Man, gazing from the pages of the
book into the fire,--"a most unnatural child, a model infant. It is
prematurely old and philosophic. It dies in poverty to slow music. It
dies surrounded by luxury to slow music. It dies with an accompaniment
of golden water and rattling carts to slow music. Previous to its
decease it makes a will; it repeats the Lord's Prayer, it kisses the
'boofer lady.' That child--"

"Is mine," said the phantom.

"I see a good woman, undersized. I see several charming women, but
they are all undersized. They are more or less imbecile and idiotic,
but always fascinating and undersized. They wear coquettish caps and
aprons. I observe that feminine virtue is invariably below the medium
height, and that it is always simple and infantine. These women--"

"Are mine."

"I see a haughty, proud, and wicked lady. She is tall and queenly. I
remark that all proud and wicked women are tall and queenly. That
woman--"

"Is mine," said the phantom, wringing his hands.

"I see several things continually impending. I observe that whenever
an accident, a murder, or death is about to happen, there is something
in the furniture, in the locality, in the atmosphere, that foreshadows
and suggests it years in advance. I cannot say that in real life I
have noticed it,--the perception of this surprising