This information I received from Mrs. Beckwith, a respectable lady from Nova Scotia, who resided at the time in that neighborhood, who also said it was not known that he had ever seen his wife at that time, from the time of his release from confinement. The next account I heard of him stated that he had been seen on board of a plaster vessel at Eastport, but he was not known to have been on shore during the time she remained there. He employed himself while on board engraving a number of small articles, some of which he made presents of to young ladies who chanced to come on board. He was next seen at Portland, by a gentleman who had known him at Kingston; nothing, however, transpired there concerning him, only that he was travelling with considerable weight of baggage through the State of Maine, which gave rise to the following ludicrous story, which I saw published at Eastport, of a Mysterious Stranger travelling in a stage. One cold and stormy night, the bar-room of an hotel was filled with sturdy farmers surrounding a cheerful fire, and discussing the affairs of state over a mug of flip. The night having been tremendously stormy and wet, the wind whistling all around the house, and making every door and window rattle, the landlord expressed much fear for the safety of the stage coach; but suddenly the sound of a distant stage-horn announced the approach of the coach and removed the landlord’s anxiety. He replenished the fire, that the approaching travellers might have as warm a retreat as possible from the unusual inclemency of the night. Some time passed, and yet the expected coach did not come up. The landlord’s fears grew up anew, and with an expression of concern he put the question around, “Did not some of you hear a horn?” and added, “I have expected the stage a long time, and I thought that a few minutes ago I heard the horn near at hand; but I fear that something has happened in the gale that has caused it to be thus belated.” “I thought I heard the stage-horn some time ago,” answered the arch young farmer Hopkins; “but then you must know that ghosts and witches are very busy on such nights as this, and what kind of pranks they may cut up we cannot tell. You know the old adage,—“Busy as the devil in a gale of wind.” Now who knows but they may have——” Here he was interrupted by the sudden opening of the door, accompanied by a violent gust of wind and the dashing of rain, when in rushed from the fury of the storm, drenched with wet from head to foot, a tall stranger, dressed in a fur cap and shaggy great coat.