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Rh

E had been married some years, and were settled in our quiet little home at Branscombe, when one morning, just as I was sitting down to breakfast, Maude brought me up with the London paper, and the usual circulars, begging petitions, &c., which came daily to us by the post, a curious little packet with a Swiss postage-stamp and post-mark on it.

"I declare," she said, "this looks like a letter from our wonderful friend, Posela."

"Impossible," I replied. "It cannot have dropped from the sky. How could it have come in a meteor? Well, if we do establish a post from another world, really things have come to a climax."

"I should always have been interested in a letter from your mysterious friend; but