"Oh, marster! I allus looked up to you as if you were my father and my God! Save me now! save me from under the gallows! Oh, marster----" Major Hewitt turned precipitately and galloped away from the scene. The condemned were not aware that they stood upon the fatal trapdoor. They did not notice, either, that, at a signal from the marshal, the attending clergyman stepped aside and the deputy and assistants gathered in a little group behind. Governor still had his arms extended in wild entreaty after his flying master, and Valentine was still waiting for silence, when suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye, their arms were bound, the cords slipped over their heads, the caps drawn over their eyes, the spring of the bolt touched, and, without one instant's warning, or one word of prayer or benediction, they fell, and swung beneath sky and earth. "In the name of Heaven! why have you done this thing?" asked the terribly-shocked minister, who was altogether unprepared for the suddenness of the execution. "In another five minutes an attempt would have been made at rescue," answered that official. * * * * * This tragedy spoiled the Christmas festivities of many more than were immediately connected with the sufferers. If the reader cares to follow the sad fortunes of the survivors, I have only to tell them that Phædra outlived her son but one short month; and Mrs. Waring kindly took Fannie and her child away from the scene and associations of their calamity, to her own quiet and beautiful country home in East Feliciana. Major Hewitt is a "sadder," and, let us hope, "a wiser man," since he no longer closes his ears to the complaints of his suffering people. One word more. The tragic story in which I have endeavored to interest you is, in all its essential features, strictly true. Not that I mean to say that in all the scenes word followed word precisely in the order here set down, though generally the language used has been faithful to the letter, and always to the spirit of the facts. Valentine and Governor lived, suffered, sinned, and finally together died, for the causes and in the manner related. My means of minute information were very good. The tragedy occurred but a few years ago, in a neighborhood with which I am familiar. It excited at the time great local interest, but never probably got beyond "mere mention" in any but the local papers. In relating it I have delivered "a round, unvarnished tale," and have not colored the truth with any adventitious hue of fancy. The subject was too sacred, in its dark sorrow, for such trifling. Only, for the sake of some survivors, a change of names and a slight change of localities has been deemed proper. THE SPECTRE REVELS. TALE OF ALL HALLOW EVE. Black spirits and white, Blue spirits and gray, Mingle, mingle, mingle, Ye that mingle may.--SHAKESPEARE.