iversary of the Mystic Krewe has been duly celebrated by a
fantastic band that at a certain hour of the night parades the streets
of New Orleans. I do not refer to the regular carnival societies. These
are but playful imitations of mystery. The genuine Krewe, as weirdly,
strange and mysterious as ever, may be seen only on Royal Street, a
small band headed by a tall, slender, dark man, who wears an invisible
mask and a quaint black velvet cap. Where they come from nobody has ever
been able to discover. Who they are is not known even to the great Rex,
the king of the Carnival.

Hepworth Coleman and Mlle. Olympe de Caumartin were married in due time
and lived on Royal Street all their lives. Every year on the evening of
Mardi-Gras, they were called upon to give dinner to the Mystic Krewe,
thirteen in number, who ate in silence with their masks on. The last of
these dinners was in 1860. That year saw the twain, who for forty years
had been happy together, laid in their tomb side by side.

Strangely enough there is no record whatever of Judge Favart de
Caumartin's death; indeed, there is a tradition to the effect that he it
is who still leads the Mystic Krewe.

STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A MILLION DOLLARS.

BY INGERSOLL LOCKWOOD.

Old New Yorkers may remember Dingee's famous Club House in lower Greene
Street. From 1800 to 1850 it was the most fashionable gambling house in
the metropolis, its founder, Alphonse Dingee, having been the first to
introduce _roulette_ and _rouge et noir_ into the new world. It was in
1850 or a little later that ill health obliged his son Cyrill to sell
the business out. He retired to his country seat at Bricksburg, quite a
palatial residence for those days, where he died shortly after, leaving
a round million dollars and one child, a daughter, Daisy. Spite of the
fact that she was popularly known throughout the country as the
"gambler's daughter," there were several respectable young men in the
place who would have been only too happy to administer an estate worth a
round million with Daisy thrown in for better or worse.

But Daisy Dingee knew what she wanted, and it was nothing more nor less
than an alliance with the most aristocratic family in the country, to
wit: the Delurys, whose large white mansion at the other end of the town
was as tumble-down and shabby looking as Daisy's was neat, fresh, and
well kept. Miss Dingee, therefore, proceeded to throw herself at the
head of one Monmout