He inquired most eagerly for any news, and said he had not seen a paper for almost a week, as the wet weather had interfered with visitors, preventing any one from coming out. When I left he repeatedly invited me to come again, which I promised to do, as in our slight intercourse we had struck up a mutual friendship. My interest, too, had been increased, as I plainly saw that his life had become distasteful to him, and I had considerable curiosity to ascertain whether he would, according to his promise, remain the two full years upon the Crib; at any rate, I concluded that I would not lose sight of him. Directly after this visit, business arrangements called me away from home, and detained me in New York City without interruption until last May. During this period, of course, I had no means of learning any thing whatever concerning Gustav Stahlmann. On my return, the first glimpse I caught of the familiar lake recalled him to my memory, and revived the old interest. I determined to renew our former acquaintance, but found, to my great disappointment, that all visitors to the Crib had been prohibited by the authorities soon after I was called from home; yet I did not give up in my attempt to find out if he still remained in his situation. After many fruitless inquiries, I finally learned that he was dead. This was the only knowledge I could gain, and, disappointed by the sad intelligence, I dismissed the subject from my mind. A week ago I made the startling discovery that the Crib at the eastern terminus of the lake tunnel, within the year following its completion, had been the scene of a tragedy, the particulars of which, when I learned them, thrilled me with horror, and called forth my profoundest sympathy for the poor victim. The whole circumstance had been so carefully kept secret by an enforced reticence on the part of the authorities, that beyond two or three individuals no one in Chicago had the slightest suspicion of the sickening drama which was enacted but two miles from her shores.