"'Lost! Lost in an impenetrable forest.'" "Ten days;" said the court. Juggins has been given to this sort of thing ever since he lost his chance of marrying a belle in Washington, and the daughter of a rich senator. As a newspaper man Juggins was rather free with his criticism of public men and measures, and one of his letters, written before he became infatuated with the young lady in question, had rubbed it in so hard that the senator had gone to the trouble of finding out just who the writer was. His hour of revenge arrived when Juggins summoned up courage to ask for his daughter's hand. Then he arose in all his awful majesty. "Only a year ago, Mr. Juggins, you referred to me emphatically as an old pirate," he said. Juggins was naturally overwhelmed. His sins had found him out. [Illustration] Of course he tried to stammer out excuses, and how he had regretted his indiscreet act ever since. "No, I'm not a pirate, Mr. Juggins, I wish you to distinctly understand that--I'm only a sort of freebooter. This (biff-bing) won't cost you a cent." And Juggins went out of that senatorial mansion a sadder and a wiser man. That was why he took to drink. I've known the poor fellow to have the delirium tremens, and see all manner of goblins. Did you ever run across a ghost, any of you? Not the nicest experience in the world. Perhaps you'd like to hear of an exciting adventure in that line that once befell me. I was out West at the time, traveling on horseback, and pulled up at a tavern when night came on. There I learned to my chagrin that as a crowd was attending the races--it was in Kentucky, of course--the landlord did not have a single place to stow me. When I pressed the old chap, he admitted that there was one unoccupied room. "But," he said, "no one can sleep in that room, for it's haunted. You must go on to the next village." [Illustration] "I'll sleep in the room, ghost or no ghost," I declared, determined to go no further, as it promised to be a stormy night. The landlord tried to persuade me; but I had established myself over the fire and called for supper. Reluctantly the landlord gave orders to prepare the haunted chamber. Meantime I was enlightened by the other guests as to the nature of the ghostly visitant. Every night at a certain hour a sepulchral voice was heard outside the casement, saying: "Do you want to be shaved?" "And then, what happens?" I demanded. No one could certainly say. The last gentleman who slept in the room had fled, shrieking, on hearing the voice, and had spent the rest of his days in an asylum. Some said that if you allowed the ghostly barber to approach and commence operations on your chin, your throat would infallibly be cut. Fortified by this information, I retired early to rest, leaving the company engaged in an exciting game at cards, each with his pile of cash on the table before him. Waking up from my first sleep, a hoarse, croaking sound seemed to come from the casement.