I have been to Hades in search of a sensation, but even the devil couldn’t keep a newspaper man down and so once more I am in the territory of the tired—New York. It may interest you to know that I am holding down the city desk of the Universe, the former incumbent having disappeared shortly before my return from the domain of the departed. He left a letter addressed to his successor and I feel that I am violating no confidence in divulging its contents: “What impels me to record the experiences of this, my last night on earth, I do not know. Perhaps it is to counterfeit courage, for when a man receives a ‘ticket to the hereafter’ he feels the need of something to brace his backbone, just as a boy will whistle in make-believe bravery on rounding a dark corner. “I felt more than ordinarily weary, for I seemed to be losing my grip on my work and on—life! For several minutes I had been idly toying with a pearl-handled revolver which I used as a paper weight, when a rustling of paper made me turn. On the floor was a letter. “‘That’s odd,’ I muttered. ‘The shades who deliver letters from our Stygian correspondent usually lay them upon my desk like any well-regulated ghost would do.’ “As I stooped to pick up the epistle, I noticed that my blue pencil lay upon my pen, the two forming a cross. Then I knew what had exorcised the shade and frightened it away. To an imaginative man, the episode was uncanny. And it was night! “Using the penholder as a paper cutter, I tore open the envelope and took out the letter. It began without formalities: “‘I suppose my interviews with Cimmerian citizens were pronounced the most sensational fakes of the year. Did you state whether the manuscript from the domain of the departed had a sulphurous tinge or was redolent with spices and perfumes? The wireless correspondence from Hades-on-Styx must have created much excitement on earth. People may doubt the genuineness of my description of Hades, but they will have a hot time proving me wrong, although nowadays not even the parson believes in a scorch for every sin. Don’t you want to come and take my place as scribe to Satan? I have been fighting down a desire to have you visit this subterranean resort, for did one but express the wish, it would be gratified in this, the Land of Fulfilled Desire. If Pluto says “Come”—’ “Obeying a sudden impulse, I struck a match and held the letter in the flame. Instantly it was snatched from my hand, though I could see no one. At the same moment every electric light in the building went out, leaving the place in darkness. On the air was a pungent odor of brimstone. “‘The devil!’ I ejaculated. That invocation sealed my fate: it was the Styx and the Simple Life for mine, via the Jersey ferry. And it was night!” In the lore of Longfellow, “All the rest is mystery.” LAWRENCE DANIEL FOGG.