As they separated, my uncle seemed to be wounded, for he staggered an instant, and then fell backward, staining the cloth like an overturned bottle of red ink. "You scoundrel!" I cried, starting forward in anger; "what have you done?" For a moment the little fellow had no breath to answer. He panted helplessly, and at length gasped out: "It is--but--justice! It is Trancastro!" [Illustration: "BEFORE I COULD INTERFERE THEY WERE FIGHTING FOR THEIR LIVES."] "Trancastro!" I exclaimed--"that was my uncle! Explain!--I can not understand!" "Do you know what _dnax_ is?" he asked, as he wiped his sword on a napkin. "No!" I shouted. "Then you _couldn't_ understand," he said, mournfully shaking his head. Enraged by his answer, I rushed for the table; but, before I could reach them, my uncle struggled to his feet and resumed the conflict, using his umbrella most valiantly. I paused a moment, hoping he might yet conquer--but the fight was too unequal. By a skillful twist of his opponent's wrist my uncle's umbrella was sent flying out of his hand. Being disarmed, he sank upon one knee and begged for mercy. "Trancastro!" cried the victor, "you deserve no better fate than the cruel death you meant for me!" "Oh, have mercy!" cried my uncle. I could not stand this. The honor of the family forbade me to remain neutral. I rushed to the table, crying, "Here! here!--this has gone quite far enough!" Again the beckoning! I became in a moment a third pigmy upon my own table! "Now," exclaimed the triumphant warrior, "we are upon equal terms! Come on!" I had no weapon. I dared not interfere. While I stood hesitating, the little tyrant made a slipknot from one of my curtain-cords, threw the noose over my uncle's neck, and rose into the air, dragging his victim after him. I heard a breaking of glass, and, regaining my natural size in a moment, rushed to the window only to see them flying away! All that remained to convince me that I could not be mistaken was the stain upon the cloth, the little arm-chair, and the miniature supper. I searched the room, but found nothing. Until now I have never told the story--for who would have believed it? But any one who believes my story, and would like to see what remains of Trancastro and his victim, has only to open the battered little satchel, and there can still be seen the little chair, the little knife and fork, and all the relics left by my guest. No unbeliever shall ever see them. [Illustration] WONDERS OF THE ALPHABET. BY HENRY ECKFORD. FOURTH PAPER.