“Arise!” she commanded the suffering Bendita, “arise, and search out the glass trinkets which spirits tell me you have hidden away! Place the trinkets, _all_ of them, in this earthen bowl of water, and let them remain so for eight hours. In the morning drink the water, after removing the glass jewels. You will then be entirely cured, I promise you.” Dazed and sick, poor Bendita arose from her bed and stumbled about, obeying the old woman’s mandates. All of the jewels were deposited in an earthen bowl, which, half filled with holy water, was placed in the exact centre of the room. Then, swallowing a colorless liquid that Madre Piedad gave her, Bendita was soon fast asleep. The old witch smiled to herself as she listened to the sick girl’s deep, regular breathing. “Well may she sleep,” she muttered, who had shamelessly given a nostrum that would induce eight hours’ sleep. And now the old body set busily to work. First she deftly manufactured, out of her mysterious bundle, a dummy figure that exactly resembled her own. This she seated prominently before the doorway, so that chance visitors seeing it would, in their fear of her, retire without entering. Quickly she slipped out of her many _tapalos_ and other disguises, and stood forth, straight, young, and lovely--no less a being than the jilted Ponciana! Hastily she removed the jewels from their watery resting-place, transferring them to a stout bag, which she tied about her waist, under a _reboso_. The bowl she left in its original position, save that into it she cast a small, ragged, rudely made doll, into which had been plunged many pins. This done, she was ready for flight. “_Adios_, Bendita,” she chuckled, with a wicked smile on her pretty face. “You can have my lover--for I have your rich jewels!” Various neighbors came next morning to inquire for the sick girl, but were frightened away by the supposed figure of the witch. Bendita herself, waking up entirely cured after ten hours’ sleep, first discovered the trick, and cast forth the dummy figure, with much wailing and gnashing of teeth. But all was not lost, even if the jewels were gone for aye. Because, drolly enough, Amado was so sorry for the bereft one that he married her, and they have been happy ever after. And Ponciana? Did you ever happen to see the exquisite Señora de la Villa y Garcia, “of Mexico and Paris,” with her wrinkled old husband, and her beautiful toilettes and jewels? Well, _that_ is Ponciana. THE MAN-DOG By Nathan C. Kouns My first knowledge of the singular being called “Du Chien, the Man-Dog,” began when we were on duty down in the Peché country, a short time after General Taylor’s celebrated “Run on the Banks,” in the vicinity of Mansfield. The cavalry had really very little to do except “to feed,” and await orders. As a result of this idleness many of the officers and men formed pleasant acquaintances with the hospitable planters in whose neighborhood we were located.