happen to him or her for the last seven years.  His philters, concocted upon the profound science of alchemistic philosophy, have been sought for by persons of the highest distinction, who have always found them to produce the very effects for which they were intended, to wit, mutual affection between the parties, uniformly ending in matrimony and happiness.  Devils expelled, ghosts and spirits laid on the shortest notice, and at the most moderate terms.  Also, recipes to farmers for good weather or rain, according as they may be wanted.

“(Signed,) Her Zander VANDERPLUCKEM,”

“The Greatest Conjurer, Astrologer, and Doctor in the world.”

To describe the effect that this bill, which, by the way, was posted against every dead wall in the town, had upon the people, would be impossible.  The inn in which he stopped was, in a short time, crowded with applicants, either for relief or information, according as their ills or wishes came under the respective heads of his advertisement.  The room he occupied was upstairs, and he had a door that led into a smaller one, or kind of closet, at the end of it; here sat an old-looking man, dressed in a black coat, black breeches, and black stockings; the very picture of the mysterious individual who had appeared and disappeared so suddenly at the bonfire.  He had on a full-bottomed wig, and a long white beard, depending from the lower part of his face, swept his reverend breast.  A large book lay open before him, on the pages of which were inscribed cabalistic characters and strange figures.  He only admitted those who wished to consult him, singly; for on no occasion did he ever permit two persons at a time to approach him.  All the paraphernalia of astrology were exposed upon the same table, at one end of which he sat in an arm-chair, awaiting the commencement of operations.  At length a good-looking country-woman, of about forty-five years, made her appearance, and, after a low courtesy, was solemnly motioned to take a seat.

“Well, Mrs. Houlaghan,” said he, “how do you do?”

The poor woman got as pale as death.  “Heavenly Father,” thought she, “how does it happen that he comes to know my name!”

“Mrs. Houlaghan, what can I do for you? not that I need ask, for I could give a very good guess at it;” and this he added with a very sage and solemn visage, precisely as if he knew the whole circumstances.

“Why, your honor,” she replied—­“but, blessed Father, how did you come to know my name?”

“That’s a question,” he replied, solemnly, “which you ought not to ask me.  It is enough that you see I know it.  How is your husband, Frank, and how is your daughter, Mary?  She’s complaining of late—­is she not?”

This private knowledge of the family completely overwhelmed her, and she felt unable to speak for some time.

“Do not be in a hurry, Mrs. Honlaghan,” said he, mildly; “reflect upon what you are about to say, and take your time.”