idity of that mysterious "somebody" who does all
the damage in the world, the windows had been carefully nailed down
above, and the lower sashes could only be raised in the mildest
weather, for the men lay just below. I had suggested a summary smashing
of a few panes here and there, when frequent appeals to headquarters
had proved unavailing, and daily orders to lazy attendants had come to
nothing. No one seconded the motion, however, and the nails were far
beyond my reach; for, though belonging to the sisterhood of
"ministering angels," I had no wings, and might as well have asked for
Jacob's ladder, as a pair of steps, in that charitable chaos.

One of the harmless ghosts who bore me company during the haunted
hours, was Dan, the watchman, whom I regarded with a certain awe; for,
though so much together, I never fairly saw his face, and, but for his
legs, should never have recognized him, as we seldom met by day. These
legs were remarkable, as was his whole figure, for his body was short,
rotund, and done up in a big jacket, and muffler; his beard hid the
lower part of his face, his hat-brim the upper; and all I ever
discovered was a pair of sleepy eyes, and a very mild voice. But the
legs!--very long, very thin, very crooked and feeble, looking like grey
sausages in their tight coverings, without a ray of pegtopishness about
them, and finished off with a pair of expansive, green cloth shoes,
very like Chinese junks, with the sails down. This figure, gliding
noiselessly about the dimly lighted rooms, was strongly suggestive of
the spirit of a beer barrel mounted on cork-screws, haunting the old
hotel in search of its lost mates, emptied and staved in long ago.

Another goblin who frequently appeared to me, was the attendant of the
pathetic room, who, being a faithful soul, was often up to tend two or
three men, weak and wandering as babies, after the fever had gone. The
amiable creature beguiled the watches of the night by brewing jorums of
a fearful beverage, which he called coffee, and insisted on sharing
with me; coming in with a great bowl of something like mud soup,
scalding hot, guiltless of cream, rich in an all-pervading flavor of
molasses, scorch and tin pot. Such an amount of good will and
neighborly kindness also went into the mess, that I never could find
the heart to refuse, but always received it with thanks, sipped it with
hypocritical relish while he remained, and whipped it into the slop-jar
the inst