"Nothing? Of course there is not," quietly responded the wife; "there is nothing in the cellar; day before yesterday, our drain and Mrs. A.'s drain got choked up; she went to the landlord about it; he sent some men, they examined the drain, and came back to-day with their tools and things, and went down the cellar." "_Down the cellar?_" gasped B----, quite tragically. "Down _the_ cellar!" slowly repeated Mrs. B. "Give me a light--quick, give me a light, Caroline!" "Why, don't be a fool. I brought up all the things, the potatoes, the meat, the squashes." "P-o-o-h! blow the meat and squashes! Give me a light!" and with a genuine melo-drama rush, B---- seized the lamp from his wife's hand, and down the cellar stairs he went, four steps at a lick. In a moment was heard-- "O-o-o-h! I'm ruined!" With a full-fledged scream, Mrs. B. dashed pell-mell down the stairs, to her husband. He had dropped the lamp--all was dark as a coal mine. "Fred--Frederick! oh! where are you? What have you done?" cried his wife, in intense agony and doubt. "Done? Oh! I'm done! yes, done now!" he heavily sighed. "Done what? how? Tell me, Fred, are you hurt?" "What on airth's the matter, thar? Are you committing murder on one another?" came a voice from above stairs. "Is that you, Mrs. A.?" asked Mrs. B. to the last speaker. "Yes, my dear; here's a dozen neighbors; don't get skeert. Is thare robbers in yer house? What on airth is going on?" This brought B---- to his proper reckoning. He ordered his wife to "go up," and he followed, and upon reaching the room, he found quite a gathering of the neighbors. He was as white as a white-washed wall, and the neighbors staring at him as though he was a wild Indian, or a chained mad dog. Importuned from all sides to unravel the mystery, B---- informed them that he had merely gone down cellar to see what the masons, &c., had been doing--dropped his lamp--his wife screamed--and that was all about it! The wife said nothing, and the neighbors shook their incredulous heads, and went home; which, no sooner had they gone, than B---- seized his hat and cut stick for the office of a cunning, far-seeing limb of the law, leaving Mrs. B. in a state of mental agitation better imagined than described. B---- stated his case--he had buried six hundred dollars in a box under the _lee_ of the cellar-wall, and gone to Boston on business, and as if no other time would suit, a parcel of drain-cleaners, and masons, and laborers, must come and go right there and then to dig--get the six hundred dollars and clear. After a long chase, law and bother, B---- recovered half his money--packed up and came to Boston.--There's a case for you! Beware of money! Nursing a Legacy. Waiting for dead men's shoes is a slow and not very sure business; sometimes it pays and sometimes it don't. I know a genius who lost by it, and his case will bear repeating, for there is both morality and fun in it.