of the Rio Grande, as they hurry past his
unsculptured grave, sing his requiem, and carry along proudly to the
everlasting sea the memory of his noble self sacrifice, as the purest
tribute they bear upon their tide!

Such were my thoughts, as I stood pensively upon the block that served
as a step when I was boy, and which still occupied its ancient position.
I noticed that a large crack extended its whole length, and several
shrubs, of no insignificant size, were growing out of the aperture. This
prepared me for the wreck and ruin of the interior. The door had been
torn from its hinge, and was sustained in an upright position by a bar
or prop on the inside. This readily gave way on a slight pressure, and
as the old door tumbled headlong upon the floor, it awoke a thousand
confused and muffled echoes, more startling to me than a clap of the
loudest thunder. But the moment I passed the threshold, the gloom and
terror instantly vanished. I noticed that the back door was open, and in
casting my glance to the upper end of the room, where the Rev. Mr. Craig
once presided in state, my eyes were greeted by an apparition, that had
evidently become domiciliated in the premises, and whose appearance
revolutionized the whole tenor of my thoughts. Before me stood one of
those venerable-looking billy-goats, of sedate eye, fantastic beard, and
crumpled horn, the detestation of perfumed belle, and the dread of
mischievous urchin. I had seen a _fac-simile_ of him many years before,
not exactly in the same place, but hard by in a thicket of pines. I
could almost fancy it to be the ghost of the murdered ancestor, or some
phantom sent to haunt me near the spot of his execution. I shed no tear,
I heaved no sigh, as I trod the dust-covered floor of the "Woodville
Academy," but greeted my _Alma Mater_ with a shout of almost boyish
laughter as I approached the spot where the pedagogue once sat upon his
throne.

To explain why it was that my feelings underwent a revulsion so sudden,
I must relate the Story of the Murdered Billy-goat.

Colonel Averitt, a brave soldier in the war of 1812, retired from the
army at the termination of hostilities, and settled upon a farm
adjoining the village of Woodville. He was rather a queer old gentleman;
had a high Roman nose, and, on muster days, was the general admiration
of all Bertie County. He then officiated as colonel commandant of
militia, and dressed in full uniform, with a tall, white feather wavin