The Press., 1883-12-13
{Arkansaw Traveller.) THE UNFINISHED MANUSCRIPT.

Some time ago the writer visited Prof. Gailnet, of Little Rock, Ark, and while sitting in the library, engaged in conversa- tion with the entertaining gentleman, ob- served roll of manuscript tied with strip of black cloth We asked him if it was something designed for publication. Ut will never be published, he said, and began to unrollit. ssSee how it ends, 7 and glancing at the bottom of the last page we read the following: "While he sat alone, deeply musing, hearse passed the house, and" Here the sentence broke off. Requesting, almost imploring the professor to tell us the history of the cu- rious manuscript, he finally consented.
 s.I came to Arkansas when I was young man. One night I sat in my library writ ing a story for magazine. l was in good health and had cause to feel eiated over the success I had just attained by the pub- lication of small volume of sketches, but still felt the heavy weight of melancholy depression. I arose and walked out, but soon returned, not texperiencing any change. l bent myself to the work of writing g dreary story and worked with surprls-d rapidity until I wrote, A hearse passed the house aud Here I stopped. A strange presentiment told me that would never finish the sentence. Next day I took up my pen to finish it, but had not touched the paper with the pen when 8 piercing shriek caused me to spring to my feet and rush from the room just in time to sec horse, attached to buggy, dash ing wildly toward my gate. A frightened woman was ip the buggy and I rescued her. I put my manuscript away and de- voted myself to my new acquaintance !; our friendship grew into love and finally we married. Then followed ten years of happiness. did not tell my wife of the unfinished manuscript, but one day she found it and begged me to finish it. I did not like to confess my foolish fears, and finally told her that would. The next night, after my wife had gone to bed, I took down the story and read it over. I would finish it for her sake. I took up the pen and was just in the act of touch- ing the paper when my wife called me. I ran to her and found her in dying condi- tion, having been attacked by rheumatism of the heart"
 ''Have you ever attempted since to fin ish it ?''
 ''Yes. After my wife had been dead for several years determined one night to finish the story. l went to the desk, but had no sooner dipped my pen in the ink when noise in an adjoining room attract ed my attention. Hurrying into the room l found my son lying on the floor dead. He had always been in wretched health and had committed suicide.'
 ''Do you ever expect to finish the story ?''
 "I expect to try again. It is impossible. for me to remain superstltious, even though I may have powerful cause for doing so. Of course, all this would have happened even if I had not begun the story. think that next Tuesday night, if I feel like it, shall devote myself to the completion of the work, for I desire to see it in print. Come up and see me start off.
 We were busy when Tuesday night came, and-cowardly confession-were not sorry that something kept us away. Early Wednesday morning we hurried to the house where for years the professor had lived. The horrible thought seized us that he had taken up his pen to finish the story and had fallen dead. Some time elapsed before we had the courage to knock at the door. At last we rapped.
 Another rap. s
 No answer.
 With blood almost at freezing point, and with hair standing erect, we showed opeu the door. The old man sat leaning back in his chair, eating pie.
 "Come in,'' he said cheerfully. "You see have just finished that story, and it gave me an appetite for pie. Pies good thing to eat after you finish up story, but you want to wait until you are through writing"
 ''Did you hear any strange noises ?" we asked, "when you began to write.''
 "Well, yes. A calf over in the adioin- ing yard bawled for while. Oh, yes, you are thinking about that story I told you some time ago. Why, my dear fellow, you should not have been so foolish as to have believed me. I never was married