, who is an old sea captain, found out that this house had
been occupied by an Englishman named Cowdery who had had three
children--two boys and a girl. One of the boys was an idiot. This idiot
was supposed to have fallen into the East River, as his cap was found
there, and he had always shown a liking for the river when his nurse
took him out. Soon after this Mr. Cowdery moved West.

This was enough for my friend's friend, who had the fireboard taken
down, and short work in the wall by the side of the chimney brought the
body of the unfortunate idiot boy. The back of his skull was crushed in.
He still had the dark blue jacket on, with four rows of buttons on the
front. The poor little bones were buried and the affair kept quiet, but
the captain left the house.

A MODEL GHOST STORY

(Boston _Courier_, Aug. 10)

A very singular story which forms one of the sensational social topics
of the day is the best authenticated of the many stories of the
supernatural that have been lately told. Only a short time ago a young
and well-known artist, Mr. A., was invited to pay a visit to his
distinguished friend, Mr. Izzard. The house was filled with guests, but
a large and handsome room was placed at his disposal, apparently one of
the best in the house. For three days he had a delightful visit;
delightful in all particulars save one, he had each night a horrible
dream. He dreamed he was--or was really--suddenly awakened by some
person entering his room, and in looking around saw the room brilliantly
lighted, while at the window stood a lady elegantly attired, in the act
of throwing something out. This accomplished, she turned her face toward
the only spectator showing a countenance so distorted by evil passions
that he was thrilled with horror. Soon the light and the figure with the
dreadful face disappeared, leaving the artist suffering from a frightful
nightmare. On returning to his city home he was so haunted by the
fearful countenance which had for three consecutive nights troubled him,
that he made a sketch of it, and so real that the evil expression seemed
to horrify every one who saw it. Not a great while after, the artist
went to make an evening visit on Mr. Izzard; that gentleman invited him
to his picture gallery, as he wished to show him some remarkable, old
family portraits. What was Mr. A.'s surprise to recognize among them, in
the likeness of a stately, well-dressed lady, the one who had so
troubled his slumbers