there. One is a woman's, young and fair, With tender eyes and floating hair. Love, and regret, and dumb despair, Are told in each tint of the fair sweet face. The other is crowned with a courtly grace, Gazing, with all a lover's pride, On the beautiful woman by his side. Anon! a change flits o'er his mien, And baffled rage in his glance is seen. Paler they grow as the hours go by, With the pallor that comes with the summons to die. Slowly fading, and shrinking away, Clutched in the grasp of a gaunt decay, Till the herald of morn on the sky is thrown; Then a shriek, a curse, and a dying moan, Comes from that death-black window there. A mocking laugh rings out on the air, From that darkful place, in the nascent dawn, And the faces that looked from the window are gone. Seventy years, when the Spanish flag Floated above yon beetling crag, And this dearthful mission place was rife With the panoply of busy life; Hard by, where yon canyon, deep and wide, Sweeps it adown the mountain side, A cavalier dwelt with his beautiful bride. Oft to the priestal shrive went she; As often, stealthily, followed he. The padre Sanson absolved and blessed The penitent, and the sin-distressed, Nor ever before won devotee So wondrous a reverence as he. A-night, when the winds played wild and high, And the ocean rocked it to the sky, An earthquake trembled the shore along, Hushing on lip of praise its song, And jarred to its center this Mission strong. When the morning broke with a summer sun, The earth was at rest, the storm was done. Still the Mission tower'd in its stately pride; Still the cottage smiled by the canyon-side; But never the priest was there to bless, And the cottage roof was tenantless. Vainly they sought for the padre, dead, For the cottage dwellers; amazed, they said 'Twas a miracle; but since that day There's a ghost in the Mission old and gray—     The Mission Carmel of Monterey 

"A sequel there is to that tale," said he, "Of the way and the truth I hold the key." "Show me the way," I cried, "Show me To the depth of this curious mystery!" He waved me to follow; my heart stood still Under the ban of a mightier will Than mine. A terror of icy chill O'er-shivered my being from hand to brain, Freezing the blood in each pulsing vein, As I followed this most mysterious guide Through the solid floor at the chancel side, Into a passage whose stifling breath Reeked with the pestilence of death. Down through a subterranean vault, Over broken steps with never a halt, Till we stood in the midst of a spacious room, A charnel-house in its shroud of gloom. Only a window, narrow and small, Left in the build of the heavy wall, Through which the flickering sunbeams died, Showed passway to the world outside. Slowly my eyes to 

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