co, laid over half an hour
at Chicago, and fought longitude the whole way; so that it was past
midnight when the "all night" operator took it from the wires at Boston.
But it was freighted with a mandate from the San Francisco office; and
a messenger was procured, who sped with it through dark snow-bound
streets, between the high walls of close-shuttered rayless houses, to
a certain formal square ghostly with snow-covered statues. Here he
ascended the broad steps of a reserved and solid-looking mansion, and
pulled a bronze bell-knob, that somewhere within those chaste recesses,
after an apparent reflective pause, coldly communicated the fact that a
stranger was waiting without--as he ought. Despite the lateness of the
hour, there was a slight glow from the windows, clearly not enough
to warm the messenger with indications of a festivity within, but yet
bespeaking, as it were, some prolonged though subdued excitement. The
sober servant who took the despatch, and receipted for it as gravely as
if witnessing a last will and testament, respectfully paused before
the entrance of the drawing-room. The sound of measured and rhetorical
speech, through which the occasional catarrhal cough of the New-England
coast struggled, as the only effort of nature not wholly repressed, came
from its heavily-curtained recesses; for the occasion of the evening had
been the reception and entertainment of various distinguished persons,
and, as had been epigrammatically expressed by one of the guests, "the
history of the country" was taking its leave in phrases more or less
memorable and characteristic. Some of these valedictory axioms were
clever, some witty, a few profound, but always left as a genteel
contribution to the entertainer. Some had been already prepared, and,
like a card, had served and identified the guest at other mansions.

The last guest departed, the last carriage rolled away, when the servant
ventured to indicate the existence of the despatch to his master,
who was standing on the hearth-rug in an attitude of wearied
self-righteousness. He took it, opened it, read it, re-read it, and
said,--

"There must be some mistake! It is not for me. Call the boy, Waters."

Waters, who was perfectly aware that the boy had left, nevertheless
obediently walked towards the hall-door, but was recalled by his master.

"No matter--at present!"

"It's nothing serious, William?" asked Mrs. Rightbody, with languid
wifely concern.

"No, not