ely into his spectacles, and sits pondering over lusty folios of
reports from Hindostan, and various other fields of missionary labor,
all setting forth the various large amounts of money expended, how much
more could be expended, and what a blessing it is to be enabled to
announce the fact that there is now a hope of something being done. The
same anxious-faced bevy of females we described in a previous chapter,
are here, seated at a table, deeply interested in certain periodicals
and papers; while here and there about the room, are several
contemplative gentlemen in black. Brother Spyke, having deeply
interested Brothers Phills and Prim with an account of his visit to the
Bottomless Pit, paces up and down the room, thinking of Antioch, and the
evangelization of the heathen world. "Truly, brother," speaks the
good-natured fat man, "his coming seemeth long." "Eleven was the hour;
but why he tarryeth I know not," returns Brother Spyke, with calm
demeanor. "There is something more alarming in Sister Slocum's absence,"
interposes one of the ladies. The house seems in a waiting mood, when
suddenly Mr. Detective Fitzgerald enters, and changes it to one of
anxiety. Several voices inquire if he was successful. He shakes his
head, and having recounted his adventures, the discovery of where the
money went to, and the utter hopelessness of an effort to recover it;
"as for the man, Toddleworth," he says, methodically, "he was found with
a broken skull. The Coroner has had an inquest over him; but murders are
so common. The verdict was, that he died of a broken skull, by the hands
of some one to the jury unknown. Suspicions were strong against one Tom
Downey, who is very like a heathen, and is mistrusted of several
murders. The affair disturbed the neighborhood a little, and the Coroner
tried to get something out concerning the man's history; but it all went
to the wind, for the people were all so ignorant. They all knew
everything about him, which turned out to be just nothing, which they
were ready to swear to. One believed Father Flaherty made the Bible,
another believed the Devil still chained in Columbia College--a third
believed the stars were lanterns to guide priests--the only angels they
know--on their way to heaven."

"Truly!" exclaims the man of the spectacles, in a moment of abstraction.

Brother Spyke says: "the Lord be merciful."

"On the body of the poor man we found this document. It was rolled
carefully up in a r