At the end of the wide hall, upon which the front door opened, there was an apartment sacred to the use of the head of the family. Indeed, he always designated it as his sanctum. The walls on one side of this small room were lined with hook cases filled with volumes on his favorite subjects. The under part of these cases, with the exception of a space devoted to scrap-books, was crowded with newspapers containing his speeches or those in which speeches had been favorably noticed, or papers from which scraps were to be cut for the formation of other speeches. In the centre of the opposite side of the room stood a high and rather old-fashioned secretary, with mahogany doors. Opening these, the curious could see a number of rows of what are technically termed pigeon-holes, filled with neatly filed papers. Underneath was a wide shelf containing a few law books, conspicuous among which was a volume of "Revised—statutes," and under the shelf, three small drawers. When the doors of the secretary were shut, all these appurtenances were hidden from view. They were always shut and locked when Mr. Tracy was not seated in his arm-chair opposite, for the secretary was a sacred deposit. And, old-fashioned as it looked, the pigeon-holes and small drawers held papers for which brokers would readily have given their hundreds of thousands. The room contained nothing else of note except a handsomely executed bust of Mr. Tracy and an oil painting of the same man. It is Monday morning, and Monson P. Tracy sits in his leather-bottomed arm-chair drawn up before his desk. The well-varnished doors however remain closely shut, and the gentleman has both his elbows on the desk, his head supported by his hands. When he starts back at a noise from without, an observer, if there were one, would see that his face was unusually pale, and the well-cut features contracted as if with pain. The disease, however, is mental, and must be endured, since he has no idea of confiding in a medical adviser. It may be that the services of the Sabbath were too much for him. He had caused no little surprise to the congregation by appearing in his slip, both in the morning and afternoon, beside remaining to partake of the sacrament of the Lord's supper. This last was always a trying occasion to him, some texts of Scripture introducing themselves into his mind, and refusing to be shut out, as it was easy to do at other times. But yesterday the minister's text was extremely unfortunate for him. Mr. Tracy really thought he should be obliged to remove to the Stone Church and place himself under the spiritual guidance of a more liberal preacher. The text was this,— "Whoso 'eateth and drinketh unworthily, eateth and drinketh damnation to himself, not discerning the Lord's body.'"