let argued with them, and
pleaded and persuaded and coaxed, and dwelt on the advantages of
matrimony. He had to confess, of course, that he did not know how to
get a clergyman to marry them; but the voice from the corner gravely
told him that there need be no difficulty in regard to that, as there
was no lack of spiritual chaplains. Then, for the first time, the house
ghost spoke, a low, clear, gentle voice, and with a quaint,
old-fashioned New England accent, which contrasted sharply with the
broad Scotch speech of the family ghost. She said that Eliphalet Duncan
seemed to have forgotten that she was married. But this did not upset
Eliphalet at all; he remembered the whole case clearly, and he told her
she was not a married ghost, but a widow, since her husband had been
hanged for murdering her. Then the Duncan ghost drew attention to the
great disparity in their ages, saying that he was nearly four hundred
and fifty years old, while she was barely two hundred. But Eliphalet
had not talked to juries for nothing; he just buckled to, and coaxed
those ghosts into matrimony. Afterwards he came to the conclusion that
they were willing to be coaxed, but at the time he thought he had
pretty hard work to convince them of the advantages of the plan."

"Did he succeed? asked Baby Van Rensselaer, with a woman's interest in
matrimony.

"He did," said Uncle Larry. "He talked the wraith of the Duncans and
the spectre of the little old house at Salem into a matrimonial
engagement. And from the time they were engaged he had no more trouble
with them. They were rival ghosts no longer. They were married by their
spiritual chaplain the very same day that Eliphalet Duncan met Kitty
Sutton in front of the railing of Grace Church. The ghostly bride and
bridegroom went away at once on their bridal tour, and Lord and Lady
Duncan went down to the little old house at Salem to pass their
honeymoon."

Uncle Larry stopped. His tiny cigar was out again. The tale of the
rival ghosts was told. A solemn silence fell on the little party on the
deck of the ocean steamer, broken harshly by the hoarse roar of the
fog-horn.

(1883.)

SIXTEEN YEARS WITHOUT A BIRTHDAY

While the journalist deftly dealt with the lobster _a la_ Newburg,
as it bubbled in the chafing-dish before him, the deep-toned bell of
the church at the corner began to strike twelve.

"Give me your plates, quick," he said, "and we'll drink Jack's health
before it's to-morro